Chapter XVI: The Letter on the Pincushion

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　How they were married is not of the slightestconsequence to anybody. What is to hinder a Captain whois a major, and a young lady who is of age, from purchasinga licence, and uniting themselves at any church in thistown? Who needs to be told, that if a woman has a willshe will assuredly find a way?--My belief is that oneday, when Miss Sharp had gone to pass the forenoonwith her dear friend Miss Amelia Sedley in RussellSquare, a lady very like her might have been seenentering a church in the City, in company with a gentlemanwith dyed mustachios, who, after a quarter of an hour'sinterval, escorted her back to the hackney-coach inwaiting, and that this was a quiet bridal party.

　　And who on earth, after the daily experience we have,can question the probability of a gentleman marryinganybody? How many of the wise and learned havemarried their cooks? Did not Lord Eldon himself, themost prudent of men, make a runaway match? Were notAchilles and Ajax both in love with their servant maids?And are we to expect a heavy dragoon with strongdesires and small brains, who had never controlled apassion in his life, to become prudent all of a sudden,and to refuse to pay any price for an indulgence towhich he had a mind? If people only made prudentmarriages, what a stop to population there would be!

　　It seems to me, for my part, that Mr. Rawdon's marriagewas one of the honestest actions which we shall have torecord in any portion of that gentleman's biography whichhas to do with the present history. No one will say it isunmanly to be captivated by a woman, or, beingcaptivated, to marry her; and the admiration, the delight, thepassion, the wonder, the unbounded confidence, and frantic adoration with which, by degrees, this big warrior gotto regard the little Rebecca, were feelings which the ladiesat least will pronounce were not altogether discreditableto him. When she sang, every note thrilled in his dullsoul, and tingled through his huge frame. When she spoke,he brought all the force of his brains to listen and wonder.If she was jocular, he used to revolve her jokes in hismind, and explode over them half an hour afterwards inthe street, to the surprise of the groom in the tilbury byhis side, or the comrade riding with him in Rotten Row.Her words were oracles to him, her smallest actionsmarked by an infallible grace and wisdom. "How shesings,--how she paints," thought he. "How she rode thatkicking mare at Queen's Crawley!" And he would say toher in confidential moments, "By Jove, Beck, you're fitto be Commander-in-Chief, or Archbishop of Canterbury,by Jove." Is his case a rare one? and don't we see everyday in the world many an honest Hercules at theapron-strings of Omphale, and great whiskered Samsonsprostrate in Delilah's lap?

　　When, then, Becky told him that the great crisis wasnear, and the time for action had arrived, Rawdonexpressed himself as ready to act under her orders, as hewould be to charge with his troop at the command of hiscolonel. There was no need for him to put his letter intothe third volume of Porteus. Rebecca easily found ameans to get rid of Briggs, her companion, and met herfaithful friend in "the usual place" on the next day. Shehad thought over matters at night, and communicated toRawdon the result of her determinations. He agreed, ofcourse, to everything; was quite sure that it was allright: that what she proposed was best; that Miss Crawleywould infallibly relent, or "come round," as he said, aftera time. Had Rebecca's resolutions been entirely different,he would have followed them as implicitly. "You havehead enough for both of us, Beck," said he. "You're sureto get us out of the scrape. I never saw your equal, andI've met with some clippers in my time too." And withthis simple confession of faith, the love-stricken dragoonleft her to execute his part of the project which she hadformed for the pair.

　　It consisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings atBrompton, or in the neighbourhood of the barracks, forCaptain and Mrs. Crawley. For Rebecca had determined,and very prudently, we think, to fly. Rawdon wasonly too happy at her resolve; he had been entreatingher to take this measure any time for weeks past. Hepranced off to engage the lodgings with all the impetuosityof love. He agreed to pay two guineas a week so readily,that the landlady regretted she had asked him so little.He ordered in a piano, and half a nursery-house full offlowers: and a heap of good things. As for shawls, kidgloves, silk stockings, gold French watches, bracelets andperfumery, he sent them in with the profusion of blindlove and unbounded credit. And having relieved his mindby this outpouring of generosity, he went and dinednervously at the club, waiting until the great moment of hislife should come.

　　The occurrences of the previous day; the admirableconduct of Rebecca in refusing an offer so advantageousto her, the secret unhappiness preying upon her, thesweetness and silence with which she bore her affliction,made Miss Crawley much more tender than usual. Anevent of this nature, a marriage, or a refusal, or aproposal, thrills through a whole household of women, andsets all their hysterical sympathies at work. As anobserver of human nature, I regularly frequent St. George's,Hanover Square, during the genteel marriage season; andthough I have never seen the bridegroom's male friendsgive way to tears, or the beadles and officiating clergyany way affected, yet it is not at all uncommon to seewomen who are not in the least concerned in theoperations going on--old ladies who are long past marrying,stout middle-aged females with plenty of sons and daughters,let alone pretty young creatures in pink bonnets, whoare on their promotion, and may naturally take aninterest in the ceremony--I say it is quite common to seethe women present piping, sobbing, sniffling; hiding theirlittle faces in their little useless pocket-handkerchiefs;and heaving, old and young, with emotion. When myfriend, the fashionable John Pimlico, married the lovelyLady Belgravia Green Parker, the excitement was sogeneral that even the little snuffy old pew-opener who let meinto the seat was in tears. And wherefore? I inquired ofmy own soul: she was not going to be married.

　　Miss Crawley and Briggs in a word, after the affair ofSir Pitt, indulged in the utmost luxury of sentiment, andRebecca became an object of the most tender interest tothem. In her absence Miss Crawley solaced herself withthe most sentimental of the novels in her library. LittleSharp, with her secret griefs, was the heroine of the day.

　　That night Rebecca sang more sweetly and talked morepleasantly than she had ever been heard to do in ParkLane. She twined herself round the heart of Miss Crawley.She spoke lightly and laughingly of Sir Pitt's proposal,ridiculed it as the foolish fancy of an old man; and hereyes filled with tears, and Briggs's heart with unutterablepangs of defeat, as she said she desired no other lot thanto remain for ever with her dear benefactress. "My dearlittle creature," the old lady said, "I don't intend to letyou stir for years, that you may depend upon it. As forgoing back to that odious brother of mine after whathas passed, it is out of the question. Here you stay with meand Briggs. Briggs wants to go to see her relations veryoften. Briggs, you may go when you like. But as for you,my dear, you must stay and take care of the old woman."

　　If Rawdon Crawley had been then and there present,instead of being at the club nervously drinking claret, thepair might have gone down on their knees before the oldspinster, avowed all, and been forgiven in a twinkling.But that good chance was denied to the young couple,doubtless in order that this story might be written, inwhich numbers of their wonderful adventures are narrated--adventures which could never have occurred to themif they had been housed and sheltered under thecomfortable uninteresting forgiveness of Miss Crawley.

　　Under Mrs. Firkin's orders, in the Park Lane establishment,was a young woman from Hampshire, whose business it was,among other duties, to knock at Miss Sharp's door withthat jug of hot water which Firkin would rather haveperished than have presented to the intruder. Thisgirl, bred on the family estate, had a brother in CaptainCrawley's troop, and if the truth were known, I daresayit would come out that she was aware of certain arrangements,which have a great deal to do with this history.At any rate she purchased a yellow shawl, a pair of greenboots, and a light blue hat with a red feather with threeguineas which Rebecca gave her, and as little Sharp wasby no means too liberal with her money, no doubt itwas for services rendered that Betty Martin was so bribed.

　　On the second day after Sir Pitt Crawley's offer toMiss Sharp, the sun rose as usual, and at the usual hourBetty Martin, the upstairs maid, knocked at the door ofthe governess's bedchamber.

　　No answer was returned, and she knocked again. Silencewas still uninterrupted; and Betty, with the hot water,opened the door and entered the chamber.

　　The little white dimity bed was as smooth and trim ason the day previous, when Betty's own hands had helpedto make it. Two little trunks were corded in one end ofthe room; and on the table before the window--the greatfat pincushion lined with pink inside, and twilled like alady's nightcap--lay a letter. Ithad been reposing there probably all night.

　　Betty advanced towards it on tiptoe, as if she wereafraid to awake it--looked at it, and round the room,with an air of great wonder and satisfaction; took up theletter, and grinned intensely as she turned it round andover, and finally carried it into Miss Briggs's roombelow.

　　How could Betty tell that the letter was for Miss Briggs,I should like to know? All the schooling Betty had hadwas at Mrs. Bute Crawley's Sunday school, and she couldno more read writing than Hebrew.

　　"La, Miss Briggs," the girl exclaimed, "O, Miss,something must have happened--there's nobody in MissSharp's room; the bed ain't been slep in, and she've runaway, and left this letter for you, Miss."

　　"What!" cries Briggs, dropping her comb, the thin wispof faded hair falling over her shoulders; "an elopement!Miss Sharp a fugitive! What, what is this?" and she eagerlybroke the neat seal, and, as they say, "devoured thecontents" of the letter addressed to her.

　　Dear Miss Briggs [the refugee wrote], the kindestheart in the world, as yours is, will pity and sympathisewith me and excuse me. With tears, and prayers, andblessings, I leave the home where the poor orphan hasever met with kindness and affection. Claims evensuperior to those of my benefactress call me hence. I go tomy duty--to my husband. Yes, I am married. Myhusband commands me to seek the humble home whichwe call ours. Dearest Miss Briggs, break the news as yourdelicate sympathy will know how to do it--to my dear,my beloved friend and benefactress. Tell her, ere I went,I shed tears on her dear pillow--that pillow that I haveso often soothed in sickness--that I long again to watch--Oh, with what joy shall I return to dear Park Lane!How I tremble for the answer which is to seal my fate!When Sir Pitt deigned to offer me his hand, an honourof which my beloved Miss Crawley said I was deserving(my blessings go with her for judging the poor orphanworthy to be her sister!) I told Sir Pitt that I was alreadyA wife. Even he forgave me. But my courage failed me,when I should have told him all--that I could not behis wife, for I was his daughter! I am wedded to the bestand most generous of men--Miss Crawley's Rawdon ismy Rawdon. At his command I open my lips, andfollow him to our humble home, as I would through theworld. O, my excellent and kind friend, intercede withmy Rawdon's beloved aunt for him and the poor girl towhom all his noble race have shown such unparalleledaffection. Ask Miss Crawley to receive her children. Ican say no more, but blessings, blessings on all in thedear house I leave, prays

　　Your affectionate and gratefulRebecca Crawley.Midnight.

　　Just as Briggs had finished reading this affecting andinteresting document, which reinstated her in her positionas first confidante of Miss Crawley, Mrs. Firkin enteredthe room. "Here's Mrs. Bute Crawley just arrived bythe mail from Hampshire, and wants some tea; will youcome down and make breakfast, Miss?"

　　And to the surprise of Firkin, clasping her dressing-gownaround her, the wisp of hair floating dishevelledbehind her, the little curl-papers still sticking in bunchesround her forehead, Briggs sailed down to Mrs. Bute withthe letter in her hand containing the wonderful news.

　　"Oh, Mrs. Firkin," gasped Betty, "sech a business. MissSharp have a gone and run away with the Capting, andthey're off to Gretney Green!" We would devote a chapterto describe the emotions of Mrs. Firkin, did not thepassions of her mistresses occupy our genteeler muse.

　　When Mrs. Bute Crawley, numbed with midnight travelling,and warming herself at the newly crackling parlourfire, heard from Miss Briggs the intelligence of theclandestine marriage, she declared it was quite providentialthat she should have arrived at such a time to assist poordear Miss Crawley in supporting the shock--that Rebeccawas an artful little hussy of whom she had alwayshad her suspicions; and that as for Rawdon Crawley, shenever could account for his aunt's infatuation regardinghim, and had long considered him a profligate, lost,and abandoned being. And this awful conduct, Mrs. Butesaid, will have at least this good effect, it will open poordear Miss Crawley's eyes to the real character of thiswicked man. Then Mrs. Bute had a comfortable hot toastand tea; and as there was a vacant room in the housenow, there was no need for her to remain at the GlosterCoffee House where the Portsmouth mail had set herdown, and whence she ordered Mr. Bowls's aide-de-campthe footman to bring away her trunks.

　　Miss Crawley, be it known, did not leave her room untilnear noon--taking chocolate in bed in the morning, whileBecky Sharp read the Morning Post to her, or otherwiseamusing herself or dawdling. The conspirators belowagreed that they would spare the dear lady's feelingsuntil she appeared in her drawing-room: meanwhile it wasannounced to her that Mrs. Bute Crawley had come upfrom Hampshire by the mail, was staying at the Gloster,sent her love to Miss Crawley, and asked for breakfastwith Miss Briggs. The arrival of Mrs. Bute, which wouldnot have caused any extreme delight at another period,was hailed with pleasure now; Miss Crawley being pleasedat the notion of a gossip with her sister-in-law regardingthe late Lady Crawley, the funeral arrangements pending,and Sir Pitt's abrupt proposal to Rebecca.

　　It was not until the old lady was fairly ensconced inher usual arm-chair in the drawing-room, and thepreliminary embraces and inquiries had taken place betweenthe ladies, that the conspirators thought it advisable tosubmit her to the operation. Who has not admired theartifices and delicate approaches with which women"prepare" their friends for bad news? Miss Crawley's twofriends made such an apparatus of mystery before theybroke the intelligence to her, that they worked her up tothe necessary degree of doubt and alarm.

　　"And she refused Sir Pitt, my dear, dear Miss Crawley,prepare yourself for it," Mrs. Bute said, "because--because she couldn't help herself."

　　"Of course there was a reason," Miss Crawley answered."She liked somebody else. I told Briggs so yesterday."

　　"Likes somebody else!" Briggs gasped. "O my dearfriend, she is married already."

　　"Married already," Mrs. Bute chimed in; and both satewith clasped hands looking from each other at theirvictim.

　　"Send her to me, the instant she comes in. The littlesly wretch: how dared she not tell me?" cried out MissCrawley.

　　"She won't come in soon. Prepare yourself, dear friend--she's gone out for a long time--she's--she's gonealtogether."

　　"Gracious goodness, and who's to make my chocolate?Send for her and have her back; I desire that she comeback," the old lady said.

　　"She decamped last night, Ma'am," cried Mrs. Bute.

　　"She left a letter for me," Briggs exclaimed. "She'smarried to--"

　　"Prepare her, for heaven's sake. Don't torture her, mydear Miss Briggs."

　　"She's married to whom?" cries the spinster in anervous fury.

　　"To--to a relation of--"

　　"She refused Sir Pitt," cried the victim. "Speak at once.Don't drive me mad."

　　"O Ma'am--prepare her, Miss Briggs--she's marriedto Rawdon Crawley."

　　"Rawdon married Rebecca--governess--nobod--Get out of my house, you fool, you idiot--you stupid oldBriggs how dare you? You're in the plot--you madehim marry, thinking that I'd leave my money from him--you did, Martha," the poor old lady screamed in hystericsentences.

　　"I, Ma'am, ask a member of this family to marry adrawing-master's daughter?"

　　"Her mother was a Montmorency," cried out the oldlady, pulling at the bell with all her might.

　　"Her mother was an opera girl, and she has been onthe stage or worse herself," said Mrs. Bute.

　　Miss Crawley gave a final scream, and fell back in afaint. They were forced to take her back to the roomwhich she had just quitted. One fit of hysterics succeededanother. The doctor was sent for--the apothecary arrived.Mrs. Bute took up the post of nurse by her bedside. "Herrelations ought to be round about her," that amiablewoman said.

　　She had scarcely been carried up to her room, when anew person arrived to whom it was also necessary to breakthe news. This was Sir Pitt. "Where's Becky?" he said,coming in. "Where's her traps? She's coming with me toQueen's Crawley."

　　"Have you not heard the astonishing intelligenceregarding her surreptitious union?" Briggs asked.

　　"What's that to me?" Sir Pitt asked. "I know she'smarried. That makes no odds. Tell her to come down atonce, and not keep me."

　　"Are you not aware, sir," Miss Briggs asked, "that shehas left our roof, to the dismay of Miss Crawley, who isnearly killed by the intelligence of Captain Rawdon's unionwith her?"

　　When Sir Pitt Crawley heard that Rebecca was marriedto his son, he broke out into a fury of language, which itwould do no good to repeat in this place, as indeed itsent poor Briggs shuddering out of the room; and with herwe will shut the door upon the figure of the frenzied oldman, wild with hatred and insane with baffled desire.

　　One day after he went to Queen's Crawley, he burstlike a madman into the room she had used when there--dashed open her boxes with his foot, and flung abouther papers, clothes, and other relics. Miss Horrocks, thebutler's daughter, took some of them. The childrendressed themselves and acted plays in the others. It wasbut a few days after the poor mother had gone to herlonely burying-place; and was laid, unwept anddisregarded, in a vault full of strangers.

　　"Suppose the old lady doesn't come to," Rawdon said tohis little wife, as they sate together in the snug littleBrompton lodgings. She had been trying the new pianoall the morning. The new gloves fitted her to a nicety; thenew shawls became her wonderfully; the new ringsglittered on her little hands, and the new watch ticked at herwaist; "suppose she don't come round, eh, Becky?"

　　"I'll make your fortune," she said; and Delilah pattedSamson's cheek.

　　"You can do anything," he said, kissing the little hand."By Jove you can; and we'll drive down to the Star andGarter, and dine, by Jove."