Chapter XXXIX: A Cynical Chapter

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　Our duty now takes us back for a brief space to some oldHampshire acquaintances of ours, whose hopes respectingthe disposal of their rich kinswoman's property were sowoefully disappointed. After counting upon thirty thousandpounds from his sister, it was a heavy blow. to Bute Crawleyto receive but five; out of which sum, when he had paidhis own debts and those of Jim, his son at college, a verysmall fragment remained to portion off his four plaindaughters. Mrs. Bute never knew, or at least neveracknowledged, how far her own tyrannous behaviour hadtended to ruin her husband. All that woman could do, shevowed and protested she had done. Was it her fault ifshe did not possess those sycophantic arts which herhypocritical nephew, Pitt Crawley, practised? She wishedhim all the happiness which he merited out of hisill-gotten gains. "At least the money will remain in thefamily," she said charitably. "Pitt will never spend it, mydear, that is quite certain; for a greater miser does notexist in England, and he is as odious, though in adifferent way, as his spendthrift brother, the abandonedRawdon."

　　So Mrs. Bute, after the first shock of rage anddisappointment, began to accommodate herself as bestshe could to her altered fortunes and to save and retrenchwith all her might. She instructed her daughters how tobear poverty cheerfully, and invented a thousand notablemethods to conceal or evade it. She took them about toballs and public places in the neighbourhood, withpraiseworthy energy; nay, she entertained her friends in ahospitable comfortable manner at the Rectory, and muchmore frequently than before dear Miss Crawley's legacyhad fallen in. From her outward bearing nobody wouldhave supposed that the family had been disappointedin their expectations, or have guessed from her frequentappearance in public how she pinched and starved athome. Her girls had more milliners' furniture than theyhad ever enjoyed before. They appeared perseveringlyat the Winchester and Southampton assemblies; theypenetrated to Cowes for the race-balls and regatta-gaietiesthere; and their carriage, with the horses taken from theplough, was at work perpetually, until it began almost tobe believed that the four sisters had had fortunes left themby their aunt, whose name the family never mentioned inpublic but with the most tender gratitude and regard. Iknow no sort of lying which is more frequent in VanityFair than this, and it may be remarked how people whopractise it take credit to themselves for their hypocrisy,and fancy that they are exceedingly virtuous andpraiseworthy, because they are able to deceive the worldwith regard to the extent of their means.

　　Mrs. Bute certainly thought herself one of the mostvirtuous women in England, and the sight of her happyfamily was an edifying one to strangers. They were socheerful, so loving, so well-educated, so simple! Marthapainted flowers exquisitely and furnished half the charitybazaars in the county. Emma was a regular County Bulbul,and her verses in the Hampshire Telegraph werethe glory of its Poet's Corner. Fanny and Matilda sangduets together, Mamma playing the piano, and the othertwo sisters sitting with their arms round each other's waistsand listening affectionately. Nobody saw the poor girlsdrumming at the duets in private. No one saw Mammadrilling them rigidly hour after hour. In a word, Mrs. Buteput a good face against fortune and kept up appearancesin the most virtuous manner.

　　Everything that a good and respectable mother coulddo Mrs. Bute did. She got over yachting men fromSouthampton, parsons from the Cathedral Close at Winchester,and officers from the barracks there. She tried to inveiglethe young barristers at assizes and encouraged Jim tobring home friends with whom he went out hunting withthe H. H. What will not a mother do for the benefit ofher beloved ones?

　　Between such a woman and her brother-in-law, theodious Baronet at the Hall, it is manifest that there couldbe very little in common. The rupture between Bute andhis brother Sir Pitt was complete; indeed, between SirPitt and the whole county, to which the old man was ascandal. His dislike for respectable society increased withage, and the lodge-gates had not opened to a gentleman'scarriage-wheels since Pitt and Lady Jane came to pay theirvisit of duty after their marriage.

　　That was an awful and unfortunate visit, never to bethought of by the family without horror. Pitt begged hiswife, with a ghastly countenance, never to speak of it,and it was only through Mrs. Bute herself, who stillknew everything which took place at the Hall, that thecircumstances of Sir Pitt's reception of his son anddaughter-in-law were ever known at all.

　　As they drove up the avenue of the park in their neatand well-appointed carriage, Pitt remarked with dismayand wrath great gaps among the trees--his trees--whichthe old Baronet was felling entirely without license. Thepark wore an aspect of utter dreariness and ruin. Thedrives were ill kept, and the neat carriage splashed andfloundered in muddy pools along the road. The greatsweep in front of the terrace and entrance stair wasblack and covered with mosses; the once trim flower-bedsrank and weedy. Shutters were up along almost thewhole line of the house; the great hall-door was unbarredafter much ringing of the bell; an individual in ribbonswas seen flitting up the black oak stair, as Horrocks atlength admitted the heir of Queen's Crawley and his brideinto the halls of their fathers. He led the way into SirPitt's "Library," as it was called, the fumes of tobaccogrowing stronger as Pitt and Lady Jane approached thatapartment, "Sir Pitt ain't very well," Horrocks remarkedapologetically and hinted that his master was afflictedwith lumbago.

　　The library looked out on the front walk and park.Sir Pitt had opened one of the windows, and was bawlingout thence to the postilion and Pitt's servant, who seemedto be about to take the baggage down.

　　"Don't move none of them trunks," he cried, pointingwith a pipe which he held in his hand. "It's only a morningvisit, Tucker, you fool. Lor, what cracks that off hosshas in his heels! Ain't there no one at the King's Head torub 'em a little? How do, Pitt? How do, my dear? Cometo see the old man, hay? 'Gad--you've a pretty face, too.You ain't like that old horse-godmother, your mother.Come and give old Pitt a kiss, like a good little gal."

　　The embrace disconcerted the daughter-in-lawsomewhat, as the caresses of the old gentleman, unshorn andperfumed with tobacco, might well do. But sheremembered that her brother Southdown had mustachios,and smoked cigars, and submitted to the Baronet with atolerable grace.

　　"Pitt has got vat," said the Baronet, after this mark ofaffection. "Does he read ee very long zermons, my dear?Hundredth Psalm, Evening Hymn, hay Pitt? Go and geta glass of Malmsey and a cake for my Lady Jane, Horrocks,you great big booby, and don't stand stearing there likea fat pig. I won't ask you to stop, my dear; you'll find it toostoopid, and so should I too along a Pitt. I'm an old mannow, and like my own ways, and my pipe and backgammonof a night."

　　"I can play at backgammon, sir," said Lady Jane,laughing. "I used to play with Papa and Miss Crawley, didn'tI, Mr. Crawley?"

　　"Lady Jane can play, sir, at the game to which youstate that you are so partial," Pitt said haughtily.

　　But she wawn't stop for all that. Naw, naw, goo backto Mudbury and give Mrs. Rincer a benefit; or drive downto the Rectory and ask Buty for a dinner. He'll be charmedto see you, you know; he's so much obliged to you forgettin' the old woman's money. Ha, ha! Some of it willdo to patch up the Hall when I'm gone."

　　"I perceive, sir," said Pitt with a heightened voice,"that your people will cut down the timber."

　　"Yees, yees, very fine weather, and seasonable for thetime of year," Sir Pitt answered, who had suddenlygrown deaf. "But I'm gittin' old, Pitt, now. Law bless you,you ain't far from fifty yourself. But he wears well, mypretty Lady Jane, don't he? It's all godliness, sobriety, anda moral life. Look at me, I'm not very fur from fowr-score--he, he"; and he laughed, and took snuff, and leeredat her and pinched her hand.

　　Pitt once more brought the conversation back to thetimber, but the Baronet was deaf again in an instant.

　　"I'm gittin' very old, and have been cruel bad this yearwith the lumbago. I shan't be here now for long; but I'mglad ee've come, daughter-in-law. I like your face, LadyJane: it's got none of the damned high-boned Binkie lookin it; and I'll give ee something pretty, my dear, to go toCourt in." And he shuffled across the room to a cupboard,from which he took a little old case containing jewels ofsome value. "Take that," said he, "my dear; it belongedto my mother, and afterwards to the first Lady Binkie.Pretty pearls--never gave 'em the ironmonger's daughter.No, no. Take 'em and put 'em up quick," said he, thrustingthe case into his daughter's hand, and clapping the door ofthe cabinet to, as Horrocks entered with a salver andrefreshments.

　　"What have you a been and given Pitt's wife?" saidthe individual in ribbons, when Pitt and Lady Jane hadtaken leave of the old gentleman. It was Miss Horrocks,the butler's daughter--the cause of the scandalthroughout the county--the lady who reigned now almostsupreme at Queen's Crawley.

　　The rise and progress of those Ribbons had beenmarked with dismay by the county and family. TheRibbons opened an account at the Mudbury Branch SavingsBank; the Ribbons drove to church, monopolising thepony-chaise, which was for the use of the servants atthe Hall. The domestics were dismissed at her pleasure.The Scotch gardener, who still lingered on the premises,taking a pride in his walls and hot-houses, and indeedmaking a pretty good livelihood by the garden, which hefarmed, and of which he sold the produce at Southampton,found the Ribbons eating peaches on a sunshiny morningat the south-wall, and had his ears boxed when heremonstrated about this attack on his property. He andhis Scotch wife and his Scotch children, the onlyrespectable inhabitants of Queen's Crawley, were forced tomigrate, with their goods and their chattels, and left thestately comfortable gardens to go to waste, and theflower-beds to run to seed. Poor Lady Crawley's rose-gardenbecame the dreariest wilderness. Only two or threedomestics shuddered in the bleak old servants' hall. Thestables and offices were vacant, and shut up, and halfruined. Sir Pitt lived in private, and boozed nightly withHorrocks, his butler or house-steward (as he now beganto be called), and the abandoned Ribbons. The timeswere very much changed since the period when she droveto Mudbury in the spring-cart and called the small tradesmen"Sir." It may have been shame, or it may have beendislike of his neighbours, but the old Cynic of Queen'sCrawley hardly issued from his park-gates at all now. Hequarrelled with his agents and screwed his tenants byletter. His days were passed in conducting his owncorrespondence; the lawyers and farm-bailiffs who had todo business with him could not reach him but through theRibbons, who received them at the door of thehousekeeper's room, which commanded the back entrance bywhich they were admitted; and so the Baronet's dailyperplexities increased, and his embarrassments multipliedround him.

　　The horror of Pitt Crawley may be imagined, as thesereports of his father's dotage reached the most exemplaryand correct of gentlemen. He trembled daily lest he shouldhear that the Ribbons was proclaimed his second legalmother-in-law. After that first and last visit, his father'sname was never mentioned in Pitt's polite and genteelestablishment. It was the skeleton in his house, and all thefamily walked by it in terror and silence. The CountessSouthdown kept on dropping per coach at the lodge-gatethe most exciting tracts, tracts which ought to frightenthe hair off your head. Mrs. Bute at the parsonagenightly looked out to see if the sky was red over theelms behind which the Hall stood, and the mansion was onfire. Sir G. Wapshot and Sir H. Fuddlestone, old friends ofthe house, wouldn't sit on the bench with Sir Pitt atQuarter Sessions, and cut him dead in the High Streetof Southampton, where the reprobate stood offering hisdirty old hands to them. Nothing had any effect upon him;he put his hands into his pockets, and burst out laughing,as he scrambled into his carriage and four; he used toburst out laughing at Lady Southdown's tracts; and helaughed at his sons, and at the world, and at theRibbons when she was angry, which was not seldom.

　　Miss Horrocks was installed as housekeeper at Queen'sCrawley, and ruled all the domestics there with greatmajesty and rigour. All the servants were instructed toaddress her as "Mum," or "Madam"--and there was onelittle maid, on her promotion, who persisted in callingher "My Lady," without any rebuke on the part of thehousekeeper. "There has been better ladies, and therehas been worser, Hester," was Miss Horrocks' reply tothis compliment of her inferior; so she ruled, havingsupreme power over all except her father, whom,however, she treated with considerable haughtiness, warninghim not to be too familiar in his behaviour to one "as wasto be a Baronet's lady." Indeed, she rehearsed that exaltedpart in life with great satisfaction to herself, and to theamusement of old Sir Pitt, who chuckled at her airs andgraces, and would laugh by the hour together at herassumptions of dignity and imitations of genteel life.He swore it was as good as a play to see her in thecharacter of a fine dame, and he made her put on one ofthe first Lady Crawley's court-dresses, swearing (entirelyto Miss Horrocks' own concurrence) that the dressbecame her prodigiously, and threatening to drive her offthat very instant to Court in a coach-and-four. She hadthe ransacking of the wardrobes of the two defunct ladies,and cut and hacked their posthumous finery so as to suither own tastes and figure. And she would have liked totake possession of their jewels and trinkets too; but theold Baronet had locked them away in his private cabinet;nor could she coax or wheedle him out of the keys. Andit is a fact, that some time after she left Queen's Crawleya copy-book belonging to this lady was discovered, whichshowed that she had taken great pains in private to learnthe art of writing in general, and especially of writingher own name as Lady Crawley, Lady Betsy Horrocks,Lady Elizabeth Crawley, &c.

　　Though the good people of the Parsonage never went tothe Hall and shunned the horrid old dotard its owner, yetthey kept a strict knowledge of all that happened there,and were looking out every day for the catastrophe forwhich Miss Horrocks was also eager. But Fate intervenedenviously and prevented her from receiving the reward dueto such immaculate love and virtue.

　　One day the Baronet surprised "her ladyship," as hejocularly called her, seated at that old and tuneless pianoin the drawing-room, which had scarcely been touchedsince Becky Sharp played quadrilles upon it--seated atthe piano with the utmost gravity and squalling to thebest of her power in imitation of the music which shehad sometimes heard. The little kitchen-maid on herpromotion was standing at her mistress's side, quite delightedduring the operation, and wagging her head up and downand crying, "Lor, Mum, 'tis bittiful"--just like a genteelsycophant in a real drawing-room.

　　This incident made the old Baronet roar with laughter,as usual. He narrated the circumstance a dozen times toHorrocks in the course of the evening, and greatly to thediscomfiture of Miss Horrocks. He thrummed on the tableas if it had been a musical instrument, and squalled inimitation of her manner of singing. He vowed that sucha beautiful voice ought to be cultivated and declared sheought to have singing-masters, in which proposals shesaw nothing ridiculous. He was in great spirits that night,and drank with his friend and butler an extraordinaryquantity of rum-and-water--at a very late hour thefaithful friend and domestic conducted his master to hisbedroom.

　　Half an hour afterwards there was a great hurry andbustle in the house. Lights went about from window towindow in the lonely desolate old Hall, whereof but two orthree rooms were ordinarily occupied by its owner.Presently, a boy on a pony went galloping off to Mudbury,to the Doctor's house there. And in another hour (bywhich fact we ascertain how carefully the excellent Mrs.Bute Crawley had always kept up an understanding withthe great house), that lady in her clogs and calash, theReverend Bute Crawley, and James Crawley, her son,had walked over from the Rectory through the park, andhad entered the mansion by the open hall-door.

　　They passed through the hall and the small oak parlour,on the table of which stood the three tumblers and theempty rum-bottle which had served for Sir Pitt's carouse,and through that apartment into Sir Pitt's study, wherethey found Miss Horrocks, of the guilty ribbons, with awild air, trying at the presses and escritoires with abunch of keys. She dropped them with a scream ofterror, as little Mrs. Bute's eyes flashed out at her fromunder her black calash.

　　"Look at that, James and Mr. Crawley,?" cried Mrs.Bute, pointing at the scared figure of the black-eyed,guilty wench.

　　"He gave 'em me; he gave 'em me!" she cried.

　　"Gave them you, you abandoned creature!" screamedMrs. Bute. "Bear witness, Mr. Crawley, we found thisgood-for-nothing woman in the act of stealing yourbrother's property; and she will be hanged, as I alwayssaid she would."

　　Betsy Horrocks, quite daunted, flung herself down onher knees, bursting into tears. But those who know a reallygood woman are aware that she is not in a hurry toforgive, and that the humiliation of an enemy is a triumphto her soul.

　　"Ring the bell, James," Mrs. Bute said. "Go on ringing ittill the people come." The three or four domesticsresident in the deserted old house came presently at thatjangling and continued summons.

　　"Put that woman in the strong-room," she said. "Wecaught her in the act of robbing Sir Pitt. Mr. Crawley,you'll make out her committal--and, Beddoes, you'lldrive her over in the spring cart, in the morning, toSouthampton Gaol."

　　"My dear," interposed the Magistrate and Rector--"she's only--"

　　"Are there no handcuffs?" Mrs. Bute continued,stamping in her clogs. "There used to be handcuffs.Where's the creature's abominable father?"

　　"He did give 'em me," still cried poor Betsy; "didn'the, Hester? You saw Sir Pitt--you know you did--give 'em me, ever so long ago--the day after Mudburyfair: not that I want 'em. Take 'em if you think theyain't mine." And here the unhappy wretch pulled outfrom her pocket a large pair of paste shoe-buckles whichhad excited her admiration, and which she had justappropriated out of one of the bookcases in the study,where they had lain.

　　"Law, Betsy, how could you go for to tell such a wickedstory!" said Hester, the little kitchen-maid late on herpromotion--"and to Madame Crawley, so good and kind,and his Rev'rince (with a curtsey), and you may searchall my boxes, Mum, I'm sure, and here's my keys as I'man honest girl, though of pore parents and workhousebred--and if you find so much as a beggarly bit of laceor a silk stocking out of all the gownds as you've had thepicking of, may I never go to church agin."

　　"Give up your keys, you hardened hussy," hissed outthe virtuous little lady in the calash.

　　"And here's a candle, Mum, and if you please, Mum,I can show you her room, Mum, and the press in thehousekeeper's room, Mum, where she keeps heaps andheaps of things, Mum," cried out the eager little Hesterwith a profusion of curtseys.

　　"Hold your tongue, if you please. I know the roomwhich the creature occupies perfectly well. Mrs. Brown,have the goodness to come with me, and Beddoes don'tyou lose sight of that woman," said Mrs. Bute, seizing thecandle. "Mr. Crawley, you had better go upstairs andsee that they are not murdering your unfortunate brother"--and the calash, escorted by Mrs. Brown, walked awayto the apartment which, as she said truly, she knewperfectly well.

　　Bute went upstairs and found the Doctor fromMudbury, with the frightened Horrocks over his master in achair. They were trying to bleed Sir Pitt Crawley.

　　With the early morning an express was sent off to Mr.Pitt Crawley by the Rector's lady, who assumed thecommand of everything, and had watched the old Baronetthrough the night. He had been brought back to a sort oflife; he could not speak, but seemed to recognize people.Mrs. Bute kept resolutely by his bedside. She never seemedto want to sleep, that little woman, and did not close herfiery black eyes once, though the Doctor snored in thearm-chair. Horrocks made some wild efforts to asserthis authority and assist his master; but Mrs. Bute calledhim a tipsy old wretch and bade him never show his faceagain in that house, or he should be transported like hisabominable daughter.

　　Terrified by her manner, he slunk down to the oakparlour where Mr. James was, who, having tried thebottle standing there and found no liquor in it, orderedMr. Horrocks to get another bottle of rum, which hefetched, with clean glasses, and to which the Rector andhis son sat down, ordering Horrocks to put down the keysat that instant and never to show his face again.

　　Cowed by this behaviour, Horrocks gave up the keys,and he and his daughter slunk off silently through thenight and gave up possession of the house of Queen'sCrawley.