Vanity Fair (10 page)

The young ladies did not drink it; Osborne did not like it; and the
consequence was that Jos, that fat gourmand, drank up the whole
contents of the bowl; and the consequence of his drinking up the
whole contents of the bowl was a liveliness which at first was
astonishing, and then became almost painful; for he talked and
laughed so loud as to bring scores of listeners round the box, much
to the confusion of the innocent party within it; and, volunteering
to sing a song (which he did in that maudlin high key peculiar to
gentlemen in an inebriated state), he almost drew away the audience
who were gathered round the musicians in the gilt scollop-shell, and
received from his hearers a great deal of applause.

"Brayvo, Fat un!" said one; "Angcore, Daniel Lambert!" said another;
"What a figure for the tight-rope!" exclaimed another wag, to the
inexpressible alarm of the ladies, and the great anger of Mr.
Osborne.

"For Heaven's sake, Jos, let us get up and go," cried that
gentleman, and the young women rose.

"Stop, my dearest diddle-diddle-darling," shouted Jos, now as bold
as a lion, and clasping Miss Rebecca round the waist. Rebecca
started, but she could not get away her hand. The laughter outside
redoubled. Jos continued to drink, to make love, and to sing; and,
winking and waving his glass gracefully to his audience, challenged
all or any to come in and take a share of his punch.

Mr. Osborne was just on the point of knocking down a gentleman in
top-boots, who proposed to take advantage of this invitation, and a
commotion seemed to be inevitable, when by the greatest good luck a
gentleman of the name of Dobbin, who had been walking about the
gardens, stepped up to the box. "Be off, you fools!" said this
gentleman—shouldering off a great number of the crowd, who vanished
presently before his cocked hat and fierce appearance—and he
entered the box in a most agitated state.

"Good Heavens! Dobbin, where have you been?" Osborne said, seizing
the white cashmere shawl from his friend's arm, and huddling up
Amelia in it.—"Make yourself useful, and take charge of Jos here,
whilst I take the ladies to the carriage."

Jos was for rising to interfere—but a single push from Osborne's
finger sent him puffing back into his seat again, and the lieutenant
was enabled to remove the ladies in safety. Jos kissed his hand to
them as they retreated, and hiccupped out "Bless you! Bless you!"
Then, seizing Captain Dobbin's hand, and weeping in the most pitiful
way, he confided to that gentleman the secret of his loves. He
adored that girl who had just gone out; he had broken her heart, he
knew he had, by his conduct; he would marry her next morning at St.
George's, Hanover Square; he'd knock up the Archbishop of Canterbury
at Lambeth: he would, by Jove! and have him in readiness; and,
acting on this hint, Captain Dobbin shrewdly induced him to leave
the gardens and hasten to Lambeth Palace, and, when once out of the
gates, easily conveyed Mr. Jos Sedley into a hackney-coach, which
deposited him safely at his lodgings.

George Osborne conducted the girls home in safety: and when the door
was closed upon them, and as he walked across Russell Square,
laughed so as to astonish the watchman. Amelia looked very ruefully
at her friend, as they went up stairs, and kissed her, and went to
bed without any more talking.

"He must propose to-morrow," thought Rebecca. "He called me his
soul's darling, four times; he squeezed my hand in Amelia's
presence. He must propose to-morrow." And so thought Amelia, too.
And I dare say she thought of the dress she was to wear as
bridesmaid, and of the presents which she should make to her nice
little sister-in-law, and of a subsequent ceremony in which she
herself might play a principal part, &c., and &c., and &c., and &c.

Oh, ignorant young creatures! How little do you know the effect of
rack punch! What is the rack in the punch, at night, to the rack in
the head of a morning? To this truth I can vouch as a man; there is
no headache in the world like that caused by Vauxhall punch.
Through the lapse of twenty years, I can remember the consequence of
two glasses! two wine-glasses! but two, upon the honour of a
gentleman; and Joseph Sedley, who had a liver complaint, had
swallowed at least a quart of the abominable mixture.

That next morning, which Rebecca thought was to dawn upon her
fortune, found Sedley groaning in agonies which the pen refuses to
describe. Soda-water was not invented yet. Small beer—will it be
believed!—was the only drink with which unhappy gentlemen soothed
the fever of their previous night's potation. With this mild
beverage before him, George Osborne found the ex-Collector of
Boggley Wollah groaning on the sofa at his lodgings. Dobbin was
already in the room, good-naturedly tending his patient of the night
before. The two officers, looking at the prostrate Bacchanalian,
and askance at each other, exchanged the most frightful sympathetic
grins. Even Sedley's valet, the most solemn and correct of
gentlemen, with the muteness and gravity of an undertaker, could
hardly keep his countenance in order, as he looked at his
unfortunate master.

"Mr. Sedley was uncommon wild last night, sir," he whispered in
confidence to Osborne, as the latter mounted the stair. "He wanted
to fight the 'ackney-coachman, sir. The Capting was obliged to bring
him upstairs in his harms like a babby." A momentary smile flickered
over Mr. Brush's features as he spoke; instantly, however, they
relapsed into their usual unfathomable calm, as he flung open the
drawing-room door, and announced "Mr. Hosbin."

"How are you, Sedley?" that young wag began, after surveying his
victim. "No bones broke? There's a hackney-coachman downstairs with
a black eye, and a tied-up head, vowing he'll have the law of you."

"What do you mean—law?" Sedley faintly asked.

"For thrashing him last night—didn't he, Dobbin? You hit out, sir,
like Molyneux. The watchman says he never saw a fellow go down so
straight. Ask Dobbin."

"You DID have a round with the coachman," Captain Dobbin said, "and
showed plenty of fight too."

"And that fellow with the white coat at Vauxhall! How Jos drove at
him! How the women screamed! By Jove, sir, it did my heart good to
see you. I thought you civilians had no pluck; but I'll never get
in your way when you are in your cups, Jos."

"I believe I'm very terrible, when I'm roused," ejaculated Jos from
the sofa, and made a grimace so dreary and ludicrous, that the
Captain's politeness could restrain him no longer, and he and
Osborne fired off a ringing volley of laughter.

Osborne pursued his advantage pitilessly. He thought Jos a milksop.
He had been revolving in his mind the marriage question pending
between Jos and Rebecca, and was not over well pleased that a member
of a family into which he, George Osborne, of the —th, was going to
marry, should make a mesalliance with a little nobody—a little
upstart governess. "You hit, you poor old fellow!" said Osborne.
"You terrible! Why, man, you couldn't stand—you made everybody
laugh in the Gardens, though you were crying yourself. You were
maudlin, Jos. Don't you remember singing a song?"

"A what?" Jos asked.

"A sentimental song, and calling Rosa, Rebecca, what's her name,
Amelia's little friend—your dearest diddle-diddle-darling?" And
this ruthless young fellow, seizing hold of Dobbin's hand, acted
over the scene, to the horror of the original performer, and in
spite of Dobbin's good-natured entreaties to him to have mercy.

"Why should I spare him?" Osborne said to his friend's
remonstrances, when they quitted the invalid, leaving him under the
hands of Doctor Gollop. "What the deuce right has he to give
himself his patronizing airs, and make fools of us at Vauxhall?
Who's this little schoolgirl that is ogling and making love to him?
Hang it, the family's low enough already, without HER. A governess
is all very well, but I'd rather have a lady for my sister-in-law.
I'm a liberal man; but I've proper pride, and know my own station:
let her know hers. And I'll take down that great hectoring Nabob,
and prevent him from being made a greater fool than he is. That's
why I told him to look out, lest she brought an action against him."

"I suppose you know best," Dobbin said, though rather dubiously.
"You always were a Tory, and your family's one of the oldest in
England. But—"

"Come and see the girls, and make love to Miss Sharp yourself," the
lieutenant here interrupted his friend; but Captain Dobbin declined
to join Osborne in his daily visit to the young ladies in Russell
Square.

As George walked down Southampton Row, from Holborn, he laughed as
he saw, at the Sedley Mansion, in two different stories two heads on
the look-out.

The fact is, Miss Amelia, in the drawing-room balcony, was looking
very eagerly towards the opposite side of the Square, where Mr.
Osborne dwelt, on the watch for the lieutenant himself; and Miss
Sharp, from her little bed-room on the second floor, was in
observation until Mr. Joseph's great form should heave in sight.

"Sister Anne is on the watch-tower," said he to Amelia, "but there's
nobody coming"; and laughing and enjoying the joke hugely, he
described in the most ludicrous terms to Miss Sedley, the dismal
condition of her brother.

"I think it's very cruel of you to laugh, George," she said, looking
particularly unhappy; but George only laughed the more at her
piteous and discomfited mien, persisted in thinking the joke a most
diverting one, and when Miss Sharp came downstairs, bantered her
with a great deal of liveliness upon the effect of her charms on the
fat civilian.

"O Miss Sharp! if you could but see him this morning," he said—
"moaning in his flowered dressing-gown—writhing on his sofa; if you
could but have seen him lolling out his tongue to Gollop the
apothecary."

"See whom?" said Miss Sharp.

"Whom? O whom? Captain Dobbin, of course, to whom we were all so
attentive, by the way, last night."

"We were very unkind to him," Emmy said, blushing very much. "I—I
quite forgot him."

"Of course you did," cried Osborne, still on the laugh.

"One can't be ALWAYS thinking about Dobbin, you know, Amelia. Can
one, Miss Sharp?"

"Except when he overset the glass of wine at dinner," Miss Sharp
said, with a haughty air and a toss of the head, "I never gave the
existence of Captain Dobbin one single moment's consideration."

"Very good, Miss Sharp, I'll tell him," Osborne said; and as he
spoke Miss Sharp began to have a feeling of distrust and hatred
towards this young officer, which he was quite unconscious of having
inspired. "He is to make fun of me, is he?" thought Rebecca. "Has
he been laughing about me to Joseph? Has he frightened him? Perhaps
he won't come."—A film passed over her eyes, and her heart beat
quite quick.

"You're always joking," said she, smiling as innocently as she
could. "Joke away, Mr. George; there's nobody to defend ME." And
George Osborne, as she walked away—and Amelia looked reprovingly at
him—felt some little manly compunction for having inflicted any
unnecessary unkindness upon this helpless creature. "My dearest
Amelia," said he, "you are too good—too kind. You don't know the
world. I do. And your little friend Miss Sharp must learn her
station."

"Don't you think Jos will—"

"Upon my word, my dear, I don't know. He may, or may not. I'm not
his master. I only know he is a very foolish vain fellow, and put
my dear little girl into a very painful and awkward position last
night. My dearest diddle-diddle-darling!" He was off laughing
again, and he did it so drolly that Emmy laughed too.

All that day Jos never came. But Amelia had no fear about this; for
the little schemer had actually sent away the page, Mr. Sambo's
aide-de-camp, to Mr. Joseph's lodgings, to ask for some book he had
promised, and how he was; and the reply through Jos's man, Mr.
Brush, was, that his master was ill in bed, and had just had the
doctor with him. He must come to-morrow, she thought, but she never
had the courage to speak a word on the subject to Rebecca; nor did
that young woman herself allude to it in any way during the whole
evening after the night at Vauxhall.

The next day, however, as the two young ladies sate on the sofa,
pretending to work, or to write letters, or to read novels, Sambo
came into the room with his usual engaging grin, with a packet under
his arm, and a note on a tray. "Note from Mr. Jos, Miss," says
Sambo.

How Amelia trembled as she opened it!

So it ran:

Dear Amelia,—I send you the "Orphan of the Forest." I was too ill
to come yesterday. I leave town to-day for Cheltenham. Pray excuse
me, if you can, to the amiable Miss Sharp, for my conduct at
Vauxhall, and entreat her to pardon and forget every word I may have
uttered when excited by that fatal supper. As soon as I have
recovered, for my health is very much shaken, I shall go to Scotland
for some months, and am

Truly yours,
Jos Sedley

It was the death-warrant. All was over. Amelia did not dare to
look at Rebecca's pale face and burning eyes, but she dropt the
letter into her friend's lap; and got up, and went upstairs to her
room, and cried her little heart out.

Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, there sought her presently with
consolation, on whose shoulder Amelia wept confidentially, and
relieved herself a good deal. "Don't take on, Miss. I didn't like
to tell you. But none of us in the house have liked her except at
fust. I sor her with my own eyes reading your Ma's letters. Pinner
says she's always about your trinket-box and drawers, and
everybody's drawers, and she's sure she's put your white ribbing
into her box."

"I gave it her, I gave it her," Amelia said.

But this did not alter Mrs. Blenkinsop's opinion of Miss Sharp. "I
don't trust them governesses, Pinner," she remarked to the maid.
"They give themselves the hairs and hupstarts of ladies, and their
wages is no better than you nor me."