Vanity Fair (39 page)

"Sir," said Dobbin, starting up in undisguised anger; "no man shall
abuse that lady in my hearing, and you least of all."

"O, you're a-going to call me out, are you? Stop, let me ring the
bell for pistols for two. Mr. George sent you here to insult his
father, did he?" Osborne said, pulling at the bell-cord.

"Mr. Osborne," said Dobbin, with a faltering voice, "it's you who
are insulting the best creature in the world. You had best spare
her, sir, for she's your son's wife."

And with this, feeling that he could say no more, Dobbin went away,
Osborne sinking back in his chair, and looking wildly after him. A
clerk came in, obedient to the bell; and the Captain was scarcely
out of the court where Mr. Osborne's offices were, when Mr. Chopper
the chief clerk came rushing hatless after him.

"For God's sake, what is it?" Mr. Chopper said, catching the Captain
by the skirt. "The governor's in a fit. What has Mr. George been
doing?"

"He married Miss Sedley five days ago," Dobbin replied. "I was his
groomsman, Mr. Chopper, and you must stand his friend."

The old clerk shook his head. "If that's your news, Captain, it's
bad. The governor will never forgive him."

Dobbin begged Chopper to report progress to him at the hotel where
he was stopping, and walked off moodily westwards, greatly perturbed
as to the past and the future.

When the Russell Square family came to dinner that evening, they
found the father of the house seated in his usual place, but with
that air of gloom on his face, which, whenever it appeared there,
kept the whole circle silent. The ladies, and Mr. Bullock who dined
with them, felt that the news had been communicated to Mr. Osborne.
His dark looks affected Mr. Bullock so far as to render him still
and quiet: but he was unusually bland and attentive to Miss Maria,
by whom he sat, and to her sister presiding at the head of the
table.

Miss Wirt, by consequence, was alone on her side of the board, a gap
being left between her and Miss Jane Osborne. Now this was George's
place when he dined at home; and his cover, as we said, was laid for
him in expectation of that truant's return. Nothing occurred during
dinner-time except smiling Mr. Frederick's flagging confidential
whispers, and the clinking of plate and china, to interrupt the
silence of the repast. The servants went about stealthily doing
their duty. Mutes at funerals could not look more glum than the
domestics of Mr. Osborne The neck of venison of which he had invited
Dobbin to partake, was carved by him in perfect silence; but his own
share went away almost untasted, though he drank much, and the
butler assiduously filled his glass.

At last, just at the end of the dinner, his eyes, which had been
staring at everybody in turn, fixed themselves for a while upon the
plate laid for George. He pointed to it presently with his left
hand. His daughters looked at him and did not comprehend, or choose
to comprehend, the signal; nor did the servants at first understand
it.

"Take that plate away," at last he said, getting up with an oath—
and with this pushing his chair back, he walked into his own room.

Behind Mr. Osborne's dining-room was the usual apartment which went
in his house by the name of the study; and was sacred to the master
of the house. Hither Mr. Osborne would retire of a Sunday forenoon
when not minded to go to church; and here pass the morning in his
crimson leather chair, reading the paper. A couple of glazed book-
cases were here, containing standard works in stout gilt bindings.
The "Annual Register," the "Gentleman's Magazine," "Blair's
Sermons," and "Hume and Smollett." From year's end to year's end he
never took one of these volumes from the shelf; but there was no
member of the family that would dare for his life to touch one of
the books, except upon those rare Sunday evenings when there was no
dinner-party, and when the great scarlet Bible and Prayer-book were
taken out from the corner where they stood beside his copy of the
Peerage, and the servants being rung up to the dining parlour,
Osborne read the evening service to his family in a loud grating
pompous voice. No member of the household, child, or domestic, ever
entered that room without a certain terror. Here he checked the
housekeeper's accounts, and overhauled the butler's cellar-book.
Hence he could command, across the clean gravel court-yard, the back
entrance of the stables with which one of his bells communicated,
and into this yard the coachman issued from his premises as into a
dock, and Osborne swore at him from the study window. Four times a
year Miss Wirt entered this apartment to get her salary; and his
daughters to receive their quarterly allowance. George as a boy had
been horsewhipped in this room many times; his mother sitting sick
on the stair listening to the cuts of the whip. The boy was
scarcely ever known to cry under the punishment; the poor woman used
to fondle and kiss him secretly, and give him money to soothe him
when he came out.

There was a picture of the family over the mantelpiece, removed
thither from the front room after Mrs. Osborne's death—George was
on a pony, the elder sister holding him up a bunch of flowers; the
younger led by her mother's hand; all with red cheeks and large red
mouths, simpering on each other in the approved family-portrait
manner. The mother lay underground now, long since forgotten—the
sisters and brother had a hundred different interests of their own,
and, familiar still, were utterly estranged from each other. Some
few score of years afterwards, when all the parties represented are
grown old, what bitter satire there is in those flaunting childish
family-portraits, with their farce of sentiment and smiling lies,
and innocence so self-conscious and self-satisfied. Osborne's own
state portrait, with that of his great silver inkstand and arm-
chair, had taken the place of honour in the dining-room, vacated by
the family-piece.

To this study old Osborne retired then, greatly to the relief of the
small party whom he left. When the servants had withdrawn, they
began to talk for a while volubly but very low; then they went
upstairs quietly, Mr. Bullock accompanying them stealthily on his
creaking shoes. He had no heart to sit alone drinking wine, and so
close to the terrible old gentleman in the study hard at hand.

An hour at least after dark, the butler, not having received any
summons, ventured to tap at his door and take him in wax candles and
tea. The master of the house sate in his chair, pretending to read
the paper, and when the servant, placing the lights and refreshment
on the table by him, retired, Mr. Osborne got up and locked the door
after him. This time there was no mistaking the matter; all the
household knew that some great catastrophe was going to happen which
was likely direly to affect Master George.

In the large shining mahogany escritoire Mr. Osborne had a drawer
especially devoted to his son's affairs and papers. Here he kept
all the documents relating to him ever since he had been a boy: here
were his prize copy-books and drawing-books, all bearing George's
hand, and that of the master: here were his first letters in large
round-hand sending his love to papa and mamma, and conveying his
petitions for a cake. His dear godpapa Sedley was more than once
mentioned in them. Curses quivered on old Osborne's livid lips, and
horrid hatred and disappointment writhed in his heart, as looking
through some of these papers he came on that name. They were all
marked and docketed, and tied with red tape. It was—"From Georgy,
requesting 5s., April 23, 18—; answered, April 25"—or "Georgy
about a pony, October 13"—and so forth. In another packet were "Dr.
S.'s accounts"—"G.'s tailor's bills and outfits, drafts on me by G.
Osborne, jun.," &c.—his letters from the West Indies—his agent's
letters, and the newspapers containing his commissions: here was a
whip he had when a boy, and in a paper a locket containing his hair,
which his mother used to wear.

Turning one over after another, and musing over these memorials, the
unhappy man passed many hours. His dearest vanities, ambitious
hopes, had all been here. What pride he had in his boy! He was the
handsomest child ever seen. Everybody said he was like a nobleman's
son. A royal princess had remarked him, and kissed him, and asked
his name in Kew Gardens. What City man could show such another?
Could a prince have been better cared for? Anything that money
could buy had been his son's. He used to go down on speech-days
with four horses and new liveries, and scatter new shillings among
the boys at the school where George was: when he went with George
to the depot of his regiment, before the boy embarked for Canada, he
gave the officers such a dinner as the Duke of York might have sat
down to. Had he ever refused a bill when George drew one? There
they were—paid without a word. Many a general in the army couldn't
ride the horses he had! He had the child before his eyes, on a
hundred different days when he remembered George after dinner, when
he used to come in as bold as a lord and drink off his glass by his
father's side, at the head of the table—on the pony at Brighton,
when he cleared the hedge and kept up with the huntsman—on the day
when he was presented to the Prince Regent at the levee, when all
Saint James's couldn't produce a finer young fellow. And this, this
was the end of all!—to marry a bankrupt and fly in the face of duty
and fortune! What humiliation and fury: what pangs of sickening
rage, balked ambition and love; what wounds of outraged vanity,
tenderness even, had this old worldling now to suffer under!

Having examined these papers, and pondered over this one and the
other, in that bitterest of all helpless woe, with which miserable
men think of happy past times—George's father took the whole of the
documents out of the drawer in which he had kept them so long, and
locked them into a writing-box, which he tied, and sealed with his
seal. Then he opened the book-case, and took down the great red
Bible we have spoken of a pompous book, seldom looked at, and
shining all over with gold. There was a frontispiece to the volume,
representing Abraham sacrificing Isaac. Here, according to custom,
Osborne had recorded on the fly-leaf, and in his large clerk-like
hand, the dates of his marriage and his wife's death, and the births
and Christian names of his children. Jane came first, then George
Sedley Osborne, then Maria Frances, and the days of the christening
of each. Taking a pen, he carefully obliterated George's names from
the page; and when the leaf was quite dry, restored the volume to
the place from which he had moved it. Then he took a document out
of another drawer, where his own private papers were kept; and
having read it, crumpled it up and lighted it at one of the candles,
and saw it burn entirely away in the grate. It was his will; which
being burned, he sate down and wrote off a letter, and rang for his
servant, whom he charged to deliver it in the morning. It was
morning already: as he went up to bed, the whole house was alight
with the sunshine; and the birds were singing among the fresh green
leaves in Russell Square.

Anxious to keep all Mr. Osborne's family and dependants in good
humour, and to make as many friends as possible for George in his
hour of adversity, William Dobbin, who knew the effect which good
dinners and good wines have upon the soul of man, wrote off
immediately on his return to his inn the most hospitable of
invitations to Thomas Chopper, Esquire, begging that gentleman to
dine with him at the Slaughters' next day. The note reached Mr.
Chopper before he left the City, and the instant reply was, that
"Mr. Chopper presents his respectful compliments, and will have the
honour and pleasure of waiting on Captain D." The invitation and
the rough draft of the answer were shown to Mrs. Chopper and her
daughters on his return to Somers' Town that evening, and they
talked about military gents and West End men with great exultation
as the family sate and partook of tea. When the girls had gone to
rest, Mr. and Mrs. C. discoursed upon the strange events which were
occurring in the governor's family. Never had the clerk seen his
principal so moved. When he went in to Mr. Osborne, after Captain
Dobbin's departure, Mr. Chopper found his chief black in the face,
and all but in a fit: some dreadful quarrel, he was certain, had
occurred between Mr. O. and the young Captain. Chopper had been
instructed to make out an account of all sums paid to Captain
Osborne within the last three years. "And a precious lot of money
he has had too," the chief clerk said, and respected his old and
young master the more, for the liberal way in which the guineas had
been flung about. The dispute was something about Miss Sedley. Mrs.
Chopper vowed and declared she pitied that poor young lady to lose
such a handsome young fellow as the Capting. As the daughter of an
unlucky speculator, who had paid a very shabby dividend, Mr. Chopper
had no great regard for Miss Sedley. He respected the house of
Osborne before all others in the City of London: and his hope and
wish was that Captain George should marry a nobleman's daughter.
The clerk slept a great deal sounder than his principal that night;
and, cuddling his children after breakfast (of which he partook with
a very hearty appetite, though his modest cup of life was only
sweetened with brown sugar), he set off in his best Sunday suit and
frilled shirt for business, promising his admiring wife not to
punish Captain D.'s port too severely that evening.

Mr. Osborne's countenance, when he arrived in the City at his usual
time, struck those dependants who were accustomed, for good reasons,
to watch its expression, as peculiarly ghastly and worn. At twelve
o'clock Mr. Higgs (of the firm of Higgs & Blatherwick, solicitors,
Bedford Row) called by appointment, and was ushered into the
governor's private room, and closeted there for more than an hour.
At about one Mr. Chopper received a note brought by Captain Dobbin's
man, and containing an inclosure for Mr. Osborne, which the clerk
went in and delivered. A short time afterwards Mr. Chopper and Mr.
Birch, the next clerk, were summoned, and requested to witness a
paper. "I've been making a new will," Mr. Osborne said, to which
these gentlemen appended their names accordingly. No conversation
passed. Mr. Higgs looked exceedingly grave as he came into the
outer rooms, and very hard in Mr. Chopper's face; but there were not
any explanations. It was remarked that Mr. Osborne was particularly
quiet and gentle all day, to the surprise of those who had augured
ill from his darkling demeanour. He called no man names that day,
and was not heard to swear once. He left business early; and before
going away, summoned his chief clerk once more, and having given him
general instructions, asked him, after some seeming hesitation and
reluctance to speak, if he knew whether Captain Dobbin was in town?