Vanity Fair (40 page)

Chopper said he believed he was. Indeed both of them knew the fact
perfectly.

Osborne took a letter directed to that officer, and giving it to the
clerk, requested the latter to deliver it into Dobbin's own hands
immediately.

"And now, Chopper," says he, taking his hat, and with a strange
look, "my mind will be easy." Exactly as the clock struck two
(there was no doubt an appointment between the pair) Mr. Frederick
Bullock called, and he and Mr. Osborne walked away together.

The Colonel of the —th regiment, in which Messieurs Dobbin and
Osborne had companies, was an old General who had made his first
campaign under Wolfe at Quebec, and was long since quite too old and
feeble for command; but he took some interest in the regiment of
which he was the nominal head, and made certain of his young
officers welcome at his table, a kind of hospitality which I believe
is not now common amongst his brethren. Captain Dobbin was an
especial favourite of this old General. Dobbin was versed in the
literature of his profession, and could talk about the great
Frederick, and the Empress Queen, and their wars, almost as well as
the General himself, who was indifferent to the triumphs of the
present day, and whose heart was with the tacticians of fifty years
back. This officer sent a summons to Dobbin to come and breakfast
with him, on the morning when Mr. Osborne altered his will and Mr.
Chopper put on his best shirt frill, and then informed his young
favourite, a couple of days in advance, of that which they were all
expecting—a marching order to go to Belgium. The order for the
regiment to hold itself in readiness would leave the Horse Guards in
a day or two; and as transports were in plenty, they would get their
route before the week was over. Recruits had come in during the
stay of the regiment at Chatham; and the old General hoped that the
regiment which had helped to beat Montcalm in Canada, and to rout
Mr. Washington on Long Island, would prove itself worthy of its
historical reputation on the oft-trodden battle-grounds of the Low
Countries. "And so, my good friend, if you have any affaire la,
said the old General, taking a pinch of snuff with his trembling
white old hand, and then pointing to the spot of his robe de chambre
under which his heart was still feebly beating, "if you have any
Phillis to console, or to bid farewell to papa and mamma, or any
will to make, I recommend you to set about your business without
delay." With which the General gave his young friend a finger to
shake, and a good-natured nod of his powdered and pigtailed head;
and the door being closed upon Dobbin, sate down to pen a poulet (he
was exceedingly vain of his French) to Mademoiselle Amenaide of His
Majesty's Theatre.

This news made Dobbin grave, and he thought of our friends at
Brighton, and then he was ashamed of himself that Amelia was always
the first thing in his thoughts (always before anybody—before
father and mother, sisters and duty—always at waking and sleeping
indeed, and all day long); and returning to his hotel, he sent off a
brief note to Mr. Osborne acquainting him with the information which
he had received, and which might tend farther, he hoped, to bring
about a reconciliation with George.

This note, despatched by the same messenger who had carried the
invitation to Chopper on the previous day, alarmed the worthy clerk
not a little. It was inclosed to him, and as he opened the letter
he trembled lest the dinner should be put off on which he was
calculating. His mind was inexpressibly relieved when he found that
the envelope was only a reminder for himself. ("I shall expect you
at half-past five," Captain Dobbin wrote.) He was very much
interested about his employer's family; but, que voulez-vous? a
grand dinner was of more concern to him than the affairs of any
other mortal.

Dobbin was quite justified in repeating the General's information to
any officers of the regiment whom he should see in the course of his
peregrinations; accordingly he imparted it to Ensign Stubble, whom
he met at the agent's, and who—such was his military ardour—went
off instantly to purchase a new sword at the accoutrement-maker's.
Here this young fellow, who, though only seventeen years of age, and
about sixty-five inches high, with a constitution naturally rickety
and much impaired by premature brandy and water, had an undoubted
courage and a lion's heart, poised, tried, bent, and balanced a
weapon such as he thought would do execution amongst Frenchmen.
Shouting "Ha, ha!" and stamping his little feet with tremendous
energy, he delivered the point twice or thrice at Captain Dobbin,
who parried the thrust laughingly with his bamboo walking-stick.

Mr. Stubble, as may be supposed from his size and slenderness, was
of the Light Bobs. Ensign Spooney, on the contrary, was a tall
youth, and belonged to (Captain Dobbin's) the Grenadier Company, and
he tried on a new bearskin cap, under which he looked savage beyond
his years. Then these two lads went off to the Slaughters', and
having ordered a famous dinner, sate down and wrote off letters to
the kind anxious parents at home—letters full of love and
heartiness, and pluck and bad spelling. Ah! there were many anxious
hearts beating through England at that time; and mothers' prayers
and tears flowing in many homesteads.

Seeing young Stubble engaged in composition at one of the coffee-
room tables at the Slaughters', and the tears trickling down his
nose on to the paper (for the youngster was thinking of his mamma,
and that he might never see her again), Dobbin, who was going to
write off a letter to George Osborne, relented, and locked up his
desk. "Why should I?" said he. "Let her have this night happy.
I'll go and see my parents early in the morning, and go down to
Brighton myself to-morrow."

So he went up and laid his big hand on young Stubble's shoulder, and
backed up that young champion, and told him if he would leave off
brandy and water he would be a good soldier, as he always was a
gentlemanly good-hearted fellow. Young Stubble's eyes brightened up
at this, for Dobbin was greatly respected in the regiment, as the
best officer and the cleverest man in it.

"Thank you, Dobbin," he said, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, "I
was just—just telling her I would. And, O Sir, she's so dam kind
to me." The water pumps were at work again, and I am not sure that
the soft-hearted Captain's eyes did not also twinkle.

The two ensigns, the Captain, and Mr. Chopper, dined together in the
same box. Chopper brought the letter from Mr. Osborne, in which the
latter briefly presented his compliments to Captain Dobbin, and
requested him to forward the inclosed to Captain George Osborne.
Chopper knew nothing further; he described Mr. Osborne's appearance,
it is true, and his interview with his lawyer, wondered how the
governor had sworn at nobody, and—especially as the wine circled
round—abounded in speculations and conjectures. But these grew
more vague with every glass, and at length became perfectly
unintelligible. At a late hour Captain Dobbin put his guest into a
hackney coach, in a hiccupping state, and swearing that he would be
the kick—the kick—Captain's friend for ever and ever.

When Captain Dobbin took leave of Miss Osborne we have said that he
asked leave to come and pay her another visit, and the spinster
expected him for some hours the next day, when, perhaps, had he
come, and had he asked her that question which she was prepared to
answer, she would have declared herself as her brother's friend, and
a reconciliation might have been effected between George and his
angry father. But though she waited at home the Captain never came.
He had his own affairs to pursue; his own parents to visit and
console; and at an early hour of the day to take his place on the
Lightning coach, and go down to his friends at Brighton. In the
course of the day Miss Osborne heard her father give orders that
that meddling scoundrel, Captain Dobbin, should never be admitted
within his doors again, and any hopes in which she may have indulged
privately were thus abruptly brought to an end. Mr. Frederick
Bullock came, and was particularly affectionate to Maria, and
attentive to the broken-spirited old gentleman. For though he said
his mind would be easy, the means which he had taken to secure quiet
did not seem to have succeeded as yet, and the events of the past
two days had visibly shattered him.

In Which All the Principal Personages Think Fit to Leave Brighton

Conducted to the ladies, at the Ship Inn, Dobbin assumed a jovial
and rattling manner, which proved that this young officer was
becoming a more consummate hypocrite every day of his life. He was
trying to hide his own private feelings, first upon seeing Mrs.
George Osborne in her new condition, and secondly to mask the
apprehensions he entertained as to the effect which the dismal news
brought down by him would certainly have upon her.

"It is my opinion, George," he said, "that the French Emperor will
be upon us, horse and foot, before three weeks are over, and will
give the Duke such a dance as shall make the Peninsula appear mere
child's play. But you need not say that to Mrs. Osborne, you know.
There mayn't be any fighting on our side after all, and our business
in Belgium may turn out to be a mere military occupation. Many
persons think so; and Brussels is full of fine people and ladies of
fashion." So it was agreed to represent the duty of the British army
in Belgium in this harmless light to Amelia.

This plot being arranged, the hypocritical Dobbin saluted Mrs.
George Osborne quite gaily, tried to pay her one or two compliments
relative to her new position as a bride (which compliments, it must
be confessed, were exceedingly clumsy and hung fire woefully), and
then fell to talking about Brighton, and the sea-air, and the
gaieties of the place, and the beauties of the road and the merits
of the Lightning coach and horses—all in a manner quite
incomprehensible to Amelia, and very amusing to Rebecca, who was
watching the Captain, as indeed she watched every one near whom she
came.

Little Amelia, it must be owned, had rather a mean opinion of her
husband's friend, Captain Dobbin. He lisped—he was very plain and
homely-looking: and exceedingly awkward and ungainly. She liked him
for his attachment to her husband (to be sure there was very little
merit in that), and she thought George was most generous and kind in
extending his friendship to his brother officer. George had mimicked
Dobbin's lisp and queer manners many times to her, though to do him
justice, he always spoke most highly of his friend's good qualities.
In her little day of triumph, and not knowing him intimately as yet,
she made light of honest William—and he knew her opinions of him
quite well, and acquiesced in them very humbly. A time came when
she knew him better, and changed her notions regarding him; but that
was distant as yet.

As for Rebecca, Captain Dobbin had not been two hours in the ladies'
company before she understood his secret perfectly. She did not
like him, and feared him privately; nor was he very much
prepossessed in her favour. He was so honest, that her arts and
cajoleries did not affect him, and he shrank from her with
instinctive repulsion. And, as she was by no means so far superior
to her sex as to be above jealousy, she disliked him the more for
his adoration of Amelia. Nevertheless, she was very respectful and
cordial in her manner towards him. A friend to the Osbornes! a
friend to her dearest benefactors! She vowed she should always love
him sincerely: she remembered him quite well on the Vauxhall night,
as she told Amelia archly, and she made a little fun of him when the
two ladies went to dress for dinner. Rawdon Crawley paid scarcely
any attention to Dobbin, looking upon him as a good-natured
nincompoop and under-bred City man. Jos patronised him with much
dignity.

When George and Dobbin were alone in the latter's room, to which
George had followed him, Dobbin took from his desk the letter which
he had been charged by Mr. Osborne to deliver to his son. "It's not
in my father's handwriting," said George, looking rather alarmed;
nor was it: the letter was from Mr. Osborne's lawyer, and to the
following effect:

"Bedford Row, May 7, 1815.

"SIR,

"I am commissioned by Mr. Osborne to inform you, that he abides by
the determination which he before expressed to you, and that in
consequence of the marriage which you have been pleased to contract,
he ceases to consider you henceforth as a member of his family. This
determination is final and irrevocable.

"Although the monies expended upon you in your minority, and the
bills which you have drawn upon him so unsparingly of late years,
far exceed in amount the sum to which you are entitled in your own
right (being the third part of the fortune of your mother, the late
Mrs. Osborne and which reverted to you at her decease, and to Miss
Jane Osborne and Miss Maria Frances Osborne); yet I am instructed by
Mr. Osborne to say, that he waives all claim upon your estate, and
that the sum of 2,000 pounds, 4 per cent. annuities, at the value of
the day (being your one-third share of the sum of 6,000 pounds),
shall be paid over to yourself or your agents upon your receipt
for the same, by

"Your obedient Servt.,
"S. HIGGS.

"P.S.—Mr. Osborne desires me to say, once for all, that he declines
to receive any messages, letters, or communications from you on this
or any other subject.

"A pretty way you have managed the affair," said George, looking
savagely at William Dobbin. "Look there, Dobbin," and he flung over
to the latter his parent's letter. "A beggar, by Jove, and all in
consequence of my d—d sentimentality. Why couldn't we have waited?
A ball might have done for me in the course of the war, and may
still, and how will Emmy be bettered by being left a beggar's widow?
It was all your doing. You were never easy until you had got me
married and ruined. What the deuce am I to do with two thousand
pounds? Such a sum won't last two years. I've lost a hundred and
forty to Crawley at cards and billiards since I've been down here.
A pretty manager of a man's matters YOU are, forsooth."