Vanity Fair (90 page)

"Good night," said Rawdon ruefully. And Wenham walked away—and
Rawdon Crawley finished his cigar as the cab drove under Temple Bar.

In Which Lord Steyne Shows Himself in a Most Amiable Light

When Lord Steyne was benevolently disposed, he did nothing by
halves, and his kindness towards the Crawley family did the greatest
honour to his benevolent discrimination. His lordship extended his
good-will to little Rawdon: he pointed out to the boy's parents the
necessity of sending him to a public school, that he was of an age
now when emulation, the first principles of the Latin language,
pugilistic exercises, and the society of his fellow-boys would be of
the greatest benefit to the boy. His father objected that he was
not rich enough to send the child to a good public school; his
mother that Briggs was a capital mistress for him, and had brought
him on (as indeed was the fact) famously in English, the Latin
rudiments, and in general learning: but all these objections
disappeared before the generous perseverance of the Marquis of
Steyne. His lordship was one of the governors of that famous old
collegiate institution called the Whitefriars. It had been a
Cistercian Convent in old days, when the Smithfield, which is
contiguous to it, was a tournament ground. Obstinate heretics used
to be brought thither convenient for burning hard by. Henry VIII,
the Defender of the Faith, seized upon the monastery and its
possessions and hanged and tortured some of the monks who could not
accommodate themselves to the pace of his reform. Finally, a great
merchant bought the house and land adjoining, in which, and with the
help of other wealthy endowments of land and money, he established a
famous foundation hospital for old men and children. An extern
school grew round the old almost monastic foundation, which subsists
still with its middle-age costume and usages—and all Cistercians
pray that it may long flourish.

Of this famous house, some of the greatest noblemen, prelates, and
dignitaries in England are governors: and as the boys are very
comfortably lodged, fed, and educated, and subsequently inducted to
good scholarships at the University and livings in the Church, many
little gentlemen are devoted to the ecclesiastical profession from
their tenderest years, and there is considerable emulation to
procure nominations for the foundation. It was originally intended
for the sons of poor and deserving clerics and laics, but many of
the noble governors of the Institution, with an enlarged and rather
capricious benevolence, selected all sorts of objects for their
bounty. To get an education for nothing, and a future livelihood and
profession assured, was so excellent a scheme that some of the
richest people did not disdain it; and not only great men's
relations, but great men themselves, sent their sons to profit by
the chance—Right Rev. prelates sent their own kinsmen or the sons
of their clergy, while, on the other hand, some great noblemen did
not disdain to patronize the children of their confidential
servants—so that a lad entering this establishment had every
variety of youthful society wherewith to mingle.

Rawdon Crawley, though the only book which he studied was the Racing
Calendar, and though his chief recollections of polite learning were
connected with the floggings which he received at Eton in his early
youth, had that decent and honest reverence for classical learning
which all English gentlemen feel, and was glad to think that his son
was to have a provision for life, perhaps, and a certain opportunity
of becoming a scholar. And although his boy was his chief solace
and companion, and endeared to him by a thousand small ties, about
which he did not care to speak to his wife, who had all along shown
the utmost indifference to their son, yet Rawdon agreed at once to
part with him and to give up his own greatest comfort and benefit
for the sake of the welfare of the little lad. He did not know how
fond he was of the child until it became necessary to let him go
away. When he was gone, he felt more sad and downcast than he cared
to own—far sadder than the boy himself, who was happy enough to
enter a new career and find companions of his own age. Becky burst
out laughing once or twice when the Colonel, in his clumsy,
incoherent way, tried to express his sentimental sorrows at the
boy's departure. The poor fellow felt that his dearest pleasure and
closest friend was taken from him. He looked often and wistfully at
the little vacant bed in his dressing-room, where the child used to
sleep. He missed him sadly of mornings and tried in vain to walk in
the park without him. He did not know how solitary he was until
little Rawdon was gone. He liked the people who were fond of him,
and would go and sit for long hours with his good-natured sister
Lady Jane, and talk to her about the virtues, and good looks, and
hundred good qualities of the child.

Young Rawdon's aunt, we have said, was very fond of him, as was her
little girl, who wept copiously when the time for her cousin's
departure came. The elder Rawdon was thankful for the fondness of
mother and daughter. The very best and honestest feelings of the
man came out in these artless outpourings of paternal feeling in
which he indulged in their presence, and encouraged by their
sympathy. He secured not only Lady Jane's kindness, but her sincere
regard, by the feelings which he manifested, and which he could not
show to his own wife. The two kinswomen met as seldom as possible.
Becky laughed bitterly at Jane's feelings and softness; the other's
kindly and gentle nature could not but revolt at her sister's
callous behaviour.

It estranged Rawdon from his wife more than he knew or acknowledged
to himself. She did not care for the estrangement. Indeed, she did
not miss him or anybody. She looked upon him as her errand-man and
humble slave. He might be ever so depressed or sulky, and she did
not mark his demeanour, or only treated it with a sneer. She was
busy thinking about her position, or her pleasures, or her
advancement in society; she ought to have held a great place in it,
that is certain.

It was honest Briggs who made up the little kit for the boy which he
was to take to school. Molly, the housemaid, blubbered in the
passage when he went away—Molly kind and faithful in spite of a
long arrear of unpaid wages. Mrs. Becky could not let her husband
have the carriage to take the boy to school. Take the horses into
the City!—such a thing was never heard of. Let a cab be brought.
She did not offer to kiss him when he went, nor did the child
propose to embrace her; but gave a kiss to old Briggs (whom, in
general, he was very shy of caressing), and consoled her by pointing
out that he was to come home on Saturdays, when she would have the
benefit of seeing him. As the cab rolled towards the City, Becky's
carriage rattled off to the park. She was chattering and laughing
with a score of young dandies by the Serpentine as the father and
son entered at the old gates of the school—where Rawdon left the
child and came away with a sadder purer feeling in his heart than
perhaps that poor battered fellow had ever known since he himself
came out of the nursery.

He walked all the way home very dismally, and dined alone with
Briggs. He was very kind to her and grateful for her love and
watchfulness over the boy. His conscience smote him that he had
borrowed Briggs's money and aided in deceiving her. They talked
about little Rawdon a long time, for Becky only came home to dress
and go out to dinner—and then he went off uneasily to drink tea
with Lady Jane, and tell her of what had happened, and how little
Rawdon went off like a trump, and how he was to wear a gown and
little knee-breeches, and how young Blackball, Jack Blackball's son,
of the old regiment, had taken him in charge and promised to be kind
to him.

In the course of a week, young Blackball had constituted little
Rawdon his fag, shoe-black, and breakfast toaster; initiated him
into the mysteries of the Latin Grammar; and thrashed him three or
four times, but not severely. The little chap's good-natured honest
face won his way for him. He only got that degree of beating which
was, no doubt, good for him; and as for blacking shoes, toasting
bread, and fagging in general, were these offices not deemed to be
necessary parts of every young English gentleman's education?

Our business does not lie with the second generation and Master
Rawdon's life at school, otherwise the present tale might be carried
to any indefinite length. The Colonel went to see his son a short
time afterwards and found the lad sufficiently well and happy,
grinning and laughing in his little black gown and little breeches.

His father sagaciously tipped Blackball, his master, a sovereign,
and secured that young gentleman's good-will towards his fag. As a
protege of the great Lord Steyne, the nephew of a County member, and
son of a Colonel and C.B., whose name appeared in some of the most
fashionable parties in the Morning Post, perhaps the school
authorities were disposed not to look unkindly on the child. He had
plenty of pocket-money, which he spent in treating his comrades
royally to raspberry tarts, and he was often allowed to come home on
Saturdays to his father, who always made a jubilee of that day. When
free, Rawdon would take him to the play, or send him thither with
the footman; and on Sundays he went to church with Briggs and Lady
Jane and his cousins. Rawdon marvelled over his stories about
school, and fights, and fagging. Before long, he knew the names of
all the masters and the principal boys as well as little Rawdon
himself. He invited little Rawdon's crony from school, and made
both the children sick with pastry, and oysters, and porter after
the play. He tried to look knowing over the Latin grammar when
little Rawdon showed him what part of that work he was "in." "Stick
to it, my boy," he said to him with much gravity, "there's nothing
like a good classical education! Nothing!"

Becky's contempt for her husband grew greater every day. "Do what
you like—dine where you please—go and have ginger-beer and sawdust
at Astley's, or psalm-singing with Lady Jane—only don't expect me
to busy myself with the boy. I have your interests to attend to, as
you can't attend to them yourself. I should like to know where you
would have been now, and in what sort of a position in society, if I
had not looked after you." Indeed, nobody wanted poor old Rawdon at
the parties whither Becky used to go. She was often asked without
him now. She talked about great people as if she had the fee-simple
of May Fair, and when the Court went into mourning, she always wore
black.

Little Rawdon being disposed of, Lord Steyne, who took such a
parental interest in the affairs of this amiable poor family,
thought that their expenses might be very advantageously curtailed
by the departure of Miss Briggs, and that Becky was quite clever
enough to take the management of her own house. It has been
narrated in a former chapter how the benevolent nobleman had given
his protegee money to pay off her little debt to Miss Briggs, who
however still remained behind with her friends; whence my lord came
to the painful conclusion that Mrs. Crawley had made some other use
of the money confided to her than that for which her generous patron
had given the loan. However, Lord Steyne was not so rude as to
impart his suspicions upon this head to Mrs. Becky, whose feelings
might be hurt by any controversy on the money-question, and who
might have a thousand painful reasons for disposing otherwise of his
lordship's generous loan. But he determined to satisfy himself of
the real state of the case, and instituted the necessary inquiries
in a most cautious and delicate manner.

In the first place he took an early opportunity of pumping Miss
Briggs. That was not a difficult operation. A very little
encouragement would set that worthy woman to talk volubly and pour
out all within her. And one day when Mrs. Rawdon had gone out to
drive (as Mr. Fiche, his lordship's confidential servant, easily
learned at the livery stables where the Crawleys kept their carriage
and horses, or rather, where the livery-man kept a carriage and
horses for Mr. and Mrs. Crawley)—my lord dropped in upon the Curzon
Street house—asked Briggs for a cup of coffee—told her that he had
good accounts of the little boy at school—and in five minutes found
out from her that Mrs. Rawdon had given her nothing except a black
silk gown, for which Miss Briggs was immensely grateful.

He laughed within himself at this artless story. For the truth is,
our dear friend Rebecca had given him a most circumstantial
narration of Briggs's delight at receiving her money—eleven hundred
and twenty-five pounds—and in what securities she had invested it;
and what a pang Becky herself felt in being obliged to pay away such
a delightful sum of money. "Who knows," the dear woman may have
thought within herself, "perhaps he may give me a little more?" My
lord, however, made no such proposal to the little schemer—very
likely thinking that he had been sufficiently generous already.

He had the curiosity, then, to ask Miss Briggs about the state of
her private affairs—and she told his lordship candidly what her
position was—how Miss Crawley had left her a legacy—how her
relatives had had part of it—how Colonel Crawley had put out
another portion, for which she had the best security and interest—
and how Mr. and Mrs. Rawdon had kindly busied themselves with Sir
Pitt, who was to dispose of the remainder most advantageously for
her, when he had time. My lord asked how much the Colonel had
already invested for her, and Miss Briggs at once and truly told him
that the sum was six hundred and odd pounds.

But as soon as she had told her story, the voluble Briggs repented
of her frankness and besought my lord not to tell Mr. Crawley of the
confessions which she had made. "The Colonel was so kind—Mr.
Crawley might be offended and pay back the money, for which she
could get no such good interest anywhere else." Lord Steyne,
laughing, promised he never would divulge their conversation, and
when he and Miss Briggs parted he laughed still more.