Vanity Fair - Page 203/573

"We might as well be in London as here," Captain Rawdon often said,

with a downcast air.

"A comfortable inn in Brighton is better than a spunging-house in

Chancery Lane," his wife answered, who was of a more cheerful

temperament. "Think of those two aides-de-camp of Mr. Moses, the

sheriff's-officer, who watched our lodging for a week. Our friends

here are very stupid, but Mr. Jos and Captain Cupid are better

companions than Mr. Moses's men, Rawdon, my love."

"I wonder the writs haven't followed me down here," Rawdon continued,

still desponding.

"When they do, we'll find means to give them the slip," said dauntless

little Becky, and further pointed out to her husband the great comfort

and advantage of meeting Jos and Osborne, whose acquaintance had

brought to Rawdon Crawley a most timely little supply of ready money.

"It will hardly be enough to pay the inn bill," grumbled the Guardsman.

"Why need we pay it?" said the lady, who had an answer for everything.

Through Rawdon's valet, who still kept up a trifling acquaintance with

the male inhabitants of Miss Crawley's servants' hall, and was

instructed to treat the coachman to drink whenever they met, old Miss

Crawley's movements were pretty well known by our young couple; and

Rebecca luckily bethought herself of being unwell, and of calling in

the same apothecary who was in attendance upon the spinster, so that

their information was on the whole tolerably complete. Nor was Miss

Briggs, although forced to adopt a hostile attitude, secretly inimical

to Rawdon and his wife. She was naturally of a kindly and forgiving

disposition. Now that the cause of jealousy was removed, her dislike

for Rebecca disappeared also, and she remembered the latter's

invariable good words and good humour. And, indeed, she and Mrs.

Firkin, the lady's-maid, and the whole of Miss Crawley's household,

groaned under the tyranny of the triumphant Mrs. Bute.

As often will be the case, that good but imperious woman pushed her

advantages too far, and her successes quite unmercifully. She had in

the course of a few weeks brought the invalid to such a state of

helpless docility, that the poor soul yielded herself entirely to her

sister's orders, and did not even dare to complain of her slavery to

Briggs or Firkin. Mrs. Bute measured out the glasses of wine which

Miss Crawley was daily allowed to take, with irresistible accuracy,

greatly to the annoyance of Firkin and the butler, who found themselves

deprived of control over even the sherry-bottle. She apportioned the

sweetbreads, jellies, chickens; their quantity and order. Night and

noon and morning she brought the abominable drinks ordained by the

Doctor, and made her patient swallow them with so affecting an

obedience that Firkin said "my poor Missus du take her physic like a

lamb." She prescribed the drive in the carriage or the ride in the

chair, and, in a word, ground down the old lady in her convalescence in

such a way as only belongs to your proper-managing, motherly moral

woman. If ever the patient faintly resisted, and pleaded for a little

bit more dinner or a little drop less medicine, the nurse threatened

her with instantaneous death, when Miss Crawley instantly gave in.

"She's no spirit left in her," Firkin remarked to Briggs; "she ain't

ave called me a fool these three weeks." Finally, Mrs. Bute had made up

her mind to dismiss the aforesaid honest lady's-maid, Mr. Bowls the

large confidential man, and Briggs herself, and to send for her

daughters from the Rectory, previous to removing the dear invalid

bodily to Queen's Crawley, when an odious accident happened which

called her away from duties so pleasing. The Reverend Bute Crawley,

her husband, riding home one night, fell with his horse and broke his

collar-bone. Fever and inflammatory symptoms set in, and Mrs. Bute was

forced to leave Sussex for Hampshire. As soon as ever Bute was

restored, she promised to return to her dearest friend, and departed,

leaving the strongest injunctions with the household regarding their

behaviour to their mistress; and as soon as she got into the

Southampton coach, there was such a jubilee and sense of relief in all

Miss Crawley's house, as the company of persons assembled there had not

experienced for many a week before. That very day Miss Crawley left

off her afternoon dose of medicine: that afternoon Bowls opened an

independent bottle of sherry for himself and Mrs. Firkin: that night

Miss Crawley and Miss Briggs indulged in a game of piquet instead of

one of Porteus's sermons. It was as in the old nursery-story, when

the stick forgot to beat the dog, and the whole course of events

underwent a peaceful and happy revolution.