Vanity Fair - Page 211/573

On quitting Brighton, our friend George, as became a person of rank and

fashion travelling in a barouche with four horses, drove in state to a

fine hotel in Cavendish Square, where a suite of splendid rooms, and a

table magnificently furnished with plate and surrounded by a half-dozen

of black and silent waiters, was ready to receive the young gentleman

and his bride. George did the honours of the place with a princely air

to Jos and Dobbin; and Amelia, for the first time, and with exceeding

shyness and timidity, presided at what George called her own table.

George pooh-poohed the wine and bullied the waiters royally, and Jos

gobbled the turtle with immense satisfaction. Dobbin helped him to it;

for the lady of the house, before whom the tureen was placed, was so

ignorant of the contents, that she was going to help Mr. Sedley without

bestowing upon him either calipash or calipee.

The splendour of the entertainment, and the apartments in which it was

given, alarmed Mr. Dobbin, who remonstrated after dinner, when Jos was

asleep in the great chair. But in vain he cried out against the

enormity of turtle and champagne that was fit for an archbishop. "I've

always been accustomed to travel like a gentleman," George said, "and,

damme, my wife shall travel like a lady. As long as there's a shot in

the locker, she shall want for nothing," said the generous fellow,

quite pleased with himself for his magnificence of spirit. Nor did

Dobbin try and convince him that Amelia's happiness was not centred in

turtle-soup.

A while after dinner, Amelia timidly expressed a wish to go and see her

mamma, at Fulham: which permission George granted her with some

grumbling. And she tripped away to her enormous bedroom, in the centre

of which stood the enormous funereal bed, "that the Emperor

Halixander's sister slep in when the allied sufferings was here," and

put on her little bonnet and shawl with the utmost eagerness and

pleasure. George was still drinking claret when she returned to the

dining-room, and made no signs of moving. "Ar'n't you coming with me,

dearest?" she asked him. No; the "dearest" had "business" that night.

His man should get her a coach and go with her. And the coach being at

the door of the hotel, Amelia made George a little disappointed curtsey

after looking vainly into his face once or twice, and went sadly down

the great staircase, Captain Dobbin after, who handed her into the

vehicle, and saw it drive away to its destination. The very valet was

ashamed of mentioning the address to the hackney-coachman before the

hotel waiters, and promised to instruct him when they got further on.

Dobbin walked home to his old quarters and the Slaughters', thinking

very likely that it would be delightful to be in that hackney-coach,

along with Mrs. Osborne. George was evidently of quite a different

taste; for when he had taken wine enough, he went off to half-price at

the play, to see Mr. Kean perform in Shylock. Captain Osborne was a

great lover of the drama, and had himself performed high-comedy

characters with great distinction in several garrison theatrical

entertainments. Jos slept on until long after dark, when he woke up

with a start at the motions of his servant, who was removing and

emptying the decanters on the table; and the hackney-coach stand was

again put into requisition for a carriage to convey this stout hero to

his lodgings and bed.