Vanity Fair - Page 337/573

"My dear," interposed the Magistrate and Rector--"she's only--"

"Are there no handcuffs?" Mrs. Bute continued, stamping in her clogs.

"There used to be handcuffs. Where's the creature's abominable father?"

"He DID give 'em me," still cried poor Betsy; "didn't he, Hester? You

saw Sir Pitt--you know you did--give 'em me, ever so long ago--the day

after Mudbury fair: not that I want 'em. Take 'em if you think they

ain't mine." And here the unhappy wretch pulled out from her pocket a

large pair of paste shoe-buckles which had excited her admiration, and

which she had just appropriated out of one of the bookcases in the

study, where they had lain.

"Law, Betsy, how could you go for to tell such a wicked story!" said

Hester, the little kitchen-maid late on her promotion--"and to Madame

Crawley, so good and kind, and his Rev'rince (with a curtsey), and you

may search all MY boxes, Mum, I'm sure, and here's my keys as I'm an

honest girl, though of pore parents and workhouse bred--and if you find

so much as a beggarly bit of lace or a silk stocking out of all the

gownds as YOU'VE had the picking of, may I never go to church agin."

"Give up your keys, you hardened hussy," hissed out the virtuous little

lady in the calash.

"And here's a candle, Mum, and if you please, Mum, I can show you her

room, Mum, and the press in the housekeeper's room, Mum, where she

keeps heaps and heaps of things, Mum," cried out the eager little

Hester with a profusion of curtseys.

"Hold your tongue, if you please. I know the room which the creature

occupies perfectly well. Mrs. Brown, have the goodness to come with

me, and Beddoes don't you lose sight of that woman," said Mrs. Bute,

seizing the candle. "Mr. Crawley, you had better go upstairs and see

that they are not murdering your unfortunate brother"--and the calash,

escorted by Mrs. Brown, walked away to the apartment which, as she said

truly, she knew perfectly well.

Bute went upstairs and found the Doctor from Mudbury, with the

frightened Horrocks over his master in a chair. They were trying to

bleed Sir Pitt Crawley.

With the early morning an express was sent off to Mr. Pitt Crawley by

the Rector's lady, who assumed the command of everything, and had

watched the old Baronet through the night. He had been brought back to

a sort of life; he could not speak, but seemed to recognize people.

Mrs. Bute kept resolutely by his bedside. She never seemed to want to

sleep, that little woman, and did not close her fiery black eyes once,

though the Doctor snored in the arm-chair. Horrocks made some wild

efforts to assert his authority and assist his master; but Mrs. Bute

called him a tipsy old wretch and bade him never show his face again in

that house, or he should be transported like his abominable daughter.