CHAPTER III

Rebecca Is in Presence of the Enemy

A VERY stout, puffy man, in buckskins and Hessian boots, with several

immense neckcloths that rose almost to his nose, with a red striped

waistcoat and an apple green coat with steel buttons almost as large as

crown pieces (it was the morning costume of a dandy or blood of those

days) was reading the paper by the fire when the two girls entered, and

bounced off his arm-chair, and blushed excessively, and hid his entire

face almost in his neckcloths at this apparition.

"It's only your sister, Joseph," said Amelia, laughing and shaking the

two fingers which he held out. "I've come home FOR GOOD, you know; and

this is my friend, Miss Sharp, whom you have heard me mention."

"No, never, upon my word," said the head under the neckcloth, shaking

very much--"that is, yes--what abominably cold weather, Miss"--and

herewith he fell to poking the fire with all his might, although it was

in the middle of June.

"He's very handsome," whispered Rebecca to Amelia, rather loud.

"Do you think so?" said the latter. "I'll tell him."

"Darling! not for worlds," said Miss Sharp, starting back as timid as a

fawn. She had previously made a respectful virgin-like curtsey to the

gentleman, and her modest eyes gazed so perseveringly on the carpet

that it was a wonder how she should have found an opportunity to see

him.

"Thank you for the beautiful shawls, brother," said Amelia to the fire

poker. "Are they not beautiful, Rebecca?"

"O heavenly!" said Miss Sharp, and her eyes went from the carpet

straight to the chandelier.

Joseph still continued a huge clattering at the poker and tongs,

puffing and blowing the while, and turning as red as his yellow face

would allow him. "I can't make you such handsome presents, Joseph,"

continued his sister, "but while I was at school, I have embroidered

for you a very beautiful pair of braces."

"Good Gad! Amelia," cried the brother, in serious alarm, "what do you

mean?" and plunging with all his might at the bell-rope, that article

of furniture came away in his hand, and increased the honest fellow's

confusion. "For heaven's sake see if my buggy's at the door. I CAN'T

wait. I must go. D---- that groom of mine. I must go."

At this minute the father of the family walked in, rattling his seals

like a true British merchant. "What's the matter, Emmy?" says he.

"Joseph wants me to see if his--his buggy is at the door. What is a

buggy, Papa?"

"It is a one-horse palanquin," said the old gentleman, who was a wag in

his way.

Joseph at this burst out into a wild fit of laughter; in which,

encountering the eye of Miss Sharp, he stopped all of a sudden, as if

he had been shot.

"This young lady is your friend? Miss Sharp, I am very happy to see

you. Have you and Emmy been quarrelling already with Joseph, that he

wants to be off?"

"I promised Bonamy of our service, sir," said Joseph, "to dine with

him."

"O fie! didn't you tell your mother you would dine here?"

"But in this dress it's impossible."

"Look at him, isn't he handsome enough to dine anywhere, Miss Sharp?"

On which, of course, Miss Sharp looked at her friend, and they both set

off in a fit of laughter, highly agreeable to the old gentleman.

"Did you ever see a pair of buckskins like those at Miss Pinkerton's?"

continued he, following up his advantage.

"Gracious heavens! Father," cried Joseph.

"There now, I have hurt his feelings. Mrs. Sedley, my dear, I have

hurt your son's feelings. I have alluded to his buckskins. Ask Miss

Sharp if I haven't? Come, Joseph, be friends with Miss Sharp, and let

us all go to dinner."

"There's a pillau, Joseph, just as you like it, and Papa has brought

home the best turbot in Billingsgate."

"Come, come, sir, walk downstairs with Miss Sharp, and I will follow

with these two young women," said the father, and he took an arm of

wife and daughter and walked merrily off.

If Miss Rebecca Sharp had determined in her heart upon making the

conquest of this big beau, I don't think, ladies, we have any right to

blame her; for though the task of husband-hunting is generally, and

with becoming modesty, entrusted by young persons to their mammas,

recollect that Miss Sharp had no kind parent to arrange these delicate

matters for her, and that if she did not get a husband for herself,

there was no one else in the wide world who would take the trouble off

her hands. What causes young people to "come out," but the noble

ambition of matrimony? What sends them trooping to watering-places?

What keeps them dancing till five o'clock in the morning through a

whole mortal season? What causes them to labour at pianoforte sonatas,

and to learn four songs from a fashionable master at a guinea a lesson,

and to play the harp if they have handsome arms and neat elbows, and to

wear Lincoln Green toxophilite hats and feathers, but that they may

bring down some "desirable" young man with those killing bows and

arrows of theirs? What causes respectable parents to take up their

carpets, set their houses topsy-turvy, and spend a fifth of their

year's income in ball suppers and iced champagne? Is it sheer love of

their species, and an unadulterated wish to see young people happy and

dancing? Psha! they want to marry their daughters; and, as honest Mrs.

Sedley has, in the depths of her kind heart, already arranged a score

of little schemes for the settlement of her Amelia, so also had our

beloved but unprotected Rebecca determined to do her very best to

secure the husband, who was even more necessary for her than for her

friend. She had a vivid imagination; she had, besides, read the Arabian

Nights and Guthrie's Geography; and it is a fact that while she was

dressing for dinner, and after she had asked Amelia whether her brother

was very rich, she had built for herself a most magnificent castle in

the air, of which she was mistress, with a husband somewhere in the

background (she had not seen him as yet, and his figure would not

therefore be very distinct); she had arrayed herself in an infinity of

shawls, turbans, and diamond necklaces, and had mounted upon an

elephant to the sound of the march in Bluebeard, in order to pay a

visit of ceremony to the Grand Mogul. Charming Alnaschar visions! it is

the happy privilege of youth to construct you, and many a fanciful

young creature besides Rebecca Sharp has indulged in these delightful

day-dreams ere now!

Joseph Sedley was twelve years older than his sister Amelia. He was in

the East India Company's Civil Service, and his name appeared, at the

period of which we write, in the Bengal division of the East India

Register, as collector of Boggley Wollah, an honourable and lucrative

post, as everybody knows: in order to know to what higher posts Joseph

rose in the service, the reader is referred to the same periodical.

Boggley Wollah is situated in a fine, lonely, marshy, jungly district,

famous for snipe-shooting, and where not unfrequently you may flush a

tiger. Ramgunge, where there is a magistrate, is only forty miles off,

and there is a cavalry station about thirty miles farther; so Joseph

wrote home to his parents, when he took possession of his

collectorship. He had lived for about eight years of his life, quite

alone, at this charming place, scarcely seeing a Christian face except

twice a year, when the detachment arrived to carry off the revenues

which he had collected, to Calcutta.

Luckily, at this time he caught a liver complaint, for the cure of

which he returned to Europe, and which was the source of great comfort

and amusement to him in his native country. He did not live with his

family while in London, but had lodgings of his own, like a gay young

bachelor. Before he went to India he was too young to partake of the

delightful pleasures of a man about town, and plunged into them on his

return with considerable assiduity. He drove his horses in the Park;

he dined at the fashionable taverns (for the Oriental Club was not as

yet invented); he frequented the theatres, as the mode was in those

days, or made his appearance at the opera, laboriously attired in

tights and a cocked hat.

On returning to India, and ever after, he used to talk of the pleasure

of this period of his existence with great enthusiasm, and give you to

understand that he and Brummel were the leading bucks of the day. But

he was as lonely here as in his jungle at Boggley Wollah. He scarcely

knew a single soul in the metropolis: and were it not for his doctor,

and the society of his blue-pill, and his liver complaint, he must have

died of loneliness. He was lazy, peevish, and a bon-vivant; the

appearance of a lady frightened him beyond measure; hence it was but

seldom that he joined the paternal circle in Russell Square, where

there was plenty of gaiety, and where the jokes of his good-natured old

father frightened his amour-propre. His bulk caused Joseph much

anxious thought and alarm; now and then he would make a desperate

attempt to get rid of his superabundant fat; but his indolence and love

of good living speedily got the better of these endeavours at reform,

and he found himself again at his three meals a day. He never was well

dressed; but he took the hugest pains to adorn his big person, and

passed many hours daily in that occupation. His valet made a fortune

out of his wardrobe: his toilet-table was covered with as many pomatums

and essences as ever were employed by an old beauty: he had tried, in

order to give himself a waist, every girth, stay, and waistband then

invented. Like most fat men, he would have his clothes made too tight,

and took care they should be of the most brilliant colours and youthful

cut. When dressed at length, in the afternoon, he would issue forth to

take a drive with nobody in the Park; and then would come back in order

to dress again and go and dine with nobody at the Piazza Coffee-House.

He was as vain as a girl; and perhaps his extreme shyness was one of

the results of his extreme vanity. If Miss Rebecca can get the better

of him, and at her first entrance into life, she is a young person of

no ordinary cleverness.

The first move showed considerable skill. When she called Sedley a

very handsome man, she knew that Amelia would tell her mother, who

would probably tell Joseph, or who, at any rate, would be pleased by

the compliment paid to her son. All mothers are. If you had told

Sycorax that her son Caliban was as handsome as Apollo, she would have

been pleased, witch as she was. Perhaps, too, Joseph Sedley would

overhear the compliment--Rebecca spoke loud enough--and he did hear,

and (thinking in his heart that he was a very fine man) the praise

thrilled through every fibre of his big body, and made it tingle with

pleasure. Then, however, came a recoil. "Is the girl making fun of

me?" he thought, and straightway he bounced towards the bell, and was

for retreating, as we have seen, when his father's jokes and his

mother's entreaties caused him to pause and stay where he was. He

conducted the young lady down to dinner in a dubious and agitated frame

of mind. "Does she really think I am handsome?" thought he, "or is she

only making game of me?" We have talked of Joseph Sedley being as vain

as a girl. Heaven help us! the girls have only to turn the tables, and

say of one of their own sex, "She is as vain as a man," and they will

have perfect reason. The bearded creatures are quite as eager for

praise, quite as finikin over their toilettes, quite as proud of their

personal advantages, quite as conscious of their powers of fascination,

as any coquette in the world.

Downstairs, then, they went, Joseph very red and blushing, Rebecca very

modest, and holding her green eyes downwards. She was dressed in

white, with bare shoulders as white as snow--the picture of youth,

unprotected innocence, and humble virgin simplicity. "I must be very

quiet," thought Rebecca, "and very much interested about India."

Now we have heard how Mrs. Sedley had prepared a fine curry for her

son, just as he liked it, and in the course of dinner a portion of this

dish was offered to Rebecca. "What is it?" said she, turning an

appealing look to Mr. Joseph.

"Capital," said he. His mouth was full of it: his face quite red with

the delightful exercise of gobbling. "Mother, it's as good as my own

curries in India."

"Oh, I must try some, if it is an Indian dish," said Miss Rebecca. "I

am sure everything must be good that comes from there."

"Give Miss Sharp some curry, my dear," said Mr. Sedley, laughing.

Rebecca had never tasted the dish before.

"Do you find it as good as everything else from India?" said Mr. Sedley.

"Oh, excellent!" said Rebecca, who was suffering tortures with the

cayenne pepper.

"Try a chili with it, Miss Sharp," said Joseph, really interested.

"A chili," said Rebecca, gasping. "Oh yes!" She thought a chili was

something cool, as its name imported, and was served with some. "How

fresh and green they look," she said, and put one into her mouth. It

was hotter than the curry; flesh and blood could bear it no longer.

She laid down her fork. "Water, for Heaven's sake, water!" she cried.

Mr. Sedley burst out laughing (he was a coarse man, from the Stock

Exchange, where they love all sorts of practical jokes). "They are

real Indian, I assure you," said he. "Sambo, give Miss Sharp some

water."

The paternal laugh was echoed by Joseph, who thought the joke capital.

The ladies only smiled a little. They thought poor Rebecca suffered

too much. She would have liked to choke old Sedley, but she swallowed

her mortification as well as she had the abominable curry before it,

and as soon as she could speak, said, with a comical, good-humoured

air, "I ought to have remembered the pepper which the Princess of

Persia puts in the cream-tarts in the Arabian Nights. Do you put

cayenne into your cream-tarts in India, sir?"

Old Sedley began to laugh, and thought Rebecca was a good-humoured

girl. Joseph simply said, "Cream-tarts, Miss? Our cream is very bad in

Bengal. We generally use goats' milk; and, 'gad, do you know, I've got

to prefer it!"

"You won't like EVERYTHING from India now, Miss Sharp," said the old

gentleman; but when the ladies had retired after dinner, the wily old

fellow said to his son, "Have a care, Joe; that girl is setting her cap

at you."

"Pooh! nonsense!" said Joe, highly flattered. "I recollect, sir, there

was a girl at Dumdum, a daughter of Cutler of the Artillery, and

afterwards married to Lance, the surgeon, who made a dead set at me in

the year '4--at me and Mulligatawney, whom I mentioned to you before

dinner--a devilish good fellow Mulligatawney--he's a magistrate at

Budgebudge, and sure to be in council in five years. Well, sir, the

Artillery gave a ball, and Quintin, of the King's 14th, said to me,

'Sedley,' said he, 'I bet you thirteen to ten that Sophy Cutler hooks

either you or Mulligatawney before the rains.' 'Done,' says I; and

egad, sir--this claret's very good. Adamson's or Carbonell's?"

A slight snore was the only reply: the honest stockbroker was asleep,

and so the rest of Joseph's story was lost for that day. But he was

always exceedingly communicative in a man's party, and has told this

delightful tale many scores of times to his apothecary, Dr. Gollop,

when he came to inquire about the liver and the blue-pill.

Being an invalid, Joseph Sedley contented himself with a bottle of

claret besides his Madeira at dinner, and he managed a couple of plates

full of strawberries and cream, and twenty-four little rout cakes that

were lying neglected in a plate near him, and certainly (for novelists

have the privilege of knowing everything) he thought a great deal about

the girl upstairs. "A nice, gay, merry young creature," thought he to

himself. "How she looked at me when I picked up her handkerchief at

dinner! She dropped it twice. Who's that singing in the drawing-room?

'Gad! shall I go up and see?"

But his modesty came rushing upon him with uncontrollable force. His

father was asleep: his hat was in the hall: there was a hackney-coach

standing hard by in Southampton Row. "I'll go and see the Forty

Thieves," said he, "and Miss Decamp's dance"; and he slipped away

gently on the pointed toes of his boots, and disappeared, without

waking his worthy parent.

"There goes Joseph," said Amelia, who was looking from the open windows

of the drawing-room, while Rebecca was singing at the piano.

"Miss Sharp has frightened him away," said Mrs. Sedley. "Poor Joe, why

WILL he be so shy?"