CHAPTER LII

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.

"What an accomplished little devil it is!" thought he. "What a splendid

actress and manager! She had almost got a second supply out of me the

other day; with her coaxing ways. She beats all the women I have ever

seen in the course of all my well-spent life. They are babies compared

to her. I am a greenhorn myself, and a fool in her hands--an old fool.

She is unsurpassable in lies." His lordship's admiration for Becky rose

immeasurably at this proof of her cleverness. Getting the money was

nothing--but getting double the sum she wanted, and paying nobody--it

was a magnificent stroke. And Crawley, my lord thought--Crawley is not

such a fool as he looks and seems. He has managed the matter cleverly

enough on his side. Nobody would ever have supposed from his face and

demeanour that he knew anything about this money business; and yet he

put her up to it, and has spent the money, no doubt. In this opinion

my lord, we know, was mistaken, but it influenced a good deal his

behaviour towards Colonel Crawley, whom he began to treat with even

less than that semblance of respect which he had formerly shown towards

that gentleman. It never entered into the head of Mrs. Crawley's

patron that the little lady might be making a purse for herself; and,

perhaps, if the truth must be told, he judged of Colonel Crawley by his

experience of other husbands, whom he had known in the course of the

long and well-spent life which had made him acquainted with a great

deal of the weakness of mankind. My lord had bought so many men during

his life that he was surely to be pardoned for supposing that he had

found the price of this one.

He taxed Becky upon the point on the very first occasion when he met

her alone, and he complimented her, good-humouredly, on her cleverness

in getting more than the money which she required. Becky was only a

little taken aback. It was not the habit of this dear creature to tell

falsehoods, except when necessity compelled, but in these great

emergencies it was her practice to lie very freely; and in an instant

she was ready with another neat plausible circumstantial story which

she administered to her patron. The previous statement which she had

made to him was a falsehood--a wicked falsehood--she owned it. But who

had made her tell it? "Ah, my Lord," she said, "you don't know all I

have to suffer and bear in silence; you see me gay and happy before

you--you little know what I have to endure when there is no protector

near me. It was my husband, by threats and the most savage treatment,

forced me to ask for that sum about which I deceived you. It was he

who, foreseeing that questions might be asked regarding the disposal of

the money, forced me to account for it as I did. He took the money.

He told me he had paid Miss Briggs; I did not want, I did not dare to

doubt him. Pardon the wrong which a desperate man is forced to commit,

and pity a miserable, miserable woman." She burst into tears as she

spoke. Persecuted virtue never looked more bewitchingly wretched.

They had a long conversation, driving round and round the Regent's Park

in Mrs. Crawley's carriage together, a conversation of which it is not

necessary to repeat the details, but the upshot of it was that, when

Becky came home, she flew to her dear Briggs with a smiling face and

announced that she had some very good news for her. Lord Steyne had

acted in the noblest and most generous manner. He was always thinking

how and when he could do good. Now that little Rawdon was gone to

school, a dear companion and friend was no longer necessary to her.

She was grieved beyond measure to part with Briggs, but her means

required that she should practise every retrenchment, and her sorrow

was mitigated by the idea that her dear Briggs would be far better

provided for by her generous patron than in her humble home. Mrs.

Pilkington, the housekeeper at Gauntly Hall, was growing exceedingly

old, feeble, and rheumatic: she was not equal to the work of

superintending that vast mansion, and must be on the look out for a

successor. It was a splendid position. The family did not go to

Gauntly once in two years. At other times the housekeeper was the

mistress of the magnificent mansion--had four covers daily for her

table; was visited by the clergy and the most respectable people of the

county--was the lady of Gauntly, in fact; and the two last housekeepers

before Mrs. Pilkington had married rectors of Gauntly--but Mrs. P.

could not, being the aunt of the present Rector. The place was not to

be hers yet, but she might go down on a visit to Mrs. Pilkington and

see whether she would like to succeed her.

What words can paint the ecstatic gratitude of Briggs! All she

stipulated for was that little Rawdon should be allowed to come down

and see her at the Hall. Becky promised this--anything. She ran up to

her husband when he came home and told him the joyful news. Rawdon was

glad, deuced glad; the weight was off his conscience about poor

Briggs's money. She was provided for, at any rate, but--but his mind

was disquiet. He did not seem to be all right, somehow. He told

little Southdown what Lord Steyne had done, and the young man eyed

Crawley with an air which surprised the latter.

He told Lady Jane of this second proof of Steyne's bounty, and she,

too, looked odd and alarmed; so did Sir Pitt. "She is too clever

and--and gay to be allowed to go from party to party without a

companion," both said. "You must go with her, Rawdon, wherever she

goes, and you must have somebody with her--one of the girls from

Queen's Crawley, perhaps, though they were rather giddy guardians for

her."

Somebody Becky should have. But in the meantime it was clear that

honest Briggs must not lose her chance of settlement for life, and so

she and her bags were packed, and she set off on her journey. And so

two of Rawdon's out-sentinels were in the hands of the enemy.

Sir Pitt went and expostulated with his sister-in-law upon the subject

of the dismissal of Briggs and other matters of delicate family

interest. In vain she pointed out to him how necessary was the

protection of Lord Steyne for her poor husband; how cruel it would be

on their part to deprive Briggs of the position offered to her.

Cajolements, coaxings, smiles, tears could not satisfy Sir Pitt, and he

had something very like a quarrel with his once admired Becky. He

spoke of the honour of the family, the unsullied reputation of the

Crawleys; expressed himself in indignant tones about her receiving

those young Frenchmen--those wild young men of fashion, my Lord Steyne

himself, whose carriage was always at her door, who passed hours daily

in her company, and whose constant presence made the world talk about

her. As the head of the house he implored her to be more prudent.

Society was already speaking lightly of her. Lord Steyne, though a

nobleman of the greatest station and talents, was a man whose

attentions would compromise any woman; he besought, he implored, he

commanded his sister-in-law to be watchful in her intercourse with that

nobleman.

Becky promised anything and everything Pitt wanted; but Lord Steyne

came to her house as often as ever, and Sir Pitt's anger increased. I

wonder was Lady Jane angry or pleased that her husband at last found

fault with his favourite Rebecca? Lord Steyne's visits continuing, his

own ceased, and his wife was for refusing all further intercourse with

that nobleman and declining the invitation to the charade-night which

the marchioness sent to her; but Sir Pitt thought it was necessary to

accept it, as his Royal Highness would be there.

Although he went to the party in question, Sir Pitt quitted it very

early, and his wife, too, was very glad to come away. Becky hardly so

much as spoke to him or noticed her sister-in-law. Pitt Crawley

declared her behaviour was monstrously indecorous, reprobated in strong

terms the habit of play-acting and fancy dressing as highly unbecoming

a British female, and after the charades were over, took his brother

Rawdon severely to task for appearing himself and allowing his wife to

join in such improper exhibitions.

Rawdon said she should not join in any more such amusements--but

indeed, and perhaps from hints from his elder brother and sister, he

had already become a very watchful and exemplary domestic character. He

left off his clubs and billiards. He never left home. He took Becky

out to drive; he went laboriously with her to all her parties. Whenever

my Lord Steyne called, he was sure to find the Colonel. And when Becky

proposed to go out without her husband, or received invitations for

herself, he peremptorily ordered her to refuse them: and there was that

in the gentleman's manner which enforced obedience. Little Becky, to

do her justice, was charmed with Rawdon's gallantry. If he was surly,

she never was. Whether friends were present or absent, she had always a

kind smile for him and was attentive to his pleasure and comfort. It

was the early days of their marriage over again: the same good humour,

prevenances, merriment, and artless confidence and regard. "How much

pleasanter it is," she would say, "to have you by my side in the

carriage than that foolish old Briggs! Let us always go on so, dear

Rawdon. How nice it would be, and how happy we should always be, if we

had but the money!" He fell asleep after dinner in his chair; he did

not see the face opposite to him, haggard, weary, and terrible; it

lighted up with fresh candid smiles when he woke. It kissed him gaily.

He wondered that he had ever had suspicions. No, he never had

suspicions; all those dumb doubts and surly misgivings which had been

gathering on his mind were mere idle jealousies. She was fond of him;

she always had been. As for her shining in society, it was no fault of

hers; she was formed to shine there. Was there any woman who could

talk, or sing, or do anything like her? If she would but like the boy!

Rawdon thought. But the mother and son never could be brought together.

And it was while Rawdon's mind was agitated with these doubts and

perplexities that the incident occurred which was mentioned in the last

chapter, and the unfortunate Colonel found himself a prisoner away from

home.