Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray [free ebook reader for iphone TXT] 📗

of his first wife, having resolved never to marry out of the regiment. Lady O’Dowd is also so attached to it that, she says, if anything were to happen to Mick, bedad she’d come back and marry some of ’em. But the Major-General is quite well and lives in great splendour at O’Dowdstown, with a pack of beagles, and (with the exception of perhaps their neighbour, Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty) he is the first man of his county.

Her Ladyship still dances jigs, and insisted on standing up with the Master of the Horse at the Lord Lieutenant’s last ball. Both she and Glorvina declared that Dobbin had used the latter sheamfully, but Posky falling in, Glorvina was consoled, and a beautiful turban from Paris appeased the wrath of Lady O’Dowd.

When Colonel Dobbin quitted the service, which he did immediately after his marriage, he rented a pretty little country place in Hampshire, not far from Queen’s Crawley, where, after the passing of the Reform Bill, Sir Pitt and his family constantly resided now. All idea of a Peerage was out of the question, the Baronet’s two seats in Parliament being lost. He was both out of pocket and out of spirits by that catastrophe, failed in his health, and prophesied the speedy ruin of the Empire.

Lady Jane and Mrs. Dobbin became great friends⁠—there was a perpetual crossing of pony-chaises between the Hall and the Evergreens, the Colonel’s place (rented of his friend Major Ponto, who was abroad with his family). Her Ladyship was godmother to Mrs. Dobbin’s child, which bore her name, and was christened by the Rev. James Crawley, who succeeded his father in the living: and a pretty close friendship subsisted between the two lads, George and Rawdon, who hunted and shot together in the vacations, were both entered of the same college at Cambridge, and quarrelled with each other about Lady Jane’s daughter, with whom they were both, of course, in love. A match between George and that young lady was long a favourite scheme of both the matrons, though I have heard that Miss Crawley herself inclined towards her cousin.

Mrs. Rawdon Crawley’s name was never mentioned by either family. There were reasons why all should be silent regarding her. For wherever Mr. Joseph Sedley went, she travelled likewise, and that infatuated man seemed to be entirely her slave. The Colonel’s lawyers informed him that his brother-in-law had effected a heavy insurance upon his life, whence it was probable that he had been raising money to discharge debts. He procured prolonged leave of absence from the East India House, and indeed, his infirmities were daily increasing.

On hearing the news about the insurance, Amelia, in a good deal of alarm, entreated her husband to go to Brussels, where Jos then was, and inquire into the state of his affairs. The Colonel quitted home with reluctance (for he was deeply immersed in his History of the Punjaub which still occupies him, and much alarmed about his little daughter, whom he idolizes, and who was just recovering from the chickenpox) and went to Brussels and found Jos living at one of the enormous hotels in that city. Mrs. Crawley, who had her carriage, gave entertainments, and lived in a very genteel manner, occupied another suite of apartments in the same hotel.

The Colonel, of course, did not desire to see that lady, or even think proper to notify his arrival at Brussels, except privately to Jos by a message through his valet. Jos begged the Colonel to come and see him that night, when Mrs. Crawley would be at a soirée, and when they could meet alone. He found his brother-in-law in a condition of pitiable infirmity⁠—and dreadfully afraid of Rebecca, though eager in his praises of her. She tended him through a series of unheard-of illnesses with a fidelity most admirable. She had been a daughter to him. “But⁠—but⁠—oh, for God’s sake, do come and live near me, and⁠—and⁠—see me sometimes,” whimpered out the unfortunate man.

The Colonel’s brow darkened at this.

“We can’t, Jos,” he said. “Considering the circumstances, Amelia can’t visit you.”

“I swear to you⁠—I swear to you on the Bible,” gasped out Joseph, wanting to kiss the book, “that she is as innocent as a child, as spotless as your own wife.”

“It may be so,” said the Colonel gloomily, “but Emmy can’t come to you. Be a man, Jos: break off this disreputable connection. Come home to your family. We hear your affairs are involved.”

“Involved!” cried Jos. “Who has told such calumnies? All my money is placed out most advantageously. Mrs. Crawley⁠—that is⁠—I mean⁠—it is laid out to the best interest.”

“You are not in debt, then? Why did you insure your life?”

“I thought⁠—a little present to her⁠—in case anything happened; and you know my health is so delicate⁠—common gratitude you know⁠—and I intend to leave all my money to you⁠—and I can spare it out of my income, indeed I can,” cried out William’s weak brother-in-law.

The Colonel besought Jos to fly at once⁠—to go back to India, whither Mrs. Crawley could not follow him; to do anything to break off a connection which might have the most fatal consequences to him.

Jos clasped his hands and cried, “He would go back to India. He would do anything, only he must have time: they mustn’t say anything to Mrs. Crawley⁠—she’d⁠—she’d kill me if she knew it. You don’t know what a terrible woman she is,” the poor wretch said.

“Then, why not come away with me?” said Dobbin in reply; but Jos had not the courage. “He would see Dobbin again in the morning; he must on no account say that he had been there. He must go now. Becky might come in.” And Dobbin quitted him, full of forebodings.

He never saw Jos more. Three months afterwards Joseph Sedley died at Aix-la-Chapelle. It was found that all his property had been muddled away in speculations, and was represented by valueless shares in different bubble companies. All his available assets were the two thousand pounds for which his life was insured, and