Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray (best thriller novels to read TXT) 📕

a leaf of the door as the carriage pulled up at the familiar steps. Rawdon turned red, and Becky somewhat pale, as they passed through the old hall, arm in arm. She pinched her husband’s arm as they entered the oak parlour, where Sir Pitt and his wife were ready to receive them. Sir Pitt in black, Lady Jane in black, and my Lady Southdown with a large black headpiece of bugles and feathers, which waved on her Ladyship’s head like an undertaker’s tray.

Sir Pitt had judged correctly, that she would not quit the premises. She contented herself by preserving a solemn and stony silence, when in company of Pitt and his rebellious wife, and by frightening the children in the nursery by the ghastly gloom of her demeanour. Only a very faint bending of the headdress and plumes welcomed Rawdon and his wife, as those prodigals returned to their family.

To say the truth, they were not affected very much one way or other by this coolness. Her Ladyship was a person only of secondary consideration in their minds just then⁠—they were intent upon the reception which the reigning brother and sister would afford them.

Pitt, with rather a heightened colour, went up and shook his brother by the hand, and saluted Rebecca with a handshake and a very low bow. But Lady Jane took both the hands of her sister-in-law and kissed her affectionately. The embrace somehow brought tears into the eyes of the little adventuress⁠—which ornaments, as we know, she wore very seldom. The artless mark of kindness and confidence touched and pleased her; and Rawdon, encouraged by this demonstration on his sister’s part, twirled up his mustachios and took leave to salute Lady Jane with a kiss, which caused her Ladyship to blush exceedingly.

“Dev’lish nice little woman, Lady Jane,” was his verdict, when he and his wife were together again. “Pitt’s got fat, too, and is doing the thing handsomely.”

“He can afford it,” said Rebecca and agreed in her husband’s farther opinion “that the mother-in-law was a tremendous old Guy⁠—and that the sisters were rather well-looking young women.”

They, too, had been summoned from school to attend the funeral ceremonies. It seemed Sir Pitt Crawley, for the dignity of the house and family, had thought right to have about the place as many persons in black as could possibly be assembled. All the men and maids of the house, the old women of the Alms House, whom the elder Sir Pitt had cheated out of a great portion of their due, the parish clerk’s family, and the special retainers of both Hall and Rectory were habited in sable; added to these, the undertaker’s men, at least a score, with crapes and hatbands, and who made goodly show when the great burying show took place⁠—but these are mute personages in our drama; and having nothing to do or say, need occupy a very little space here.

With regard to her sisters-in-law Rebecca did not attempt to forget her former position of Governess towards them, but recalled it frankly and kindly, and asked them about their studies with great gravity, and told them that she had thought of them many and many a day, and longed to know of their welfare. In fact you would have supposed that ever since she had left them she had not ceased to keep them uppermost in her thoughts and to take the tenderest interest in their welfare. So supposed Lady Crawley herself and her young sisters.

“She’s hardly changed since eight years,” said Miss Rosalind to Miss Violet, as they were preparing for dinner.

“Those red-haired women look wonderfully well,” replied the other.

“Hers is much darker than it was; I think she must dye it,” Miss Rosalind added. “She is stouter, too, and altogether improved,” continued Miss Rosalind, who was disposed to be very fat.

“At least she gives herself no airs and remembers that she was our Governess once,” Miss Violet said, intimating that it befitted all governesses to keep their proper place, and forgetting altogether that she was granddaughter not only of Sir Walpole Crawley, but of Mr. Dawson of Mudbury, and so had a coal-scuttle in her scutcheon. There are other very well-meaning people whom one meets every day in Vanity Fair who are surely equally oblivious.

“It can’t be true what the girls at the Rectory said, that her mother was an opera-dancer⁠—”

“A person can’t help their birth,” Rosalind replied with great liberality. “And I agree with our brother, that as she is in the family, of course we are bound to notice her. I am sure Aunt Bute need not talk; she wants to marry Kate to young Hooper, the wine-merchant, and absolutely asked him to come to the Rectory for orders.”

“I wonder whether Lady Southdown will go away, she looked very glum upon Mrs. Rawdon,” the other said.

“I wish she would. I won’t read the Washerwoman of Finchley Common,” vowed Violet; and so saying, and avoiding a passage at the end of which a certain coffin was placed with a couple of watchers, and lights perpetually burning in the closed room, these young women came down to the family dinner, for which the bell rang as usual.

But before this, Lady Jane conducted Rebecca to the apartments prepared for her, which, with the rest of the house, had assumed a very much improved appearance of order and comfort during Pitt’s regency, and here beholding that Mrs. Rawdon’s modest little trunks had arrived, and were placed in the bedroom and dressing-room adjoining, helped her to take off her neat black bonnet and cloak, and asked her sister-in-law in what more she could be useful.

“What I should like best,” said Rebecca, “would be to go to the nursery and see your dear little children.” On which the two ladies looked very kindly at each other and went to that apartment hand in hand.

Becky admired little Matilda, who was not quite four years old, as the most charming little love in the world; and the boy, a little fellow