Our duty now takes us back for a brief space to some old Hampshireacquaintances of ours, whose hopes respecting the disposal of theirrich kinswoman's property were so woefully disappointed. Aftercounting upon thirty thousand pounds from his sister, it was a heavyblow to Bute Crawley to receive but five; out of which sum, when hehad paid his own debts and those of Jim, his son at college, a verysmall fragment remained to portion off his four plain daughters. Mrs.Bute never knew, or at least never acknowledged, how far her owntyrannous behaviour had tended to ruin her husband. All that womancould do, she vowed and protested she had done. Was it her fault ifshe did not possess those sycophantic arts which her hypocriticalnephew, Pitt Crawley, practised? She wished him all the happiness whichhe merited out of his ill-gotten gains. "At least the money willremain in the family," she said charitably. "Pitt will never spend it,my dear, that is quite certain; for a greater miser does not exist inEngland, and he is as odious, though in a different way, as hisspendthrift brother, the abandoned Rawdon."

So Mrs. Bute, after the first shock of rage and disappointment, beganto accommodate herself as best she could to her altered fortunes and tosave and retrench with all her might. She instructed her daughters howto bear poverty cheerfully, and invented a thousand notable methods toconceal or evade it. She took them about to balls and public places inthe neighbourhood, with praiseworthy energy; nay, she entertained herfriends in a hospitable comfortable manner at the Rectory, and muchmore frequently than before dear Miss Crawley's legacy had fallen in.From her outward bearing nobody would have supposed that the family hadbeen disappointed in their expectations, or have guessed from herfrequent appearance in public how she pinched and starved at home. Hergirls had more milliners' furniture than they had ever enjoyed before.They appeared perseveringly at the Winchester and Southamptonassemblies; they penetrated to Cowes for the race-balls andregatta-gaieties there; and their carriage, with the horses taken fromthe plough, was at work perpetually, until it began almost to bebelieved that the four sisters had had fortunes left them by theiraunt, whose name the family never mentioned in public but with the mosttender gratitude and regard. I know no sort of lying which is morefrequent in Vanity Fair than this, and it may be remarked how peoplewho practise it take credit to themselves for their hypocrisy, andfancy that they are exceedingly virtuous and praiseworthy, because theyare able to deceive the world with regard to the extent of their means.

Mrs. Bute certainly thought herself one of the most virtuous women inEngland, and the sight of her happy family was an edifying one tostrangers. They were so cheerful, so loving, so well-educated, sosimple! Martha painted flowers exquisitely and furnished half thecharity bazaars in the county. Emma was a regular County Bulbul, andher verses in the Hampshire Telegraph were the glory of its Poet'sCorner. Fanny and Matilda sang duets together, Mamma playing thepiano, and the other two sisters sitting with their arms round eachother's waists and listening affectionately. Nobody saw the poor girlsdrumming at the duets in private. No one saw Mamma drilling themrigidly hour after hour. In a word, Mrs. Bute put a good face againstfortune and kept up appearances in the most virtuous manner.

Everything that a good and respectable mother could do Mrs. Bute did.She got over yachting men from Southampton, parsons from the CathedralClose at Winchester, and officers from the barracks there. She tried toinveigle the young barristers at assizes and encouraged Jim to bringhome friends with whom he went out hunting with the H. H. What willnot a mother do for the benefit of her beloved ones?

Between such a woman and her brother-in-law, the odious Baronet at theHall, it is manifest that there could be very little in common. Therupture between Bute and his brother Sir Pitt was complete; indeed,between Sir Pitt and the whole county, to which the old man was ascandal. His dislike for respectable society increased with age, andthe lodge-gates had not opened to a gentleman's carriage-wheels sincePitt and Lady Jane came to pay their visit of duty after their marriage.

That was an awful and unfortunate visit, never to be thought of by thefamily without horror. Pitt begged his wife, with a ghastlycountenance, never to speak of it, and it was only through Mrs. Buteherself, who still knew everything which took place at the Hall, thatthe circumstances of Sir Pitt's reception of his son anddaughter-in-law were ever known at all.

As they drove up the avenue of the park in their neat andwell-appointed carriage, Pitt remarked with dismay and wrath great gapsamong the trees--his trees--which the old Baronet was felling entirelywithout license. The park wore an aspect of utter dreariness and ruin.The drives were ill kept, and the neat carriage splashed and flounderedin muddy pools along the road. The great sweep in front of the terraceand entrance stair was black and covered with mosses; the once trimflower-beds rank and weedy. Shutters were up along almost the wholeline of the house; the great hall-door was unbarred after much ringingof the bell; an individual in ribbons was seen flitting up the blackoak stair, as Horrocks at length admitted the heir of Queen's Crawleyand his bride into the halls of their fathers. He led the way into SirPitt's "Library," as it was called, the fumes of tobacco growingstronger as Pitt and Lady Jane approached that apartment, "Sir Pittain't very well," Horrocks remarked apologetically and hinted that hismaster was afflicted with lumbago.

The library looked out on the front walk and park. Sir Pitt had openedone of the windows, and was bawling out thence to the postilion andPitt's servant, who seemed to be about to take the baggage down.

"Don't move none of them trunks," he cried, pointing with a pipe whichhe held in his hand. "It's only a morning visit, Tucker, you fool.Lor, what cracks that off hoss has in his heels! Ain't there no one atthe King's Head to rub 'em a little? How do, Pitt? How do, my dear?Come to see the old man, hay? 'Gad--you've a pretty face, too. Youain't like that old horse-godmother, your mother. Come and give oldPitt a kiss, like a good little gal."

The embrace disconcerted the daughter-in-law somewhat, as the caressesof the old gentleman, unshorn and perfumed with tobacco, might well do.But she remembered that her brother Southdown had mustachios, andsmoked cigars, and submitted to the Baronet with a tolerable grace.

"Pitt has got vat," said the Baronet, after this mark of affection."Does he read ee very long zermons, my dear? Hundredth Psalm, EveningHymn, hay Pitt? Go and get a glass of Malmsey and a cake for my LadyJane, Horrocks, you great big booby, and don't stand stearing therelike a fat pig. I won't ask you to stop, my dear; you'll find it toostoopid, and so should I too along a Pitt. I'm an old man now, andlike my own ways, and my pipe and backgammon of a night."

"I can play at backgammon, sir," said Lady Jane, laughing. "I used toplay with Papa and Miss Crawley, didn't I, Mr. Crawley?"

"Lady Jane can play, sir, at the game to which you state that you areso partial," Pitt said haughtily.

"But she wawn't stop for all that. Naw, naw, goo back to Mudbury andgive Mrs. Rincer a benefit; or drive down to the Rectory and ask Butyfor a dinner. He'll be charmed to see you, you know; he's so muchobliged to you for gettin' the old woman's money. Ha, ha! Some of itwill do to patch up the Hall when I'm gone."

"I perceive, sir," said Pitt with a heightened voice, "that your peoplewill cut down the timber."

"Yees, yees, very fine weather, and seasonable for the time of year,"Sir Pitt answered, who had suddenly grown deaf. "But I'm gittin' old,Pitt, now. Law bless you, you ain't far from fifty yourself. But hewears well, my pretty Lady Jane, don't he? It's all godliness,sobriety, and a moral life. Look at me, I'm not very fur fromfowr-score--he, he"; and he laughed, and took snuff, and leered at herand pinched her hand.

Pitt once more brought the conversation back to the timber, but theBaronet was deaf again in an instant.

"I'm gittin' very old, and have been cruel bad this year with thelumbago. I shan't be here now for long; but I'm glad ee've come,daughter-in-law. I like your face, Lady Jane: it's got none of thedamned high-boned Binkie look in it; and I'll give ee something pretty,my dear, to go to Court in." And he shuffled across the room to acupboard, from which he took a little old case containing jewels ofsome value. "Take that," said he, "my dear; it belonged to my mother,and afterwards to the first Lady Binkie. Pretty pearls--never gave 'emthe ironmonger's daughter. No, no. Take 'em and put 'em up quick,"said he, thrusting the case into his daughter's hand, and clapping thedoor of the cabinet to, as Horrocks entered with a salver andrefreshments.

"What have you a been and given Pitt's wife?" said the individual inribbons, when Pitt and Lady Jane had taken leave of the old gentleman.It was Miss Horrocks, the butler's daughter--the cause of the scandalthroughout the county--the lady who reigned now almost supreme atQueen's Crawley.

The rise and progress of those Ribbons had been marked with dismay bythe county and family. The Ribbons opened an account at the MudburyBranch Savings Bank; the Ribbons drove to church, monopolising thepony-chaise, which was for the use of the servants at the Hall. Thedomestics were dismissed at her pleasure. The Scotch gardener, whostill lingered on the premises, taking a pride in his walls andhot-houses, and indeed making a pretty good livelihood by the garden,which he farmed, and of which he sold the produce at Southampton, foundthe Ribbons eating peaches on a sunshiny morning at the south-wall, andhad his ears boxed when he remonstrated about this attack on hisproperty. He and his Scotch wife and his Scotch children, the onlyrespectable inhabitants of Queen's Crawley, were forced to migrate,with their goods and their chattels, and left the stately comfortablegardens to go to waste, and the flower-beds to run to seed. Poor LadyCrawley's rose-garden became the dreariest wilderness. Only two orthree domestics shuddered in the bleak old servants' hall. The stablesand offices were vacant, and shut up, and half ruined. Sir Pitt livedin private, and boozed nightly with Horrocks, his butler or house-steward(as he now began to be called), and the abandoned Ribbons. Thetimes were very much changed since the period when she drove to Mudburyin the spring-cart and called the small tradesmen "Sir." It may havebeen shame, or it may have been dislike of his neighbours, but the oldCynic of Queen's Crawley hardly issued from his park-gates at all now.He quarrelled with his agents and screwed his tenants by letter. Hisdays were passed in conducting his own correspondence; the lawyers andfarm-bailiffs who had to do business with him could not reach him butthrough the Ribbons, who received them at the door of the housekeeper'sroom, which commanded the back entrance by which they were admitted;and so the Baronet's daily perplexities increased, and hisembarrassments multiplied round him.

The horror of Pitt Crawley may be imagined, as these reports of hisfather's dotage reached the most exemplary and correct of gentlemen. Hetrembled daily lest he should hear that the Ribbons was proclaimed hissecond legal mother-in-law. After that first and last visit, hisfather's name was never mentioned in Pitt's polite and genteelestablishment. It was the skeleton in his house, and all the familywalked by it in terror and silence. The Countess Southdown kept ondropping per coach at the lodge-gate the most exciting tracts, tractswhich ought to frighten the hair off your head. Mrs. Bute at theparsonage nightly looked out to see if the sky was red over the elmsbehind which the Hall stood, and the mansion was on fire. Sir G.Wapshot and Sir H. Fuddlestone, old friends of the house, wouldn't siton the bench with Sir Pitt at Quarter Sessions, and cut him dead in theHigh Street of Southampton, where the reprobate stood offering hisdirty old hands to them. Nothing had any effect upon him; he put hishands into his pockets, and burst out laughing, as he scrambled intohis carriage and four; he used to burst out laughing at LadySouthdown's tracts; and he laughed at his sons, and at the world, andat the Ribbons when she was angry, which was not seldom.

Miss Horrocks was installed as housekeeper at Queen's Crawley, andruled all the domestics there with great majesty and rigour. All theservants were instructed to address her as "Mum," or "Madam"--andthere was one little maid, on her promotion, who persisted in callingher "My Lady," without any rebuke on the part of the housekeeper."There has been better ladies, and there has been worser, Hester," wasMiss Horrocks' reply to this compliment of her inferior; so she ruled,having supreme power over all except her father, whom, however, shetreated with considerable haughtiness, warning him not to be toofamiliar in his behaviour to one "as was to be a Baronet's lady."Indeed, she rehearsed that exalted part in life with great satisfactionto herself, and to the amusement of old Sir Pitt, who chuckled at herairs and graces, and would laugh by the hour together at herassumptions of dignity and imitations of genteel life. He swore it wasas good as a play to see her in the character of a fine dame, and hemade her put on one of the first Lady Crawley's court-dresses, swearing(entirely to Miss Horrocks' own concurrence) that the dress became herprodigiously, and threatening to drive her off that very instant toCourt in a coach-and-four. She had the ransacking of the wardrobes ofthe two defunct ladies, and cut and hacked their posthumous finery soas to suit her own tastes and figure. And she would have liked to takepossession of their jewels and trinkets too; but the old Baronet hadlocked them away in his private cabinet; nor could she coax or wheedlehim out of the keys. And it is a fact, that some time after she leftQueen's Crawley a copy-book belonging to this lady was discovered,which showed that she had taken great pains in private to learn the artof writing in general, and especially of writing her own name as LadyCrawley, Lady Betsy Horrocks, Lady Elizabeth Crawley, &c.

Though the good people of the Parsonage never went to the Hall andshunned the horrid old dotard its owner, yet they kept a strictknowledge of all that happened there, and were looking out every dayfor the catastrophe for which Miss Horrocks was also eager. But Fateintervened enviously and prevented her from receiving the reward due tosuch immaculate love and virtue.

One day the Baronet surprised "her ladyship," as he jocularly calledher, seated at that old and tuneless piano in the drawing-room, whichhad scarcely been touched since Becky Sharp played quadrilles uponit--seated at the piano with the utmost gravity and squalling to thebest of her power in imitation of the music which she had sometimesheard. The little kitchen-maid on her promotion was standing at hermistress's side, quite delighted during the operation, and wagging herhead up and down and crying, "Lor, Mum, 'tis bittiful"--just like agenteel sycophant in a real drawing-room.

This incident made the old Baronet roar with laughter, as usual. Henarrated the circumstance a dozen times to Horrocks in the course ofthe evening, and greatly to the discomfiture of Miss Horrocks. Hethrummed on the table as if it had been a musical instrument, andsqualled in imitation of her manner of singing. He vowed that such abeautiful voice ought to be cultivated and declared she ought to havesinging-masters, in which proposals she saw nothing ridiculous. He wasin great spirits that night, and drank with his friend and butler anextraordinary quantity of rum-and-water--at a very late hour thefaithful friend and domestic conducted his master to his bedroom.

Half an hour afterwards there was a great hurry and bustle in thehouse. Lights went about from window to window in the lonely desolateold Hall, whereof but two or three rooms were ordinarily occupied byits owner. Presently, a boy on a pony went galloping off to Mudbury, tothe Doctor's house there. And in another hour (by which fact weascertain how carefully the excellent Mrs. Bute Crawley had always keptup an understanding with the great house), that lady in her clogs andcalash, the Reverend Bute Crawley, and James Crawley, her son, hadwalked over from the Rectory through the park, and had entered themansion by the open hall-door.

They passed through the hall and the small oak parlour, on the table ofwhich stood the three tumblers and the empty rum-bottle which hadserved for Sir Pitt's carouse, and through that apartment into SirPitt's study, where they found Miss Horrocks, of the guilty ribbons,with a wild air, trying at the presses and escritoires with a bunch ofkeys. She dropped them with a scream of terror, as little Mrs. Bute'seyes flashed out at her from under her black calash.

"Look at that, James and Mr. Crawley," cried Mrs. Bute, pointing at thescared figure of the black-eyed, guilty wench.

"He gave 'em me; he gave 'em me!" she cried.

"Gave them you, you abandoned creature!" screamed Mrs. Bute. "Bearwitness, Mr. Crawley, we found this good-for-nothing woman in the actof stealing your brother's property; and she will be hanged, as Ialways said she would."

Betsy Horrocks, quite daunted, flung herself down on her knees,bursting into tears. But those who know a really good woman are awarethat she is not in a hurry to forgive, and that the humiliation of anenemy is a triumph to her soul.

"Ring the bell, James," Mrs. Bute said. "Go on ringing it till thepeople come." The three or four domestics resident in the deserted oldhouse came presently at that jangling and continued summons.

"Put that woman in the strong-room," she said. "We caught her in theact of robbing Sir Pitt. Mr. Crawley, you'll make out hercommittal--and, Beddoes, you'll drive her over in the spring cart, inthe morning, to Southampton Gaol."

"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? Yousaw Sir Pitt--you know you did--give 'em me, ever so long ago--the dayafter Mudbury fair: not that I want 'em. Take 'em if you think theyain't mine." And here the unhappy wretch pulled out from her pocket alarge pair of paste shoe-buckles which had excited her admiration, andwhich she had just appropriated out of one of the bookcases in thestudy, where they had lain.

"Law, Betsy, how could you go for to tell such a wicked story!" saidHester, the little kitchen-maid late on her promotion--"and to MadameCrawley, so good and kind, and his Rev'rince (with a curtsey), and youmay search all MY boxes, Mum, I'm sure, and here's my keys as I'm anhonest girl, though of pore parents and workhouse bred--and if you findso much as a beggarly bit of lace or a silk stocking out of all thegownds 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 littlelady in the calash.

"And here's a candle, Mum, and if you please, Mum, I can show you herroom, Mum, and the press in the housekeeper's room, Mum, where shekeeps heaps and heaps of things, Mum," cried out the eager littleHester with a profusion of curtseys.

"Hold your tongue, if you please. I know the room which the creatureoccupies perfectly well. Mrs. Brown, have the goodness to come withme, and Beddoes don't you lose sight of that woman," said Mrs. Bute,seizing the candle. "Mr. Crawley, you had better go upstairs and seethat they are not murdering your unfortunate brother"--and the calash,escorted by Mrs. Brown, walked away to the apartment which, as she saidtruly, she knew perfectly well.

Bute went upstairs and found the Doctor from Mudbury, with thefrightened Horrocks over his master in a chair. They were trying tobleed Sir Pitt Crawley.

With the early morning an express was sent off to Mr. Pitt Crawley bythe Rector's lady, who assumed the command of everything, and hadwatched the old Baronet through the night. He had been brought back toa sort of life; he could not speak, but seemed to recognize people.Mrs. Bute kept resolutely by his bedside. She never seemed to want tosleep, that little woman, and did not close her fiery black eyes once,though the Doctor snored in the arm-chair. Horrocks made some wildefforts to assert his authority and assist his master; but Mrs. Butecalled him a tipsy old wretch and bade him never show his face again inthat house, or he should be transported like his abominable daughter.

Terrified by her manner, he slunk down to the oak parlour where Mr.James was, who, having tried the bottle standing there and found noliquor in it, ordered Mr. Horrocks to get another bottle of rum, whichhe fetched, with clean glasses, and to which the Rector and his son satdown, ordering Horrocks to put down the keys at that instant and neverto show his face again.

Cowed by this behaviour, Horrocks gave up the keys, and he and hisdaughter slunk off silently through the night and gave up possession ofthe house of Queen's Crawley.