Vanity Fair (illustrated)

And so - guiltless very likely - she was writhing and pushing onward towards what they call “a position in society,” and the servants were pointing at her as lost and ruined. So you see Molly, the housemaid, of a morning, watching a spider in the doorpost lay his thread and laboriously crawl up it, until, tired of the sport, she raises her broom and sweeps away the thread and the artificer.

A day or two before Christmas, Becky, her husband and her son made ready and went to pass the holidays at the seat of their ancestors at Queen’s Crawley. Becky would have liked to leave the little brat behind, and would have done so but for Lady Jane’s urgent invitations to the youngster, and the symptoms of revolt and discontent which Rawdon manifested at her neglect of her son. “He’s the finest boy in England,” the father said in a tone of reproach to her, “and you don’t seem to care for him, Becky, as much as you do for your spaniel. He shan’t bother you much; at home he will be away from you in the nursery, and he shall go outside on the coach with me.”

“Where you go yourself because you want to smoke those filthy cigars,” replied Mrs. Rawdon.

“I remember when you liked ’em though,” answered the husband.

Becky laughed; she was almost always good-humoured. “That was when I was on my promotion, Goosey,” she said. “Take Rawdon outside with you and give him a cigar too if you like.”

Rawdon did not warm his little son for the winter’s journey in this way, but he and Briggs wrapped up the child in shawls and comforters, and he was hoisted respectfully onto the roof of the coach in the dark morning, under the lamps of the White Horse Cellar; and with no small delight he watched the dawn rise and made his first journey to the place which his father still called home. It was a journey of infinite pleasure to the boy, to whom the incidents of the road afforded endless interest, his father answering to him all questions connected with it and telling him who lived in the great white house to the right, and whom the park belonged to. His mother, inside the vehicle, with her maid and her furs, her wrappers, and her scent bottles, made such a to-do that you would have thought she never had been in a stage-coach before - much less, that she had been turned out of this very one to make room for a paying passenger on a certain journey performed some half-score years ago.

It was dark again when little Rawdon was wakened up to enter his uncle’s carriage at Mudbury, and he sat and looked out of it wondering as the great iron gates flew open, and at the white trunks of the limes as they swept by, until they stopped, at length, before the light windows of the Hall, which were blazing and comfortable with Christmas welcome. The hall-door was flung open - a big fire was burning in the great old fire-place - a carpet was down over the chequered black flags - “It’s the old Turkey one that used to be in the Ladies’ Gallery,” thought Rebecca, and the next instant was kissing Lady Jane.

The arrival at Queen's Crawley

She and Sir Pitt performed the same salute with great gravity; but Rawdon, having been smoking, hung back rather from his sister-in-law, whose two children came up to their cousin; and, while Matilda held out her hand and kissed him, Pitt Binkie Southdown, the son and heir, stood aloof rather and examined him as a little dog does a big dog.

Then the kind hostess conducted her guests to the snug apartments blazing with cheerful fires. Then the young ladies came and knocked at Mrs. Rawdon’s door, under the pretence that they were desirous to be useful, but in reality to have the pleasure of inspecting the contents of her band and bonnet-boxes, and her dresses which, though black, were of the newest London fashion. And they told her how much the Hall was changed for the better, and how old Lady Southdown was gone, and how Pitt was taking his station in the county, as became a Crawley in fact. Then the great dinner-bell having rung, the family assembled at dinner, at which meal Rawdon Junior was placed by his aunt, the good-natured lady of the house, Sir Pitt being uncommonly attentive to his sister-in-law at his own right hand.

Little Rawdon exhibited a fine appetite and showed a gentlemanlike behaviour.

“I like to dine here,” he said to his aunt when he had completed his meal, at the conclusion of which, and after a decent grace by Sir Pitt, the younger son and heir was introduced, and was perched on a high chair by the Baronet’s side, while the daughter took possession of the place and the little wine-glass prepared for her near her mother. “I like to dine here,” said Rawdon Minor, looking up at his relation’s kind face.

“Why?” said the good Lady Jane.