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.