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In fact, when the black-edged invitation to the funeral arrived in Curzon Street, the reactions were very far from sorrowful.

Pitt Crawley was astonished to receive such a pleasant letter from his brother Rawdon. His wife Lady Jane, a gentle, kindly woman, was delighted, and expected that Pitt would immediately divide his aunt's inheritance into two equal parts and send one to his brother.

Pitt did not feel the need to send a cheque to Rawdon for thirty thousand pounds, but he did write back in a friendly manner, promising to help his brother and his family if he could.

The brothers did not meet for some time, however. Since the death of Miss Crawley, Pitt and Lady Jane had been living down at Queen's Crawley, where Becky had gone as governess years before. Her former employer, Sir Pitt Crawley, was still alive, but even more disagreeable than he used to be, and when he finally died a few years later, none of his family felt any great sorrow.

Rawdon carried the letter to Becky in her bedroom -- with her cup of chocolate, which he always took to her every morning.

"Of course not! Why pay for a third seat in the carriage?"

"Of course we're going, you silly man!" cried Becky, jumping up in delight. "Your brother is now Sir Pitt, and a Member of Parliament. I want Lady Jane to present me at court next year, and I want Sir Pitt to get you a position of some importance -- the Governor of the West Indies, or something like that. We must order our black clothes for the funeral at once."

"We don't have to go, do we, Becky?" he said. "Pitt bores me to death, and a carriage there and back will cost too much."

"Little Rawdy comes too, of course," said her husband.

It was a great moment when the two Crawley brothers met again at last. The new Sir Pitt shook his brother warmly by the hand, while Lady Jane took both Becky's hands, and kissed her.

"What I should like to do first," Becky said, in a soft little voice, "is to see your dear little children."

This mark of kindness brought tears to Becky's eyes, which was a rare event. When Lady Jane took Becky to her room, Becky at once began work on earning her sister-in-law's approval.

"You must be so sad," Lady Jane said sympathetically, "to have left your little boy in London."

This request pleased Lady Jane very much. She led Becky away to meet her daughter and son, aged four and two, and in no time at all, she and Becky were close and affectionate friends.

"Dear, dear Rawdy!" sighed Becky. "I miss him so much."

It was fortunate that her husband did not hear this remark as it would have surprised him greatly. He was very fond of his son. He saw Rawdy every day at home, bought him presents and toys, played with him whenever he could. His mother took no notice of the boy at all. When he cried at night, it was a servant who came and took him to her room to comfort him.

Rawdon and Becky spent several days at Queen's Crawley, and it was time well spent. Lady Jane thought Becky was delightful, and Sir Pitt also approved of her. She had shown interest in his ambitions for government, and made admiring comments on his political ideas, which he had found very agreeable.

"I did not like the marriage at the time," he told his wife, "but it has improved Rawdon very much."

"It isn't difficult to be a country gentleman's wife," she said to Rawdon in the carriage returning to London. "I think I could be a good woman if I had five thousand a year."

Rawdon was almost sorry to leave, but Becky was glad to escape from playing the part of a dutiful sister-in-law -- listening with interest to dull conversations, inspecting the fruit garden, visiting sick villagers with soup and encouragement.

"Mm," said Rawdon. "I wish you'd got some money out of Pitt, though. I'd like to pay the landlord some of the rent we owe. It isn't right, you know, that his family should starve because of us."

"Pitt gave me this for Rawdy," Becky said. It was a cheque for a small amount. "Give it to the landlord. We've been invited to Queen's Crawley for Christmas -- perhaps Pitt will do something for you then. Or next year, when they come to London. Until then we must manage on your winnings at cards. And perhaps Lord Steyne will hear of a position for you."

This Lord Steyne was one of Becky's admirers in London. High-society women still ignored her, but the men crowded to Mrs Crawley's little house, where the suppers were excellent, and the conversation brilliant. And where many of them, of course, lost money at the card-tables to Colonel Crawley.

Becky amused Lord Steyne. He admired her charm and her intelligence and her cunning, which he saw was equal to his own, and her artful lies gave him much entertainment. He laughed a great deal at Becky's account of her time at Queen's Crawley.

"I should like to see you visiting the sick," he said, "and being polite to those dull relations of your husband's."

"They are very good people," said Becky sternly. "You should not laugh at them."

Becky gave a wicked little smile, but would admit nothing, and after taking some tea, Lord Steyne went away. On the way out he met Rawdon, and greeted him in his usual manner.

Not Lord Steyne, however, who was no fool. He was a short, ugly man, disliked by many for his cruel tongue and his evil reputation. But he was extremely wealthy, belonged to one of the grandest families in England, and dined with the Prince of Wales. It comforted the poor landlord to see Lord Steyne's carriage outside the Crawleys' door. With such rich friends, he thought, they were sure to pay his rent one day…

Lord Steyne laughed again. "And you, my pretty lady, were bored to tears by them all. Come now, admit it, Mrs Crawley!"

Rawdon was still very fond of his wife. He admired her brilliance and her clever conversation, and obeyed her orders without question. But he had few interests apart from gambling and horses, and was glad whenever Becky released him from his social duties and sent him off to dine with his friends.

"How is Mrs Crawley's husband?" he would say, and indeed, in London that is what Rawdon had become. He was Colonel Crawley no more; he was Mrs Crawley's husband.

"Some gentlemen are coming tonight who would bore you," she would say. "I only invite them because they have influence and can help you. And now I have a companion, there's no need for you to be here."

The companion was Miss Briggs, who had been companion to Rawdon's aunt until that lady died. Becky, hearing that Miss Briggs had inherited some money from Miss Crawley, had invited her to Curzon Street as her companion. Miss Briggs's friends warned her against the Crawleys, but Miss Briggs went to live with Mrs Rawdon the next week, and had lent Rawdon Crawley six hundred pounds before six months were over.

Miss Briggs also helped to look after little Rawdon. He was now seven years old, a fine, strong boy, with a gentle nature, fond of everyone who was good to him, especially Miss Briggs and his father. He no longer thought of his mother in that way.

Her presence in the house made it possible for Becky to receive gentlemen visitors when her husband was not at home, and although Lord Steyne often growled at her "watch-dog", as he called Miss Briggs, Becky only laughed.

For two years she had hardly spoken to him. She disliked him, and he bored her. One day, attracted by the sound of his mother's voice singing, he came quietly downstairs. The drawing-room door opened suddenly and revealed the boy standing there, listening in delight to the music.

His mother came out and struck him violently on the ear. He heard a laugh from Lord Steyne inside the room (who was amused by this display of Becky's bad temper), and he ran away, down to his friends the servants in the kitchen.

"It isn't because it hurts," he said, crying bitterly, "but why can't I listen to her singing? She sings to that bald-headed man with the big teeth. Why doesn't she sing to me?"

"He's the finest boy in England," he said, "but you don't seem to love him as much as you do your little dog. He won't bother you much. He'll be with the other children all the time, and on the journey he can ride outside on the coach with me."

When Christmas came and the visit to Queen's Crawley, Becky wanted to leave the child behind, but Lady Jane insisted that he came too. Rawdon complained at Becky's neglect of their son.

From that day Becky hated her son. And the boy began to feel fear and doubt. He knew that this man was his enemy. Whenever they met, Lord Steyne would make some nasty remark, and in return, the child would stare hard at him and put his hands up as though to fight him.

"You always used to like the smell of cigars," Rawdon said.

His wife laughed. "That was before we were married," she said.

"You only sit outside on the coach so you can smoke those awful cigars," said Becky.

So little Rawdon accompanied them to Queen's Crawley, and he loved every minute. When they arrived, Sir Pitt and Lady Jane and their children were there to welcome them in the hall, and the little girl, Matilda, shyly kissed Rawdy on the cheek.

The children were soon firm friends, with Rawdy, who was the oldest, the leader in all their games. He also loved going with his father to the stables, or helping in the hunt for rats in the farm buildings. But best of all, he loved his Aunt Jane, who was so kind to him. He even allowed her to kiss him sometimes. In the evenings, after dinner, when the ladies went to the drawing-room and left the gentlemen to drink their wine, he always preferred to sit near his Aunt Jane, rather than his mother.

One evening when there were guests, Becky, having noticed that Lady Jane and the other ladies were in the habit of kissing their children, called her son over to her and kissed him.

After that day Lady Jane and Becky were never quite so friendly. There was a coolness in the air, and Lady Jane began to feel that her husband was paying Becky too much attention. They spent hours in his study, discussing his political ambitions and plans -- subjects that Sir Pitt never mentioned to his wife.

He looked her full in the face after the kiss, trembling and turning very red. "You never kiss me at home, mama," he said.

An embarrassed silence fell in the room, and there was a rather unpleasant look in Becky's eyes.

Rawdon had become fond of his sister-in-law because she was so kind to his son, and when the holiday was over, both he and his son were sad to leave. The ladies, however, said goodbye to each other with less sadness. Becky was keen to return to the bright lights of London. She was bored with the country and bored with the sweet and gentle Lady Jane, though of course she was careful not to reveal this, as she needed Lady Jane to present her at court. She was determined to climb the social ladder as high as she could, determined to show those proud, stiff-necked society women that she, Rebecca Sharp, daughter of a drawing-teacher, could outshine them all in social brilliance.

While Becky was busily making new friends and new enemies, her former friend Amelia found her social circle was shrinking. Dobbin had gone to India, and her brother Joseph had returned to his job there soon after the Battle of Waterloo. Perhaps he had been afraid that his terrified flight from Brussels might be talked about and laughed at. However, he made an allowance to his parents of a hundred and twenty pounds a year, paid monthly through his London agent.

"Georgy shall not have any medicine unless the doctor approves of it. And he told me that Daffy's was poison."

Mr Sedley borrowed money to try to recover his lost fortune, but his attempts to start new businesses became more and more foolish, and he lost the money he had borrowed. Amelia had a small widow's pension, and with Joseph's money, the little family had just enough to live on.

Amelia's whole life was centred on her son Georgy. She was extremely possessive about him, and wanted to do everything for him herself. Once, when Georgy was still a baby, she came into her room and found her mother giving the child a spoonful of Daffy's Special Baby Medicine.

Amelia seized the baby out of her mother's arms, then grabbed the bottle of medicine and sent it crashing into the fireplace.

"I will not have my baby poisoned, mama!" she cried.

"Poisoned, Amelia?" said the old lady. "What are you saying?"

"Very good; you think I'm a murderess," said Mrs Sedley. "I have met with misfortunes; I have sunk low in life; but I did not know I was a murderess before, and thank you for the news."

Georgy grew up to look very like his father, and Amelia spoke to him constantly of her love for her dead husband, whose picture hung on the wall above her bed, and was cleaned daily.

"Oh, mama," said the poor girl, "I didn't mean --"

After this, there was a coolness between mother and daughter that never really went away. Mrs Sedley had little to do with her grandson and was frequently critical of her daughter.

Amelia was not without admirers in her little social circle. She was not brilliant, nor clever, nor wise, nor very pretty, but men were always charmed by her. Perhaps it was her weakness and her sweet nature that made men want to protect her. But it was certain that young Mr Linton, the doctor's assistant, was her willing slave. He sat up through the night with Georgy during his childhood illnesses, and would call in at any time, without a fee, if Mrs Osborne was at all worried about her darling boy.

"Oh no, my love, -- only that I was a murderess. Though I didn't poison you when you were a child. A murderess, indeed! May God forgive you, you wicked, ungrateful girl!"

"It's quite obvious," Mrs Sedley remarked to the landlady, "that Major Dobbin is in love with her, but whenever I mention the fact, she begins to cry, and goes and sits upstairs with her little picture of George. I'm sick of that picture. I wish we'd never seen those horrid, proud Osbornes."

Amelia kept her promise to Dobbin and wrote to him two or three times a year -- letters all about little Georgy. Dobbin was delighted to receive these letters, and always replied. He sent many gifts too -- beautiful Indian shawls for Amelia and her mother, wonderful carved wooden animals for Georgy.

Dobbin's letters continued to take a close interest in Georgy, asking about his reading and writing, wanting to know if he was going to school, and offering to help with the fees.

Georgy grew up surrounded by love, ruling the little world around him, including his gentle mother, whom he loved with a passionate affection. Everyone was amazed at how like his father he was -- the same face, the same hair, even the same pride.

Sometimes his sister, Miss Dobbin (no doubt on her brother's instructions), came to visit Amelia and Georgy; and sometimes she begged that the boy might spend a day with her at home. Unwillingly, Amelia agreed to this, but Georgy loved his days at Miss Dobbin's home, where there was a wonderful garden to play in, and wonderful fruit to eat from the hot-houses.

"Is he coming home?" Amelia asked, looking pleased.

One day Miss Dobbin arrived with some very interesting news about her brother William that she was sure would delight Amelia.

"Oh, no," his sister replied. "Not at all. But I have very good reason to believe that dear William is about to be married -- to a most lovely girl, everybody says."

"Oh!" said Amelia. She was very, ver y happy indeed. But her eyes seemed a little damp, and she was strangely silent for the rest of the day -- though she was very happy indeed at the news.