"Yes," says the Quaker, "I know thee." And so the dialogue went on.
Girl.Then you know my business too?
Quaker.No, verily, I do not know any business thou canst have here with me.
Girl.Indeed, my business is not chiefly with you.
Qu.Why, then, dost thou come after me thus far?
Girl.You know whom I seek. [And with that she cried.]
Qu.But why shouldst thou follow me for her, since thou know'st that I assured thee more than once that I knew not where she was?
Girl.But I hoped you could.
Qu.Then thou must hope that I did not speak the truth, which would be very wicked.
Girl.I doubt not but she is in this house.
Qu.If those be thy thoughts, thou may'st inquire in the house; so thou hast no more business with me. Farewell! [Offers to go.]
Girl.I would not be uncivil; I beg you to let me see her.
Qu.I am here to visit some of my friends, and I think thou art not very civil in following me hither.
Girl.I came in hopes of a discovery in my great affair which you know of.
Qu.Thou cam'st wildly, indeed; I counsel thee to go back again, and be easy; I shall keep my word with thee, that I would not meddle in it, or give thee any account, if I knew it, unless I had her orders.
ROXANA'S DAUGHTER AND THE QUAKER Here the girl importuned her again with the utmost earnestness, and cried bitterlyROXANA'S DAUGHTER AND THE QUAKERHere the girl importuned her again with the utmost earnestness, and cried bitterly
Girl.If you knew my distress you could not be so cruel.
Qu.Thou hast told me all thy story, and I think it might be more cruelty to tell thee than not to tell thee; for I understand she is resolved not to see thee, and declares she is not thy mother. Will'st thou be owned where thou hast no relation?
Girl.Oh, if I could but speak to her, I would prove my relation to her so that she could not deny it any longer.
Qu.Well, but thou canst not come to speak with her, it seems.
Girl.I hope you will tell me if she is here. I had a good account that you were come out to see her, and that she sent for you.
Qu.I much wonder how thou couldst have such an account. If I had come out to see her, thou hast happened to miss the house, for I assure thee she is not to be found in this house.
Here the girl importuned her again with the utmost earnestness, and cried bitterly, insomuch that my poor Quaker was softened with it, and began to persuade me to consider of it, and, if it might consist with my affairs, to see her, and hear what she had to say; but this was afterwards. I return to the discourse.
The Quaker was perplexed with her a long time; she talked of sending back the coach, and lying in the town all night. This, my friend knew, would be very uneasy to me, but she durst not speak a wordagainst it; but on a sudden thought, she offered a bold stroke, which, though dangerous if it had happened wrong, had its desired effect.
She told her that, as for dismissing her coach, that was as she pleased, she believed she would not easily get a lodging in the town; but that as she was in a strange place, she would so much befriend her, that she would speak to the people of the house, that if they had room, she might have a lodging there for one night, rather than be forced back to London before she was free to go.
This was a cunning, though a dangerous step, and it succeeded accordingly, for it amused the creature entirely, and she presently concluded that really I could not be there then, otherwise she would never have asked her to lie in the house; so she grew cold again presently as to her lodging there, and said, No, since it was so, she would go back that afternoon, but she would come again in two or three days, and search that and all the towns round in an effectual manner, if she stayed a week or two to do it; for, in short, if I was in England or Holland she would find me.
"In truth," says the Quaker, "thou wilt make me very hurtful to thee, then." "Why so?" says she, "Because wherever I go, thou wilt put thyself to great expense, and the country to a great deal of unnecessary trouble." "Not unnecessary," says she. "Yes, truly," says the Quaker; "it must be unnecessary, because it will be to no purpose. I think Imust abide in my own house to save thee that charge and trouble."
She said little to that, except that, she said, she would give her as little trouble as possible; but she was afraid she should sometimes be uneasy to her, which she hoped she would excuse. My Quaker told her she would much rather excuse her if she would forbear; for that if she would believe her, she would assure her she should never get any intelligence of me by her.
That set her into tears again; but after a while, recovering herself, she told her perhaps she might be mistaken; and she (the Quaker) should watch herself very narrowly, or she might one time or other get some intelligence from her, whether she would or no; and she was satisfied she had gained some of her by this journey, for that if I was not in the house, I was not far off; and if I did not remove very quickly, she would find me out. "Very well," says my Quaker; "then if the lady is not willing to see thee, thou givest me notice to tell her, that she may get out of thy way."
She flew out in a rage at that, and told my friend that if she did, a curse would follow her, and her children after her, and denounced such horrid things upon her as frighted the poor tender-hearted Quaker strangely, and put her more out of temper than ever I saw her before; so that she resolved to go home the next morning, and I, that was ten times more uneasy than she, resolved to follow her, and go toLondon too; which, however, upon second thoughts, I did not, but took effectual measures not to be seen or owned if she came any more; but I heard no more of her for some time.
I stayed there about a fortnight, and in all that time I heard no more of her, or of my Quaker about her; but after about two days more, I had a letter from my Quaker, intimating that she had something of moment to say, that she could not communicate by letter, but wished I would give myself the trouble to come up, directing me to come with the coach into Goodman's Fields, and then walk to her back-door on foot, which being left open on purpose, the watchful lady, if she had any spies, could not well see me.
My thoughts had for so long time been kept, as it were, waking, that almost everything gave me the alarm, and this especially, so that I was very uneasy; but I could not bring matters to bear to make my coming to London so clear to my husband as I would have done; for he liked the place, and had a mind, he said, to stay a little longer, if it was not against my inclination; so I wrote my friend the Quaker word that I could not come to town yet; and that, besides, I could not think of being there under spies, and afraid to look out of doors; and so, in short, I put off going for near a fortnight more.
At the end of that time she wrote again, in which she told me that she had not lately seen the impertinent visitor which had been so troublesome; butthat she had seen my trusty agent Amy, who told her she had cried for six weeks without intermission; that Amy had given her an account how troublesome the creature had been, and to what straits and perplexities I was driven by her hunting after and following me from place to place; upon which Amy had said, that, notwithstanding I was angry with her, and had used her so hardly for saying something about her of the same kind, yet there was an absolute necessity of securing her, and removing her out of the way; and that, in short, without asking my leave, or anybody's leave, she should take care she should trouble her mistress (meaning me) no more; and that after Amy had said so, she had indeed never heard any more of the girl; so that she supposed Amy had managed it so well as to put an end to it.
The innocent, well-meaning creature, my Quaker, who was all kindness and goodness in herself, and particularly to me, saw nothing in this; but she thought Amy had found some way to persuade her to be quiet and easy, and to give over teasing and following me, and rejoiced in it for my sake; as she thought nothing of any evil herself, so she suspected none in anybody else, and was exceeding glad of having such good news to write to me; but my thoughts of it run otherwise.
I was struck, as with a blast from heaven, at the reading her letter; I fell into a fit of trembling from head to foot, and I ran raving about the room like amad woman. I had nobody to speak a word to, to give vent to my passion; nor did I speak a word for a good while, till after it had almost overcome me. I threw myself on the bed, and cried out, "Lord, be merciful to me, she has murdered my child!" and with that a flood of tears burst out, and I cried vehemently for above an hour.
My husband was very happily gone out a-hunting, so that I had the opportunity of being alone, and to give my passions some vent, by which I a little recovered myself. But after my crying was over, then I fell in a new rage at Amy; I called her a thousand devils and monsters and hard-hearted tigers; I reproached her with her knowing that I abhorred it, and had let her know it sufficiently, in that I had, at it were, kicked her out of doors, after so many years' friendship and service, only for naming it to me.
Well, after some time, my spouse came in from his sport, and I put on the best looks I could to deceive him; but he did not take so little notice of me as not to see I had been crying, and that something troubled me, and he pressed me to tell him. I seemed to bring it out with reluctance, but told him my backwardness was more because I was ashamed that such a trifle should have any effect upon me, than for any weight that was in it; so I told him I had been vexing myself about my woman Amy's not coming again; that she might have known me better than not to believe I should have been friends withher again, and the like; and that, in short, I had lost the best servant by my rashness that ever woman had.
"Well, well," says he, "if that be all your grief, I hope you will soon shake it off; I'll warrant you in a little while we shall hear of Mrs. Amy again." And so it went off for that time. But it did not go off with me; for I was uneasy and terrified to the last degree, and wanted to get some farther account of the thing. So I went away to my sure and certain comforter, the Quaker, and there I had the whole story of it; and the good innocent Quaker gave me joy of my being rid of such an unsufferable tormentor.
"Rid of her! Ay," says I, "if I was rid of her fairly and honourably; but I don't know what Amy may have done. Sure, she ha'n't made her away?" "Oh fie!" says my Quaker; "how canst thou entertain such a notion! No, no. Made her away? Amy didn't talk like that; I dare say thou may'st be easy in that; Amy has nothing of that in her head, I dare say," says she; and so threw it, as it were, out of my thoughts.
But it would not do; it run in my head continually; night and day I could think of nothing else; and it fixed such a horror of the fact upon my spirits, and such a detestation of Amy, who I looked upon as the murderer, that, as for her, I believe if I could have seen her I should certainly have sent her to Newgate, or to a worse place, uponsuspicion; indeed, I think I could have killed her with my own hands.
As for the poor girl herself, she was ever before my eyes; I saw her by night and by day; she haunted my imagination, if she did not haunt the house; my fancy showed me her in a hundred shapes and postures; sleeping or waking, she was with me. Sometimes I thought I saw her with her throat cut; sometimes with her head cut, and her brains knocked out; other times hanged up upon a beam; another time drowned in the great pond at Camberwell. And all these appearances were terrifying to the last degree; and that which was still worse, I could really hear nothing of her; I sent to the captain's wife in Redriff, and she answered me, she was gone to her relations in Spitalfields. I sent thither, and they said she was there about three weeks ago, but that she went out in a coach with the gentlewoman that used to be so kind to her, but whither she was gone they knew not, for she had not been there since. I sent back the messenger for a description of the woman she went out with; and they described her so perfectly, that I knew it to be Amy, and none but Amy.
I sent word again that Mrs. Amy, who she went out with, left her in two or three hours, and that they should search for her, for I had a reason to fear she was murdered. This frighted them all intolerably. They believed Amy had carried her to pay her a sum of money, and that somebody had watchedher after her having received it, and had robbed and murdered her.
I believed nothing of that part; but I believed, as it was, that whatever was done, Amy had done it; and that, in short, Amy had made her away; and I believed it the more, because Amy came no more near me, but confirmed her guilt by her absence.
Upon the whole, I mourned thus for her for above a month; but finding Amy still come not near me, and that I must put my affairs in a posture that I might go to Holland, I opened all my affairs to my dear trusty friend the Quaker, and placed her, in matters of trust, in the room of Amy; and with a heavy, bleeding heart for my poor girl, I embarked with my spouse, and all our equipage and goods, on board another Holland's trader, not a packet-boat, and went over to Holland, where I arrived, as I have said.
I must put in a caution, however, here, that you must not understand me as if I let my friend the Quaker into any part of the secret history of my former life; nor did I commit the grand reserved article of all to her, viz., that I was really the girl's mother, and the Lady Roxana; there was no need of that part being exposed; and it was always a maxim with me, that secrets should never be opened without evident utility. It could be of no manner of use to me or her to communicate that part to her; besides, she was too honest herself to make it safe to me; for though she loved me very sincerely,and it was plain by many circumstances that she did so, yet she would not lie for me upon occasion, as Amy would, and therefore it was not advisable on any terms to communicate that part; for if the girl, or any one else, should have come to her afterwards, and put it home to her, whether she knew that I was the girl's mother or not, or was the same as the Lady Roxana or not, she either would not have denied it, or would have done it with so ill a grace, such blushing, such hesitations and falterings in her answers, as would have put the matter out of doubt, and betrayed herself and the secret too.
For this reason, I say, I did not discover anything of that kind to her; but I placed her, as I have said, in Amy's stead in the other affairs of receiving money, interests, rents, and the like, and she was as faithful as Amy could be, and as diligent.
But there fell out a great difficulty here, which I knew not how to get over; and this was how to convey the usual supply of provision and money to the uncle and the other sister, who depended, especially the sister, upon the said supply for her support; and indeed, though Amy had said rashly that she would not take any more notice of the sister, and would leave her to perish, as above, yet it was neither in my nature, or Amy's either, much less was it in my design; and therefore I resolved to leave the management of what I had reserved for that work with my faithful Quaker, but how to direct her to manage them was the great difficulty.
Amy had told them in so many words that she was not their mother, but that she was the maid Amy, that carried them to their aunt's; that she and their mother went over to the East Indies to seek their fortune, and that there good things had befallen them, and that their mother was very rich and happy; that she (Amy) had married in the Indies, but being now a widow, and resolving to come over to England, their mother had obliged her to inquire them out, and do for them as she had done; and that now she was resolved to go back to the Indies again; but that she had orders from their mother to do very handsomely by them; and, in a word, told them she had £2000 apiece for them, upon condition that they proved sober, and married suitably to themselves, and did not throw themselves away upon scoundrels.
The good family in whose care they had been, I had resolved to take more than ordinary notice of; and Amy, by my order, had acquainted them with it, and obliged my daughters to promise to submit to their government, as formerly, and to be ruled by the honest man as by a father and counsellor; and engaged him to treat them as his children. And to oblige him effectually to take care of them, and to make his old age comfortable both to him and his wife, who had been so good to the orphans, I had ordered her to settle the other £2000, that is to say, the interest of it, which was £120 a year, upon them, to be theirs for both their lives, but to come to my two daughters after them. This was so just, andwas so prudently managed by Amy, that nothing she ever did for me pleased me better. And in this posture, leaving my two daughters with their ancient friend, and so coming away to me (as they thought to the East Indies), she had prepared everything in order to her going over with me to Holland; and in this posture that matter stood when that unhappy girl, who I have said so much of, broke in upon all our measures, as you have heard, and, by an obstinacy never to be conquered or pacified, either with threats or persuasions, pursued her search after me (her mother) as I have said, till she brought me even to the brink of destruction; and would, in all probability, have traced me out at last, if Amy had not, by the violence of her passion, and by a way which I had no knowledge of, and indeed abhorred, put a stop to her, of which I cannot enter into the particulars here.
However, notwithstanding this, I could not think of going away and leaving this work so unfinished as Amy had threatened to do, and for the folly of one child to leave the other to starve, or to stop my determined bounty to the good family I have mentioned. So, in a word, I committed the finishing it all to my faithful friend the Quaker, to whom I communicated as much of the whole story as was needful to empower her to perform what Amy had promised, and to make her talk so much to the purpose, as one employed more remotely than Amy had been, needed to be.
To this purpose she had, first of all, a full possession of the money; and went first to the honest man and his wife, and settled all the matter with them; when she talked of Mrs. Amy, she talked of her as one that had been empowered by the mother of the girls in the Indies, but was obliged to go back to the Indies, and had settled all sooner if she had not been hindered by the obstinate humour of the other daughter; that she had left instructions with her for the rest; but that the other had affronted her so much that she was gone away without doing anything for her; and that now, if anything was done, it must be by fresh orders from the East Indies.
I need not say how punctually my new agent acted; but, which was more, she brought the old man and his wife, and my other daughter, several times to her house, by which I had an opportunity, being there only as a lodger, and a stranger, to see my other girl, which I had never done before, since she was a little child.
The day I contrived to see them I was dressed up in a Quaker's habit, and looked so like a Quaker, that it was impossible for them, who had never seen me before, to suppose I had ever been anything else; also my way of talking was suitable enough to it, for I had learned that long before.
I have not time here to take notice what a surprise it was to me to see my child; how it worked upon my affections; with what infinite struggle I mastered a strong inclination that I had to discover myself toher; how the girl was the very counterpart of myself, only much handsomer; and how sweetly and modestly she behaved; how, on that occasion, I resolved to do more for her than I had appointed by Amy, and the like.
It is enough to mention here, that as the settling this affair made way for my going on board, notwithstanding the absence of my old agent Amy, so, however, I left some hints for Amy too, for I did not yet despair of my hearing from her; and that if my good Quaker should ever see her again, she should let her see them; wherein, particularly, ordering her to leave the affair of Spitalfields just as I had done, in the hands of my friend, she should come away to me; upon this condition, nevertheless, that she gave full satisfaction to my friend the Quaker that she had not murdered my child; for if she had, I told her I would never see her face more. However, notwithstanding this, she came over afterwards, without giving my friend any of that satisfaction, or any account that she intended to come over.
I can say no more now, but that, as above, being arrived in Holland, with my spouse and his son, formerly mentioned, I appeared there with all the splendour and equipage suitable to our new prospect, as I have already observed.
Here, after some few years of flourishing and outwardly happy circumstances, I fell into a dreadful course of calamities, and Amy also; the very reverseof our former good days. The blast of Heaven seemed to follow the injury done the poor girl by us both, and I was brought so low again, that my repentance seemed to be only the consequence of my misery, as my misery was of my crime.
(From the 1745 Edition)
In resolving to go to Holland with my husband, and take possession of the title of countess as soon as possible, I had a view of deceiving my daughter, were she yet alive, and seeking me out; for it seldom happens that a nobleman, or his lady, are called by their surnames, and as she was a stranger to our noble title, might have inquired at our next door neighbours for Mr. ——, the Dutch merchant, and not have been one jot the wiser for her inquiry. So one evening, soon after this resolution, as I and my husband were sitting together when supper was over, and talking of several various scenes in life, I told him that, as there was no likelihood of my being with child, as I had some reason to suspect I was some time before, I was ready to go with him to any part of the world, whenever he pleased. I said, that great part of my things were packed up, and what was not would not be long about, and that I had little occasion to buy any more clothes, linen, or jewels, whilst I was in England, having a large quantity of the richest and best of everything by me already. On saying thesewords, he took me in his arms, and told me that he looked on what I had now spoken with so great an emphasis, to be my settled resolution, and the fault should not lie on his side if it miscarried being put in practice.
The next morning he went out to see some merchants, who had received advice of the arrival of some shipping which had been in great danger at sea, and whose insurance had run very high; and it was this interval that gave me an opportunity of my coming to a final resolution. I now told the Quaker, as she was sitting at work in her parlour, that we should very speedily leave her, and although she daily expected it, yet she was really sorry to hear that we had come to a full determination; she said abundance of fine things to me on the happiness of the life I did then, and was going to live; believing, I suppose, that a countess could not have a foul conscience; but at that very instant, I would have, had it been in my power, resigned husband, estate, title, and all the blessings she fancied I had in the world, only for her real virtue, and the sweet peace of mind, joined to a loving company of children, which she really possessed.
When my husband returned, he asked me at dinner if I persevered in my resolution of leaving England; to which I answered in the affirmative. "Well," says he, "as all my affairs will not take up a week's time to settle, I will be ready to go from London with you in ten days' time." We fixed uponno particular place or abode, but in general concluded to go to Dover, cross the Channel to Calais, and proceed from thence by easy journeys to Paris, where after staying about a week, we intended to go through part of France, the Austrian Netherlands, and so on to Amsterdam, Rotterdam, or the Hague, as we were to settle before we went from Paris. As my husband did not care to venture all our fortune in one bottom, so our goods, money, and plate were consigned to several merchants, who had been his intimates many years, and he took notes of a prodigious value in his pocket, besides what he gave me to take care of during our journey. The last thing to be considered was, how we should go ourselves, and what equipage we should take with us; my thoughts were wholly taken up about it some time; I knew I was going to be a countess, and did not care to appear anything mean before I came to that honour; but, on the other hand, if I left London in any public way, I might possibly hear of inquiries after me in the road, that I had been acquainted with before. At last I said we would discharge all our servants, except two footmen, who should travel with us to Dover, and one maid to wait on me, that had lived with me only since the retreat of Amy, and she was to go through, if she was willing; and as to the carriage of us, a coach should be hired for my husband, myself, and maid, and two horses were to be hired for the footmen, who were to return with them to London.
When the Quaker had heard when and how we intended to go, she begged, as there would be a spare seat in the coach, to accompany us as far as Dover, which we both readily consented to; no woman could be a better companion, neither was there any acquaintance that we loved better, or could show more respect to us.
The morning before we set out, my husband sent for a master coachman to know the price of a handsome coach, with six able horses, to go to Dover. He inquired how many days we intended to be on the journey? My husband said he would go but very easy, and chose to be three days on the road; that they should stay there two days, and be three more returning to London, with a gentlewoman (meaning the Quaker) in it. The coachman said it would be an eight days' journey, and he would have ten guineas for it. My husband consented to pay him his demand, and he received orders to be ready at the door by seven of the clock the next morning: I was quite prepared to go, having no person to take leave of but the Quaker, and she had desired to see us take the packet-boat at Dover, before we parted with her; and the last night of my stay in London was spent very agreeably with the Quaker and her family. My husband, who stayed out later than usual, in taking his farewell of several merchants of his acquaintance, came home about eleven o'clock, and drank a glass or two of wine with us before we went to bed.
The next morning, the whole family got up about five o'clock, and I, with my husband's consent, made each of the Quaker's daughters a present of a diamond ring, valued at £20, and a guinea apiece to all the servants, without exception. We all breakfasted together, and at the hour appointed, the coach and attendants came to the door; this drew several people about it, who were all very inquisitive to know who was going into the country, and what is never forgot on such occasions, all the beggars in the neighbourhood were prepared to give us their benedictions in hopes of an alms. When the coachmen had packed up what boxes were designed for our use, we, namely, my husband, the Quaker, myself, and the waiting-maid, all got into the coach, the footmen were mounted on horses behind, and in this manner the coach, after I had given a guinea to one of the Quaker's daughters equally to divide among the beggars at the door, drove away from the house, and I took leave of my lodging in the Minories, as well as of London.
At St. George's Church, Southwark, we were met by three gentlemen on horseback, who were merchants of my husband's acquaintance, and had come out on purpose, to go half a day's journey with us; and as they kept talking to us at the coach side, we went a good pace, and were very merry together; we stopped at the best house of entertainment on Shooter's Hill.
Here we stopped for about an hour, and drank some wine, and my husband, whose chief study washow to please and divert me, caused me to alight out of the coach; which the gentlemen who accompanied us observing, alighted also. The waiter showed us upstairs into a large room, whose window opened to our view a fine prospect of the river Thames, which here, they say, forms one of the most beautiful meanders. It was within an hour of high water, and such a number of ships coming in under sail quite astonished as well as delighted me, insomuch that I could not help breaking out into such-like expressions, "My dear, what a fine sight this is; I never saw the like before! Pray will they get to London this tide?" At which the good-natured gentleman smiled, and said, "Yes, my dear; why, there is London, and as the wind is quite fair for them, some of them will come to an anchor in about half-an-hour, and all within an hour."
I was so taken up with looking down the river that, till my husband spoke, I had not once looked up the river; but when I did, and saw London, the Monument, the cathedral church of St. Paul, and the steeples belonging to the several parish churches, I was transported into an ecstasy, and could not refrain from saying, "Sure that cannot be the place we are now just come from, it must be further off, for that looks to be scarce three miles off, and we have been three hours, by my watch, coming from our lodgings in the Minories! No, no, it is not London, it is some other place!"
Upon which one of the gentlemen present offeredto convince me that the place I saw was London if I would go up to the top of the house, and view it from the turret. I accepted the offer, and I, my husband, and the three gentlemen were conducted by the master of the house upstairs into the turret. If I was delighted before with my prospect, I was now ravished, for I was elevated above the room I was in before upwards of thirty feet. I seemed a little dizzy, for the turret being a lantern, and giving light all ways, for some time I thought myself suspended in the air; but sitting down, and having eat a mouthful of biscuit and drank a glass of sack, I soon recovered, and then the gentleman who had undertaken to convince me that the place I was shown was really London, thus began, after having drawn aside one of the windows.
"You see, my lady," says the gentleman, "the greatest, the finest, the richest, and the most populous city in the world, at least in Europe, as I can assure your ladyship, upon my own knowledge, it deserves the character I have given it." "But this, sir, will never convince me that the place you now show me is London, though I have before heard that London deserves the character you have with so much cordiality bestowed upon it. And this I can testify, that London, in every particular you have mentioned, greatly surpasses Paris, which is allowed by all historians and travellers to be the second city in Europe."
Here the gentleman, pulling out his pocket-glass,desired me to look through it, which I did; and then he directed me to look full at St. Paul's, and to make that the centre of my future observation, and thereupon he promised me conviction.
Whilst I took my observation, I sat in a high chair, made for that purpose, with a convenience before you to hold the glass. I soon found the cathedral, and then I could not help saying I have been several times up to the stone gallery, but not quite so often up to the iron gallery. Then I brought my eye to the Monument, and was obliged to confess I knew it to be such. The gentleman then moved the glass and desired me to look, which doing, I said, "I think I see Whitehall and St. James's Park, and I see also two great buildings like barns, but I do not know what they are." "Oh," says the gentleman, "they are the Parliament House and Westminster Abbey." "They may be so," said I; and continuing looking, I perceived the very house at Kensington which I had lived in some time; but of that I took no notice, yet I found my colour come, to think what a life of gaiety and wickedness I had lived. The gentleman, perceiving my disorder, said, "I am afraid I have tired your ladyship; I will make but one remove, more easterly, and then I believe you will allow the place we see to be London."
He might have saved himself the trouble, for I was thoroughly convinced of my error; but to give myself time to recover, and to hide my confusion, I seemed not yet to be quite convinced. I looked,and the first object that presented itself was Aldgate Church, which, though I confess to my shame, I seldom saw the inside of it, yet I was well acquainted with the outside, for many times my friend the Quaker and I had passed and repassed by it when we used to go in the coach to take an airing. I saw the church, or the steeple of the church, so plain, and knew it so well, that I could not help saying, with some earnestness, "My dear, I see our church; the church, I mean, belonging to our neighbourhood; I am sure it is Aldgate Church." Then I saw the Tower, and all the shipping; and, taking my eye from the glass, I thanked the gentleman for the trouble I had given him, and said to him that I was fully convinced that the place I saw was London, and that it was the very place we came from that morning.
When we came to Sittingbourne, our servant soon brought us word that although we were at the best inn in the town, yet there was nothing in the larder fit for our dinner. The landlord came in after him and began to make excuses for his empty cupboard. He told us, withal, that if we would please to stay, he would kill a calf, a sheep, a hog, or anything we had a fancy to. We ordered him to kill a pig and some pigeons, which, with a dish of fish, a cherry pie, and some pastry, made up a tolerable dinner. We made up two pounds ten shillings, for we caused the landlord, his wife, and two daughters, to dine with us, and help us off with our wine. Our landlady and her two daughters, with a glass or two given to the cook, managed two bottles of white wine. This operated so strong upon one of the young wenches that, my spouse being gone out into the yard, her tongue began to run; and, looking at me, she says to her mother, "La! mother, how much like the lady her ladyship is" (speaking of me), "the young woman who lodged here the other night, and stayed here part of the next day, and then set forward for Canterbury, described. The lady is the same person, I'm sure."
This greatly alarmed me, and made me very uneasy, for I concluded this young woman could be no other than my daughter, who was resolved to find me out, whether I would or no. I desired the girl to describe the young woman she mentioned, which she did, and I was convinced it was my own daughter. I asked in what manner she travelled, and whether she had any company. I was answered that she was on foot, and that she had no company; but that she always travelled from place to place in company; that her method was, when she came into any town, to go to the best inns and inquire for the lady she sought; and then, when she had satisfied herself that the lady, whom she called her mother, was not to be found in that town or neighbourhood, she then begged the favour of the landlady of the inn where she was, to put her into such a company that she knew that she might go safe to the next town; that this was the manner of her proceedingat her house, and she believed she had practised it ever since she set out from London; and she hoped to meet with her mother, as she called her, upon the road.
I asked my landlady whether she described our coach and equipage, but she said the young woman did not inquire concerning equipage, but only described a lady "so like your ladyship, that I have often, since I saw your ladyship, took you to be the very person she was looking for."
Amidst the distractions of my mind, this afforded me some comfort, that my daughter was not in the least acquainted with the manner in which we travelled. My husband and the landlord returned, and that put an end to the discourse.
I left this town with a heavy heart, feeling my daughter would infallibly find me out at Canterbury; but, as good luck would have it, she had left that city before we came thither, some time. I was very short in one thing, that I had not asked my landlady at Sittingbourne how long it was since my daughter was there. But when I came to Canterbury I was a very anxious and indefatigable in inquiring after my daughter, and I found that she had been at the inn where we then were, and had inquired for me, as I found by the description the people gave of myself.
Here I learnt my daughter had left Canterbury a week. This pleased me; and I was determined to stay in Canterbury one day, to view the cathedral, and see the antiquities of this metropolis.
As we had sixteen miles to our journey's end that night, for it was near four o'clock before we got into our coach again, the coachman drove with great speed, and at dusk in the evening we entered the west gate of the city, and put up at an inn in High Street (near St. Mary Bredman's church), which generally was filled with the best of company. The anxiety of my mind, on finding myself pursued by this girl, and the fatigue of my journey, had made me much out of order, my head ached, and I had no stomach.
This made my husband (but he knew not the real occasion of my illness) and the Quaker very uneasy, and they did all in their power to persuade me to eat anything I could fancy.
At length the landlady of the inn, who perceived I was more disturbed in my mind than sick, advised me to eat one poached egg, drink a glass of sack, eat a toast, and go to bed, and she warranted, she said, I should be well by the morning. This was immediately done; and I must acknowledge, that the sack and toast cheered me wonderfully, and I began to take heart again; and my husband would have the coachman in after supper, on purpose to divert me and the honest Quaker, who, poor creature, seemed much more concerned at my misfortune than I was myself.
I went soon to bed, but for fear I should be worse in the night, two maids of the inn were ordered to sit up in an adjoining chamber; the Quaker and mywaiting-maid lay in a bed in the same room, and my husband by himself in another apartment.
While my maid was gone down on some necessary business, and likewise to get me some burnt wine, which I was to drink going to bed, or rather when I was just got into bed, the Quaker and I had the following dialogue:
Quaker.The news thou heardest at Sittingbourne has disordered thee. I am glad the young woman has been out of this place a week; she went indeed for Dover; and when she comes there and canst not find thee, she may go to Deal, and so miss of thee.
Roxana.What I most depend upon is, that as we do not travel by any particular name, but the general one of the baronet and his lady, and the girl hath no notion what sort of equipage we travelled with, it was not easy to make a discovery of me, unless she accidentally, in her travels, light upon you (meaning the Quaker), or upon me; either of which must unavoidably blow the secret I had so long laboured to conceal.
Quaker.As thou intendest to stay here to-morrow, to see the things which thou callest antiquities, and which are more properly named the relics of the Whore of Babylon; suppose thou wert to send Thomas, who at thy command followeth after us, to the place called Dover, to inquire whether such a young woman has been inquiring for thee. He may go out betimes in the morning, and may return bynight, for it is but twelve or fourteen miles at farthest thither.
Roxana.I like thy scheme very well; and I beg the favour of you in the morning, as soon as you are up, to send Tom to Dover, with such instructions as you shall think proper.
After a good night's repose I was well recovered, to the great satisfaction of all that were with me.
The good-natured Quaker, always studious to serve and oblige me, got up about five o'clock in the morning, and going down into the inn-yard, met with Tom, gave him his instructions, and he set out for Dover before six o'clock.
As we were at the best inn in the city, so we could readily have whatever we pleased, and whatever the season afforded; but my husband, the most indulgent man that ever breathed, having observed how heartily I ate my dinner at Rochester two days before, ordered the very same bill of fare, and of which I made a heartier meal than I did before. We were very merry, and after we had dined, we went to see the town-house, but as it was near five o'clock I left the Quaker behind me, to receive what intelligence she could get concerning my daughter, from the footman, who was expected to return from Dover at six.
We came to the inn just as it was dark, and then excusing myself to my husband, I immediately ran up into my chamber, where I had appointed the Quaker to be against my return. I ran to her with eagerness, and inquired what news from Dover, by Tom, the footman.
She said, Tom had been returned two hours; that he got to Dover that morning between seven and eight, and found, at the inn he put up at, there had been an inquisitive young woman to find out a gentleman that was a Dutch merchant, and a lady who was her mother; that the young woman perfectly well described his lady; that he found that she had visited every public inn in the town; that she said she would go to Deal, and that if she did not find the lady, her mother, there, she would go by the first ship to the Hague, and go from thence, to Amsterdam and Rotterdam, searching all the towns through which she passed in the United Provinces.
This account pleased me very well, especially when I understood that she had been gone from Dover five days. The Quaker comforted me, and said it was lucky this busy creature had passed the road before us, otherwise she might easily have found means to have overtaken us, for, as she observed, the wench had such an artful way of telling her story, that she moved everybody to compassion; and she did not doubt but that if we had been before, as we were behind, she would have got those who would have assisted her with a coach, &c., to have pursued us, and they might have come up with us.
I was of the honest Quaker's sentiments. I grew pretty easy, called Tom, and gave him half a guinea for his diligence; then I and the Quaker went intothe parlour to my husband, and soon after supper came in, and I ate moderately, and we spent the remainder of the evening, for the clock had then tolled nine, very cheerfully; for my Quaker was so rejoiced at my good fortune, as she called it, that she was very alert, and exceeding good company; and her wit, and she had no small share of it, I thought was better played off than ever I had heard it before.
My husband asked me how I should choose to go on board; I desired him to settle it as he pleased, telling him it was a matter of very great indifference to me, as he was to go with me. "That may be true, my dear," says he, "but I ask you for a reason or two, which I will lay before you, viz., if we hire a vessel for ourselves, we may set sail when we please, have the liberty of every part of the ship to ourselves, and land at what port, either in Holland or France, we might make choice of. Besides," added he, "another reason I mention it to you is, that I know you do not love much company, which, in going into the packet-boat, it is almost impossible to avoid." "I own, my dear," said I, "your reasons are very good; I have but one thing to say against them, which is, that the packet-boat, by its frequent voyages, must of course be furnished with experienced seamen, who know the seas too well even to run any hazard." (At this juncture the terrible voyage I and Amy made from France to Harwich came so strong in my mind, that I trembled so as to be takennotice of by my husband.) "Besides," added I, "the landlord may send the master of one of them to you, and I think it may be best to hire the state cabin, as they call it, to ourselves, by which method we shall avoid company, without we have an inclination to associate ourselves with such passengers we may happen to like; and the expense will be much cheaper than hiring a vessel to go the voyage with us alone, and every whit as safe."
The Quaker, who had seriously listened to our discourse, gave it as her opinion that the method I had proposed was by far the safest, quickest, and cheapest. "Not," said she, "as I think thou wouldest be against any necessary expense, though I am certain thou wouldest not fling thy money away."
Soon after, my husband ordered the landlord to send for one of the masters of the packet-boats, of whom he hired the great cabin, and agreed to sail from thence the next day, if the wind and the tide answered.
The settling our method of going over sea had taken up the time till the dinner was ready, which we being informed of, came out of a chamber we had been in all the morning, to a handsome parlour, where everything was placed suitable to our rank; there was a large, old-fashioned service of plate, and a sideboard genteelly set off. The dinner was excellent, and well dressed.
After dinner, we entered into another discourse, which was the hiring of servants to go with us fromDover to Paris; a thing frequently done by travellers; and such are to be met with at every stage inn. Our footmen set out this morning on their return to London, and the Quaker and coach was to go the next day. My new chambermaid, whose name was Isabel, was to go through the journey, on condition of doing no other business than waiting on me. In a while we partly concluded to let the hiring of men-servants alone till we came to Calais, for they could be of no use to us on board a ship, the sailor's or cabin boy's place being to attend the cabin passengers as well as his master.
To divert ourselves, we took a walk after we had dined, round about the town, and coming to the garrison, and being somewhat thirsty, all went into the sutler's for a glass of wine. A pint was called for and brought; but the man of the house came in with it raving like a madman, saying, "Don't you think you are a villain, to ask for a pot of ale when I know you have spent all your money, and are ignorant of the means of getting more, without you hear of a place, which I look upon to be very unlikely?" "Don't be in such a passion, landlord," said my husband. "Pray, what is the matter?" "Oh, nothing, sir," says he; "but a young fellow in the sutling room, whom I find to have been a gentleman's servant, wants a place; and having spent all his money, would willingly run up a score with me, knowing I must get him a master if ever I intend to have my money." "Pray, sir," said my husband, "send theyoung fellow to me; if I like him, and can agree with him, it is possible I may take him into my service." The landlord took care we should not speak to him twice, he went and fetched him in himself, and my husband examined him before he spoke, as to his size, mien, and garb. The young man was clean dressed, of a middling stature, a dark complexion, and about twenty-seven years old.
"I hear, young man," says he to him, "that you want a place; it may perhaps be in my power to serve you. Let me know at once what education you have had, if you have any family belonging to you, or if you are fit for a gentleman's service, can bring any person of reputation to your character, and are willing to go and live in Holland with me: we will not differ about your wages."
The young fellow made a respectful bow to each of us, and addressed himself to my husband as follows: "Sir," said he, "in me you behold the eldest child of misfortune. I am but young, as you may see; I have no comers after me, and having lived with several gentlemen, some of whom are on their travels, others settled in divers parts of the world, besides what are dead, makes me unable to produce a character without a week's notice to write to London, and I should not doubt but by the return of the post to let you see some letters as would satisfy you in any doubts about me. My education," continued he, "is but very middling, being taken from school before I had well learnt to read, write, and cast accounts;and as to my parentage, I cannot well give you any account of them: all that I know is, that my father was a brewer, and by his extravagance ran out a handsome fortune, and afterwards left my poor mother almost penniless, with five small children, of which I was the second, though not above five years old. My mother knew not what to do with us, so she sent a poor girl, our maid, whose name I have forgot this many years, with us all to a relation's, and there left us, and I never saw or heard of or from them any more. Indeed, I inquired among the neighbours, and all that I could learn was that my mother's goods were seized, that she was obliged to apply to the parish for relief, and died of grief soon after. For my part," says he, "I was put into the hands of my father's sister, where, by her cruel usage, I was forced to run away at nine years of age; and the numerous scenes of life I have since gone through are more than would fill a small volume. Pray, sir," added he, "let it satisfy you that I am thoroughly honest, and should be glad to serve you at any rate; and although I cannot possibly get a good character from anybody at present, yet I defy the whole world to give me an ill one, either in public or private life."
If I had had the eyes of Argus I should have seen with them all on this occasion. I knew that this was my son, and one that, among all my inquiry, I could never get any account of. The Quaker seeing my colour come and go, and also tremble, said, "Iverily believe thou art not well; I hope this Kentish air, which was always reckoned aguish, does not hurt thee?" "I am taken very sick of a sudden," said I; "so pray let me go to our inn that I may go to my chamber." Isabel being called in, she and the Quaker attended me there, leaving the young fellow with my spouse. When I was got into my chamber I was seized with such a grief as I had never known before; and flinging myself down upon the bed, burst into a flood of tears, and soon after fainted away. Soon after, I came a little to myself, and the Quaker begged of me to tell her what was the cause of my sudden indisposition. "Nothing at all," says I, "as I know of; but a sudden chilliness seized my blood, and that, joined to a fainting of the spirits, made me ready to sink."
Presently after my husband came to see how I did, and finding me somewhat better, he told me that he had a mind to hire the young man I had left him with, for he believed he was honest and fit for our service. "My dear," says I, "I did not mind him. I would desire you to be cautious who we pick up on the road; but as I have the satisfaction of hiring my maids, I shall never trouble myself with the men-servants, that is wholly your province. However," added I (for I was very certain he was my son, and was resolved to have him in my service, though it was my interest to keep my husband off, in order to bring him on), "if you like the fellow, I am not averse to your hiring one servant in England. Weare not obliged to trust him with much before we see his conduct, and if he does not prove as you may expect, you may turn him off whenever you please." "I believe," said my husband, "he has been ingenuous in his relation to me; and as a man who has seen great variety of life, and may have been the shuttlecock of fortune, the butt of envy, and the mark of malice, I will hire him when he comes to me here anon, as I have ordered him."
As I knew he was to be hired, I resolved to be out of the way when he came to my husband; so about five o'clock I proposed to the Quaker to take a walk on the pier and see the shipping, while the tea-kettle was boiling. We went, and took Isabel with us, and as we were going along I saw my son Thomas (as I shall for the future call him) going to our inn; so we stayed out about an hour, and when we returned my husband told me he had hired the man, and that he was to come to him as a servant on the morrow morning. "Pray, my dear," said I, "did you ask where he ever lived, or what his name is?" "Yes," replied my husband, "he says his name is Thomas ——; and as to places, he has mentioned several families of note, and among others, he lived at my Lord ——'s, next door to the great French lady's in Pall Mall, whose name he tells me was Roxana." I was now in a sad dilemma, and was fearful I should be known by my own son; and the Quaker took notice of it, and afterwards told me she believed fortune had conspired that all the people Ibecame acquainted with, should have known the Lady Roxana. "I warrant," said she, "this young fellow is somewhat acquainted with the impertinent wench that calls herself thy daughter."
I was very uneasy in mind, but had one thing in my favour, which was always to keep myself at a very great distance from my servants; and as the Quaker was to part with us the next day or night, he would have nobody to mention the name Roxana to, and so of course it would drop.
We supped pretty late at night, and were very merry, for my husband said all the pleasant things he could think of, to divert me from the supposed illness he thought I had been troubled with in the day. The Quaker kept up the discourse with great spirit, and I was glad to receive the impression, for I wanted the real illness to be drove out of my head.
The next morning, after breakfast, Thomas came to his new place. He appeared very clean, and brought with him a small bundle, which I supposed to be linen tied up in a handkerchief. My husband sent him to order some porters belonging to the quay to fetch our boxes to the Custom-house, where they were searched, for which we paid one shilling; and he had orders to give a crown for head money, as they called it; their demand by custom is but sixpence a head, but we appeared to our circumstances in everything. As soon as our baggage was searched, it was carried from the Custom-house on board thepacket-boat, and there lodged in the great cabin as we had ordered it.
This took up the time till dinner, and when we were sitting together after we had both dined, the captain came to tell us that the wind was very fair, and that he was to sail at high water, which would be about ten o'clock at night. My husband asked him to stay and drink part of a bottle of wine with him, which he did; and their discourse being all in the maritime strain, the Quaker and I retired and left them together, for I had something to remind her of in our discourse before we left London. When we got into the garden, which was rather neat than fine, I repeated all my former requests to her about my children, Spitalfields, Amy, &c., and we sat talking together till Thomas was sent to tell us the captain was going, on which we returned; but, by the way, I kissed her and put a large gold medal into her hand, as a token of my sincere love, and desired that she would never neglect the things she had promised to perform, and her repeated promise gave me great satisfaction.
The captain, who was going out of the parlour as we returned in, was telling my husband he would send six of his hands to conduct us to the boat, about a quarter of an hour before he sailed, and as the moon was at the full, he did not doubt of a pleasant passage.
Our next business was to pay off the coachman, to whom my husband gave half a guinea extraordinary,to set the Quaker down at the house he took us all up at, which he promised to perform.
As it was low water, we went on board to see the cabin that we were to go our voyage in, and the captain would detain us to drink a glass of the best punch, I think, I ever tasted.
When we returned to the inn, we ordered supper to be ready by eight o'clock, that we might drink a parting glass to settle it, before we went on board; for my husband, who knew the sea very well, said a full stomach was the forerunner of sea-sickness, which I was willing to avoid.
We invited the landlord, his wife, and daughter, to supper with us, and having sat about an hour afterwards, the captain himself, with several sailors, came to fetch us to the vessel. As all was paid, we had nothing to hinder us but taking a final leave of the Quaker, who would go to see us safe in the vessel, where tears flowed from both our eyes; and I turned short in the boat, while my husband took his farewell, and he then followed me, and I never saw the Quaker or England any more.
We were no sooner on board than we hoisted sail; the anchors being up, and the wind fair, we cut the waves at a great rate, till about four o'clock in the morning, when a French boat came to fetch the mail to carry it to the post-house, and the boat cast her anchors, for we were a good distance from the shore, neither could we sail to the town till next tide, the present one being too far advanced in the ebb.
We might have gone on shore in the boat that carried the mail, but my husband was sleeping in the cabin when it came to the packet-boat, and I did not care to disturb him; however, we had an opportunity soon after, for my husband awaking, and two other boats coming up with oars to see for passengers, Thomas came to let us know we might go on shore, if we pleased. My husband paid the master of the packet-boat for our passage, and Thomas, with the sailors' assistance, got our boxes into the wherry, so we sailed for Calais; but before our boat came to touch ground, several men, whose bread I suppose it is, rushed into the water, without shoes or stockings, to carry us on shore; so having paid ten shillings for the wherry, we each of us was carried from the boat to the land by two men, and our goods brought after us; here was a crown to be paid, to save ourselves from being wet, by all which a man that is going a travelling may see that it is not the bare expense of the packet-boat that will carry him to Calais.
It would be needless to inform the reader of all the ceremonies that we passed through at this place before we were suffered to proceed on our journey; however, our boxes having been searched at the Custom-house, my husband had them plumbed, as they called it, to hinder any further inquiry about them; and we got them all to the Silver Lion, a noted inn, and the post-house of this place, where we took a stage-coach for ourselves, and the next morning, having well refreshed ourselves, we all, viz.,my husband, self, and chambermaid within the coach, and Thomas behind (beside which my husband hired two horsemen well armed, who were pretty expensive, to travel with us), set forward on our journey.
We were five days on our journey from Calais to Paris, which we went through with much satisfaction, for, having fine weather and good attendance, we had nothing to hope for.
When we arrived at Paris (I began to be sorry I had ever proposed going to it for fear of being known, but as we were to stay there but a few days, I was resolved to keep very retired), we went to a merchant's house of my husband's acquaintance in the Rue de la Bourle, near the Carmelites, in the Faubourg de St. Jacques.
This being a remote part of the city, on the south side, and near several pleasant gardens, I thought it would be proper to be a little indisposed, that my husband might not press me to go with him to see the curiosities; for he could do the most needful business, such as going to the bankers to exchange bills, despatching of letters, settling affairs with merchants, &c., without my assistance; and I had a tolerable plea for my conduct, such as the great fatigue of our journey, being among strangers, &c.; so we stayed at Paris eight days without my going to any particular places, except going one day to the gardens of Luxembourg, another to the church of Notre Dame on the Isle of Paris, a third to the Hôtel Royale des Invalides, a fourth to the gardens of the Tuileries,a fifth to the suburbs of St. Lawrence, to see the fair which was then holding there; a sixth to the gardens of the Louvre, a seventh to the playhouse, and the eighth stayed all day at home to write a letter to the Quaker, letting her know where I then was, and how soon we should go forwards in our journey, but did not mention where we intended to settle, as, indeed, we had not yet settled that ourselves.
One of the days, viz., that in which I went to the gardens of the Tuileries, I asked Thomas several questions about his father, mother, and other relations, being resolved, notwithstanding he was my own son, as he did not know it, to turn him off by some stratagem or another, if he had any manner of memory of me, either as his mother, or the Lady Roxana. I asked him if he had any particular memory of his mother or father; he answered, "No, I scarce remember anything of either of them," said he, "but I have heard from several people that I had one brother and three sisters, though I never saw them all, to know them, notwithstanding I lived with an aunt four years; I often asked after my mother, and some people said she went away with a man, but it was allowed by most people, that best knew her, that she, being brought to the greatest distress, was carried to the workhouse belonging to the parish, where she died soon after with grief."
Nothing could give me more satisfaction than what Thomas had related; so now, I thought I would askabout the Lady Roxana (for he had been my next-door neighbour when I had that title conferred on me). "Pray, Thomas," said I, "did not you speak of a great person of quality, whose name I have forgot, that lived next door to my Lord ——'s when you was his valet? pray who was she? I suppose a foreigner, by the name you called her." "Really, my lady," replied he, "I do not know who she was; all I can say of her is, that she kept the greatest company, and was a beautiful woman, by report, but I never saw her; she was called the Lady Roxana, was a very good mistress, but her character was not so good as to private life as it ought to be. Though I once had an opportunity," continued he, "of seeing a fine outlandish dress she danced in before the king, which I took as a great favour, for the cook took me up when the lady was out, and she desired my lady's woman to show it to me."
All this answered right, and I had nothing to do but to keep my Turkish dress out of the way, to be myself unknown to my child, for as he had never seen Roxana, so he knew nothing of me.
In the interval, my husband had hired a stage-coach to carry us to the city of Menin, where he intended to go by water down the river Lys to Ghent, and there take coach to Isabella fort, opposite the city of Anvers, and cross the river to that place, and go from thence by land to Breda; and as he had agreed and settled this patrol, I was satisfied, and we set out next day. We went through several handsometowns and villages before we took water, but by water we went round part of the city of Courtrai, and several fortified towns. At Anvers we hired a coach to Breda, where we stayed two days to refresh ourselves, for we had been very much fatigued; as Willemstadt was situated so as to be convenient for our taking water for Rotterdam, we went there, and being shipped, had a safe and speedy voyage to that city.
As we had resolved in our journey to settle at the Hague, we did not intend to stay any longer at Rotterdam, than while my husband had all our wealth delivered to him from the several merchants he had consigned it to. This business took up a month, during which time we lived in ready-furnished lodgings on the Great Quay, where all the respect was shown us as was due to our quality.
Here my husband hired two more men-servants, and I took two maids, and turned Isabel, who was a well-bred, agreeable girl, into my companion; but that I might not be too much fatigued, my husband went to the Hague first, and left me, with three maids and Thomas, at Rotterdam, while he took a house, furnished it, and had everything ready for my reception, which was done with great expedition. One of his footmen came with a letter to me one morning, to let me know his master would come by the scow next day to take me home, in which he desired that I would prepare for my departure. I soon got everything ready, and the next morning, onthe arrival of the scow, I saw my husband; and we both, with all the servants, left the city of Rotterdam, and safely got to the Hague the afternoon following.
It was now the servants had notice given them to call me by the name of "my lady," as the honour of baronetage had entitled me, and with which title I was pretty well satisfied, but should have been more so had not I yet the higher title of countess in view.
I now lived in a place where I knew nobody, neither was I known, on which I was pretty careful whom I became acquainted with; our circumstances were very good, my husband loving, to the greatest degree, my servants respectful; and, in short, I lived the happiest life woman could enjoy, had my former crimes never crept into my guilty conscience.
I was in this happy state of life when I wrote a letter to the Quaker, in which I gave her a direction where she might send to me. And about a fortnight after, as I was one afternoon stepping into my coach in order to take an airing, the postman came to our door with letters, one of which was directed to me, and as soon as I saw it was the Quaker's hand, I bid the coachman put up again, and went into my closet to read the contents, which were as follows: