"In vain with tears her loss she may deplore;In vain look back to what she was before;She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more."'
"In vain with tears her loss she may deplore;In vain look back to what she was before;She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more."'
Miss Betsy was so piqued at these remonstrances, that she had scarce patience to contain herself till he had given over speaking. 'Good lack!' cried she, 'how sententious you are grown! But, I hope, you have not the insolence to imagine I am guilty of any thing that might justly call my reputation in question?'—'No, Madam,' replied he; 'far be it from me to suspect you of any thoughts but such as might become the purity of angels. But the more bright you are, the more we should lament to see the native lustre of your mind clouded and blemished by the faults of others. Permit me, Madam, to tell you, that to continue an intimacy with a woman of Miss Forward's character, must infallibly draw you into conveniences, which you want but to foresee to tremble at.'
'If you have the affection for me you pretend,' said she, haughtily, 'and could see the aversion I have to a censorious temper, it is yourself would have cause to tremble. I love Miss Forward, and neither know, nor will believe, any ill of her. Whenever I am convinced that she is unworthy of my friendship, it must be by her own actions, not by the report of others. Therefore, Mr. Trueworth, if you desire to continue on good terms with me, you must forbear to interfere with what company I keep, nor pretend to prescribe rulesfor my conduct, at least, till you have more right to do so.'
'I shall never, Madam, presume to prescribe,' replied he; 'but shall always think it my duty to advise you in a matter which so nearly concerns not only yourself, but all who have any relation to you, either by blood or affection.' Though these words, as well as all he had said on this occasion, were uttered in the most respectful accents, yet Miss Betsy, who was not able to imagine the least contradiction suited with the character of a lover, was offended beyond all measure. She frowned—she rose hastily from her chair—walked about the room in a disordered motion—told him, the nature of the acquaintance between them did not authorize the liberties he took—that she would not bear it—and desired that he would either leave her, or change the conversation to somewhat more agreeable.
Mr. Trueworth, who as yet had said little, in comparison with what he intended to say on this subject, was so much shocked at the impossibility he found of engaging her attention, that for some time he was incapable of speaking one word. During this pause, a servant presented a letter to Miss Betsy. 'O!' cried she, as soon as she looked on the superscription, 'it is from my dear Miss Forward. I hope nothing has happened to prevent her going with me to the play.' She made this exclamation merely to vex Mr. Trueworth; and, for that purpose also read the billet loud enough for him to hear what it contained, which was as follows.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.My dear Miss Betsy,Since I received your message, I got a person to secure places for us in the box; so we need not go till six o'clock: but I am quite alone; and, if you are disengaged, should be glad you would come directly to her, who is ever, with the most perfect amity, my dear Miss Betsy, your very much obliged, and humble servant,A. Forward.'
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear Miss Betsy,
Since I received your message, I got a person to secure places for us in the box; so we need not go till six o'clock: but I am quite alone; and, if you are disengaged, should be glad you would come directly to her, who is ever, with the most perfect amity, my dear Miss Betsy, your very much obliged, and humble servant,
A. Forward.'
'Bid the messenger,' said Miss Betsy to the servant, 'tell the lady that I will wait upon her this moment; and then call me a chair.—I must comply with the summons I have just received,' said she, turning to Mr. Trueworth; 'so you must excuse my leaving you; for I will not strain your complaisance to accompany me where I am going: but shall be glad to see you when you are in a better humour.'
'I am ready, Madam, to attend you any where,' said Mr.Trueworth, 'even to Miss Forward's; and will pass the whole evening with you, if you please, in her apartment: but, I beseech you, do not think of going to the play with a woman of her class; do not expose yourself in a place where so many eyes will be upon you. Reflect, for Heaven's sake, what your modesty will suffer, in seeing yourself gazed and pointed at by those to whom she sells her favours! and reflect yet farther, what they will judge of you!'—'You grow scurrilous, Sir!' cried she, ready to burst with passion; 'I will hear no more.' Then, running to the door, asked if the chair was come; and, being told it was, 'Farewel, Sir,' said she, as she was going into it; 'when I want a spy to inspect, or a governor to direct my actions, the choice may perhaps fall on you.'
Mr. Trueworth, who, at this treatment, was not quite master of himself, retorted with some warmth, and loud enough to be heard by her, as the chairmen were carrying her to the steps of the house, 'The choice, Madam, perhaps, may not be yours to make.' With these words he went hastily away, half resolving in his mind never to see her more.
The few remonstrances Miss Betsy would vouchsafe to listen to from Mr. Trueworth, had a much greater effect upon her mind, than her pride, and the excessive homage she expected from her lovers, would suffer to make shew of, or than he himself imagined. She had too much discernment, heedless as she was, not to know he was above any little malicious inuendoes; but, on the contrary, was extremely cautious in regard to the character of whomsoever he spoke; she feared, therefore, he had but too good grounds for the uneasiness he expressed for her continuing a correspondence with Miss Forward; she knew that she had been faulty, and could not be assured she was not still so; and it was more owing to her impatience to be ascertained of the truth, than to any real resentment she had conceived against Mr. Trueworth, that she complied with the invitation of her now suspected friend, and resolved to put the question home to her, concerning her present manner of life, and the means by which she was supported: she had found her removed from the lowest degree of penury and wretchedness, into a state equal to what she could have been mistress of had she been re-established in the favour of her father; and now, for the first time, began to think it strange she should be so, from the mere bounty of a distant relation, to whom in her utmost distress she had never applied, nor even once mentioned in the recital of her melancholy history: 'I will talk to her,' said she to herself; 'watch carefully, not only the replies she makes to what I say, but also her very looks, unperceiving my suspicions; and, if I find the least room to believe what Mr. Trueworth has insinuated, shall pity,but will never see her more.'
In this prudent disposition did she enter the lodgings of Miss Forward; but had no opportunity for the execution of her purpose, some company, which she herself thought, by their behaviour, to be not of the best sort, happening to be just come before her, and departed not till it was time to go to the play. Miss Betsy was more than once about to tell Miss Forward that she had changed her mind, and would not go; but her complaisance, as having been the person who made the first proposal, as often stopped her mouth.
In fine, they went; but the house being very full, and the fellow who had been sent to keep places for them going somewhat too late, they were obliged to content themselves with sitting in the third row. This, at another time, would have been a matter of some mortification to Miss Betsy; but, in the humour she now was, to shew herself was the least of her cares. Never had she entered any place of publick entertainment with so little satisfaction; Mr. Trueworth's words ran very much in her mind; she had lost no part of them; and though she could not bring herself to approve of the freedom he had taken, yet, in her heart, she could not forbear confessing, that his admonitions testified the most zealous and tender care for her reputation; and, if given by any one except a lover, would have demanded more of her thanks than her resentment.
But, alas! those serious considerations were but of short duration: the brilliant audience; the musick; the moving scenes exhibited on the stage; and, above all, the gallantries with which herself and Miss Forward were treated by several gay young gentleman, who, between the acts, presented them with fruits and sweetmeats, soon dissipated all those reflections which it was so much her interest to have cherished, and she once more relapsed into her former self.
Towards the end of the play, there were two rakes of distinction that stuck very close to them, and when it was ended, took the liberty to invite them to sup at a tavern; Miss Betsy started at the motion, but was very well pleased to find Miss Forward shewed an equal dislike to it. 'You will give us leave, then,' cried one of the gentlemen, 'to guard you safe home, ladies?'—'That I think, my dear,' said Miss Forward to Miss Betsy, 'may be granted, for the sake of being protected from the insults of those who may know less how to behave towards our sex.'
Miss Betsy making no opposition, they all four went into ahackney-coach to Miss Forward's lodgings, it being agreed upon between them, that Miss Betsy should be set down there, and take a chair from thence to Mr. Goodman's. Nothing indecent, nor that could be any way shocking to the most strict modesty, being offered during their passage, on their alighting from the coach at Mr. Screener's door, Miss Forward thought, that to ask them to come in would incur no censure from her fair friend, as they had behaved with so much civility and complaisance: accordingly she did so; and they, who expected no less, took each man his lady by the hand, and immediately tripped up stairs.
Miss Betsy did not presently make any offer to go home, because she thought it would appear very odd in her to leave her companion with two strange gentlemen. She little guessed the designs they had in their heads, and doubted not but they would soon take leave; she did not, however, continue in this mistake for many minutes; for one of them drawing Miss Forward to a window, in order to speak to her with more privacy, the other, that he might have the better opportunity to do so, addressed himself to Miss Betsy, 'How killingly handsome you are!' said he, taking her by both her hands, and looking full in her face; 'what a pity you did not shine in the front to-night! By my soul you would have out-dazzled all the titled prudes about you!'
'Pish!' replied she, 'I went to see the play, not to be seen myself.'—'Not to be seen!' cried he; 'why then have you taken all this pains to empty the whole quiver of Cupid's arrows to new-point those charms you have received from nature? Why does the jessamine and the blooming violet play wanton in your hair? Why is the patch with so much art placed on the corner of this ruby lip, and here another to mark out the arched symmetry of the jetty brow? Why does the glittering solitaire hang pendant on the snowy breast, but to attract and allure us poor men into a pleasing ruin?'
Miss Betsy answered this raillery in it's kind; and, as she had a great deal of ready wit, would soon perhaps, had the same strain continued, have left the beau nothing to say for himself: but Miss Forward and the other gentleman having finished what they had to say, coming towards them, put an end to it. 'What do you think?' cried Miss Forward; 'this gentleman swears he won't go out of the house till I give him leave to send for a supper.'—'You may do as you please,' said Miss Betsy; 'but I must be excused from staying to partake of it.' Whether she was really in earnest or not, is not verymaterial; but her refusal was looked upon only as a feint, and they pressed her to tarry in such a manner, that she could not well avoid complying, even though she had been more averse, in effect, than for some time she pretended to be.
The conversation was extremely lively; and, though sprinkled with some double entendres, could not be said to have any thing indecent, or that could raise a blush in the faces of women who were accustomed to much company. Miss Betsy had her share in all the innocent part of what was said, and laughed at that which was less so. But, not to dwell on trifles, she forgot all the cautions given her by Mr. Trueworth, considering not that she was in company with two strange gentlemen, and of a woman whose character was suspected; and, though she had a watch by her side, regarded not how the hours passed on, till she heard the nighly monitor of time, cry, 'Past twelve o'clock, and a cloudy morning!'
After this she would not be prevailed upon to stay, and desired Miss Forward to send somebody for a chair. 'A chair, Madam!' cried that gentleman who, of the two, had been most particular in his addresses to her; 'you cannot, sure, imagine we should suffer you to go home alone at this late hour.'—'I apprehend no great danger,' said she; 'though I confess it is a thing I have not been accustomed to.' He replied, that in his company she should not begin the experiment. On this a coach was ordered. Miss Betsy made some few scruples at committing herself to the conduct of a person so little known to her. 'All acquaintance must have a beginning,' said he; 'the most intimate friends were perfect strangers at first. You may depend on it I am a man of honour, and cannot be capable of an ungenerous action.'
Little more was said on the occasion; and being told a coach was at the door, they took leave of Miss Forward and the other gentleman, and went down stairs. On stepping into the coach, Miss Betsy directed the man where to drive; but the gentleman, unheard by her, ordered him to go to the bagnio in Orange Street. They were no sooner seated, and the windows drawn up to keep out the cold, than Miss Betsy was alarmed with a treatment which her want of consideration made her little expect. Since the gentleman-commoner, no man had ever attempted to take the liberties which her present companion now did: she struggled—she repelled with all her might, the insolent pressures of his lips and hands. 'Is this,' cried she, 'the honour I was to depend upon? Is it thus you prove yourself incapableof an ungenerous action?'—'Accuse me not,' said he, 'till you have reason. I have been bit once, and have made a vow never to settle upon any woman while I live again; but you shall fare never the worse for that, I will make you a handsome present before we part; and, if you can be constant, will allow you six guineas a week.'
She was so confounded at the first mention of this impudent proposal; that she had not the power of interrupting him; but, recovering herself as well as she was able, 'Heavens!' cried she, 'what means all this? What do you take me for?'—'Take you for!' answered he, laughing; 'pr'ythee, dear girl, no more of these airs: I take you for a pretty kind, obliging creature, and such I hope to find you, as soon as we come into a proper place. In the mean time,' continued he, stopping her mouth with kisses, 'none of this affected coyness.'
The fright she was in, aided by disdain and rage, now inspired her with an unusual strength: she broke from him, thrust down the window, and with one breath called him 'Monster! Villain!' with the next screamed out to the coachman to stop; and, finding he regarded not her cries, would have thrown herself out, if not forcibly witheld by the gentleman, who began now to be a little startled at her resolute behaviour. 'What is all this for?' said he: 'would you break your neck, or venture being crushed to pieces by the wheels?'—'Any thing,' cried she, bursting into tears, 'I will venture; suffer any thing, rather than be subjected to insults, such as you have dared to treat me with.'
Though the person by whom Miss Betsy was thus dangerously attacked was a libertine, or, according to the more genteel and modish phrase, a man of pleasure, yet he wanted neither honour, nor good sense: he had looked on Miss Betsy as a woman of the town, by seeing her with one who was so, and her too great freedom in conversation gave him no cause to alter his opinion; but the manner in which she had endeavoured to rebuff his more near approaches, greatly staggered him. He knew not what to think, but remained in silent cogitation for some minutes; and, though he held her fast clasped round the waist, it was only to prevent her from attempting the violence she had threatened, not to offer any towards her. 'Is it possible,' said he, after this pause, 'that you are virtuous?'—'I call Heaven to witness,' answered she, with a voice faltering through the excess of terror and indignation, 'that I never have entertained one thought that was not strictly so! that I detest and scorn those wretched creatures of the number of whom you imagine me to be one; and that I would sooner die the worst of deaths, than live withinfamy! Yes, Sir, be assured,' continued she, gathering more courage, 'that whatever appearances may be this fatal night against me, I am of a family of some consideration in the world, and am blessed with a fortune, which sets me above the low temptations of designing men.'
As she had ended these words, they came to the bagnio; and, the coach immediately stopping, two or three waiters came running to open the door; on which Miss Betsy, more terrified than ever, shrieked in a most piteous manner; 'O God!' cried she, 'What's here? Where am I? What will become of me?' and, at that instant recollecting that no help was near; that she was in the power of a man whose aim was her eternal ruin; and that it was by her own indiscretion alone this mischief had fallen on her; with so overcome with the dread, the shame, the horror, as she then supposed, of her inevitable fate, that she was very near falling into a swoon.
The gentleman discovering, by the light of the lamps at the bagnio door, the condition she was in, was truly touched with it. 'Retire,' said he hastily to the fellows, 'we do not want you.' Then throwing himself on his knees before her, 'Let this posture, Madam,' continued he, 'obtain your pardon; and, at the same time, ease you of all apprehensions on my score.'—'May I believe you?' said she, still weeping. 'You may,' replied he. Then rising, and placing himself on the seat opposite to her, 'I love my pleasures, and think it no crime to indulge the appetites of nature. I am charmed with the kind free woman, but I honour and revere the truly virtuous; and it is a maxim with me never to attempt the violation of innocence. These, Madam, are my principles in regard to your sex: but, to convince you farther—Here, fellow,' continued he to the coachman, who was walking backwards and forwards at some distance, 'get up upon your box, and drive where you were first directed.'
Miss Betsy acknowledged the generosity of this behaviour; and, on his asking by what accident it had happened, that he found her in company with a woman of Miss Forward's character, she told him ingenuously the truth, that they knew each other when children in the country; but that she had not seen her more than three times since their coming to London, and was entirely ignorant of her conduct from that time.
He then took the liberty of reminding her, that a young lady more endangered her reputation by an acquaintance of one woman of ill fame, than by receiving the visits of twenty men, though professed libertines. To which she replied, that for the future she would be verycareful what company she kept of both sexes.
This was the sum of the conversation that passed between them during their little stage to Mr. Goodman's; where being safely arrived, after having seen her within the doors, he saluted her with a great deal of respect, and took his leave.
Mr. Goodman and Lady Mellasin were gone to bed when Miss Betsy came home; but Miss Flora sat up for her, in complaisance, as she pretended, but in reality to see who it was came home with her. This malicious creature had been extremely fawning, for some days past, to Miss Betsy, but this night was more so than usual; doubtless, in the hope of being able to draw something out of her, which her cruel wit might turn to her disadvantage: but the other knew too well the disposition she had towards her, to communicate anything to her, which she would not wish should be made publick.
Never did any one pass a night with greater inquietudes than this young lady sustained; and she felt them the more terribly, as she had no friend to whom pride and shame would suffer her to impart the cause: she looked back with horror on the precipice she had fallen into, and considered it as a kind of miracle, that she had recovered from it unhurt, she could not reflect on what had passed; that by the levity of her conduct she had been thought a common prostitute, had been treated as such, and preserved from irrecoverable ruin by the mere mercy of a man who was a perfect stranger to her; without feeling anew that confusion which the most shocking moments of her distress inflicted. The most bitter of her enemies could not have passed censure more severe than she did on herself; and, in this fit of humiliation and repentance, would even have asked Mr. Trueworth pardon for the little regard she had paid to his advice.
The agitations of her mind would not suffer her to take onemoment of repose for the whole night; nor did the morning afford any more tranquillity: the disturbance of her heart flew up into her head, and occasioned so violent a pain there, that she was as unable as unwilling to get out of bed. She lay till some hours after the time in which they usually breakfasted, nor would take any refreshment, though the tea was brought to her bedside. Amongst the crowd of tormenting ideas, the remembrance that she owed all the vexation she laboured under entirely to the acquaintance she had with Miss Forward, came strong into her thoughts; and she had not rose the whole day, if not moved to it by the impatience of venting her spleen on that unfortunate woman; which she did, in a letter to her, containing these lines.
'To Miss Forward.I am sorry that the compassion, which your feigned contrition for one false step obliged me to take in your misfortunes, should make you imagine I would continue any conversation with you, after knowing you had abandoned yourself to a course of life, which I blush to think any of my sex can descend to brook the thoughts of, much more to be guilty of. If you had retained the least spark of generosity or good-will towards me, you would rather have avoided than coveted my company; as you must be sensible, that to be seen with you must render me in some measure a partaker of your infamy, though wholly innocent of your crimes. How base, how cruel, is such behaviour; especially to one, who had a real regard for you, even after you had confessed yourself unworthy of it! But I have been often told, and now I find the observation just, that women of your wretched principles, being lost to all hope of happiness themselves, take a malicious pleasure in endeavouring to destroy it in others.But, for Heaven's sake, what could induce you to desire a continuation of a correspondence with me? What did you take me for? Did you imagine me so blind as not to see into the shameful means by which you are supported, or so weak as to forfeit all the reputation and respect I have in the world, merely to comply with your request? No! your conduct is too bare-faced to give me even the shadow of an excuse for ever seeing you again: do not, therefore, go about to varnish over actions, whose foulness will appear through all the colours you can daub them with. The friendship I once had for you has already pleaded all that yourself could urge in your defence; but the cause is too bad, and I must leave you to the miseries whichattend remorse, and which a little time will infallibly bring on. Heavens! to be a common prostitute! to earn precarious bread, by being the slave of every man's licentious will. What is digging in the mines! What is begging! What is starving, when compared to this! But the idea is too shocking; modesty shudders at it. I shall drive both that and you as distant from my thoughts as possible; so, be assured, this is the last time you will ever hear from the much deceived, and ill-treated,B. Thoughtless.'
'To Miss Forward.
I am sorry that the compassion, which your feigned contrition for one false step obliged me to take in your misfortunes, should make you imagine I would continue any conversation with you, after knowing you had abandoned yourself to a course of life, which I blush to think any of my sex can descend to brook the thoughts of, much more to be guilty of. If you had retained the least spark of generosity or good-will towards me, you would rather have avoided than coveted my company; as you must be sensible, that to be seen with you must render me in some measure a partaker of your infamy, though wholly innocent of your crimes. How base, how cruel, is such behaviour; especially to one, who had a real regard for you, even after you had confessed yourself unworthy of it! But I have been often told, and now I find the observation just, that women of your wretched principles, being lost to all hope of happiness themselves, take a malicious pleasure in endeavouring to destroy it in others.
But, for Heaven's sake, what could induce you to desire a continuation of a correspondence with me? What did you take me for? Did you imagine me so blind as not to see into the shameful means by which you are supported, or so weak as to forfeit all the reputation and respect I have in the world, merely to comply with your request? No! your conduct is too bare-faced to give me even the shadow of an excuse for ever seeing you again: do not, therefore, go about to varnish over actions, whose foulness will appear through all the colours you can daub them with. The friendship I once had for you has already pleaded all that yourself could urge in your defence; but the cause is too bad, and I must leave you to the miseries whichattend remorse, and which a little time will infallibly bring on. Heavens! to be a common prostitute! to earn precarious bread, by being the slave of every man's licentious will. What is digging in the mines! What is begging! What is starving, when compared to this! But the idea is too shocking; modesty shudders at it. I shall drive both that and you as distant from my thoughts as possible; so, be assured, this is the last time you will ever hear from the much deceived, and ill-treated,
B. Thoughtless.'
She was going to seal up the above letter, when a sudden thought coming into her head, she added, to what she had already wrote, this postscript.
'P.S. You may perhaps be instigated to answer this, either through resentment for the reproaches it contains, or through some remains of modesty, to attempt an apology for the occasion: but I would not wish you should give yourself that trouble; for, be assured, I shall read nothing that comes from you, and that whatever you send will be returned to you again unopened.'
'P.S. You may perhaps be instigated to answer this, either through resentment for the reproaches it contains, or through some remains of modesty, to attempt an apology for the occasion: but I would not wish you should give yourself that trouble; for, be assured, I shall read nothing that comes from you, and that whatever you send will be returned to you again unopened.'
She immediately sent this away by a porter; and, having satisfied the dictates of her indignation against Miss Forward, she had now done with her, and resolved to think of her no more; yet was the confusion of her mind far from being dissipated. 'What will Mr. Trueworth say,' cried she to herself, 'if ever the ridiculous adventure of last night should reach his ears, as nothing is more probable than that it may? What will my brother Frank say, on hearing such a story? What will Mr. Goodman and Lady Mellasin say? What a triumph for the envious Miss Flora! And what can I answer for myself, either to my friends or enemies?'
Little care as this young lady had seemed to have taken of her reputation, it was, notwithstanding, very dear to her. Honour was yet still more dear; and she could not reflect, that what she had done might call the one into question, and how near she had been to having the other irrecoverably lost, without feeling the most bitter agonies: she was not able to dress, or go down stairs that day; and gave orders to be denied to whoever should come to visit her.
In this perplexed situation of mind let us leave her for a while, and see with what sort of temper Mr. Trueworth behaved, after having seen her go to the very woman he had so much conjured her to avoid.
All the love he had for her would not keep him from resenting this last rebuff: he thought he had not deserved such usage; nor that his having professed himself her lover, gave her the privilege of treating him as her slave. The humour he was in making him unfit for company, he went directly to his lodgings; but had not been long there, before it came into his head that, possibly, the manner in which she had behaved was only a fit of contradiction; and that, after all, she might, when she was out of hearing, have given counter-orders to the chairmen, and was neither gone to Miss Forward's, nor would accompany her to the play. With such vain imaginations does love sometimes flatter its votaries; and the sincere and ardent flame which filled the heart of Mr. Trueworth, made him greedily catch at every supposition in favour of the darling object.
Willing, however, to be more assured, he bethought himself of a strategem, which would either relieve all the doubts remaining in him of her obstinacy, or convince him they were but too just. He sent immediately to his barber for a black perriwig; and, muffled up in a cloak, so as to render it almost an impossibility for him to be known by any one, went to the theatre; and, with a heart divided betwixt hope and fear, placed himself in a part of the middle gallery, which had the full command of more than half the boxes. He saw a very brilliant circle; but not she, whom he so much dreaded to find, shine among them.
Having scrutinously examined all within the reach of his view, he quitted his present post, and removed to the other side of the house; where he soon discovered the persons he came in search of. He saw Miss Forward earnest in discourse with a gentleman that sat behind her; and Miss Betsy receiving fruit from another, with the same freedom and gaiety of deportment she could have done if presented by himself. He saw the nods, the winks, and the grimaces, which several in the pit made to each other, when looking towards these two ladies. Every moment brought with it some fresh matter for his mortification; yet would not his curiosity stop here. When the play was ended, he went hastily down stairs, and mingled with the crowd that stood about the door, in hopes of seeing Miss Betsy quit her company, take a chair, and go home. But how cruel a stab was it to a man who loved as he did, to find her go with a dissolute companion and two gentlemen, who, he had reason to believe, by the little he saw of their behaviour, were utter strangers to her, in a hackney-coach. He was once about to appear himself through his disguise,and tell Miss Betsy, that he thought he had more right to the honour of conducting her than those to whom she gave permission; but the greatness of his spirit assisted his prudence in restraining him from so rash an action.
After this sight, it is not in the power of words to represent what it was he felt. Reason was too weak to combat against the force of such various emotions as for a time had the entire possession of his soul; though he thought Miss Betsy unworthy of his love, yet still he loved her; and had she been witness of his present distracted state, she would have seen the power she had over him, no less manifest in the moments of his rage, than in those in which he had behaved with the greatest tenderness and respect.
His good-sense, however, at last convinced him, that as no solid happiness could be expected with a woman of Miss Betsy's temper, he ought to conquer his passion for her. This he resolved to attempt; yet thought, before he did so, it would become him to see her once more, to argue gently with her, and to try, at least, if there were not a possibility of making her see the errors she was guilty of.
With this intent he went the next day to visit her; but, being told she could see no company that day, was going from the door; when Miss Flora, who had watched for him at the parlour-window, came and desired him to walk in. His complaisance would not permit him to refuse her request; and, after the usual compliments, said he was sorry Miss Betsy was so ill. 'You need not be in much pain,' replied she, with a look which he thought had more than ordinary meaning in it; 'she is not greatly indisposed.'—'Perhaps,' cried Mr. Trueworth, with some warmth, 'she is only so to me.'—'I cannot say anything to that,' returned Miss Flora; 'but her orders were in general to all that came; and I believe, indeed, she is not perfectly well. She came home extremely late last night, and seemed in a good deal of disorder.'—'Disorder, Madam!' interrupted Mr. Trueworth, impatiently. 'For Heaven's sake, on what occasion?'—'I wish I could inform you,' answered she; 'but at present I am not favoured with her confidence, though there was a time when I was made partaker of her dearest secrets. I wish those she now intrusts them with may be no less faithful to her than I have been.'—'I hope,' said he, 'she has none which, to be betrayed in, would give her pain.' With these words he rose up to go away. Miss Flora fain would have persuaded him to drink tea: but he excused himself, saying he was engaged; that he came only to enquire after the health of her fair friend, and could nothave staid, if so happy as to have seen her.
Scarce could this passionate lover contain himself till he got out of the house. The manner in which Miss Flora had spoke of Miss Betsy, added fresh fuel to the jealousies he was before possessed of: but, how great soever his disturbance was, he found, on his return home, somewhat which made all he had known before seem light and trifling.
Though the words which Miss Flora had let fall to Mr. Trueworth, concerning Miss Betsy, seemed as if spoken by mere chance, there was couched under them a design of the most black and villainous kind that ever entered the breast of woman, as will presently appear, to the astonishment of every reader.
In order to do this, we must relate an incident in Miss Betsy's life not hitherto mentioned, and which happened some little time before her going to Oxford with her brother Frank.
On her first coming to town, a woman had been recommended to her for starching, and making up her fine linen. This person she had ever since employed, and took a great fancy to, as she found her honest, industrious, and very obliging. The poor creature was unhappily married; her husband was gone from her, and had listed himself for a soldier. Being born in a distant country, she had no relations to whom she could apply for assistance; was big with child, and had no support but the labour of her hands. These calamitous circumstances so much touched the commiserative nature of Miss Betsy, that she frequently gave her double the sum she demanded for her work, besides bestowing on her many things she left off wearing; which, though trifles in themselves, were very helpful to a person in such distress.
Miss Mabel, for whom she also worked at the same time, was no less her patroness than Miss Betsy. In fine, they were both extremely kind to her; insomuch as made her often cry out, in a transport of gratitude, that these two good young ladies were worth to her all thecustomers she had besides. They continued to prove themselves so indeed; for when her child was born, which happened to be a girl, they stood godmothers; and not only gave handsomely themselves, but raised a contribution among their acquaintance, for the support of the lying-in woman and her infant: the former, however, did not long enjoy the blessing of two such worthy friends; she died before the expiration of her month; and the latter, being wholly destitute, was about to be thrown upon the parish. Some well-disposed neighbour, who knew how kind Miss Mabel and Miss Betsy had been, came and acquainted them with the melancholy story: they consulted together; and each reflecting that she had undertaken the protection of this infant at the font, thought herself bound by duty to preserve if from those hardships with which children thus exposed are sometimes treated; they, therefore, as they were equally engaged, agreed to join equally in the maintenance of this innocent forlorn.
This was a rare charity indeed! and few there are, especially at their years, who so justly consider the obligations of a baptismal covenant. It was also the more to be admired, as neither of them had the incomes of their fortunes in their own hands, the one being under guardianship, and the other at the allowance of a father, who, though rich, was extremely avaricious.
As they were, therefore, obliged to be good œconomists in this point, and nurses in the country are to be had at a much cheaper rate than in the town, they got a person to seek out for one who would not be unreasonable in her demands, and at the same time do justice to her charge. Such a one, according to the character given of her by neighbours, being found, the child, decently cloathed, was sent down to her habitation, which was in a little village about seventeen miles from London. For the sake of concealing the part Miss Mabel had in this affair from the knowledge of her father, it was judged proper that Miss Betsy should seem to take the whole upon herself, which she did; and the nurse's husband came up every month and received the money from her hands, as also whatever other necessaries the child wanted.
Who would imagine that such a glorious act of benevolence should ever be made a handle to traduce and vilify the author! Yet what cannot malice, accompanied with cunning, do! It can give the fairest virtue the appearance of the foulest vice, and pervert the just estimation of the world into a mistaken scorn and contempt!
Miss Flora, after receiving the disappointment, as related in the sixth chapter of this volume, was far from desisting from the wicked design she had conceived of putting an end to the intercourse between Miss Betsy and Mr. Trueworth. Her fertile brain presented her with a thousand strategems, which she rejected, either as they were too weak to accomplish what she wished, or too liable to discovery, till at last she hit upon the most detestable project of representing what proceeded from the noblest propensity of Miss Betsy's nature, as the effect of a criminal compulsion: in fine, to make it appear so feasible, as to be believed that the child, who owed half its maintenance to her charity, was entirely kept by herself, and the offspring of her own body.
Having well weighed and deliberated on this matter, it seemed to her such as Mr. Trueworth, on the most strict examination, could not discover the deception of: she therefore resolved to pursue it, and accordingly wrote the following letter.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.Sir,The friendship I had for some of your family, now deceased, and the respect due to your own character in particular, obliges me to acquaint you with truths more disagreeable than perhaps you ever yet have heard: but, before I proceed to the shocking narrative, let me conjure you to believe, that in me your better angel speaks, and warns you to avoid that dreadful gulph of everlasting misery into which you are just ready to be plunged.I am informed, by those who are most versed in your affairs, and on whose veracity I may depend, that a treaty of marriage is on foot, and almost as good as concluded, between you and Miss Betsy Thoughtless. A young lady, I must confess, well descended; handsome, and endued with every accomplishment to attract the admiration of mankind; and if her soul had the least conformity with her exterior charms, you doubtless might have been one of the most happy and most envied men on earth: but, Sir, this seeming innocence is all a cheat; another has been beforehand with you in the joys you covet; your intended bride has been a mother without the pleasure of owning herself as such. The product of a shameful passion is still living; and though she uses the greatest caution in this affair, I have by accident discovered, is now nursed at Denham, a small village within two miles of Uxbridge, by a gardener's wife, whois called, by the country people, Goody Bushman. I give you this particular account, in order that you may make what enquiry you shall think proper into a fact, which, I am sorry to say, you will find but too real. I pity from my soul the unfortunate seduced young lady; she must be doubly miserable, if, by having lost her virtue, she loses a husband such as you: but if, after this, you should think it fit to prosecute your pretensions, I wish she may endeavour, by her future conduct, to atone for the errors of the past; but, alas! her present manner of behaviour affords no such promising expectations; and if you should set your honour and fortune, and all that is dear to you, against so precarious a stake as the hope of reclaiming a woman of her temper, it must certainly fill all your friends with astonishment and grief. But you are yourself the best judge of what it will become you to do; I only beg, that you will be assured this intelligence comes from one, who is, with the utmost sincerity, Sir, your well-wisher, and most humble, though unknown servant.'
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Sir,
The friendship I had for some of your family, now deceased, and the respect due to your own character in particular, obliges me to acquaint you with truths more disagreeable than perhaps you ever yet have heard: but, before I proceed to the shocking narrative, let me conjure you to believe, that in me your better angel speaks, and warns you to avoid that dreadful gulph of everlasting misery into which you are just ready to be plunged.
I am informed, by those who are most versed in your affairs, and on whose veracity I may depend, that a treaty of marriage is on foot, and almost as good as concluded, between you and Miss Betsy Thoughtless. A young lady, I must confess, well descended; handsome, and endued with every accomplishment to attract the admiration of mankind; and if her soul had the least conformity with her exterior charms, you doubtless might have been one of the most happy and most envied men on earth: but, Sir, this seeming innocence is all a cheat; another has been beforehand with you in the joys you covet; your intended bride has been a mother without the pleasure of owning herself as such. The product of a shameful passion is still living; and though she uses the greatest caution in this affair, I have by accident discovered, is now nursed at Denham, a small village within two miles of Uxbridge, by a gardener's wife, whois called, by the country people, Goody Bushman. I give you this particular account, in order that you may make what enquiry you shall think proper into a fact, which, I am sorry to say, you will find but too real. I pity from my soul the unfortunate seduced young lady; she must be doubly miserable, if, by having lost her virtue, she loses a husband such as you: but if, after this, you should think it fit to prosecute your pretensions, I wish she may endeavour, by her future conduct, to atone for the errors of the past; but, alas! her present manner of behaviour affords no such promising expectations; and if you should set your honour and fortune, and all that is dear to you, against so precarious a stake as the hope of reclaiming a woman of her temper, it must certainly fill all your friends with astonishment and grief. But you are yourself the best judge of what it will become you to do; I only beg, that you will be assured this intelligence comes from one, who is, with the utmost sincerity, Sir, your well-wisher, and most humble, though unknown servant.'
She would not trust the success of the mischief she intended by this letter, till she had examined and re-examined every sentence; and, finding it altogether such as she thought would work the desired effect, got one who was always her ready agent in matters of this kind, to copy it over, in order to prevent any accident from discovering the real author; and then sent it, as directed, by the penny-post.
How far the event answered her expectations shall very shortly be related; but incidents of another nature requiring to be first mentioned, the gratification of that curiosity, which this may have excited, must for a while be deferred.
In youth, when the blood runs high, and the spirits are in full vivacity, affliction must come very heavy indeed, when it makes any deep or lasting impression on the mind. That vexation which Miss Betsy had brought upon herself, by going to the play with Miss Forward, was severe enough the whole night, and the ensuing day. A great while, it must be confessed, for a person of her volatile disposition; and when the more violent emotions had subsided, the terror she had lately sustained, had, at least, this good effect upon her; it made her resolve to take all possible precautions not to fall into the like danger again. As she had an infinite deal of generosity in her nature, when not obscured by that pride and vanity which the flatteries she had been but too much accustomed to, had inspired her with, she could not reflect how ill she had treated Mr. Trueworth, and the little regard she had paid to the tender concern he had shewn for her reputation, without thinking she ought to ask his pardon, and acknowledge she had been in the wrong. If Mr. Trueworth could have known the humour she was at present in, how readily would he have flown to her with all the wings of love and kind forgiveness! but as he had not the spirit of divination, and could only judge of her sentiments by her behaviour, it was not in his power to conceive how great a change had happened in his favour, through a just sensibility of her own error.
She, in the mean time, little imagined how he far he resented the treatment she had given him; especially as she heard he had been to wait upon her the day in which she saw no company; and, afterhaving passed a night of much more tranquillity than the former had been, went down in the morning to breakfast with her usual chearfulness. She had not been many minutes in the parlour before she was agreeably surprized with the sight of her elder brother, Mr. Thomas Thoughtless, who, it seems, had arrived the night before. After the first welcomes were over, Mr. Goodman asked him, wherefore he did not come directly to his house; saying, he had always a spare bed to accommodate a friend; to which the other replied, that he had come from Paris with some company whom he could not quit, and that they had lain at the Hummums. Miss Betsy was extremely transported at his return, and said a thousand obliging things to him; all which he answered with more politeness than tenderness: and this young lady soon perceived, by this specimen of his behaviour to her, that she was not to expect the same affection from him, as she had received so many proofs of from her younger brother.
His long absence from England, and some attachments he had found abroad, had indeed very much taken off that warmth of kindness he would doubtless otherwise have felt for an only sister, and one who appeared so worthy of his love. As Mr. Goodman had acquainted him by letter, that he had hired a house for him, according to his request, the chief of their conversation turned on that subject; and, as soon as breakfast was over, they took a walk together to see it. On their return, he seemed very much pleased with the choice Mr. Goodman had made; and the little time he staid was entirely taken up with consulting Lady Mellasin, his sister, and Miss Flora, concerning the manner in which he should ornament it; for the honest guardian had taken care to provide all such furniture as he thought would be necessary for a single gentleman.
No intreaties were wanting to prevail on him to make that house his home, till his own was thoroughly aired, and in all respects fit for him to go into; but he excused himself, saying, he could not leave the friends he had travelled with, till they were provided for as well as himself; nor could all Mr. Goodman and the ladies urged, persuade him to dine with them that day.
It must be acknowledged, that this positive refusal of every thing that was desired of him, had not in it all that complaisance which might have been expected from a person just come from among a people more famous for their politeness than their sincerity.
But he had his own reasons, which the family of Mr. Goodman as yet were far from suspecting, which made him act in the manner he now did; and it was not, in reality, the want of French breeding, but the want of true old English resolution, that enforced this seeming negligence and abruptness.
After he was gone, Mr. Goodman went to Change; but was scarce entered into the walk, where he had appointed to meet some merchants, when he was accosted by two rough, ill-looking fellows, who demanded his sword, and told him they had a writ against him; that he was their prisoner, and must go with them.
Mr. Goodman, who had as little reason as any man living to suspect an insult of this nature, only smiled, and told them they were mistaken in the person. 'No, no,' said one of them, 'we are right enough, if you are Mr. Samuel Goodman!'—'My name is Samuel Goodman,' replied he; 'but I do not know that it stands in any man's books for debt: but, pray,' continued he, 'at whose suit am I arrested?'—'At the suit of Mr. Oliver Marplus,' said the other officer. 'I have no dealings with any such person,' cried Mr. Goodman: 'nor even ever heard the name of him you mention.' They then told him it was his business to prove that; they did but do their duty, and he must obey the writ. Mr. Goodman, on this, knowing they were not the persons with whom this matter should be contested, readily went where they conducted him, which was to a house belonging to him who appeared to be the principal of the two. As they were coming off Change, he bade his coachman drive his chariot home, and tell his lady, that he believed he should not dine with her that day; but he kept his footman with him, to send on what messages he should find convenient.
The officer, knowing his condition, and not doubting but he should have a handsome present for civility-money, used him with a great deal of respect when he had got him into his house; and, on his desiring to be informed of the lawyer's name employed in the action, he immediately told him, and also for what sum he was arrested, which was no less than two thousand five hundred and seventy-five pounds eight shillings. 'A pretty parcel of money, truly!' said Mr. Goodman; 'I wonder in what dream I contracted this debt.' He then called for pen, ink, and paper; and wrote a line to his lawyer in the Temple, desiring him to go to the other who they said was concerned against him, and find out the truth of this affair.
The honest old gentleman, having sent this letter by his servant,called for something to eat; and was extremely facetious and pleasant with the officers, not doubting but that what had happened was occasioned through some mistake or other, and should immediately be discharged when the thing was enquired into: but his present good-humour was changed into one altogether the reverse, when his own lawyer, accompanied by him who was engaged for his adversary, came to him, and told him there was no remedy but to give bail; that the suit commenced against him was on account of a bond given by Lady Mellasin to Mr. Oliver Marplus, some few days previous to her marriage. It is hard to say, whether surprize or rage was most predominant in the soul of this much-injured husband, at so shocking a piece of intelligence. He demanded to see the bond; which request being granted, he found it not, as he at first flattered himself, a forgery, but signed with his wife's own hand, and witnessed by Mrs. Prinks, her woman, and another person whom he knew not.
It is certain that no confusion ever exceeded that of Mr. Goodman's at this time: he sat like one transfixed with thunder; and was wholly incapable of uttering one syllable. He appeared to the company as lost in thought; but was, indeed, almost past the power of thinking, till his lawyer roused him with these words—'Come, Sir,' said he, 'you see how the case stands; there is no time to be lost; you must either pay the money down, or get immediate security; for I suppose you would not chuse to lie here to-night.' This seasonable admonition brought him a little to himself: he now began to reflect on what it would best become him to do; and, after a pause of some moments, 'I believe,' said he, 'that I have now in my house more than the sum in bills that would discharge this bond; but I would willingly hear what this woman has to say before I pay the money, and will therefore give in bail.' Accordingly, he sent for two citizens of great worth and credit, to desire them to come to him; they instantly complied with this summons; and the whole affair being repeated to them, voluntarily offered to be his sureties.
Bail-bonds were easily procured; but it took up some time in filling them up, and discharging the fees, and other consequential expences, so that it was past one o'clock before all was over, and Mr. Goodman had liberty to return to his own habitation.
It was very seldom that Mr. Goodman staid late abroad; but whenever any thing happened that obliged him to do so, Lady Mellasin, through the great affection she pretended to have for him,would never go to bed till his return. Mrs. Prinks for the most part was her sole companion in such cases; but it so fell out, that this night neither of the two young ladies had any inclination to sleep: Miss Flora's head was full of the above-mentioned plot, and the anxiety for it's success; the remembrance of the last adventure at Miss Forward's was not yet quite dissipated in Miss Betsy; the coldness with which she imagined herself treated by her elder brother, with whom she had flattered herself of living, and being very happy under his protection, gave her a good deal of uneasiness. To add to all these matters of disquiet, she had also received that afternoon a letter from Mr. Francis Thoughtless, acquainting her, that he had the misfortune to be so much bruised by a fall he got from his horse, that it was utterly impossible for him to travel, and she must not expect him in town yet for some days.
The ladies were all together, sitting in the parlour, each chusing rather to indulge her own private meditations, than to hold discourse with the others, when Mr. Goodman came home. Lady Mellasin ran to embrace him with a shew of the greatest tenderness; 'My dear Mr. Goodman,' cried she, 'how much I have suffered from my fear lest some ill accident should have befallen you!'—'The worst that could have happened has befallen me,' replied he, thrusting her from him; 'yet no more than what you might very reasonably expect would one day or another happen.'—'What do you mean, my dear?' said she, more alarmed at his words and looks than she made shew of. 'You may too easily inform yourself what it is I mean,' cried he, hastily, 'on the retrospect of your behaviour; I now find, but too late, how much I have been imposed upon. Did you not assure me,' continued he, somewhat more mildly, 'that you were free from all incumbrances but that girl, whom, since our marriage, I have tendered as my own?' And then perceiving she answered nothing, but looked pale, and trembled, he repeated to her the affront he had received; 'Which,' said he, 'in all my dealings in the world, would never have happened, but on your account.'
Though Lady Mellasin had as much artifice, and the power of dissimulation, as any of her sex, yet she was at a loss thus taken unprepared. She hesitated, she stammered, and fain would have denied the having given any such bond; but, finding the proofs too plain against her, she threw herself at his feet, wept, and conjured him to forgive the only deception she had practised on him: 'It was a debt,' said she, 'contracted by my former husband, which I knew notof. I thought the effects he left behind him were more than sufficient to have discharged whatever obligations he lay under, and foolishly took out letters of administration. The demand of Marplus came not upon me till some time after; I then inconsiderately gave him my own bond, which he, however, promised not to put in force without previously acquainting me.'
This excuse was too weak, as well as all the affection Mr. Goodman had for her, to pacify the emotions of his just indignation. 'And pray,' cried he, in a voice divided between scorn and anger, 'of what advantage would it have been to me your being previously acquainted with it? Could you have paid the money without robbing or defrauding me? No, Madam!' continued he, 'I shall for the future give credit to nothing you can say; and as I cannot be assured that this is the only misfortune I have to dread on your account, shall consider what steps I ought to take for my defence.'
In speaking these words he rung the bell for a servant, and ordered that bed to which he had invited Mr. Thoughtless, should that instant be made ready for himself. All the tears and intreaties of Lady Mellasin were in vain to make him recede from his resolution of lying alone that night; and, as soon as he was told his orders were obeyed, he flung out of the room, saying, 'Madam, perhaps, we never more may meet between a pair of sheets!' Whether at that time he was determined to carry his resentment so far, or not, is uncertain; but what happened very shortly after left him no other part to take than that which he had threatened.
This was a night of great confusion in Mr. Goodman's family: Lady Mellasin either was, or pretended to be, in fits; Miss Flora was called up soon after she went to bed; but Mr. Goodman himself would not be prevailed upon to rise, though told the condition his wife was in, and that she begged with the utmost earnestness to see him.
This behaviour in a husband, lately so tender and affectionate, is a proof not only that the greatest love, once turned, degenerates into its reverse, but also that the sweetest temper, when too much provoked by injuries, is not always the most easy to be reconciled. The perfect trust he had put in Lady Mellasin, the implicit faith he had given to all she said, and the dependance he had on the love she had professed for him, made the deception she was now convicted of appear in worse colours than otherwise it would have done.
The more he reflected on this ugly affair, the more he was convinced of the hypocrisy of his wife, in whom he had placed such confidence. 'We have been married near five years,' said he to himself; 'how comes it to pass, that the penalty of this bond was not in so long a time demanded? It must be that she has kept it off by large interest and for-bearance money; and who knows how far my credit may be endangered for the raising of it? It is likely, that while I thought every thing necessary for my family was purchased with ready-money, I may stand indebted to all the tradesmen this wicked woman has had any dealings with; nay, I cannot even assure myself that other obligations of the same kind with this I have alreadysuffered for, may not some time or other call upon me for their discharge.'
With these disturbed meditations, instead of sleep, did he pass what was remaining of the night when he went to bed; yet he rose the next day full as early as he was accustomed to do after having enjoyed the best repose.
The first thing he did was to send for as many of those tradespeople, as he either knew himself, or his servants could inform him, had at any time sent goods into his house. On their presenting themselves before him, he found, more to his vexation than surprize, (for he now expected the worst) that all of them, even to those who had supplied his kitchen, had bills of a long standing: he discharged all their several demands directly; and, having taken a receipt in full from each of them, desired they would henceforth suffer no goods to be left within his doors without the value being paid on the delivery.
Mr. Goodman had just dispatched the last of these people, when he was told a woman begged leave to speak with him: 'Another creditor, I suppose,' said he; and then ordered she should come in. As soon as she did so, 'Well, mistress,' cried he, seeing her a woman of a very plain appearance, 'what is it you require of me?'—'Nothing, Sir,' replied she; 'but that you will permit me to acquaint you with a thing which it very much concerns you to be informed of?'—'I should otherwise be an enemy to myself,' returned he; 'therefore, pray, speak what you have to say.'
'I am, Sir,' said she, 'the unfortunate wife of one of the most wicked men upon earth, and by my being so, have been compelled to be in some measure accessary to the injustice you have sustained: but, I hope, what I have to reveal will atone for my transgression.' Mr. Goodman then desired she would sit down, and without any farther prelude proceed to the business she came upon.
'The sum of what I have to relate,' rejoined she, 'is, that the bond on which you were yesterday arrested, and for the payment of which you have given security, is no more than an impudent fraud: but the particulars, that prove it such cannot but be very displeasing to you; however, I shall make no apology for relating them, as the perfect knowledge of the whole transaction may put you in a way to prevent all future injuries of the like nature.
'My husband, whose name is Oliver Marplus,' continued she, 'had the honour of waiting on a nobleman belonging to court, when Sir Solomon Mellasin had a post there: his lady, now unhappily yours,took a fancy to him, and entered into a criminal conversation with him, some time before her husband's death, and has ever since, unless very lately broke off, continued it. On my first discovering it, he begged me to be easy; and reminded me, that as he had nothing at present to depend upon, having lost his place, but her ladyship's bounty, I ought to wink at it, and be content that she should share his person, since I shared in the benefits arising from their intercourse. I knowing his temper too well not to know that any opposition I could make would be in vain, and seeing no other remedy, was obliged to feign a consent to what the love I then had for him rendered most terrible to me. Thus we went on, her ladyship still supplying him with money, for our support; till he being informed, that her marriage with you was near being consummated, he bethought himself of a strategem to prevent the change of her condition from depriving him of the continuance of her favour. It was this.
'Their private meetings were always in the Savoy, at a house of my husband's chusing for that purpose, the master of it being his intimate friend and companion. Myself, and two men, whom he made privy to the plot, and were to personate officers of justice, were to be concealed in the next room to the lovers, and as soon as we found they were in bed, burst open the door, rush in, and catch them in the very act of shame.
'All this was executed according as it was contrived; my husband jumped out of bed, pretended to struggle with the sham constables, and swore he would murder me: I acted my part, as they since told me, to the life; seemed a very fury; and said I did not care what became of me, if I was but revenged upon my rival. Lady Mellasin tore her hair, wept, and entreated me in the most abject terms to forgive, and not expose a woman of her rank to publick scorn and infamy. To which I replied, that it was not her quality should protect her! I loaded her with the most inveterate reproaches I could think of. Indeed, there required not much study for my doing so, for I heartily hated her. After some time passed in beseechings on her side, and railings on mine, one of the pretended constables took me aside, as if to persuade me to more moderation; while the other talked to her, and insinuated as if a sum of money might compromise the matter. My husband also told her, that though he detested me for what I had done, yet he wished her ladyship, for her own sake, would think of some way to pacify me; "For," said he, "a wife in these cases has great power."
'The terror she was in of appearing before a civil-magistrate, and of being liable to suffer that punishment the law inflicts upon an adultress, and consequently the loss of all her hopes of a marriage with you, Sir, made her readily agree to do any thing I should require. I seemed quite averse for a good while to listen to any terms of accommodation; but at length affected to be overcome by the persuasions of the men I brought with me, and her promise of allowing us a very handsome support as soon as she became your wife, and should have it in her power. This I made slight on; and told her, that I would not depend upon her promise for any thing. It was then proposed, that she should give a bond for a large sum of money to Mr. Marplus. "That you may do with safety," said he to her, "as I shall have it in my own hands; and, you may be assured, will never put it in force to your prejudice."
'In fine, Sir,' continued Mrs. Marplus, 'she agreed to this proposal; and, as it was then too late for the execution of what she had promised, on her making a solemn vow to fulfil it punctually the next day, I told her she was at liberty to go home that night, but that I would not withdraw the warrant I pretended to have taken out against her till all was over.
'She was, indeed, too much rejoiced at the expectation of getting off from the imaginary prosecution, to think of breaking her word: my wicked husband, however, had the success of his design more greatly at heart than to give her any long time for reflection. Accordingly, we went pretty early the next morning to her lodgings, accompanied by one of those who had assumed the character of constable, and who in reality had formerly served the parish where he still lives in that capacity, and a lawyer, previously directed to fill up the bond in the strongest and most binding terms that words could form. There was not the least demur or objection, on the part of her ladyship: she signed her name; and Mrs. Prinks, her woman, and the man we brought with us, set their hands as witnesses.
'You see, Sir,' pursued she, 'the drift of this contrivance; Lady Mellasin was the instrument, but it was you that was ordained to suffer: there was no fixed sum or sums stipulated for the support we were to receive from her; but Marplus was so continually draining her purse, that I have often been amazed by what arts she imposed on you to replenish it. Whenever she began to make any excuse for not complying with his demands, he presently threatened her with putting the bond in force against you; by which means he extortedfrom her almost whatever he required.
'One time in particular, he pretended to be under an arrest for three hundred pounds; and she not having so much money by her, was obliged to send Mrs. Prinks with her diamond necklace, to the pawnbroker's to make it up: yet, would you believe it, Sir, notwithstanding all he got from her ladyship, he kept me poor and mean, as you see; would not let me have a servant, but made me wash his linen, and do all his drudgery, while he strutted about the town like a fine fellow, with his toupee wig, and laced waistcoat; and, if I made the least complaint, would tell me, in derision, that, as I had no children, I had nothing else to do but to wait upon him. I bore all this, however, because I loved the villain; and, indeed, did not then know he was so great a one to me as I now find he is.
'He pretended to me that he was heartily weary of Lady Mellasin, hated her, and could no longer bear the pain of dissembling with her. "I will, therefore," said he, "demand a much larger sum of her than I know it is in her power to raise: her non-compliance will give me an excuse for compelling her husband to pay the penalty of the bond; and, when I have got the money, I will purchase an employment in some one or other of the publick offices, on which you and I may live comfortably together the remainder of our days."
'Accordingly, at his next meeting with Lady Mellasin, he told her he had a present occasion for a sum of money, and she must let him have five hundred pounds within four or five days at farthest. This, it seems, extremely alarmed her; she replied, that it was impossible for her to procure so much at once—complained that he had been too pressing upon her—and told him, that he ought not to expect she could always supply his extravagances in the manner she had lately done. High words arose between them on this account; she reproached him with the straits he had already put her to; said he must wait till money came into her hands. He swore the present exigence of his affairs required an immediate supply; that he saw no remedy but arresting you; and they parted in great anger.
'The next day he sent me to her with a letter: neither she nor Mrs. Prinks was at home, and I did not judge it proper to leave it with the servants, so carried it back again; he did not happen to ask me for it, and I never thought of returning it, which I am now very glad of, as it may serve to corroborate the truth of what I told you.'
In speaking this, she presented a paper to Mr. Goodman, which he took hastily out of her hands, and found it contained these words—
'To Lady Mellasin.Madam,Your excuses won't do with me. Money I must have; I know you may raise it if you will, and I am amazed you should imagine I can believe any thing you say to the contrary, when you have an old fellow who, you yourself told me, knows no end to his wealth, and that you married him only to make him my banker. Do not, therefore, offer to trifle with me any longer; for if you do, by my soul I shall put the bond in force! and then there will be an end of all love and friendship between you and him, who has been for so many years, your constant servant,O. Marplus.'
'To Lady Mellasin.
Madam,
Your excuses won't do with me. Money I must have; I know you may raise it if you will, and I am amazed you should imagine I can believe any thing you say to the contrary, when you have an old fellow who, you yourself told me, knows no end to his wealth, and that you married him only to make him my banker. Do not, therefore, offer to trifle with me any longer; for if you do, by my soul I shall put the bond in force! and then there will be an end of all love and friendship between you and him, who has been for so many years, your constant servant,
O. Marplus.'
'Oh! wretched woman!' cried Mr. Goodman, as soon as he had done reading, 'to how low, how contemptible a fate, has vice reduced her!' Mrs. Marplus, perceiving by his countenance the distraction of his mind, would not prosecute her discourse, till he, recovering himself a little, bid her go on, if any thing yet remained to be related of this shocking narrative.
'I have told you, Sir,' resumed she, 'the preparations, the consequence you are but too well acquainted with; I have only to assure you, that I had not discovered my husband's baseness, but with a view of your doing yourself justice: you have no occasion to pay this bond; you can prove it a fraud by the joint evidence of myself his wife, and another person no less deeply concerned in the contrivance, and is ready to make his affidavit of every particular I have recited; but then, whatsoever is done, must be done with expedition, or he will be past the reach either of you or me. I have just now learned, that, instead of purchasing an employment, as he pretended to me, he is privately preparing to go over to Holland, Brussels, or some of those places, and settle there with a young hussey, who they say is with child by him, and will leave me here to starve. His lawyer, to whom he has assigned the bond, is to advance fifteen hundred pounds upon it, on condition he has the residue of it to himself, when you shall discharge the whole. Now it is in your power, Sir, to save yourself the payment of so much money, and relive a much-injured and distressed wife, by complaining to the Court of Chancery of the imposition practised on you, and procure ane exeat regnumto prevent his escape.'
Here she gave over speaking; and Mr. Goodman, after a short pause, replied, that he could not at that instant resolve on any thing; but added, that he would take some advice, and then let her know how far she might be serviceable to him: on which she took her leave, after giving him directions where she might be found.