3. CHAPTER III.
A dialogue between the landlady and Susan the chambermaid, proper to
be read by all inn-keepers and their servants; with the arrival, and
affable behaviour of a beautiful young lady; which may teach persons
of condition how they may acquire the love of the whole world
The landlady, remembering that Susan had been the only person out of
bed when the door was burst open, resorted presently to her, to
enquire into the first occasion of the disturbance, as well as who the
strange gentleman was, and when and how he arrived.
Susan related the whole story which the reader knows already,
varying the truth only in some circumstances, as she saw convenient,
and totally concealing the money which she had received. But whereas
her mistress had, in the preface to her enquiry, spoken much in
compassion for the fright which the lady had been in concerning any
intended depredations on her virtue, Susan could not help endeavouring
to quiet the concern which her mistress seemed to be under on that
account, by swearing heartily she saw Jones leap out from her bed.
The landlady fell into a violent rage at these words. "A likely
story, truly," cried she, "that a woman should cry out, and
endeavour to expose herself, if that was the case! I desire to know
what better proof any lady can give of her virtue than her crying out,
which I believe, twenty people can witness for her she did? I beg,
madam, you would spread no such scandal of any of my guests; for it
will not only reflect on them, but upon the house; and I am sure no
vagabonds, nor wicked beggarly people, come here."
"Well," says Susan, "then I must not believe my own eyes." "No,
indeed, must you not always," answered her mistress; "I would not have
believed my own eyes against such good gentlefolks. I have not had a
better supper ordered this half-year than they ordered last night; and
so easy and good-humoured were they, that they found no fault with
my Worcestershire perry, which I sold them for champagne; and to be
sure it is as well tasted and as wholesome as the best champagne in
the kingdom, otherwise I would scorn to give it 'em; and they drank me
two bottles. No, no, I will never believe any harm of such sober
good sort of people."
Susan being thus silenced, her mistress proceeded to other
matters. "And so you tell me," continued she, "that the strange
gentleman came post, and there is a footman without with the horses; why,
then, he is certainly some of your great gentlefolks too. Why did
not you ask him whether he'd have any supper? I think he is in the
other gentleman's room; go up and ask whether he called. Perhaps he'll
order something when he finds anybody stirring in the house to dress
it. Now don't commit any of your usual blunders, by telling him the
fire's out, and the fowls alive. And if he should order mutton,
don't blab out that we have none. The butcher, I know, killed a
sheep just before I went to bed, and he never refuses to cut it up
warm when I desire it. Go, remember there's all sorts of mutton and
fowls; go, open the door with, Gentlemen, d'ye call? and if they say
nothing, ask what his honour will be pleased to have for supper? Don't
forget his honour. Go; if you don't mind all these matters better,
you'll never come to anything."
Susan departed, and soon returned with an account that the two
gentlemen were got both into the same bed. "Two gentlemen," says the
landlady, "in the same bed! that's impossible; they are two arrant
scrubs, I warrant them; and I believe young Squire Allworthy guessed
right, that the fellow intended to rob her ladyship; for, if he had
broke open the lady's door with any of the wicked designs of a
gentleman, he would never have sneaked away to another room to save
the expense of a supper and a bed to himself. They are certainly
thieves, and their searching after a wife is nothing but a pretence."
In these censures my landlady did Mr. Fitzpatrick great injustice;
for he was really born a gentleman, though not worth a groat; and
though, perhaps, he had some few blemishes in his heart as well as
in his head, yet being a sneaking or a niggardly fellow was not one of
them. In reality, he was so generous a man, that, whereas he had
received a very handsome fortune with his wife, he had now spent every
penny of it, except some little pittance which was settled upon her;
and, in order to possess himself of this, he had used her with such
cruelty, that, together with his jealousy, which was of the
bitterest kind, it had forced the poor woman to run away from him.
This gentleman then being well tired with his long journey from
Chester in one day, with which, and some good dry blows he had
received in the scuffle, his bones were so sore, that, added to the
soreness of his mind, it had quite deprived him of any appetite for
eating. And being now so violently disappointed in the woman whom,
at the maid's instance, he had mistaken for his wife, it never once
entered into his head that she might nevertheless be in the house,
though he had erred in the first person he had attacked. He
therefore yielded to the dissuasions of his friend from searching
any farther after her that night, and accepted the kind offer of
part of his bed.
The footman and post-boy were in a different disposition. They
were more ready to order than the landlady was to provide; however,
after being pretty well satisfied by them of the real truth of the
case, and that Mr. Fitzpatrick was no thief, she was at length
prevailed on to set some cold meat before them, which they were
devouring with great greediness, when Partridge came into the kitchen.
He had been first awaked by the hurry which we have before seen; and
while he was endeavouring to compose himself again on his pillow, a
screech-owl had given him such a serenade at his window, that he leapt
in a most horrible affright from his bed, and, huddling on his clothes
with great expedition, ran down to the protection of the company, whom
he heard talking below in the kitchen.
His arrival detained my landlady from returning to her rest; for she
was just about to leave the other two guests to the care of Susan; but
the friend of young Squire Allworthy was not to be so neglected,
especially as he called for a pint of wine to be mulled. She
immediately obeyed, by putting the same quantity of perry to the fire;
for this readily answered to the name of every kind of wine.
The Irish footman was retired to bed, and the post-boy was going
to follow; but Partridge invited him to stay and partake of his
wine, which the lad very thankfully accepted. The schoolmaster was
indeed afraid to return to bed by himself; and as he did not know
how soon he might lose the company of my landlady, he was resolved
to secure that of the boy, in whose presence he apprehended no
danger from the devil or any of his adherents.
And now arrived another post-boy at the gate; upon which Susan,
being ordered out, returned, introducing two young women in riding
habits, one of which was so very richly laced, that Partridge and
the post-boy instantly started from their chairs, and my landlady fell
to her courtsies, and her ladyships, with great eagerness.
The lady in the rich habit said, with a smile of great
condescension, "If you will give me leave, madam, I will warm myself a
few minutes at your kitchen fire, for it is really very cold; but I
must insist on disturbing no one from his seat." This was spoken on
account of Partridge, who had retreated to the other end of the
room, struck with the utmost awe and astonishment at the splendor of
the lady's dress. Indeed, she had a much better title to respect
than this; for she was one of the most beautiful creatures in the
world.
The lady earnestly desired Partridge to return to his seat; but
could not prevail. She then pulled off her gloves, and displayed to
the fire two hands, which had every property of snow in them, except
that of melting. Her companion, who was indeed her maid, likewise
pulled off her gloves, and discovered what bore an exact
resemblance, in cold and colour, to a piece of frozen beef.
"I wish, madam," quoth the latter, "your ladyship would not think of
going any farther to-night. I am terribly afraid your ladyship will
not be able to bear the fatigue."
"Why sure," cries the landlady, "her ladyship's honour can never
intend it. O, bless me! farther to-night, indeed! let me beseech
your ladyship not to think on't-- But, to be sure, your ladyship
can't. What will your honour be pleased to have for supper? I have
mutton of all kinds, and some nice chicken."
"I think, madam," said the lady, "it would be rather breakfast
than supper; but I can't eat anything; and, if I stay, shall only
lie down for an hour or two. However, if you please, madam, you may
get me a little sack whey, made very small and thin."
"Yes, madam," cries the mistress of the house, "I have some
excellent white wine."- "You have no sack, then?" says the lady.
"Yes, an't please your honour, I have; I may challenge the country for
that- but let me beg your ladyship to eat something."
"Upon my word, I can't eat a morsel," answered the lady; "and I
shall be much obliged to you if you will please to get my apartment
ready as soon as possible; for I am resolved to be on horseback
again in three hours."
"Why, Susan," cries the landlady, "is there a fire lit yet in the
Wild-goose? I am sorry, madam, all my best rooms are full. Several
people of the first quality are now in bed. Here's a great young
squire, and many other great gentlefolks of quality." Susan
answered, "That the Irish gentlemen were got into the Wild-goose."
"Was ever anything like it?" says the mistress; "why the devil would
you not keep some of the best rooms for the quality, when you know
scarce a day passes without some calling here?-- If they be gentlemen,
I am certain, when they know it is for her ladyship, they will get up
again."
"Not upon my account," says the lady; "I will have no person
disturbed for me. If you have a room that is commonly decent, it
will serve me very well, though it be never so plain. I beg, madam,
you will not give yourself so much trouble on my account." "O, madam!"
cries the other, "I have several very good rooms for that matter,
but none good enough for your honour's ladyship. However, as you are
so condescending to take up with the best I have, do, Susan, get a
fire in the Rose this minute. Will your ladyship be pleased to go up
now, or stay till the fire is lighted?" "I think I have sufficiently
warmed myself," answered the lady; "so, if you please, I will go
now; I am afraid I have kept people, and particularly that gentleman
(meaning Partridge), too long in the cold already. Indeed, I cannot
bear to think of keeping any person from the fire this dreadful
weather."- She then departed with her maid, the landlady marching
with two lighted candles before her.
When that good woman returned, the conversation in the kitchen was
all upon the charms of the young lady. There is indeed in perfect
beauty a power which none almost can withstand; for my landlady,
though she was not pleased at the negative given to the supper,
declared she had never seen so lovely a creature. Partridge ran out
into the most extravagant encomiums on her face, though he could not
refrain from paying some compliments to the gold lace on her habit;
the post-boy sung forth the praises of her goodness, which were
likewise echoed by the other post-boy, who was now come in. "She's a
true good lady, I warrant her," says he; "for she hath mercy upon dumb
creatures; for she asked me every now and tan upon the journey, if I
did not think she should hurt the horses by riding too fast? and
when she came in she charged me to give them as much corn as ever they
would eat."
Such charms are there in affability, and so sure is it to attract
the praises of all kinds of people. It may indeed be compared to the
celebrated Mrs. Hussey.[15]It is equally sure to set off every female
perfection to the highest advantage, and to palliate and conceal every
defect. A short reflection, which we could not forbear making in
this place, where my reader hath seen the loveliness of an affable
deportment; and truth will now oblige us to contrast it, by showing
the reverse.
[[15]]
A celebrated mantua-maker in the Strand, famous for setting off the
shapes of women.