9. CHAPTER IX.
The escape of Sophia
It is now time to look after Sophia; whom the reader, if he loves
her half so well as I do, will rejoice to find escaped from the
clutches of her passionate father, and from those of her dispassionate
lover.
Twelve times did the iron register of time beat on the sonorous
bell-metal, summoning the ghosts to rise and walk their nightly
round.-- In plainer language, it was twelve o'clock, and all the
family, as we have said, lay buried in drink and sleep, except only
Mrs. Western, who was deeply engaged in reading a political pamphlet,
and except our heroine, who now softly stole downstairs, and, having
unbarred and unlocked one of the house-doors, sallied forth, and
hastened to the place of appointment.
Notwithstanding the many pretty arts which ladies sometimes
practise, to display their fears on every little occasion (almost as
many as the other sex uses to conceal theirs), certainly there is a
degree of courage which not only becomes a woman, but is often
necessary to enable her to discharge her duty. It is, indeed, the idea
of fierceness, and not of bravery, which destroys the female
character; for who can read the story of the justly celebrated Arria
without conceiving as high an opinion of her gentleness and tenderness
as of her fortitude? At the same time, perhaps, many a woman who
shrieks at a mouse, or a rat, may be capable of poisoning a husband;
or, what is worse, of driving him to poison himself.
Sophia, with all the gentleness which a woman can have, had all
the spirit which she ought to have. When, therefore, she came to the
place of appointment, and, instead of meeting her maid, as was agreed,
saw a man ride directly up to her, she neither screamed out nor
fainted away: not that her pulse then beat with its usual
regularity; for she was, at first, under some surprize and
apprehension: but these were relieved almost as soon as raised, when
the man, pulling off his hat, asked her, in a very submissive
manner, "If her ladyship did not expect to meet another lady?" and
then proceeded to inform her that he was sent to conduct her to that
lady.
Sophia could have no possible suspicion of any falsehood in this
account: she therefore mounted resolutely behind the fellow, who
conveyed her safe to a town about five miles distant, where she had
the satisfaction of finding the good Mrs. Honour: for, as the soul
of the waiting-woman was wrapt up in those very habiliments which used
to enwrap her body, she could by no means bring herself to trust
them out of her sight. Upon these, therefore, she kept guard in
person, while she detached the aforesaid fellow after her mistress,
having given him all proper instructions.
They now debated what course to take, in order to avoid the
pursuit of Mr. Western, who they knew would send after them in a few
hours. The London road had such charms for Honour, that she was
desirous of going on directly; alleging that, as Sophia could not be
missed till eight or nine the next morning, her pursuers would not
be able to overtake her, even though they knew which way she had gone.
But Sophia had too much at stake to venture anything to chance; nor
did she dare trust too much to her tender limbs, in a contest which
was to be decided only by swiftness. She resolved, therefore, to
travel across the country, for at least twenty or thirty miles, and
then to take the direct road to London. So, having hired horses to
go twenty miles one way, when she intended to go twenty miles the
other, she set forward with the same guide behind whom she had
ridden from her father's house; the guide having now taken up behind
him, in the room of Sophia, a much heavier, as well as much less
lovely burden; being, indeed, a huge portmanteau, well stuffed with
those outside ornaments, by means of which the fair Honour hoped to
gain many conquests, and, finally, to make her fortune in London city.
When they had gone about two hundred paces from the inn on the
London road, Sophia rode up to the guide, and, with a voice much
fuller of honey than was ever that of Plato, though his mouth is
supposed to have been a bee-hive, begged him to take the first turning
which led towards Bristol.
Reader, I am not superstitious, nor any great believer of modern
miracles. I do not, therefore, deliver the following as a certain
truth; for, indeed, I can scarce credit it myself: but the fidelity of
an historian obliges me to relate what hath been confidently asserted.
The horse, then, on which the guide rode, is reported to have been
so charmed by Sophia's voice, that he made a full stop, and
expressed an unwillingness to proceed any farther.
Perhaps, however, the fact may be true, and less miraculous than
it hath been represented; since the natural cause seems adequate to
the effect: for, as the guide at that moment desisted from a
constant application of his armed right heel (for, like Hudibras, he
wore but one spur), it is more than possible that this omission
alone might occasion the beast to stop, especially as this was very
frequent with him at other times.
But if the voice of Sophia had really an effect on the horse, it had
very little on the rider. He answered somewhat surlily, "That
measter had ordered him to go a different way, and that he should lose
his place if he went any other than that he was ordered."
Sophia, finding all her persuasions had no effect, began now to
add irresistible charms to her voice; charms which, according to the
proverb, makes the old mare trot, instead of standing still; charms to
which modern ages have attributed all that irresistible force which
the antients imputed to perfect oratory. In a word, she promised she
would reward him to his utmost expectation.
The lad was not totally deaf to these promises; but he disliked
their being indefinite; for, though perhaps he had never heard that
word, yet that, in fact, was his objection. He said, "Gentlevolks
did not consider the case of poor volks; that he had like to have been
turned away the other day, for riding about the country with a
gentleman from Squire Allworthy's, who did not reward him as he should
have done."
"With whom?" says Sophia eagerly. "With a gentleman from Squire
Allworthy's," repeated the lad; "the squire's son, I think they call
'un."- "Whither? which way did he go?" says Sophia.- "Why, a little o'
one side o' Bristol, about twenty miles off," answered the lad. "Guide
me," says Sophia, "to the same place, and I'll give thee a guinea,
or two, if one is not sufficient."- "To be certain," said the boy,
"it is honestly worth two, when your ladyship considers what a risk
I run; but, however, if your ladyship will promise me the two guineas,
I'll e'en venture: to be certain it is a sinful thing to ride about my
measter's horses; but one comfort is, I can only be turned away, and
two guineas will partly make me amends."
The bargain being thus struck, the lad turned aside into the Bristol
road, and Sophia set forward in pursuit of Jones, highly contrary to
the remonstrances of Mrs. Honour, who had much more desire to see
London than to see Mr. Jones: for indeed she was not his friend with
her mistress, as he had been guilty of some neglect in certain
pecuniary civilities, which are by custom due to the
waiting-gentlewoman in all love affairs, and more especially in
those of a clandestine kind. This we impute rather to the carelessness
of his temper than to any want of generosity; but perhaps she
derived it from the latter motive. Certain it is that she hated him
very bitterly on that account, and resolved to take every
opportunity of injuring him with her mistress. It was therefore highly
unlucky for her, that she had gone to the very same town and inn
whence Jones had started, and still more unlucky was she in having
stumbled on the same guide, and on this accidental discovery which
Sophia had made.
Our travellers arrived at Hambrook[17]
at the break of day, where
Honour was against her will charged to enquire the route which Mr.
Jones had taken. Of this, indeed, the guide himself could have
informed them; but Sophia, I know not for what reason, never asked him
the question.
When Mrs. Honour had made her report from the landlord, Sophia, with
much difficulty, procured some indifferent horses, which brought her
to the inn where Jones had been confined rather by the misfortune of
meeting with a surgeon than by having met with a broken head.
Here Honour, being again charged with a commission of enquiry, had
no sooner applied herself to the landlady, and had described the
person of Mr. Jones, than that sagacious woman began, in the vulgar
phrase, to smell a rat. When Sophia therefore entered the room,
instead of answering the maid, the landlady, addressing herself to the
mistress, began the following speech: "Good lack-a-day! why there now,
who would have thought it? I protest the loveliest couple that ever
eye beheld. I-fackins, madam, it is no wonder the squire run on so
about your ladyship. He told me indeed you was the finest lady in
the world, and to be sure so you be. Mercy on him, poor heart! I
bepitied him, so I did, when he used to hug his pillow, and call it
his dear Madam Sophia. I did all I could to dissuade him from going to
the wars: I told him there were men enow that were good for nothing
else but to be killed, that had not the love of such fine ladies."
"Sure," says Sophia, "the good woman is distracted." "No, no," cries
the landlady, "I am not distracted. What, doth your ladyship think I
don't know then? I assure you he told me all." "What saucy fellow,"
cries Honour, "told you anything of my lady?" "No saucy fellow,"
answered the landlady, "but the young gentleman you enquired after,
and a very pretty young gentleman he is, and he loves Madam Sophia
Western to the bottom of his soul." "He love my lady! I'd have you
to know, woman, she is meat for his master."- "Nay, Honour," said
Sophia, interrupting her, "don't be angry with the good woman; she
intends no harm." "No, marry, don't I," answered the landlady,
emboldened by the soft accents of Sophia; and then launched into a
long narrative too tedious to be here set down, in which some passages
dropt that gave a little offence to Sophia, and much more to her
waiting-woman, who hence took occasion to abuse poor Jones to her
mistress the moment they were alone together, saying, "that he must be
a very pitiful fellow, and could have no love for a lady, whose name
he would thus prostitute in an ale house."
Sophia did not see his behaviour in so very disadvantageous a light,
and was perhaps more pleased with the violent raptures of his love
(which the landlady exaggerated as much as she had done every other
circumstance) than she was offended with the rest; and indeed she
imputed the whole to the extravagance, or rather ebullience, of his
passion, and to the openness of his heart.
This incident, however, being afterwards revived in her mind, and
placed in the most odious colours by Honour, served to heighten and
give credit to those unlucky occurrences at Upton, and assisted the
waiting-woman in her endeavours to make her mistress depart from
that inn without seeing Jones.
The landlady finding Sophia intended to stay no longer than till her
horses were ready, and that without either eating or drinking, soon
withdrew; when Honour began to take her mistress to task (for indeed
she used great freedom), and after a long harangue, in which she
reminded her of her intention to go to London, and gave frequent hints
of the impropriety of pursuing a young fellow, she at last concluded
with this serious exhortation: "For heaven's sake, madam, consider
what you are about, and whither you are going."
This advice to a lady who had already rode near forty miles, and
in no very agreeable season, may seem foolish enough. It may be
supposed she had well considered and resolved this already; nay,
Mrs. Honour, by the hints she threw out, seemed to think so; and
this I doubt not is the opinion of many readers, who have, I make no
doubt, been long since well convinced of the purpose of our heroine,
and have heartily condemned her for it as a wanton baggage.
But in reality this was not the case. Sophia had been lately so
distracted between hope and fear, her duty and love to her father, her
hatred to Blifil, her compassion, and (why should we not confess the
truth?) her love for Jones; which last the behaviour of her father, of
her aunt, of every one else, and more particularly of Jones himself,
had blown into a flame, that her mind was in that confused state which
may be truly said to make us ignorant of what we do, or whither we go,
or rather, indeed, indifferent as to the consequence of either.
The prudent and sage advice of her maid produced, however, some cool
reflection; and she at length determined to go to Gloucester, and
thence to proceed directly to London.
But, unluckily, a few miles before she entered that town, she met
the hack-attorney, who, as is before mentioned, had dined there with
Mr. Jones. This fellow, being well known to Mrs. Honour, stopt and
spoke to her; of which Sophia at that time took little notice, more
than to enquire who he was.
But, having had a more particular account from Honour of this man
afterwards at Gloucester, and hearing of the great expedition he
usually made in travelling, for which (as hath been before observed)
he was particularly famous; recollecting, likewise, that she had
overheard Mrs. Honour inform him that they were going to Gloucester,
she began to fear lest her father might, by this fellow's means, be
able to trace her to that city; wherefore, if she should there
strike into the London road, she apprehended he would certainly be
able to overtake her. She therefore altered her resolution; and,
having hired horses to go a week's journey a way which she did not
intend to travel, she again set forward after a light refreshment,
contrary to the desire and earnest entreaties of her maid, and to
the no less vehement remonstrances of Mrs. Whitefield, who, from
good breeding, or perhaps from good nature (for the poor young lady
appeared much fatigued), pressed her very heartily to stay that
evening at Gloucester.
Having refreshed herself only with some tea, and with lying about
two hours the bed, while her horses were getting ready, she resolutely
left Mrs. Whitefield's about eleven at night, and, striking directly
into the Worcester road, within less than four hours arrived at that
very inn where we last saw her.
Having thus traced our heroine very particularly back from her
departure, till her arrival at Upton, we shall in a very few words
bring her father to the same place; who, having received the first
scent from the post-boy, who conducted his daughter to Hambrook,
very easily traced her afterwards to Gloucester; whence he pursued her
to Upton, as he had learned Mr. Jones had taken that route (for
Partridge, to use the squire's expression, left everywhere a strong
scent behind him), and he doubted not in the least but Sophia
travelled, or, as he phrased it, ran, the same way. He used indeed a
very coarse expression, which need not be here inserted; as
fox-hunters, who alone will understand it, will easily suggest it to
themselves.
[[17]]
This was the village where Jones met the Quaker.