7. CHAPTER VII.
In which various misfortunes befel poor Jones
Affairs were in the aforesaid situation, when Mrs. Honour arrived at
Mrs. Miller's, and called Jones out from the company, as we have
before seen, with whom, when she found herself alone, she began as
follows:-
"O, my dear sir! how shall I get spirits to tell you; you are
undone, sir, and my poor lady's undone, and I am undone." "Hath
anything happened to Sophia?" cries Jones, staring like a madman. "All
that is bad," cries Honour: "Oh, I shall never get such another
lady! Oh that I should ever live to see this day!" At these words
Jones turned pale as ashes, trembled, and stammered; but Honour went
on- "O! Mr. Jones, I have lost my lady for ever." "How? what! for
Heaven's sake, tell me. O, my dear Sophia!" "You may well call her
so," said Honour; "she was the dearest lady to me. I shall never
have such another place."-- "D--n your place!" cries Jones; "where
is- what- what is become of my Sophia?" "Ay, to be sure," cries she,
"servants may be d--n'd. It signifies nothing what becomes of them,
though they are turned away, and ruined ever so much. To be sure
they are not flesh and blood like other people. No, to be sure, it
signifies nothing what becomes of them." "If you have any pity, and
compassion," cries Jones, "I beg you will instantly tell me what
hath happened to Sophia?" "To be sure, I have more pity for you than
you have for me," answered Honour; "I don't d--n you because you have
lost the sweetest lady in the world. To be sure, you are worthy to
be pitied, and I am worthy to be pitied too: for, to be sure, if
ever there was a good mistress--" "What hath happened?" cries Jones,
in almost a raving fit. "What?- What?" said Honour: "Why, the worst
that could have happened both for you and for me.- Her father is come
to town, and hath carried her away from us both." Here Jones fell on
his knees in thanksgiving that it was no worse. "No worse!" repeated
Honour; "what could be worse for either of us? He carried her off,
swearing she should marry Mr. Blifil; that's for your comfort; and,
for poor me, I am turned out of doors." "Indeed, Mrs. Honour,"
answered Jones, "you frightened me out of my wits. I imagined some
most dreadful sudden accident had happened to Sophia; something,
compared to which, even seeing her married to Blifil would be a
trifle; but while there is life there are hopes, my dear Honour.
Women, in this land of liberty, cannot be married by actual brutal
force." "To be sure, sir," said she, "that's true. There may be some
hopes for you; but alack-a-day! what hopes are there for poor me?
And to be sure, sir, you must be sensible I suffer all this upon
your account. All the quarrel the squire hath to me is for taking your
part, as I have done, against Mr. Blifil." "Indeed, Mrs. Honour,"
answered he, "I am sensible of my obligations to you, and will leave
nothing in my power undone to make you amends." "Alas! sir," said she,
"what can make a servant amends for the loss of one place but the
getting another altogether as good?" "Do not despair, Mrs. Honour,"
said Jones, "I hope to reinstate you again in the same."
"Alack-a-day, sir," said she, "how can I flatter myself with such
hopes when I know it is a thing impossible? for the squire is so set
against me: and yet, if you should ever have my lady, as to be sure I
now hopes heartily you will; for you are a generous, good-natured
gentleman; and I am sure you loves her, and to be sure she loves you
as dearly as her own soul; it is a matter in vain to deny it;
because as why, everybody, that is in the least acquainted with my
lady, must see it; for, poor dear lady, she can't dissemble: and if
two people who loves one another a'n't happy, why who should be so?
Happiness don't always depend upon what people has; besides, my lady
has enough for both. To be sure, therefore, as one may say, it would
be all the pity in the world to keep two such loviers asunder; nay,
I am convinced, for my part, you will meet together at last; for, if
it is to be, there is no preventing it. If a marriage is made in
heaven, all the justices of peace upon earth can't break it off. To be
sure I wishes that parson Supple had but a little more spirit, to tell
the squire of his wickedness in endeavouring to force his daughter
contrary to her liking; but then his whole dependance is on the
squire; and so the poor gentleman, though he is a very religious
good sort of man, and talks of the badness of such doings behind the
squire's back, yet he dares not say his soul is his own to his face.
To be sure I never saw him make so bold as just now; I was afeard
the squire would have struck him. I would not have your honour be
melancholy, sir, nor despair; things may go better, as long as you are
sure of my lady, and that I am certain you may be; for she never
will be brought to consent to marry any other man. Indeed, I am
terribly afeared the squire will do her a mischief in his passion, for
he is a prodigious passionate gentleman; and I am afeared too the poor
lady will be brought to break her heart, for she is as
tender-hearted as a chicken. It is pity, methinks, she had not a
little of my courage. If I was in love with a young man, and my father
offered to lock me up, I'd tear his eyes out but I'd come at him;
but then there's a great fortune in the case, which it is in her
father's power either to give her or not; that, to be sure, may make
some difference."
Whether Jones gave strict attention to all the foregoing harangue,
or whether it was for want of any vacancy in the discourse, I cannot
determine; but he never once attempted to answer, nor did she once
stop till Partridge came running into the room, and informed him
that the great lady was upon the stairs.
Nothing could equal the dilemma to which Jones was now reduced.
Honour knew nothing of any acquaintance that subsisted between him and
Lady Bellaston, and she was almost the last person in the world to
whom he would have communicated it. In this hurry and distress, he
took (as is common enough) the worst course, and, instead of
exposing her to the lady, which would have been of little consequence,
he chose to expose the lady to her; he therefore resolved to hide
Honour, whom he had but just time to convey behind the bed, and to
draw the curtains.
The hurry in which Jones had been all day engaged on account of
his poor landlady and her family, the terrors occasioned by Mrs.
Honour, and the confusion into which he was thrown by the sudden
arrival of Lady Bellaston, had altogether driven former thoughts out
of his head; so that it never once occurred to his memory to act the
part of a sick man; which, indeed, neither the gaiety of his dress,
nor the freshness of his countenance, would have at all supported.
He received her ladyship, therefore, rather agreeably to her desires
than to her expectations, with all the good humour he could muster
in his countenance, and without any real or affected appearance of the
least disorder.
Lady Bellaston no sooner entered the room, than she squatted herself
down on the bed: "So, my dear Jones," said she, "you find nothing
can detain me long from you. Perhaps I ought to be angry with you,
that I have neither seen nor heard from you all day; for I perceive
your distemper would have suffered you to come abroad: nay, I
suppose you have not sat in your chamber all day drest up like a
fine lady to see company after a lying-in; but, however, don't think I
intend to scold you; for I never will give you an excuse for the
cold behaviour of a husband, by putting on the ill-humour of a wife."
"Nay, Lady Bellaston," said Jones, "I am sure your ladyship will not
upbraid me with neglect of duty, when I only waited for orders. Who,
my dear creature, hath reason to complain? Who missed an
appointment, last night, and left an unhappy man to expect, and
wish, and sigh, and languish?"
"Do not mention it, my dear Mr. Jones," cried she. "If you knew
the occasion, you would pity me. In short, it is impossible to
conceive what women of condition are obliged to suffer from the
impertinence of fools, in order to keep up the farce of the world. I
am glad, however, all your languishing and wishing have done you no
harm; for you never looked better in your life. Upon my faith!
Jones, you might at this instant sit for the picture of Adonis."
There are certain words of provocation which men of honour hold
can properly be answered only by a blow. Among lovers possibly there
may be some expressions which can be answered only by a kiss. Now
the compliment which Lady Bellaston now made Jones seems to be of this
kind, especially as it was attended with a look, in which the lady
conveyed more soft ideas than it was possible to express with her
tongue.
Jones was certainly at this instant in one of the most
disagreeable and distressed situations imaginable; for, to carry on
the comparison we made use of before, though the provocation was given
by the lady, Jones could not receive satisfaction, nor so much as
offer to ask it, in the presence of a third person; seconds in this
kind of duels not being according to the law of arms. As this
objection did not occur to Lady Bellaston, who was ignorant of any
other woman being there but herself, she waited some time in great
astonishment for an answer from Jones, who, conscious of the
ridiculous figure he made, stood at a distance, and, not daring to
give the proper answer, gave none at all. Nothing can be imagined more
comic, nor yet more tragical, than this scene would have been if it
had lasted much longer. The lady had already changed colour two or
three times; had got up from the bed and sat down again, while Jones
was wishing the ground to sink under him, or the house to fall on
his head, when an odd accident freed him from an embarrassment, out of
which neither the eloquence of a Cicero, nor the politics of a
Machiavel, could have delivered him, without utter disgrace.
This was no other than the arrival of young Nightingale, dead drunk;
or rather in that state of drunkenness which deprives men of the use
of their reason, without depriving them of the use of their limbs.
Mrs. Miller and her daughters were in bed, and Partridge was
smoaking his pipe by the kitchen fire; so that he arrived at Mr.
Jones's chamber-door without any interruption. This he burst open, and
was entering without any ceremony, when Jones started from his seat
and ran to oppose him, which he did so effectually, that Nightingale
never came far enough within the door to see who was sitting on the
bed.
Nightingale had in reality mistaken Jones's apartment for that in
which himself had lodged; he therefore strongly insisted on coming in,
often swearing that he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones,
however, prevailed over him, and delivered him into the hands of
Partridge, whom the noise on the stairs soon summoned to his
master's assistance.
And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own
apartment, where at the very instant of his entrance he heard Lady
Bellaston venting an exclamation, though not a very loud one; and at
the same time saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast
agitation, which in a lady of tender constitution would have been an
hysteric fit.
In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle between the two
men, of which she did not know what would be the issue, as she heard
Nightingale swear many oaths he would come to his own bed, attempted
to retire to her known place of hiding, which to her great confusion
she found already occupied by another.
"Is this usage to be borne, Mr. Jones?" cries the lady.- "Basest of
men!-- What wretch is this to whom you have exposed me?" "Wretch!"
cries Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place of
concealment-- "Marry come up!-- Wretch forsooth?-- as poor a wretch as
I am, I am honest; this is more than some folks who are richer can
say."
Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take off the edge
of Mrs. Honour's resentment, as a more experienced gallant would
have done, fell to cursing his stars, and lamenting himself as the
most unfortunate man in the world; and presently after, addressing
himself to Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd protestations
of innocence. By this time the lady, having recovered the use of her
reason, which she had as ready as any woman in the world, especially
on such occasions, calmly replied: "Sir, you need make no apologies, I
see now who the person is; I did not at first know Mrs. Honour: but
now I do, I can suspect nothing wrong between her and you; and I am
sure she is a woman of too good sense to put any wrong constructions
upon my visit to you; I have been always her friend, and it may be
in my power to be much more hereafter."
Mrs. Honour was altogether as placable as she was passionate.
Hearing, therefore, Lady Bellaston assume the soft tone, she
likewise softened hers.--"I'm sure, madam," says she, "I have been
always ready to acknowledge your ladyship's friendships to me; sure
I never had so good a friend as your ladyship-- and to be sure, now I
see it is your ladyship that I spoke to, I could almost bite my tongue
off for very mad.- I constructions upon your ladyship-to be sure it
doth not become a servant as I am to think about such a great lady- I
mean I was a servant: for indeed I am nobody's servant now, the more
miserable wretch is me.- I have lost the best mistress--" Here Honour
thought fit to produce a shower of tears.- "Don't cry, child," says
the good lady; "ways perhaps may be found to make you amends. Come to
me to-morrow morning." She then took up her fan which lay on the
ground, and without even looking at Jones, walked very majestically
out of the room; there being a kind of dignity in the impudence of
women of quality, which their inferiors vainly aspire to attain to in
circumstances of this nature.
Jones followed her downstairs, often offering her his hand, which
she absolutely refused him, and got into her chair without taking
any notice of him, as he stood bowing before her.
At his return upstairs, a long dialogue past between him and Mrs.
Honour, while she was adjusting herself after the discomposure she had
undergone. The subject of this was his infidelity to her young lady;
on which she enlarged with great bitterness; but Jones at last found
means to reconcile her, and not only so, but to obtain a promise of
most inviolable secrecy, and that she would the next morning endeavour
to find out Sophia, and bring him a further account of the proceedings
of the squire.
Thus ended this unfortunate adventure to the satisfaction only of
Mrs. Honour; for a secret (as some of my readers will perhaps
acknowledge from experience) is often a very valuable possession:
and that not only to those who faithfully keep it, but sometimes to
such as whisper it about till it come to the ears of every one, except
the ignorant person who pays for the supposed concealing of what is
publickly known.