by Daniel Defoe
However, she talk’d with him, and found him a good sensible mannerly Youth; that he knew little of the Story of his Father or Mother, and had no View of any-thing, but to work hard for his Living; and she did not think fit to put any great things into his Head, lest it shou’d take him off of his Business, and perhaps, make him turn giddy-headed, and be good for nothing; but she went and found out that Kind Man, his Benefactor, who had put him out; and finding him a plain well-meaning, honest, and kind-hearted Man, she open’d her Tale to him the easier: She made a long Story, how she had a prodigious Kindness for the Child, because she had the same for his Father and Mother; told him, that she was the Servant-Maid that brought all of them to their Aunt’s Door, and run away and left them; that their poor Mother wanted Bread; and what came of her after, she wou’d have been glad to know; she added, that her Circumstances had happen’d to mend in the World; and that, as she was in Condition, so she was dispos’d to shew some Kindness to the Children, if she cou’d find them out.
He receiv’d her with all the Civility that so kind a Proposal demanded; gave her an Account what he had done for the Child; how he had maintain’d him, fed and cloath’d him; put him to School, and at last, put him out to a Trade; she said, he had indeed, been a Father to the Child; but Sir, says she, ’tis a very laborious hard-working Trade, and he is but a thin weak Boy; that’s true, says he, but the Boy chose the Trade, and I assure you, I gave 20 l. with him, and am to find him Cloaths all his Apprenticeship;216 and as to its being a hard Trade, says he, that’s the Fate of his Circumstances, poor Boy; I cou’d not well do better for him.
Well, Sir, as you did all for him in Charity, says she, it was exceeding well; but as my Resolution is to do something for him, I desire you will, if possible, take him away again, from that Place, where he works so hard, for I cannot bear to see the Child work so very hard for his Bread, and I will do something for him, that shall make him live without such hard Labour.
He smil’d at that; I can indeed, says he, take him away, but then I must lose my 20 l. that I gave with him.
Well Sir, said Amy, I’ll enable you to lose that 20 l. immediately, and so she put her Hand in her Pocket, and pulls out her Purse.
He begun to be a little amaz’d at her, and look’d her hard in the Face, and that so very much, that she took Notice of it, and said, Sir, I Fancy by your looking at me, you think you know me, but I am assur’d you do not, for I never saw your Face before; I think you have done enough for the Child, and that you ought to be acknowleg’d as a Father to him, but you ought not to lose by your Kindness to him, more than the Kindness of bringing him up obliges you to; and therefore there’s the twenty Pound, added she, and pray let him be fetch’d away.
Well, Madam, says he, I will thank you for the Boy, as well as for my self; but will you please to tell me, what I must do with him.
Sir, says Amy, as you have been so Kind to keep him so many Years, I beg you will take him home again one Year more, and I’ll bring you an hundred Pound more, which I will desire you to lay-out in Schooling and Cloaths for him, and to pay you for his Board; perhaps I may put him in a Condition to return your Kindness.
He look’d pleas’d, but surpriz’d very much, and enquir’d of Amy, but with very great Respect, what he should go to School to learn? and what Trade she would please to put him out to?
Amy said, he should put him to learn a little Latin, and then Merchants-Accounts; and to write a good Hand, for she would have him be put to a Turkey-Merchant.217
Madam, says he, I am glad for his sake, to hear you talk so; but do you know that a Turkey-Merchant will not take him under 4 or 500 Pounds?
Yes Sir, says Amy, I know it very well.
And, says he, that it will require as many Thousands to set him up?
Yes Sir, says Amy, I know that very well too; and resolving to talk very big, she added, I have no Children of my own, and I resolve to make him my Heir; and if ten Thousand Pounds be requir’d to set him up, he shall not want it; I was but his Mother’s Servant when he was born, and I mourn’d heartily for the Disaster of the Family; and I always said, if ever I was worth anything in the World, I wou’d take the Child for my own, and I’ll be as good as my Word now, tho’ I did not then foresee: that it wou’d be with me, as it has been since: And so Amy told him a long Story how she was troubled for me; and what she wou’d give to hear whether I was dead or alive, and what Circumstances I was in; that if she cou’d but find me, if I was ever so poor, she wou’d take Care of me, and make a Gentlewoman of me again.
He told her, That as to the Child’s Mother, she had been reduc’d to the last Extremity, and was oblig’d (as he suppos’d she knew) to send the Children all among her Husband’s Friends; and if it had not been for him, they had all been sent to the Parish; but that he oblig’d the other Relations to share the Charge among them; that he had taken two, whereof he had lost the eldest, who died of the Small-Pox; but that he had been as careful of this, as of his own, and had made very little Difference in their breeding up; only that when he came to put him out, he thought it was best for the Boy, to put him to a Trade which he might set-up in, without a Stock; for otherwise his Time wou’d be lost; and that as to his Mother, he had never been able to hear one Word of her, no, not tho’ he had made the utmost Enquiry after her; that there went a Report, that she had drown’d herself; but that he cou’d never meet with any-body that cou’d give him a certain Account of it.
Amy counterfeited a Cry for her poor Mistress; told him, she wou’d give any thing in the World to see her, if she was alive; and a great deal more such-like Talk they had about that; then they return’d to speak of the Boy.
He enquir’d of her, why she did not seek after the Child before, that he might have been brought up from a younger Age, suitable to what she design’d to do for him.
She told him, she had been out of England, and was but newly return’d from the East-Indies; that she had been out of England, and was but newly return’d, was true; but the latter was false, and was put in to blind him, and provide against farther Enquiries; for it was not a strange thing for young Women to go away poor to the East-Indies, and come home vastly Rich; so she went on with Directions about him; and both agreed in this, that the Boy should by no means be told what was intended for him, but only that he should be taken home again to his Uncle’s; that his Uncle thought the Trade too hard for him, and the like.
About three Days after this, Amy goes again, and carry’d him the hundred Pound she promis’d him, but then Amy made quite another Figure than she did before; for she went in my Coach, with two Footmen after her, and dress’d very fine also, with Jewells and a Gold Watch; and there was indeed, no great Difficulty to make Amy look like a Lady, for she was a very handsome wellshap’d Woman, and genteel enough; the Coachman and Servants were particularly order’d to show her the same Respect as they wou’d to me, and to call her Madam Collins, if they were ask’d any Questions about her.
When the Gentleman saw what a Figure she made, it added to the former Surprize, and he entertain’d her in the most respectful Manner possible; congratulated her Advancement in Fortune, and particularly rejoyc’d that it should fall to the poor Child’s Lot to be so provided for, contrary to all Expectation.
Well, Amy talk’d big, but very free and familiar; told them she had no Pride in her good-Fortune; (and that was true enough for to give Amy her due, she was far from it, and was as good-humour’d a Creature as ever liv’d) that she was the same as ever, and that she always lov’d this Boy, and was resolv’d to do something extraordinary for him.
Then she pull’d out her Money, and paid him down an hundred and twenty Pounds, which, she said, she paid him, that he might be sure he should be no Loser by taking him Home again, and that she would come and see him again, and talk farther about things with him, that so all might be settled for him, in such a Manner, as the Accidents, such as Mortality, or any-thing else, should make no Alteration to the Child’s Prejudice.
At this Meeting, the Uncle brought his Wife out, a good motherly, comely, grave Woman who spoke very tenderly of the Youth, and as it appear’d, had been very good to him, tho’ she had several Children of her own: After a long Discourse, she put in a Word of her own; Madam, say she, I am heartily glad of the good Intentions you have for this poor Orphan, and I rejoice sincerely in it, for his sake; but Madam, you know, (I suppose) that there are two Sisters alive too, may we not speak a Word for them? Poor Girls, says she, they have not been so kindly us’d, as he has; and are turn’d out to the wide World.
Where are they, Madam? says Amy.
Poor Creatures, says the Gentlewoman, they are out at Service; no-body knows where but themselves; their Case is very hard.
Well, Madam, says Amy, tho’, if I cou’d find them, I would assist them; yet my Concern is for my Boy, as I call him, and I will put him into a Condition to take Care of his Sisters.
But, Madam, says the good compassionate Creature, he may not be so charitable perhaps, by his own Inclination, for Brothers are not Fathers; and they have been cruelly us’d already, poor Girls; we have often reliev’d them, both with Victuals and Cloaths too, even while they were pretended to be kept by their barbarous Aunt.
Well, Madam, says Amy, what can I do for them; they are gone, it seems, and cannot be heard of? When I see them, ’tis time enough.
She press’d Amy then, to oblige their Brother, out of the plentiful Fortune he was like to have, to do something for his Sisters, when he should be able.
Amy spoke coldly of that still, but said, she would consider of it; and so they parted for that time; they had several Meetings after this, for Amy went to see her adopted Son, and order’d his Schooling, Cloaths, and other things, but enjoin’d them not to tell the Young-Man any-thing, but that they thought the Trade he was at, too hard for him, and they wou’d keep him at-home a little longer, and give him some Schooling, to fit him for better Business; and Amy appear’d to him as she did before, only as one that had known his Mother, and had some Kindness for him.
Thus this Matter pass’d on for near a Twelve-month, when it happen’d, that one of my Maid-Servants having ask’d Amy Leave, for Amy was Mistress of the Servants, and took, and put-out such as she pleas’d; I say, having ask’d Leave to go into the City, to see her Friends, came Home crying bitterly, and in a most grievous Agony she was, and continued so several Days, till Amy perceiving the Excess, and that the Maid wou’d certainly cry herself Sick; she took an Opportunity with her, and examin’d her about it.
The Maid told her a long Story, that she had been to see her Brother, the only Brother she had in the World; and that she knew he was put-out Apprentice to a —; but there had come a Lady in a Coach, to his Uncle —, who had brought him up, and made him take him Home again; and so the Wench run-on with the whole Story, just as ’tis told above, till she came to that Part that belong’d to herself; and there, says she, I had not let them know where I liv’d; and the Lady wou’d have taken me, and they say, wou’d have provided for me too, as she has done for my Brother, but no-body cou’d tell where to find me, and so I have lost it all, and all the Hopes of being any-thing, but a poor Servant all my Days; and then the Girl fell a-crying again.
Amy said, what’s all this Story? who cou’d this Lady be? it must be some Trick sure? No, she said, it was not a Trick, for she had made them take her Brother home from Apprentice, and bought him new Cloaths, and put him to have more Learning; and the Gentlewoman said she wou’d make him her Heir.
Her Heir! says Amy; what does that amount to; it may be she had nothing to leave him; she might make anybody her Heir.
No, no, says the Girl, she came in a fine Coach and Horses, and I don’t know how-many Footmen to attend her, and brought a great Bag of Gold, and gave it to my Uncle —, he that brought up my Brother, to buy him Cloaths, and to pay for his Schooling and Board.
He that brought up your Brother? says Amy; why, did not he bring you up too, as well as your Brother? Pray who brought you up then?
Here the poor Girl told a melancholly Story, how an Aunt had brought-up her and her Sister, and how barbarously she had us’d them, as we have heard.
By this time Amy had her Head full enough, and her Heart too; and did not know how to hold it, or what to do, for she was satisfied that this was no other than my own Daughter; for she told her all the History of her Father and Mother; and how she was carried by their Maid, to her Aunt’s Door, just as is related in the beginning of my Story.
Amy did not tell me this Story for a great-while; nor did she well know what Course to take in it; but as she had Authority to manage every-thing in the Family, she took Occasion some time after, without letting me know any thing of it, to find some Fault with the Maid, and turn her away.
Her Reasons were good, tho’ at first I was not pleas’d when I heard of it, but I was convinc’d afterwards, that she was in the right; for if she had told me of it, I shou’d have been in great Perplexity between the Difficulty of concealing myself from my own Child, and the Inconvenience of having my Way of Living be known among my First Husband’s Relations, and even to my Husband himself; for as to his being dead at Paris, Amy seeing me resolv’d against marrying any-more, had told me, that she had form’d that Story only to make me easie, when I was in Holland, if any-thing should offer to my liking.
However, I was too tender a Mother still, notwithstanding what I had done, to let this poor Girl go about the World drudging, as it were, for Bread, and slaving at the Fire, and in the Kitchin, as a Cook-Maid; besides it came into my Head, that she might, perhaps, marry some poor Devil of a Footman, or a Coachman, or some such thing, and be undone that way; or, which was worse, be drawn in to lie with some of that course cursed Kind, and be with-Child, and be utterly ruin’d that way; and in the midst of all my Prosperity this gave me great Uneasiness.
As to sending Amy to her, there was no doing that now; for as she had been Servant in the House, she knew Amy, as well as Amy knew me; and no doubt, tho’ I was much out of her Sight, yet she might have had the Curiosity to have peep’d at me, and seen me enough to know me again, if I had discover’d myself to her; so that, in short, there was nothing to be done that way.
However, Amy, a diligent indefatigable Creature, found out another Woman, and gave her her Errand, and sent her to the honest Man’s House in Spittle-Fields, whither she suppos’d the Girl wou’d go, after she was out of her Place; and bade her talk with her, and tell her at a distance, that as something had been done for her Brother, so something wou’d be done for her too; and that she shou’d not be discourag’d, she carried her 20 l. to buy her Cloaths, and bid her not go to Service any-more, but think of other things; that she shou’d take a Lodging in some good Family, and that she shou’d soon hear farther.
The Girl was overjoy’d with this News, you may be sure, and at first a little too much elevated with it, and dress’d herself very handsomely indeed, and as soon as she had done so, came and paid a Visit to Madam Amy, to let her see how fine she was: Amy congratulated her, and wish’d it might be all as she expected; but admonish’d her not to be elevated with it too much; told her, Humility was the best Ornament of a Gentlewoman; and a great deal of good Advice she gave her, but discover’d218 nothing.
All this was acted in the first Years of my setting-up my new Figure here in Town, and while the Masks and Balls were in Agitation;219 and Amy carried on the Affair of setting-out my Son into the World, which we were assisted in by the sage Advice of my faithful Counsellor, Sir Robert Clayton, who procur’d us a Master for him, by whom he was afterwards sent Abroad to Italy, as you shall hear in its Place; and Amy manag’d my Daughter too, very well, tho’ by a third hand.
My Amour with my Lord — began now to draw to an end, and indeed, notwithstanding his Money, it had lasted so long, that I was much more sick of his Lordship, than he cou’d be of me; he grew old, and fretful, and captious, and I must add, which made the Vice itself begin to grow surfeiting and nauceous to me, he grew wo
rse and wickeder the older he grew, and that to such Degree, as is not fit to write of; and made me so weary of him, that upon one of his capricious Humours, which he often took Occasion to trouble me with, I took Occasion to be much less complaisant to him than I us’d to be; and as I knew him to be hasty, I first took care to put him into a little Passion, and then to resent it, and this brought us to Words; in which I told him, I thought he grew sick of me; and he answer’d; in a heat, that truly so he was; I answer’d, that I found his Lordship was endeavouring to make me sick too; that I had met with several such Rubs from him of late; and that he did not use me as he us’d to do; and I begg’d his Lordship, he wou’d make himself easie: This I spoke with an Air of Coldness and Indifference, such as I knew he cou’d not bear; but I did not downright quarrel with him, and tell him I was sick of him too, and desire him to quit me, for I knew that wou’d come of itself; besides, I had receiv’d a great-deal of handsome Usage from him, and I was loth to have the Breach be on my Side, that he might not be able to say I was ungrateful.
But he put the Occasion into my Hands, for he came no more to me for two Months; indeed I expected a Fit of Absence, for such I had had several times before, but not for above a Fortnight or three-Weeks at most: But after I had staid a Month, which was longer than ever he kept away yet, I took a new Method with him, for I was resolv’d now it shou’d be in my Power to continue, or not, as I thought fit; at the end of a Month therefore, I remov’d, and took Lodgings at Kensington Gravel-Pitts,220 and that Part next to the Road to Acton, and left no-body in my Lodgings but Amy and a Footman; with proper Instructions how to behave, when his Lordship being come to himself, shou’d think fit to come again, which I knew he wou’d.
About the end of two Months, he came in the Dusk of the Evening, as usual; the Footman answer’d him, and told him, his Lady was not at-home, but there was Mrs. Amy above; so he did not order her to be call’d down, but went up-Stairs into the Dining-Room, and Mrs. Amy came to him; he ask’d where I was? My Lord, said she, my Mistress has been remov’d a good-while, from hence, and lives at Kensington: Ay, Mrs. Amy! how come you to be here then? My Lord, said she, we are here till the Quarter-Day,221 because the Goods are not remov’d, and to give Answers, if any comes to ask for my Lady: Well, and what Answer are you to give to me? Indeed, my Lord, says Amy, I have no particular Answer to your Lordship, but to tell you, and every-body else, where my Lady lives, that they may not think she’s run away: No, Mrs. Amy, says he, I don’t think she’s run away, but indeed, I can’t go after her so far as that; Amy said nothing to that, but made a Curtsie, and said, she believ’d I wou’d be there again for a Week or two, in a little time: How little time, Mrs. Amy? says my Lord: She comes next Tuesday, says Amy: Very well, says my Lord, I’ll call and see her then; and so he went away.
