by Daniel Defoe
At last, Amy, who was a clever Manager in such Cases, came to me with a Scheme, as she call’d it; I have found it out, Madam, says she; I have found a Scheme how you shall, if you have a-mind to it, begin, and finish a perfect entire Change of your Figure and Circumstances, in one Day; and shall be as much unknown, Madam, in twenty-four Hours, as you wou’d be in so many Years.
Come Amy, says I, let us hear it, for you please me mightily with the Thoughts of it: Why then, says Amy, let me go into the City this Afternoon, and I’ll enquire out some honest, plain, sober Family, where I will take Lodgings for you, as for a Country-Gentlewoman that desires to be in London for about half a Year, and to Board yourself and a Kinswoman, that is half a Servant, half a Companion, meaning myself; and so agree with them by the Month.
To this Lodging (if I hit upon one to your Mind) you may go to-Morrow Morning, in a Hackney-Coach, with no-body but me, and leave such Cloaths and Linnen as you think fit; but to be sure, the plainest you have, and then you are remov’d at once, you need never so much as set your Foot in this House again, (meaning where we then were) or see any-body belonging to it; in the mean time I’ll let the Servants know, that you are going over to Holland upon extraordinary Business, and will leave off your Equipages, and so I’ll give them Warning, or, if they will accept of it, give them a Month’s Wages; then I’ll sell off your Furniture as well as I can; as to your Coach, it is but having it new-painted, and the Lining chang’d, and getting new Harness and Hammer-Cloths,226 and you may keep it still, or dispose of it, as you think fit; and only take care to let this Lodging be in some remote Part of the Town, and you may be as perfectly unknown, as if you had never been in England in your Life.
This was Amy’s Scheme; and it pleas’d me so well, that I resolv’d not only to let her go, but was resolv’d to go with her myself; but Amy put me off of that, because, she said, she shou’d have Occasion to hurry up-and-down so long, that if I was with her, it wou’d rather hinder than farther her; so I wav’d it.
In a word, Amy went, and was gone five long Hours; but when she came back, I cou’d see by her Countenance, that her Success had been suitable to her Pains; for she came laughing and gaping, O Madam! says she, I have pleas’d you to the Life;227 and with that, she tells me how she had fix’d upon a House in a Court in the Minories?228 that she was directed to it meerly by Accident; that it was a Female Family, the Master of the House being gone to New-England; and that the Woman had four Children; kept two Maids, and liv’d very handsomely, but wanted Company to divert her; and that on that very account, she had agreed to take Boarders.
Amy agreed for a good handsome Price, because she was resolv’d I shou’d be us’d well; so she bargain’d to give her 35 l. for the Half-Year, and 50 l. if we took a Maid, leaving that to my Choice; and that we might be satisfied we shou’d meet with nothing very gay; the People were QUAKERS,229 and I lik’d them the better.
I was so pleas’d, that I resolv’d to go with Amy the next Day to see the Lodgings, and to see the Woman of the House, and see how I lik’d them; but if I was pleas’d with the general, I was much more pleas’d with the particulars; for the Gentlewoman, I must call her so, tho’ she was a QUAKER, was a most courteous, obliging, mannerly Person; perfectly well-bred, and perfectly well-humour’d, and in short, the most agreeable Conversation that ever I met with; and which was worth all, so grave, and yet so pleasant and so merry, that ’tis scarce possible for me to express how I was pleas’d and delighted with her Company; and particularly, I was so pleas’d, that I wou’d go away no more; so I e’en took up my Lodging there the very first Night.
In the mean time, tho’ it took up Amy almost a Month so entirely, to put off all the Appearances of Housekeeping, as above; it need take me up no Time to relate it; ’tis enough to say, that Amy quitted all that Part of the World, and came Pack and Package to me, and here we took up our Abode.
I was now in a perfect Retreat indeed; remote from the Eyes of all that ever had seen me, and as much out of the way of being ever seen or heard-of by any of the Gang that us’d to follow me, as if I had been among the Mountains in Lancashire; for when did a Blue Garter, or a Coach-and-Six come into a little narrow Passage in the Minories, or Goodman’s-Fields?230 And as there was no Fear of them, so really I had no Desire to see them, or so much as to hear from them any-more, as long as I liv’d.
I seem’d in a little Hurry while Amy came and went, so every-Day, at first; but when that was over, I liv’d here perfectly retir’d, and with a most pleasant and agreeable Lady; I must call her so, for tho’ a QUAKER, she had a full Share of good Breeding, sufficient to her, if she had been a Dutchess; in a word, she was the most agreeable Creature in her Conversation, as I said before, that ever I met with.
I pretended, after I had been there some time, to be extreamly in Love with the Dress of the QUAKERS,231 and this pleas’d her so much, that she wou’d needs dress me up one Day in a Suit of her own Cloaths; but my real Design was, to see whether it wou’d pass upon me for a Disguise.
Amy was struck with the Novelty, tho’ I had not mention’d my Design to her, and when the QUAKER was gone out of the Room, says Amy, I guess your Meaning; it is a perfect Disguise to you; why you look quite another-body, I shou’d not have known you myself; nay, says Amy, more than that, it makes you look ten Years younger than you did.
Nothing cou’d please me better than that; and when Amy repeated it, I was so fond of it, that I ask’d my QUAKER, (I won’t call her Landlady, ’tis indeed, too course a Word for her, and she deserv’d a much better) I say, I ask’d her if she wou’d sell it; I told her, I was so fond of it, that I wou’d give her enough to buy her a better Suit; she declin’d it at first, but I soon perceiv’d that it was chiefly in good Manners, because I shou’d not dishonour mysef, as she call’d it, to put on her old Cloaths; but if I pleas’d to accept of them, she wou’d give me them for my dressing-Cloaths, and go with me, and buy a Suit for me, that might be better-worth my wearing.
But as I convers’d in a very frank open Manner with her, I bid her do the like with me; that I made no Scruples of such things; but that if she wou’d let me have them, I wou’d satisfie her; so she let me know what they cost, and to make her amends, I gave her three Guineas more than they cost her.
This good (tho’ unhappy) QUAKER had the Misfortune to have had a bad Husband, and he was gone beyond-Sea; she had a good House, and well-furnish’d, and had some Jointure of her own Estate, which supported her and her Children, so that she did not want, but she was not at-all above such a Help, as my being there was to her; so she was as glad of me, as I was of her.
However, as I knew there was no way to fix this new Acquaintance, like making myself a Friend to her, I began with making her some handsome Presents, and the like to her Children; and first, opening my Bundles one Day in my Chamber, I heard her in another Room, and call’d her in, with a kind of familiar way; there I show’d her some of my fine Cloaths, and having among the rest of my things, a Piece of very fine new Holland, 232 which I had bought a little before, worth about 9s. an Ell, I pull’d it out, Here, my Friend, says I, I will make you a Present, if you will accept of it; and with that I laid the Piece of Holland in her Lap.
I cou’d see she was surpriz’d, and that she cou’d hardly speak; What dost thou mean? says she; indeed I cannot have the Face to accept so fine a Present as this; adding, ’Tis fit for thy own Use, but ’tis above my Wear, indeed: I thought she had meant she must not wear it so fine, because she was a QUAKER; SO I return’d, Why, do not you QUAKERS wear fine Linnen neither? Yes, says she, we wear fine Linnen when we can afford it, but this is too good for me: However, I made her take it, and she was very thankful too; but my End was answer’d another Way; for by this I engag’d her so, that as I found her a Woman of Understanding, and of Honesty too, I might, upon any Occasion, have a Confidence in her, which was indeed, what I very much wanted.
By accustoming myself to converse with her, I had not only learn’d to dress like a Q
UAKER, but so us’d myself to THEE and THOU, that I talk’d like a QUAKER too, as readily and naturally as if I had been born among them; and, in a word, I pass’d for a QUAKER among all People that did not know me; I went but little Abroad, but I had been so us’d to a Coach, that I knew not how well to go without one; besides, I thought it wou’d be a farther Disguise to me, so I told my QUAKER-Friend one Day, that I thought I liv’d too close; that I wanted Air; she propos’d taking a Hackney-Coach sometimes, or a Boat; but I told her, I had always had a Coach of my own, till now, and I cou’d find in my Heart to have one again.
She seem’d to think it strange at first, considering how close I liv’d, but had nothing to say when she found I did not value the Expence; so in short, I resolv’d I wou’d have a Coach: When we came to talk of Equipages; she extoll’d the having all things plain; I said so too; so I left it to her Direction, and a Coach-Maker was sent for, and he provided me a plain Coach, no gilding or painting, lin’d with a light-grey Cloath, and my Coachman had a Coat of the same, and no Lace on his Hat.
When all was ready, I dress’d myself in the Dress I bought of her, and said, Come, I’ll be a QUAKER to-Day, and you and I’ll go Abroad; which we did, and there was not a QUAKER in the Town look’d less like a Counterfeit than I did: But all this was my particular Plot to be the more compleatly conceal’d, and that I might depend upon being not known, and yet need not be confin’d like a Prisoner, and be always in Fear; so that all the rest was Grimace.233
We live’d here very easie and quiet, and yet I cannot say I was so in my Mind; I was like a Fish out of Water; I was as gay, and as young in my Disposition, as I was at five and twenty; and as I had always been courted, flatter’d, and us’d to love it, so I miss’d it in my Conversation;234 and this put me many times, upon looking-back upon things past.
I had very few Moments in my Life, which in their Reflection, afforded me any-thing but Regret; but of all the foolish Actions I had to look back upon in my Life, none look’d so preposterous, and so like Distraction, nor left so much Melancholly on my Mind, as my Parting with my Friend, the Merchant of Paris, and the refusing him upon such honourable and just Conditions as he had offer’d; and tho’ on his just (which I call’d unkind) rejecting my Invitation to come to him again, I had look’d on him with some Disgust, yet now my Mind run upon him continually, and the ridiculous Conduct of my refusing him, and I cou’d never be satisfied about him; I flatter’d myself, that if I cou’d but see him, I cou’d yet Master him, and that he wou’d presently forget all that had pass’d, that might be thought unkind; but as there was no room to imagine any-thing like that to be possible, I threw those Thoughts off again as much as I cou’d.
However, they continually return’d, and I had no Rest Night or Day, for thinking of him, who I had forgot above eleven Years. I told Amy of it, and we talk’d it over sometimes in-Bed, almost whole Nights together; at last, Amy started a thing of her own Head, which put it in a Way of Management, tho’ a wild one too: You are so uneasie, Madam, says she, about this Mr. —, the Merchant at Paris; Come, says she, if you’ll give me Leave, I’ll go over, and see what’s become of him.
Not for ten Thousand Pounds, said I; no, nor if you met him in the Street, not to offer to speak to him on my Account: No, says Amy, I wou’d not speak to him at-all, or if I did, I warrant you it shall not look to be upon your Account; I’ll only enquire after him, and if he is in Being, you shall hear of him; if not, you shall hear of him still, and that may be enough.
Why, says I, if you will promise me not to enter into any-thing relating to me, with him; nor to begin any Discourse at-all, unless he begins it with you, I cou’d almost, be perswaded to let you go and try.
Amy promis’d me all that I desir’d; and, in a word, to cut the Story short, I let her go; but ty’d her up to so many Particulars, that it was almost impossible, her going cou’d signifie any-thing; and had she intended to observe them, she might as well have staid at-home as have gone; for I charg’d her, if she came to see him, she shou’d not so much as take Notice that she knew him again; and if he spoke to her, she shou’d tell him, she was come away from me a great-many Years ago, and knew nothing what was become of me; that she had been come-over to France six Years ago, and was marry’d there, and liv’d at Calais, or to that Purpose.
Amy promis’d me nothing indeed; for, as she said, it was impossible for her to resolve what wou’d be fit to do, or not to do, till she was there, upon the Spot, and had found out the Gentleman, or heard of him; but that then, if I wou’d trust her, as I had always done, she wou’d answer for it, that she wou’d do nothing but what shou’d be for my Interest, and what she wou’d hope I shou’d be very well pleas’d with.
With this general Commision, Amy, notwithstanding she had been so frighted at the Sea, ventur’d her Carcass once more by Water; and away she goes to France; she had four Articles of Confidence in Charge to enquire after, for me; and as I found by her, she had one for herself; I say, four for me, because tho’ her first and principal Errand was, to inform herself of my Dutch Merchant; yet I gave her in Charge to enquire, 2. After my Husband, who I left a Trooper in the Gensd’arms. 3. After that Rogue of a Jew, whose very Name I hated, and of whose Face I had such a frightful Idea, that Sathan himself cou’d not counterfeit a worse: And Lastly, After my Foreign Prince: And she discharg’d herself very well of them all, tho’ not so successful as I wish’d.
Amy had a very good Passage over the Sea, and I had a Letter from her, from Calais, in three Days after she went from London: When she came to Paris, she wrote me an Account, that as to her first and most important Enquiry, which was after the Dutch Merchant; her Account was, That he had return’d to Paris; liv’d three Years there, and quitting that City, went to live at Roan: So away goes Amy for Roan.
But as she was going to bespeak a Place in the Coach to Roan, she meets very accidentally in the Street, with her Gentleman, as I call’d him; that is to say, the Prince de —’s Gentleman, who had been her Favourite, as above.
You may be sure there were several other kind Things happen’d between Amy and him, as you shall hear afterwards: But the two main things were, 1. That Amy enquir’d about his Lord, and had a full Account of him; of which presently; and in the next Place, telling him whither she was going, and for what; he bade her not go yet, for that he wou’d have a particular Account of it the next Day, from a Merchant that knew him; and accordingly he brought her word the next Day, that he had been for six Years before that, gone for Holland, and that he liv’d there still.
This, I say, was the first News from Amy, for some time, I mean, about my Merchant: In the mean time, Amy, as I have said, enquir’d about the other Persons she had in her Instructions: As for the Prince, the Gentleman told her, he was gone into Germany, where his Estate lay, and that he liv’d there; that he had made great Enquiry after me; that he (his Gentleman) had made all the Search he had been able, for me; but that he cou’d not hear of me; that he believ’d if his Lord had known I had been in England, he wou’d have gone over to me; but that, after long Enquiry, he was oblig’d to give it over; but that he verily believ’d, if he cou’d have found me, he wou’d have married me; and that he was extremely concern’d that he cou’d hear nothing of me.
I was not at-all satisfied with Amy’s Account, but order’d her to go to Roan herself; which she did, and there with much Difficulty, (the Person she was directed to being dead) I say, with much Difficulty, she came to be inform’d, that my Merchant had liv’d there two Years, or something more; but that having met with a very great Misfortune, he had gone back to Holland, as the French Merchant said, where he had staid two Years; but with this Addition, viz. that he came back-again to Roan, and liv’d in good Reputation there another Year; and afterwards, he was gone to England: and that he liv’d in London: But Amy cou’d by no means learn how to write to him there, till by great Accident, an old Dutch Skipper, who had formerly serv’d him, coming to Roan, Amy was told of it; and he told her, that he lo
dg’d in St. Lawrence Pountney’s-Lane, in London; but was to be seen every Day upon the Exchange, in the French Walk.235
This Amy thought it was time enough to tell me of, when she came over; and besides she did not find this Dutch Skipper, till she had spent four or five Months, and been again at Paris, and then come back to Roan for farther Information: But in the mean time she wrote me from Paris, that he was not to be found by any means; that he had been gone from Paris seven or eight Years; that she was told he had liv’d at Roan, and she was a-going thither to enquire, but that she had heard afterward, that he was gone also from thence to Holland, so she did not go.
This, I say, was Amy’s first Account; and I not satisfied with it, had sent her an Order to go to Roan, to enquire there also, as above.
While this was negociating, and I received these Accounts from Amy at several times, a strange Adventure happen’d to me, which I must mention just here; I had been Abroad to take the Air, as usual, with my QUAKER, as far as Epping-Forrest, and we were driving back towards London;, when on the Road between Bow and MileEnd,236 two Gentlemen on Horseback came riding-by, having over-taken the Coach, and pass’d it, and went forwards towards London.
They did not ride apace, tho’ they pass’d the Coach, for we went very softly, nor did they look into the Coach at-all, but rode side by side, earnestly talking to one another, and inclining their Faces side-ways a little towards one another, he that went nearest the Coach, with his Face from it, and he that was farthest from the Coach, with his Face towards it, and passing in the very next Tract to the Coach, I could hear them talk Dutch very distinctly; but it is impossible to describe the Confusion I was in, when I plainly saw that the farthest of the two, him whose Face look’d towards the Coach, was my Friend, the Dutch Merchant of Paris.
