“I know not what to make of this,” cries Booth. “The poor girl, I verily believe, speaks to the best of her knowledge. A thief it could not be, for he hath not taken the least thing; and it is plain he had the girl’s watch in his hand. If it had been a bailiff, surely he would have staid till our return. I can conceive no other from the girl’s account than that it must have been some madman.”
“O good sir!” said the girl, “now you mention it, if he was not a thief, to be sure he must have been a madman: for indeed he looked, and behaved himself too, very much like a madman; for, now I remember it, he talked to himself and said many strange kind of words that I did not understand. Indeed, he looked altogether as I have seen people in Bedlam; besides, if he was not a madman, what good could it do him to throw the things all about the room in such a manner? and he said something too about my master just before he went down-stairs. I was in such a fright I cannot remember particularly, but I am sure they were very ill words; he said he would do for him — I am sure he said that, and other wicked bad words too, if I could but think of them.”
“Upon my word,” said Booth, “this is the most probable conjecture; but still I am puzzled to conceive who it should be, for I have no madman to my knowledge of my acquaintance, and it seems, as the girl says, he asked for me.” He then turned to the child, and asked her if she was certain of that circumstance.
The poor maid, after a little hesitation, answered, “Indeed, sir, I cannot be very positive; for the fright he threw me into afterwards drove everything almost out of my mind.”
“Well, whatever he was,” cries Amelia, “I am glad the consequence is no worse; but let this be a warning to you, little Betty, and teach you to take more care for the future. If ever you should be left alone in the house again, be sure to let no persons in without first looking out at the window and seeing who they are. I promised not to chide you any more on this occasion, and I will keep my word; but it is very plain you desired this person to walk up into our apartment, which was very wrong in our absence.”
Betty was going to answer, but Amelia would not let her, saying, “Don’t attempt to excuse yourself; for I mortally hate a liar, and can forgive any fault sooner than falsehood.”
The poor girl then submitted; and now Amelia, with her assistance, began to replace all things in their order; and little Emily hugging her watch with great fondness, declared she would never part with it any more.
Thus ended this odd adventure, not entirely to the satisfaction of Booth; for, besides his curiosity, which, when thoroughly roused, is a very troublesome passion, he had, as is I believe usual with all persons in his circumstances, several doubts and apprehensions of he knew not what. Indeed, fear is never more uneasy than when it doth not certainly know its object; for on such occasions the mind is ever employed in raising a thousand bugbears and fantoms, much more dreadful than any realities, and, like children when they tell tales of hobgoblins, seems industrious in terrifying itself.
CHAPTER V.
Containing some matters not very unnatural.
Matters were scarce sooner reduced into order and decency than a violent knocking was heard at the door, such indeed as would have persuaded any one not accustomed to the sound that the madman was returned in the highest spring-tide of his fury.
Instead, however, of so disagreeable an appearance, a very fine lady presently came into the room, no other, indeed, than Mrs. James herself; for she was resolved to shew Amelia, by the speedy return of her visit, how unjust all her accusation had been of any failure in the duties of friendship; she had, moreover, another reason to accelerate this visit, and that was, to congratulate her friend on the event of the duel between Colonel Bath and Mr. Booth.
The lady had so well profited by Mrs. Booth’s remonstrance, that she had now no more of that stiffness and formality which she had worn on a former occasion. On the contrary, she now behaved with the utmost freedom and good-humour, and made herself so very agreeable, that Amelia was highly pleased and delighted with her company.
An incident happened during this visit, that may appear to some too inconsiderable in itself to be recorded; and yet, as it certainly produced a very strong consequence in the mind of Mr. Booth, we cannot prevail on ourselves to pass it by.
Little Emily, who was present in the room while Mrs. James was there, as she stood near that lady happened to be playing with her watch, which she was so greatly overjoyed had escaped safe from the madman. Mrs. James, who exprest great fondness for the child, desired to see the watch, which she commended as the prettiest of the kind she had ever seen.
Amelia caught eager hold of this opportunity to spread the praises of her benefactor. She presently acquainted Mrs. James with the donor’s name, and ran on with great encomiums on his lordship’s goodness, and particularly on his generosity. To which Mrs. James answered, “O! certainly, madam, his lordship hath universally the character of being extremely generous-where he likes.”
In uttering these words she laid a very strong emphasis on the three last monosyllables, accompanying them at the same time with a very sagacious look, a very significant leer, and a great flirt with her fan.
The greatest genius the world hath ever produced observes, in one of his most excellent plays, that
Trifles, light as air,
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ.
That Mr. Booth began to be possessed by this worst of fiends, admits, I think, no longer doubt; for at this speech of Mrs. James he immediately turned pale, and, from a high degree of chearfulness, was all on a sudden struck dumb, so that he spoke not another word till Mrs. James left the room.
The moment that lady drove from the door Mrs. Ellison came up-stairs. She entered the room with a laugh, and very plentifully rallied both Booth and Amelia concerning the madman, of which she had received a full account below-stairs; and at last asked Amelia if she could not guess who it was; but, without receiving an answer, went on, saying, “For my own part, I fancy it must be some lover of yours! some person that hath seen you, and so is run mad with love. Indeed, I should not wonder if all mankind were to do the same. La! Mr. Booth, what makes you grave? why, you are as melancholy as if you had been robbed in earnest. Upon my word, though, to be serious, it is a strange story, and, as the girl tells it, I know not what to make of it. Perhaps it might be some rogue that intended to rob the house, and his heart failed him; yet even that would be very extraordinary. What, did you lose nothing, madam?”
“Nothing at all,” answered Amelia. “He did not even take the child’s watch.”
“Well, captain,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “I hope you will take more care of the house to-morrow; for your lady and I shall leave you alone to the care of it. Here, madam,” said she, “here is a present from my lord to us; here are two tickets for the masquerade at Ranelagh. You will be so charmed with it! It is the sweetest of all diversions.”
“May I be damned, madam,” cries Booth, “if my wife shall go thither.”
Mrs. Ellison stared at these words, and, indeed, so did Amelia; for they were spoke with great vehemence. At length the former cried out with an air of astonishment, “Not let your lady go to Ranelagh, sir?”
“No, madam,” cries Booth, “I will not let my wife go to Ranelagh.”
“You surprize me!” cries Mrs. Ellison. “Sure, you are not in earnest?”
“Indeed, madam,” returned he, “I am seriously in earnest. And, what is more, I am convinced she would of her own accord refuse to go.”
“Now, madam,” said Mrs. Ellison, “you are to answer for yourself: and I will for your husband, that, if you have a desire to go, he will not refuse you.”
“I hope, madam,” answered Amelia with great gravity, “I shall never desire to go to any place contrary to Mr. Booth’s inclinations.”
“Did ever mortal hear the like?” said Mrs. Ellison; “you are enough to spoil the best husband in the universe. Inclinations! what, is a woman to be gov
erned then by her husband’s inclinations, though they are never so unreasonable?”
“Pardon me, madam,” said Amelia; “I will not suppose Mr. Booth’s inclinations ever can be unreasonable. I am very much obliged to you for the offer you have made me; but I beg you will not mention it any more; for, after what Mr. Booth hath declared, if Ranelagh was a heaven upon earth, I would refuse to go to it.”
“I thank you, my dear,” cries Booth; “I do assure you, you oblige me beyond my power of expression by what you say; but I will endeavour to shew you, both my sensibility of such goodness, and my lasting gratitude to it.”
“And pray, sir,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “what can be your objection to your lady’s going to a place which, I will venture to say, is as reputable as any about town, and which is frequented by the best company?”
“Pardon me, good Mrs. Ellison,” said Booth: “as my wife is so good to acquiesce without knowing my reasons, I am not, I think, obliged to assign them to any other person.”
“Well,” cries Mrs. Ellison, “if I had been told this, I would not have believed it. What, refuse your lady an innocent diversion, and that too when you have not the pretence to say it would cost you a farthing?”
“Why will you say any more on this subject, dear madam?” cries Amelia. “All diversions are to me matters of such indifference, that the bare inclinations of any one for whom I have the least value would at all times turn the balance of mine. I am sure then, after what Mr. Booth hath said— “
“My dear,” cries he, taking her up hastily, “I sincerely ask your pardon; I spoke inadvertently, and in a passion. I never once thought of controuling you, nor ever would. Nay, I said in the same breath you would not go; and, upon my honour, I meant nothing more.”
“My dear,” said she, “you have no need of making any apology. I am not in the least offended, and am convinced you will never deny me what I shall desire.”
“Try him, try him, madam,” cries Mrs. Ellison; “I will be judged by all the women in town if it is possible for a wife to ask her husband anything more reasonable. You can’t conceive what a sweet, charming, elegant, delicious place it is. Paradise itself can hardly be equal to it.”
“I beg you will excuse me, madam,” said Amelia; “nay, I entreat you will ask me no more; for be assured I must and will refuse. Do let me desire you to give the ticket to poor Mrs. Bennet. I believe it would greatly oblige her.”
“Pardon me, madam,” said Mrs. Ellison; “if you will not accept of it, I am not so distressed for want of company as to go to such a public place with all sort of people neither. I am always very glad to see Mrs. Bennet at my own house, because I look upon her as a very good sort of woman; but I don’t chuse to be seen with such people in public places.”
Amelia exprest some little indignation at this last speech, which she declared to be entirely beyond her comprehension; and soon after, Mrs. Ellison, finding all her efforts to prevail on Amelia were ineffectual, took her leave, giving Mr. Booth two or three sarcastical words, and a much more sarcastical look, at her departure.
CHAPTER VI.
A scene in which some ladies will possibly think Amelia’s conduct exceptionable.
Booth and his wife being left alone, a solemn silence prevailed during a few minutes. At last Amelia, who, though a good, was yet a human creatures said to her husband, “Pray, my dear, do inform me what could put you into so great a passion when Mrs. Ellison first offered me the tickets for this masquerade?”
“I had rather you would not ask me,” said Booth. “You have obliged me greatly in your ready acquiescence with my desire, and you will add greatly to the obligation by not enquiring the reason of it. This you may depend upon, Amelia, that your good and happiness are the great objects of all my wishes, and the end I propose in all my actions. This view alone could tempt me to refuse you anything, or to conceal anything from you.”
“I will appeal to yourself,” answered she, “whether this be not using me too much like a child, and whether I can possibly help being a little offended at it?”
“Not in the least,” replied he; “I use you only with the tenderness of a friend. I would only endeavour to conceal that from you which I think would give you uneasiness if you knew. These are called the pious frauds of friendship.”
“I detest all fraud,” says she; “and pious is too good an epithet to be joined to so odious a word. You have often, you know, tried these frauds with no better effect than to teize and torment me. You cannot imagine, my dear, but that I must have a violent desire to know the reason of words which I own I never expected to have heard. And the more you have shown a reluctance to tell me, the more eagerly I have longed to know. Nor can this be called a vain curiosity, since I seem so much interested in this affair. If after all this, you still insist on keeping the secret, I will convince you I am not ignorant of the duty of a wife by my obedience; but I cannot help telling you at the same time you will make me one of the most miserable of women.”
“That is,” cries he, “in other words, my dear Emily, to say, I will be contented without the secret, but I am resolved to know it, nevertheless.”
“Nay, if you say so,” cries she, “I am convinced you will tell me.
Positively, dear Billy, I must and will know.”
“Why, then, positively,” says Booth, “I will tell you. And I think I shall then shew you that, however well you may know the duty of a wife, I am not always able to behave like a husband. In a word then, my dear, the secret is no more than this; I am unwilling you should receive any more presents from my lord.”
“Mercy upon me!” cries she, with all the marks of astonishment; “what! a masquerade ticket!” —
“Yes, my dear,” cries he; “that is, perhaps, the very worst and most dangerous of all. Few men make presents of those tickets to ladies without intending to meet them at the place. And what do we know of your companion? To be sincere with you, I have not liked her behaviour for some time. What might be the consequence of going with such a woman to such a place, to meet such a person, I tremble to think. And now, my dear, I have told you my reason of refusing her offer with some little vehemence, and I think I need explain myself no farther.”
“You need not, indeed, sir,” answered she. “Good Heavens! did I ever expect to hear this? I can appeal to heaven, nay, I will appeal to yourself, Mr. Booth, if I have ever done anything to deserve such a suspicion. If ever any action of mine, nay, if ever any thought, had stained the innocence of my soul, I could be contented.”
“How cruelly do you mistake me!” said Booth. “What suspicion have I ever shewn?”
“Can you ask it,” answered she, “after what you have just now declared?”
“If I have declared any suspicion of you,” replied he, “or if ever I entertained a thought leading that way, may the worst of evils that ever afflicted human nature attend me! I know the pure innocence of that tender bosom, I do know it, my lovely angel, and adore it. The snares which might be laid for that innocence were alone the cause of my apprehension. I feared what a wicked and voluptuous man, resolved to sacrifice everything to the gratification of a sensual appetite with the most delicious repast, might attempt. If ever I injured the unspotted whiteness of thy virtue in my imagination, may hell— “
“Do not terrify me,” cries she, interrupting him, “with such imprecations. O, Mr. Booth! Mr. Booth! you must well know that a woman’s virtue is always her sufficient guard. No husband, without suspecting that, can suspect any danger from those snares you mention; and why, if you are liable to take such things into your head, may not your suspicions fall on me as well as on any other? for sure nothing was ever more unjust, I will not say ungrateful, than the suspicions which you have bestowed on his lordship. I do solemnly declare, in all the times I have seen the poor man, he hath never once offered the least forwardness. His behaviour hath been polite indeed, but rather remarkably distant than otherwise. Particularly when we played at cards together. I don’t remember he spoke
ten words to me all the evening; and when I was at his house, though he shewed the greatest fondness imaginable to the children, he took so little notice of me, that a vain woman would have been very little pleased with him. And if he gave them many presents, he never offered me one. The first, indeed, which he ever offered me was that which you in that kind manner forced me to refuse.”
“All this may be only the effect of art,” said Booth. “I am convinced he doth, nay, I am convinced he must like you; and my good friend James, who perfectly well knows the world, told me, that his lordship’s character was that of the most profuse in his pleasures with women; nay, what said Mrs. James this very evening? ‘His lordship is extremely generous — where he likes.’ I shall never forget the sneer with which she spoke those last words.”
“I am convinced they injure him,” cries Amelia. “As for Mrs. James, she was always given to be censorious; I remarked it in her long ago, as her greatest fault. And for the colonel, I believe he may find faults enow of this kind in his own bosom, without searching after them among his neighbours. I am sure he hath the most impudent look of all the men I know; and I solemnly declare, the very last time he was here he put me out of countenance more than once.”
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 196
