by Daniel Defoe
I knew a woman that was so dexterous with a fellow who indeed deserved no better usage that while he was busy with her another way, conveyed his purse with twenty guineas in it out of his fob-pocket, where he had put it for fear of her, and put another purse with gilded counters in it into the room of it. After he had done, he says to her, “Now, han’t you picked my pocket?” She jested with him and told him she supposed he had not much to lose; he put his hand to his fob and with his fingers felt that his purse was there, which fully satisfied him, and so she brought off his money. And this was a trade with her; she kept a sham gold watch and a purse of counters in her pocket to be ready on all such occasions, and I doubt not practised it with success.
I came home with this last booty to my governess, and really when I told her the story, it so affected her that she was hardly able to forbear tears to think how such a gentleman run a daily risk of being undone every time a glass of wine got into his head.
But as to the purchase I got and how entirely I stripped him, she told me it pleased her wonderfully. “Nay, child,” says she, “the usage may, for aught I know, do more to reform him than all the sermons that ever he will hear in his life.” And if the remainder of the story be true, so it did.
I found the next day she was wonderful inquisitive about this gentleman; the description I gave her of him—his dress, his person, his face—all concurred to make her think of a gentleman whose character she knew. She mused awhile, and I going on in the particulars, says she, “I lay a hundred pound I know the man.”
“I am sorry if you do,” says I, “for I would not have him exposed on any account in the world; he has had injury enough already, and I would not be instrumental to do him any more.” “No, no,” says she, “I will do him no injury, but you may let me satisfy my curiosity a little, for if it is he, I warrant you I find it out.” I was a little startled at that, and I told her, with an apparent concern in my face, that by the same rule he might find me out, and then I was undone. She returned warmly, “Why, do you think I will betray you, child? No, no,” says she, “not for all he is worth in the world. I have kept your counsel in worse things than these; sure you may trust me in this.” So I said no more.
She laid her scheme another way, and without acquainting me with it, but she was resolved to find it out. So she goes to a certain friend of hers who was acquainted in the family that she guessed at and told her she had some extraordinary business with such a gentleman (who, by the way, was no less than a baronet and of a very good family), and that she knew not how to come at him without somebody to introduce her. Her friend promised her readily to do it, and accordingly goes to the house to see if the gentleman was in town.
The next day she comes to my governess and tells her that Sir —— was at home, but that he had met with a disaster and was very ill, and there was no speaking to him. “What disaster?” says my governess hastily, as if she was surprised at it. “Why,” says her friend, “he had been at Hampstead to visit a gentleman of his acquaintance, and as he came back again he was set upon and robbed; and having got a little drink too, as they suppose, the rogues abused him, and he is very ill.” “Robbed!” says my governess. “And what did they take from him?” “Why,” says her friend, “they took his gold watch and his gold snuff-box, his fine periwig, and what money he had in his pocket, which was considerable, to be sure, for Sir —— never goes without a purse of guineas about him.”
“Pshaw!” says my old governess, jeering. “I warrant you he has got drunk now and got a whore, and she has picked his pocket, and so he comes home to his wife and tells her he has been robbed; that’s an old sham; a thousand such tricks are put upon the poor women every day.”
“Fie!” says her friend. “I find you don’t know Sir ——; why, he is as civil a gentleman, there is not a finer man, nor a soberer, modester person in the whole city; he abhors such things; there’s nobody that knows him will think such a thing of him.” “Well, well,” says my governess, “that’s none of my business; if it was, I warrant I should find there was something of that in it; your modest men in common opinion are sometimes no better than other people, only they keep a better character or, if you please, are the better hypocrites.”
“No, no,” says her friend, “I can assure you Sir —— is no hypocrite; he is really an honest, sober gentleman, and he has certainly been robbed.” “Nay,” says my governess, “it may be he has; it is no business of mine, I tell you; I only want to speak with him; my business is of another nature.” “But,” says her friend, “let your business be of what nature it will, you cannot see him yet, for he is not fit to be seen, for he is very ill and bruised very much.” “Ay,” says my governess, “nay, then he has fallen into bad hands, to be sure.” And then she asked gravely, “Pray, where is he bruised?” “Why, in his head,” says her friend, “and one of his hands, and his face, for they used him barbarously.” “Poor gentleman,” says my governess. “I must wait, then, till he recovers”; and adds, “I hope it will not be long.”
Away she comes to me and tells me this story. “I have found out your fine gentleman, and a fine gentleman he was,” says she; “but, mercy on him, he is in a sad pickle now. I wonder what the d—l you have done to him; why, you have almost killed him.” I looked at her with disorder enough. “I killed him!” says I. “You must mistake the person; I am sure I did nothing to him; he was very well when I left him,” said I, “only drunk and fast asleep.” “I know nothing of that,” says she, “but he is in a sad pickle now”; and so she told me all that her friend had said. “Well, then,” says I, “he fell into bad hands after I left him, for I left him safe enough.”
About ten days after, my governess goes again to her friend to introduce her to this gentleman; she had inquired other ways in the meantime and found that he was about again, so she got leave to speak with him.
She was a woman of an admirable address and wanted nobody to introduce her; she told her tale much better than I shall be able to tell it for her, for she was mistress of her tongue, as I said already. She told him that she came, though a stranger, with a single design of doing him a service, and he should find she had no other end in it; that as she came purely on so friendly an account, she begged a promise from him, that if he did not accept what she should officiously propose, he would not take it ill that she meddled with what was not her business; she assured him that as what she had to say was a secret that belonged to him only, so whether he accepted her offer or not, it should remain a secret to all the world unless he exposed it himself; nor should his refusing her service in it make her so little show her respect as to do him the least injury, so that he should be entirely at liberty to act as he thought fit.
He looked very shy at first and said he knew nothing that related to him that required much secrecy; that he had never done any man any wrong and cared not what anybody might say of him; that it was no part of his character to be unjust to anybody, nor could he imagine in what any man could render him any service; but that if it was as she said, he could not take it ill from any one that should endeavour to serve him; and so, as it were, left her at liberty either to tell him or not to tell him, as she thought fit.
She found him so perfectly indifferent that she was almost afraid to enter into the point with him; but, however, after some other circumlocutions, she told him that by a strange and unaccountable accident she came to have a particular knowledge of the late unhappy adventure he had fallen into, and that in such a manner that there was nobody in the world but herself and him that were acquainted with it, no, not the very person that was with him.
He looked a little angrily at first. “What adventure?” said he. “Why, sir,” said she, “of your being robbed coming from Knightsbr—, Hampstead, sir, I should say,” says she. “Be not surprised, sir,” says she, “that I am able to tell you every step you took that day from the cloister in Smithfield to the Spring Garden at Knightsbridge, and thence to the —— in the Strand, and how you were left asleep in th
e coach afterwards. I say, let not this surprise you, for, sir, I do not come to make a booty of you, I ask nothing of you, and I assure you the woman that was with you knows nothing who you are and never shall; and yet perhaps I may serve you farther still, for I did not come barely to let you know that I was informed of these things, as if I wanted a bribe to conceal them; assure yourself, sir,” said she, “that whatever you think fit to do or say to me, it shall be all a secret, as it is, as much as if I were in my grave.”
He was astonished at her discourse and said gravely to her, “Madam, you are a stranger to me, but it is very unfortunate that you should be let into the secret of the worst action of my life and a thing that I am justly ashamed of, in which the only satisfaction I had was that I thought it was known only to God and my own conscience.” “Pray, sir,” says she, “do not reckon the discovery of it to me to be any part of your misfortune. It was a thing, I believe, you were surprised into, and perhaps the woman used some art to prompt you to it. However, you will never find any just cause,” said she, “to repent that I came to hear of it; nor can your mouth be more silent in it than I have been and ever shall be.”
“Well,” says he, “but let me do some justice to the woman too; whoever she is, I do assure you she prompted me to nothing, she rather declined me. It was my own folly and madness that brought me into it all; aye, and brought her into it too; I must give her her due so far. As to what she took from me, I could expect no less from her in the condition I was in, and to this hour I know not whether she robbed me or the coachman; if she did it, I forgive her. I think all gentlemen that do so should be used in the same manner; but I am more concerned for some other things than I am for all that she took from me.”
My governess now began to come into the whole matter, and he opened himself freely to her. First she said to him in answer to what he had said about me, “I am glad, sir, you are so just to the person that you were with. I assure you she is a gentlewoman, and no woman of the town; and however you prevailed with her as you did, I am sure ’tis not her practice. You run a great venture indeed, sir; but if that be part of your care, you may be perfectly easy, for I do assure you no man has touched her before you since her husband, and he has been dead now almost eight years.”
It appeared that this was his grievance and that he was in a very great fright about it; however, when my governess said this to him, he appeared very well pleased and said, “Well, madam, to be plain with you, if I was satisfied of that, I should not so much value what I lost; for as to that, the temptation was great, and perhaps she was poor and wanted it.” “If she had not been poor, sir,” says she, “I assure you she would never have yielded to you; and as her poverty first prevailed with her to let you do as you did, so the same poverty prevailed with her to pay herself at last when she saw you was in such a condition that if she had not done it, perhaps the next coachman or chairman might have done it more to your hurt.”
“Well,” says he, “much good may it do her. I say again, all the gentlemen that do so ought to be used in the same manner, and then they would be cautious of themselves. I have no more concern about it but on the score which you hinted at before.” Here he entered into some freedoms with her on the subject of what passed between us, which are not so proper for a woman to write, and the great terror that was upon his mind with relation to his wife for fear she should have received any injury from me and should communicate it farther; and asked her at last if she could not procure him an opportunity to speak with me. My governess gave him farther assurances of my being a woman clear from any such thing, and that he was as entirely safe in that respect as he was with his own lady; but as for seeing me, she said it might be of dangerous consequence; but, however, that she would talk with me and let him know, endeavouring at the same time to persuade him not to desire it and that it could be of no service to him, seeing she hoped he had no desire to renew the correspondence and that on my account it was a kind of putting my life in his hands.
He told her he had a great desire to see me, that he would give her any assurances that were in his power not to take any advantages of me, and that in the first place he would give me a general release from all demands of any kind. She insisted how it might tend to farther divulging the secret and might be injurious to him, entreating him not to press for it; so at length he desisted.
They had some discourse upon the subject of the things he had lost, and he seemed to be very desirous of his gold watch, and told her if she could procure that for him, he would willingly give as much for it as it was worth. She told him she would endeavour to procure it for him and leave the valuing it to himself.
Accordingly the next day she carried the watch, and he gave her thirty guineas for it, which was more than I should have been able to make of it, though it seems it cost much more. He spoke something of his periwig, which it seems cost him threescore guineas, and his snuff-box; and in a few days more she carried them too, which obliged him very much, and he gave her thirty more. The next day I sent him his fine sword and cane gratis, and demanded nothing of him, but had no mind to see him unless he might be satisfied I knew who he was, which he was not willing to.
Then he entered into a long talk with her of the manner how she came to know all this matter. She formed a long tale of that part; how she had it from one that I had told the whole story to and that was to help me dispose of the goods; and this confidante brought things to her, she being by profession a pawnbroker; and she, hearing of his worship’s disaster, guessed at the thing in general; that having gotten the things into her hands, she had resolved to come and try as she had done. She then gave him repeated assurances that it should never go out of her mouth, and though she knew the woman very well, yet she had not let her know, meaning me, anything of who the person was, which, by the way, was false; but, however, it was not to his damage, for I never opened my mouth of it to anybody.
I had a great many thoughts in my head about my seeing him again and was often sorry that I had refused it. I was persuaded that if I had seen him and let him know that I knew him, I should have made some advantage of him and perhaps have had some maintenance from him; and though it was a life wicked enough, yet it was not so full of danger as this I was engaged in. However, those thoughts wore off, and I declined seeing him again for that time; but my governess saw him often, and he was very kind to her, giving her something almost every time he saw her. One time in particular she found him very merry, and as she thought he had some wine in his head then, and he pressed her again to let him see that woman that, as he said, had bewitched him so that night, my governess, who was from the beginning for my seeing him, told him he was so desirous of it that she could almost yield to it if she could prevail upon me; adding that if he would please to come to her house in the evening, she would endeavour it upon his repeated assurances of forgetting what was past.
Accordingly she came to me and told me all the discourse; in short, she soon biased me to consent in a case which I had some regret in my mind for declining before; so I prepared to see him. I dressed me to all the advantage possible, I assure you, and for the first time used a little art; I say for the first time, for I had never yielded to the baseness of paint before, having always had vanity enough to believe I had no need of it.
At the hour appointed he came; and as she observed before, so it was plain still that he had been drinking, though very far from what we call being in drink. He appeared exceeding pleased to see me and entered into a long discourse with me upon the old affair. I begged his pardon very often for my share of it, protested I had not any such design when first I met him, that I had not gone out with him but that I took him for a very civil gentleman, and that he made me so many promises of offering no incivility to me.
He alleged the wine he drank, and that he scarce knew what he did, and that if it had not been so, he should never have taken the freedom with me he had done. He protested to me that he never touched any woman but me since he was married to his wife, and i
t was a surprise upon him; complimented me upon being so particularly agreeable to him, and the like; and talked so much of that kind till I found he had talked himself almost into a temper to do the thing again. But I took him up short. I protested I had never suffered any man to touch me since my husband died, which was near eight years. He said he believed it and added that madam had intimated as much to him, and that it was his opinion of that part which made him desire to see me again; and since he had once broken in upon his virtue with me and found no ill consequences, he could be safe in venturing again; and so, in short, he went on to what I expected and to what will not bear relating.
My old governess had foreseen it, as well as I, and therefore led him into a room which had not a bed in it, and yet had a chamber within it which had a bed, whither we withdrew for the rest of the night; and in short, after some time being together, he went to bed and lay there all night. I withdrew, but came again undressed before it was day and lay with him the rest of the time.
Thus, you see, having committed a crime once is a sad handle to the committing of it again; all the reflections wear off when the temptation renews itself. Had I not yielded to see him again, the corrupt desire in him had worn off, and ’tis very probable he had never fallen into it with anybody else, as I really believe he had not done before.
When he went away, I told him I hoped he was satisfied he had not been robbed again. He told me he was fully satisfied in that point and, putting his hand in his pocket, gave me five guineas, which was the first money I had gained that way for many years.
I had several visits of the like kind from him, but he never came into a settled way of maintenance, which was what I would have been best pleased with. Once, indeed, he asked me how I did to live. I answered him pretty quick that I assured him I had never taken that course that I took with him, but that indeed I worked at my needle and could just maintain myself; that sometimes it was as much as I was able to do, and I shifted hard enough.
