But a more lucky Circumstance happened for poor Sophia: Another Noise now broke forth, which almost drowned her Cries; for now the whole House rang with, ‘Where is she? D—n me, I’ll unkennel her this Instant. Shew me her Chamber, I say. Where is my Daughter? I know she’s in the House, and I’ll see her if she’s above Ground. Shew me where she is.’—At which last Words the Door flew open, and in came Squire Western, with his Parson, and a Set of Myrmidons2 at his Heels.
How miserable must have been the Condition of poor Sophia, when the enraged Voice of her Father was welcome to her Ears? Welcome indeed it was, and luckily did he come; for it was the only Accident upon Earth which could have preserved the Peace of her Mind from being for ever destroyed.
Sophia, notwithstanding her Fright, presently knew her Father’s Voice; and his Lordship, notwithstanding his Passion, knew the Voice of Reason, which peremptorily assured him, it was not now a Time for the Perpetration of his Villainy. Hearing, therefore, the Voice approach, and hearing likewise whose it was; (for as the Squire more than once roared forth the Word Daughter, so Sophia, in the midst of her Struggling, cried out upon her Father;) he thought proper to relinquish his Prey, having only disordered her Handkerchief, and with his rude Lips committed Violence on her lovely Neck.
If the Reader’s Imagination doth not assist me, I shall never be able to describe the Situation of these two Persons when Western came into the Room. Sophia tottered into a Chair, where she sat disordered, pale, breathless, bursting with Indignation at Lord Fellamar; affrighted, and yet more rejoiced at the Arrival of her Father.
His Lordship sat down near her, with the Bag of his Wig hanging over one of his Shoulders, the rest of his Dress being somewhat disordered, and rather a greater Proportion of Linnen than is usual appearing at his Bosom. As to the rest, he was amazed, affrighted, vexed, and ashamed.
As to Squire Western, he happened, at this Time, to be overtaken by an Enemy, which very frequently pursues, and seldom fails to overtake, most of the Country Gentlemen in this Kingdom. He was, literally speaking, drunk; which Circumstance, together with his natural Impetuosity, could produce no other Effect, than his running immediately up to his Daughter, upon whom he fell foul with his Tongue in the most inveterate Manner; nay, he had probably committed Violence with his Hands, had not the Parson interposed, saying, ‘For Heaven’s Sake, Sir, animadvert that you are in the House of a great Lady. Let me beg you to mitigate your Wrath; it should minister a Fullness of Satisfaction that you have found your Daughter; for as to Revenge, it belongeth not unto us. I discern great Contrition in the Countenance of the young Lady. I stand assured, if you will forgive her, she will repent her of all past Offences, and return unto her Duty.’
The Strength of the Parson’s Arms had at first been of more Service than the Strength of his Rhetoric. However, his last Words wrought some effect, and the Squire answered, ‘I’ll forgee her if she wull ha un. If wot ha un, Sophy, I’ll forgee thee all. Why dost unt speak? Shat ha un? D—n me, shat ha un? Why dost unt answer? Was ever such a stubborn Tuoad?’
‘Let me intreat you, Sir, to be a little more moderate,’ said the Parson; ‘you frighten the young Lady so, that you deprive her of all Power of Utterance.’
‘Power of mine A—,’ answered the Squire. ‘You take her Part then, you do? A pretty Parson truly, to side with an undutiful Child. Yes, yes, I will gee you a Living with a Pox. I’ll gee un to the Devil sooner.’
‘I humbly crave your Pardon,’ said the Parson; ‘I assure your Worship, I meant no such Matter.’
My Lady Bellaston now entered the Room, and came up to the Squire, who no sooner saw her, than resolving to follow the Instructions of his Sister, he made her a very civil Bow, in the rural Manner, and paid her some of his best Compliments. He then immediately proceeded to his Complaints, and said, ‘There, my Lady Cousin; there stands the most undutiful Child in the World: She hankers after a beggarly Rascal, and won’t marry one of the greatest Matches in all England, that we have provided for her.’
‘Indeed, Cousin Western,’ answered the Lady, ‘I am persuaded you wrong my Cousin. I am sure she hath a better Understanding. I am convinced she will not refuse what she must be sensible is so much to her Advantage.’
This was a wilful Mistake in Lady Bellaston; for she well knew whom Mr. Western meant; though perhaps she thought he would easily be reconciled to his Lordship’s Proposals.
‘Do you hear there,’ quoth the Squire, ‘what her Ladyship says? All your Family are for the Match. Come, Sophy, be a good Girl, and be dutiful, and make your Father happy.’
‘If my Death will make you happy, Sir,’ answered Sophia, ‘you will shortly be so.’3
‘It’s a Lie, Sophy; it’s a d—n’d Lie, and you know it,’ said the Squire.
‘Indeed, Miss Western,’ said Lady Bellaston, ‘you injure your Father; he hath nothing in View but your Interest in this Match; and I and all your Friends must acknowledge the highest Honour done to your Family in the Proposal.’
‘Ay, all of us,’ quoth the Squire: ‘Nay, it was no Proposal of mine. She knows it was her Aunt proposed it to me first.—Come, Sophy, once more let me beg you to be a good Girl, and gee me your Consent before your Cousin.’
‘Let me give him your Hand, Cousin,’ said the Lady. ‘It is the Fashion now-a-days to dispense with Time and long Courtships.’
‘Pugh,’ said the Squire, ‘what signifies Time; won’t they have Time enough to court afterwards? People may court very well after they have been a bed together.’
As Lord Fellamar was very well assured, that he was meant by Lady Bellaston, so never having heard nor suspected a Word of Blifil, he made no Doubt of his being meant by the Father. Coming up therefore to the Squire, he said, ‘Though I have not the Honour, Sir, of being personally known to you; yet, as I find I have the Happiness to have my Proposals accepted, let me intercede, Sir, in Behalf of the young Lady, that she may not be more solicited at this Time.’
‘You intercede, Sir!’ said the Squire, ‘why, who the Devil are you?’
‘Sir, I am Lord Fellamar,’ answered he, ‘and am the happy Man, whom I hope you have done the Honour of accepting for a Son-in-law.’
‘You are a Son of a B—,’ replied the Squire, ‘for all your laced Coat. You my Son-in-law, and be d—n’d to you!’
‘I shall take more from you, Sir, than from any Man,’ answered the Lord; ‘but I must inform you, that I am not used to hear such Language without Resentment.’
‘Resent my A—,’ quoth the Squire. ‘Don’t think I am afraid of such a Fellow as thee art! Because hast a got a Spit4 there dangling at thy Side. Lay by your Spit, and I’ll give thee enough of meddling with what doth not belong to thee.—I’ll teach you to Father-in-law me, I’ll lick thy Jacket.’
‘It’s very well, Sir,’ said my Lord, ‘I shall make no Disturbance before the Ladies. I am very well satisfied. Your humble Servant, Sir; Lady Bellaston, your most obedient.’
His Lordship was no sooner gone, than Lady Bellaston coming up to Mr. Western, said, ‘Bless me, Sir, what have you done? You know not whom you have affronted; he is a Nobleman of the first Rank and Fortune, and Yesterday made Proposals to your Daughter; and such as I am sure you must accept with the highest Pleasure.’
‘Answer for yourself, Lady Cousin,’ said the Squire, ‘I will have nothing to do with any of your Lords. My Daughter shall have an honest Country Gentleman; I have pitched upon one for her, — and she shall ha’ un. I am sorry for the Trouble she hath given your Ladyship with all my Heart.’ Lady Bellaston made a civil Speech upon the Word Trouble, to which the Squire answered, ‘Why that’s kind, —and I would do as much for your Ladyship. To be sure Relations should do for one another. So I wish your Ladyship a good Night.—Come, Madam, you must go along with me by fair Means, or I’ll have you carried down to the Coach.’
Sophia said she would attend him without Force; but begged to go in a Chair, for she said she should not be able to ride any other Way.
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‘Prithee,’ cries the Squire, ‘wout unt persuade me canst not ride in a Coach, wouldst? That’s a pretty Thing surely. No, no, I’ll never let thee out of my Sight any more till art married, that I promise thee.’ Sophia told him she saw he was resolved to break her Heart. ‘O break thy Heart and be d—n’d,’ quoth he, ‘if a good Husband will break it. I don’t value a Brass Varden, not a Hapenny of any undutiful B— upon Earth.’ He then took violently hold of her Hand; upon which the Parson once more interfered, begging him to use gentle Methods. At that the Squire thundered out a Curse, and bid the Parson hold his Tongue, saying, ‘At’n’t in Pulpit now? when art a got up there I never mind what dost say; but I won’t be Priest-ridden, nor taught how to behave myself by thee. I wish your Ladyship a good Night. Come along, Sophy; be a good Girl, and all shall be well. Shat ha un, d—n me, shat ha un.’
Mrs. Honour appeared below Stairs, and with a low Curtesy to the Squire, offered to attend her Mistress; but he pushed her away, saying, ‘Hold, Madam, hold, you come no more near my House.’ ‘And will you take my Maid away from me?’ said Sophia. ‘Yes, indeed, Madam, will I,’ cries the Squire: ‘You need not fear being without a Servant; I will get you another Maid, and a better Maid than this, who, I’d lay five Pound to a Crown, is no more a Maid than my Grannum. No, no, Sophy, she shall contrive no more Escapes I promise you.’ He then packed up his Daughter and the Parson into the Hackney Coach, after which he mounted himself, and ordered it to drive to his Lodgings. In the Way thither he suffered Sophia to be quiet, and entertained himself with reading a Lecture to the Parson on good Manners, and a proper Behaviour to his Betters.
It is possible he might not so easily have carried off his Daughter from Lady Bellaston, had that good Lady desired to have detained her; but in reality, she was not a little pleased with the Confinement into which Sophia was going: And as her Project with Lord Fellamar had failed of Success, she was well contented that other violent Methods were now going to be used in Favour of another Man.
CHAPTER VI.
By what Means the Squire came to discover his Daughter.
Though the Reader in many Histories is obliged to digest much more unaccountable Appearances than this of Mr. Western, without any Satisfaction at all; yet, as we dearly love to oblige him whenever it is in our Power, we shall now proceed to shew by what Methods the Squire discovered where his Daughter was.
In the third Chapter then of the preceding Book,1 we gave a Hint (for it is not our Custom to unfold at any Time more than is necessary for the Occasion) that Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who was very desirous of reconciling herself to her Uncle and Aunt Western, thought she had a probable Opportunity, by the Service of preserving Sophia from committing the same Crime which had drawn on herself the Anger of her Family. After much Deliberation therefore she resolved to inform her Aunt Western where her Cousin was, and accordingly she writ the following Letter, which we shall give the Reader at length, for more Reasons than one.
Honoured Madam,
The Occasion of my writing this will perhaps make a Letter of mine agreeable to my dear Aunt, for the Sake of one of her Nieces, tho’ I have little Reason to hope it will be so on the Account of another.
Without more Apology, as I was coming to throw my unhappy Self at your Feet, I met, by the strangest Accident in the World, my Cousin Sophy, whose History you are better acquainted with than myself, though, alas! I know infinitely too much; enough indeed to satisfy me, that unless she is immediately prevented, she is in Danger of running into the same fatal Mischief, which, by foolishly and ignorantly refusing your most wise and prudent Advice, I have unfortunately brought on myself.
In short, I have seen the Man, nay, I was most part of Yesterday in his Company, and a charming young Fellow I promise you he is. By what Accident he came acquainted with me is too tedious to tell you now; but I have this Morning changed my Lodgings to avoid him, lest he should by my Means discover my Cousin; for he doth not yet know where she is, and it is adviseable he should not, till my Uncle hath secured her.—No Time therefore is to be lost; and I need only inform you, that she is now with Lady Bellaston, whom I have seen, and who hath, I find, a Design of concealing her from her Family. You know, Madam, she is a strange Woman; but nothing could misbecome me more, than to presume to give any Hint to one of your great Understanding, and great Knowledge of the World, besides barely informing you of the Matter of Fact.
I hope, Madam, the Care which I have shewn on this Occasion for the Good of my Family, will recommend me again to the Favour of a Lady who hath always exerted so much Zeal for the Honour and true Interest of us all; and that it may be a Means of restoring me to your Friendship, which hath made so great a Part of my former, and is so necessary to my future Happiness. I am,
With the utmost Respect, Honoured Madam,
Your most dutiful obliged Niece,
And most Obedient,
Humble Servant,
Harriet Fitzpatrick.
Mrs. Western was now at her Brother’s House, where she had resided ever since the Flight of Sophia, in order to administer Comfort to the poor Squire in his Affliction. Of this Comfort which she doled out to him in daily Portions, we have formerly given a Specimen.
She was now standing with her Back to the Fire, and, with a Pinch of Snuff in her Hand, was dealing forth this daily Allowance of Comfort to the Squire, while he smoaked his Afternoon Pipe, when she received the above Letter; which she had no sooner read than she delivered it to him, saying, ‘There, Sir, there is an Account of your lost Sheep. Fortune hath again restored her to you, and if you will be governed by my Advice, it is possible you may yet preserve her.’
The Squire had no sooner read the Letter than he leaped from his Chair, threw his Pipe into the Fire, and gave a loud Huzza for Joy. He then summoned his Servants, called for his Boots, and ordered the Chevalier and several other Horses to be saddled, and that Parson Supple should be immediately sent for. Having done this, he turned to his Sister, caught her in his Arms, and gave her a close Embrace, saying, ‘Zounds! you don’t seem pleased; one would imagine you was sorry I have found the Girl.’
‘Brother,’ answered she, ‘the deepest Politicians, who see to the Bottom, discover often a very different Aspect of Affairs, from what swims on the Surface. It is true indeed, Things do look rather less desperate than they did formerly in Holland, when Lewis the fourteenth was at the Gates of Amsterdam;2 but there is a Delicacy required in this Matter, which you will pardon me, Brother, if I suspect you want. There is a Decorum to be used with a Woman of Figure, such as Lady Bellaston, Brother, which requires a Knowledge of the World superior, I am afraid, to yours.’
‘Sister,’ cries the Squire, ‘I know you have no Opinion of my Parts; but I’ll shew you on this Occasion who is a Fool. Knowledge quotha! I have not been in the Country so long without having some Knowledge of Warrants and the Law of the Land. I know I may take my own wherever I can find it. Shew me my own Daughter, and if I don’t know how to come at her, I’ll suffer you to call me Fool as long as I live. There be Justices of Peace in London, as well as in other Places.’
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 90
