Many were the Acknowledgements which the poor Woman made to Allworthy, for this kind and generous Offer, nor could she refrain from taking this Occasion again to express her Gratitude towards Jones, ‘to whom,’ said she, ‘I owe the Opportunity of giving you, Sir, this present Trouble.’ Allworthy gently stopped her; but he was too good a Man to be really offended with the Effects of so noble a Principle as now actuated Mrs. Miller; and indeed had not this new Affair inflamed his former Anger against Jones, it is possible he might have been a little softened towards him, by the Report of an Action which Malice itself could not have derived from an evil Motive.
Mr. Allworthy and Mrs. Miller had been above an Hour together, when their Conversation was put an End to, by the Arrival of Blifil, and another Person, which other Person was no less than Mr. Dowling, the Attorney, who was now become a great Favourite with Mr. Blifil, and whom Mr. Allworthy, at the Desire of his Nephew, had made his Steward; and had likewise recommended him to Mr. Western, from whom the Attorney received a Promise of being promoted to the same Office upon the first Vacancy; and in the mean Time, was employed in transacting some Affairs which the Squire then had in London, in Relation to a Mortgage.
This was the principal Affair which then brought Mr. Dowling to Town; therefore he took the same Opportunity to charge himself with some Money for Mr. Allworthy, and to make a Report to him of some other Business; in all which as it was of much too dull a Nature to find any Place in this History, we will leave the Uncle, Nephew, and their Lawyer concerned, and resort to other Matters.
CHAPTER VIII.
Containing various Matters.
Before we return to Mr. Jones, we will take one more View of Sophia.
Though that young Lady had brought her Aunt into great good Humour by those soothing Methods, which we have before related, she had not brought her in the least to abate of her Zeal for the Match with Lord Fellamar. This Zeal was now inflamed by Lady Bellaston, who had told her the preceding Evening, that she was well satisfied from the Conduct of Sophia, and from her Carriage to his Lordship, that all Delays would be dangerous, and that the only Way to succeed, was to press the Match forward with such Rapidity, that the young Lady should have no Time to reflect, and be obliged to consent, while she scarce knew what she did. In which Manner, she said, one half of the Marriages among People of Condition were brought about. A Fact very probably true, and to which I suppose is owing the mutual Tenderness which afterwards exists among so many happy Couples.
A Hint of the same Kind was given by the same Lady to Lord Fellamar; and both these so readily embraced the Advice, that the very next Day was, at his Lordship’s Request, appointed by Mrs. Western for a private Interview between the young Parties. This was communicated to Sophia by her Aunt, and insisted upon in such high Terms, that, after having urged every Thing she possibly could invent against it, without the least Effect, she at last agreed to give the highest Instance of Complaisance which any young Lady can give, and consented to see his Lordship.
As Conversations of this Kind afford no great Entertainment, we shall be excused from reciting the whole that past at this Interview; in which, after his Lordship had made many Declarations of the most pure and ardent Passion, to the silent, blushing Sophia; she at last collected all the Spirits she could raise, and with a trembling low Voice, said, ‘My Lord, you must be yourself conscious whether your former Behaviour to me hath been consistent with the Professions you now make.’ ‘Is there,’ answered he, ‘no Way by which I can attone for Madness? What I did, I am afraid, must have too plainly convinced you, that the Violence of Love had deprived me of my Senses.’ ‘Indeed, my Lord,’ said she, ‘it is in your Power to give me a Proof of an Affection which I much rather wish to encourage, and to which I should think myself more beholden.’ ‘Name it, Madam,’ said my Lord, very warmly.— ‘My Lord,’ says she, looking down upon her Fan, ‘I know you must be sensible how uneasy this pretended Passion of yours hath made me.’—‘Can you be so cruel to call it pretended?’ says he. ‘Yes, my Lord,’ answered Sophia, ‘all Professions of Love to those whom we persecute, are most insulting Pretences. This Pursuit of yours is to me a most cruel Persecution; nay, it is taking a most ungenerous Advantage of my unhappy Situation.’ ‘Most lovely, most adorable Charmer, do not accuse me,’ cries he, ‘of taking an ungenerous Advantage, while I have no Thoughts but what are directed to your Honour and Interest, and while I have no View, no Hope, no Ambition but to throw myself, Honour, Fortune, every Thing at your Feet.’ ‘My Lord,’ says she, ‘it is that Fortune, and those Honours, which give you the Advantage of which I complain. These are the Charms which have seduced my Relations, but to me they are Things indifferent. If your Lordship will merit my Gratitude, there is but one Way.’—‘Pardon me, divine Creature,’ said he, ‘there can be none. All I can do for you is so much your Due, and will give me so much Pleasure, that there is no Room for your Gratitude.’—‘Indeed, my Lord,’ answered she, ‘you may obtain my Gratitude, my good Opinion, every kind Thought and Wish which it is in my Power to bestow; nay, you may obtain them with Ease; for sure to a generous Mind it must be easy to grant my Request. Let me beseech you then, to cease a Pursuit, in which you can never have any Success. For your own Sake as well as mine, I intreat this Favour: For sure you are too noble to have any Pleasure in tormenting an unhappy Creature. What can your Lordship propose but Uneasiness to yourself, by a Perseverance, which, upon my Honour, upon my Soul, cannot, shall not prevail with me, whatever Distresses you may drive me to.’ Here my Lord fetched a deep Sigh, and then said—‘Is it then, Madam, that I am so unhappy to be the Object of your Dislike and Scorn; or will you pardon me if I suspect there is some other?’—Here he hesitated, and Sophia answered with some Spirit, ‘My Lord, I shall not be accountable to you for the Reasons of my Conduct. I am obliged to your Lordship for the generous Offer you have made; I own it is beyond either my Deserts or Expectations; yet I hope, my Lord, you will not insist on my Reasons, when I declare I cannot accept it.’ Lord Fellamar returned much to this, which we do not perfectly understand, and perhaps it could not all be strictly reconciled either to Sense or Grammar; but he concluded his ranting Speech with saying, ‘That if she had pre-engaged herself to any Gentleman, however unhappy it would make him, he should think himself bound in Honour to desist.’ Perhaps my Lord laid too much Emphasis on the Word Gentleman; for we cannot else well account for the Indignation with which he inspired Sophia, who, in her Answer, seemed greatly to resent some Affront he had given her.
While she was speaking, with her Voice more raised than usual, Mrs. Western came into the Room, the Fire glaring in her Cheeks, and the Flames bursting from her Eyes. ‘I am ashamed,’ says she, ‘my Lord, of the Reception which you have met with. I assure your Lordship we are all sensible of the Honour done us; and I must tell you, Miss Western, the Family expect a different Behaviour from you.’ Here my Lord interfered on behalf of the young Lady, but to no Purpose; the Aunt proceeded till Sophia pulled out her Handkerchief, threw herself into a Chair, and burst into a violent Fit of Tears.
The Remainder of the Conversation between Mrs. Western and his Lordship, till the latter withdrew, consisted of bitter Lamentations on his Side, and on hers of the strongest Assurances that her Niece should and would consent to all he wished. ‘Indeed, my Lord,’ says she, ‘the Girl hath had a foolish Education, neither adapted to her Fortune nor her Family. Her Father, I am sorry to say it, is to blame for every Thing. The Girl hath silly Country Notions of Bashfulness. Nothing else, my Lord, upon my Honour; I am convinced she hath a good Understanding at the Bottom, and will be brought to Reason.’
This last Speech was made in the Absence of Sophia; for she had sometime before left the Room, with more Appearance of Passion than she had ever shewn on any Occasion; and now his Lordship, after many Expressions of Thanks to Mrs. Western, many ardent Professions of Passion which nothing could conquer, and many Assurances of Perseverance, which Mrs. Western highly encouraged, took his Leave for
this Time.
Before we relate what now passed between Mrs. Western and Sophia, it may be proper to mention an unfortunate Accident which had happened, and which had occasioned the Return of Mrs. Western with so much Fury, as we have seen.
The Reader then must know, that the Maid who at present attended on Sophia, was recommended by Lady Bellaston, with whom she had lived for some Time in the Capacity of a Comb-brush;1 she was a very sensible Girl, and had received the strictest Instructions to watch her young Lady very carefully. These Instructions, we are sorry to say, were communicated to her by Mrs. Honour, into whose Favour Lady Bellaston had now so ingratiated herself, that the violent Affection which the good Waiting-woman had formerly borne to Sophia, was entirely obliterated by that great Attachment which she had to her new Mistress.
Now when Mrs. Miller was departed, Betty, (for that was the Name of the Girl) returning to her young Lady, found her very attentively engaged in reading a long Letter, and the visible Emotions which she betrayed on that Occasion, might have well accounted for some Suspicions which the Girl entertained; but indeed they had yet a stronger Foundation, for she had overheard the whole Scene which passed between Sophia and Mrs. Miller.
Mrs. Western was acquainted with all this Matter by Betty, who, after receiving many Commendations, and some Rewards for her Fidelity, was ordered, that if the Woman who brought the Letter, came again, she should introduce her to Mrs. Western herself.
Unluckily Mrs. Miller returned at the very Time when Sophia was engaged with his Lordship. Betty, according to Order, sent her directly to the Aunt; who being Mistress of so many Circumstances relating to what had past the Day before, easily imposed upon the poor Woman to believe that Sophia had communicated the whole Affair; and so pumped every Thing out of her which she knew, relating to the Letter, and relating to Jones.
This poor Creature might indeed be called Simplicity itself. She was one of that Order of Mortals, who are apt to believe every Thing which is said to them: to whom Nature hath neither indulged the offensive nor defensive Weapons of Deceit, and who are consequently liable to be imposed upon by any one, who will only be at the Expence of a little Falshood for that Purpose. Mrs. Western having drained Mrs. Miller of all she knew, which indeed was but little, but which was sufficient to make the Aunt suspect a great deal, dismissed her with Assurances that Sophia would not see her, that she would send no Answer to the Letter, nor ever receive another; nor did she suffer her to depart, without a handsome Lecture on the Merits of an Office, to which she could afford no better Name than that of Procuress.——This Discovery had greatly discomposed her Temper, when coming into the Apartment next to that in which the Lovers were, she overheard Sophia very warmly protesting against his Lordship’s Addresses. At which the Rage already kindled, burst forth, and she rushed in upon her Niece in a most furious Manner, as we have already described together with what past at that Time till his Lordship’s Departure.
No sooner was Lord Fellamar gone, than Mrs. Western returned to Sophia, whom she upbraided in the most bitter Terms, for the ill Use she had made of the Confidence reposed in her; and for her Treachery in conversing with a Man with whom she had offered but the Day before to bind herself in the most solemn Oath, never more to have any Conversation. Sophia protested she had maintained no such Conversation. ‘How! How! Miss Western,’ said the Aunt, ‘will you deny your receiving a Letter from him Yesterday?’ ‘A Letter, Madam!’ answered Sophia, somewhat surprized. ‘It is not very well bred, Miss,’ replies the Aunt, ‘to repeat my Words. I say a Letter, and I insist upon your shewing it me immediately.’ ‘I scorn a Lie, Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘I did receive a Letter, but it was without my Desire, and indeed I may say against my Consent.’ ‘Indeed, indeed, Miss,’ cries the Aunt, ‘you ought to be ashamed of owning you had received it at all; but where is the Letter? for I will see it.’
To this peremptory Demand Sophia paused some Time before she returned an Answer; and at last only excused herself by declaring she had not the Letter in her Pocket, which was indeed true; upon which her Aunt losing all manner of Patience, asked her Niece this short Question, whether she would resolve to marry Lord Fellamar or no? to which she received the strongest Negative. Mrs. Western then replied with an Oath, or something very like one, that she would early the next Morning deliver her back into her Father’s Hands.
Sophia then began to reason with her Aunt in the following Manner; ‘Why, Madam, must I of Necessity be forced to marry at all? Consider how cruel you would have thought it in your own Case, and how much kinder your Parents were in leaving you to your Liberty. What have I done to forfeit this Liberty? I will never marry contrary to my Father’s Consent, nor without asking yours.—And when I ask the Consent of either improperly, it will be then Time enough to force some other Marriage upon me.’ ‘Can I bear to hear this,’ cries Mrs. Western, ‘from a Girl who hath now a Letter from a Murderer in her Pocket?’ ‘I have no such Letter, I promise you,’ answered Sophia; ‘and if he be a Murderer, he will soon be in no Condition to give you any further Disturbance.’ ‘How, Miss Western,’ said the Aunt, ‘have you the Assurance to speak of him in this Manner, to own your Affection for such a Villain to my Face!’ ‘Sure, Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘you put a very strange Construction on my Words.’ ‘Indeed, Miss Western,’ cries the Lady, ‘I shall not bear this Usage; you have learnt of your Father this manner of treating me; he hath taught you to give me the Lie. He hath totally ruined you by his false System of Education; and please Heaven he shall have the Comfort of its Fruits: For once more I declare to you, that to-morrow Morning I will carry you back. I will withdraw all my Forces from the Field, and remain henceforth, like the wise King of Prussia, in a State of perfect Neutrality.2 You are both too wise to be regulated by my Measures; so prepare yourself; for To-morrow Morning you shall evacuate this House.’
Sophia remonstrated all she could; but her Aunt was deaf to all she said. In this Resolution therefore we must at present leave her, as there seems to be no Hopes of bringing her to change it.
CHAPTER IX.
What happened to Mr. Jones in the Prison.
Mr. Jones past above twenty-four melancholy Hours by himself, unless when relieved by the Company of Partridge, before Mr. Nightingale returned; not that this worthy young Man had deserted or forgot his Friend; for indeed, he had been much the greatest Part of the Time employed in his Service.
He had heard upon Enquiry that the only Persons who had seen the Beginning of the unfortunate Rencounter, were a Crew belonging to a Man of War, which then lay at Deptford. To Deptford therefore he went, in search of this Crew, where he was informed that the Men he sought after, were all gone ashore. He then traced them from Place to Place, till at last he found two of them drinking together, with a third Person, at a Hedge-Tavern,1 near Aldersgate.
Nightingale desired to speak with Jones by himself (for Partridge was in the Room when he came in.) As soon as they were alone, Nightingale taking Jones by the Hand, cried, ‘Come, my brave Friend, be not too much dejected at what I am going to tell you— I am sorry I am the Messenger of bad News; but I think it my Duty to tell you.’ ‘I guess already what that bad News is,’ cries Jones. ‘The poor Gentleman then is dead.’——‘I hope not,’ answered Nightingale. ‘He was alive this Morning; though I will not flatter you; I fear from the Accounts I could get, that his Wound is mortal. But if the Affair be exactly as you told it, your own Remorse would be all you would have Reason to apprehend, let what would happen; but forgive me, my dear Tom, if I entreat you to make the worst of your Story to your Friends. If you disguise any Thing to us, you will only be an Enemy to yourself.’
‘What Reason, my dear Jack, have I ever given you,’ said Jones, ‘to stab me with so cruel a Suspicion?’ ‘Have Patience,’ cries Nightingale, ‘and I will tell you all. After the most diligent Enquiry I could make, I at last met with two of the Fellows who were present at this unhappy Accident, and I am sorry to say, they do not relate the Story so much in your Favour
as you yourself have told it.’ ‘Why, what do they say?’ cries Jones. ‘Indeed what I am sorry to repeat, as I am afraid of the Consequence of it to you. They say that they were at too great a Distance to overhear any Words that passed between you; but they both agree that the first Blow was given by you.’ ‘Then upon my Soul,’ answered Jones, ‘they injure me. He not only struck me first, but struck me without the least Provocation. What should induce those Villains to accuse me falsely?’ ‘Nay, that I cannot guess,’ said Nightingale, ‘and if you yourself, and I who am so heartily your Friend, cannot conceive a Reason why they should belie you, what Reason will an indifferent Court of Justice be able to assign, why they should not believe them? I repeated the Question to them several Times, and so did another Gentleman who was present, who, I believe, is a Sea-fareing Man, and who really acted a very friendly Part by you; for he begged them often to consider, that there was the Life of a Man in the Case; and asked them over and over if they were certain; to which they both answered, that they were, and would abide by their Evidence upon Oath. For Heaven’s Sake, my dear Friend, recollect yourself; for if this should appear to be the Fact, it will be your Business to think in Time of making the best of your Interest. I would not shock you; but you know, I believe, the Severity of the Law, whatever verbal Provocations may have been given you.’ ‘Alas! my Friend,’ cries Jones, ‘what Interest hath such a Wretch as I? Besides, do you think I would even wish to live with the Reputation of a Murderer? If I had any Friends, (as alas! I have none) could I have the Confidence to solicit them to speak in the Behalf of a Man condemned for the blackest Crime in Human Nature? Believe me I have no such Hope; but I have some Reliance on a Throne still greatly superior; which will, I am certain, afford me all the Protection I merit.’
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 102
