by John Fowles
Q. You took nothing?
A. No, sir. I swear. And all with great misgiving, for it grew dark, I feared Dick was about and watched us, and knew not what else to do. And a thing else, sir, it near slipped my mind, when she had put on her clothes, beside the seam, there where she had undid her bundle, was left strewn from it a fine pink gown and petticoat, else beside. And as I come close I see a small pot spilled upon the grass, and others likewise, and a Spanish comb, it seemed forgot, and so I tell her. She says, Leave them, I want them not. And I say, picking it up, What, a fine comb like this. And she says, Leave it, leave it, it is
vanity. Well, sir, what's disowned may be owned, as the saying is; so I turned my back and slipped the comb in my shirt, and would have it still 'cept I must sell it in Swansea and took five shillings and sixpence for it. She would have none of it, I count that no theft.
Q. As I count thee an honest man. Next.
A. We walked to where I had left my horse, which I found secure, thank the Lord; and she mounted and I led her down toward the road, sir.
Q. Did you not press her to say more?
A. I did, sir, and more than once, you may be sure. Still she would not speak to any purpose, but again said she would speak all, once we were from that place. So I kept my counsel, sir, until we come close above the road. There I stop and turn and say I would know where we should go once below on the road. For see you I had bethought myself as we went, and saw I must persuade her to my purpose, which was that I should bring her to his Lordship's father. She answers, I must to Bristol as soon as I can. Why Bristol, say I; and she, Because my parents dwell there. Do they know what thou art, say I next. And she would not answer, 'cept she must see them. Then I said, I must know thy true name, and where thou be found there. And she says, Rebecca Hocknell, though some call me Fanny, and my father is Amos, he is joiner and carpenter, thou mayst find him at Mill Court near the sign of the Three Tuns in Queen Street, in St Mary Redcliff parish. I will tell you now, sir, I writ her so, this last June when I heard of Dick as I told, and have had no answer yet. 'Tis not sure, though I did believe her then.
Q. Very well. What followed?
A. Why, just then as we spake we heard singing, sir, of some who came late home from the maying through the woods, I dare say six or seven, men and women, and more bawling than singing, for they had drank their fill. So we fell silent as they came, and took comfort to be among ordinary mortals, despite their cups and noise, after that place above.
Q. It was not yet dark?
A. Near, sir, the mogshade full upon us. The wooden shoes passed below, and on. Then of a sudden I heard Rebecca, so I will call her now, exclaim, I can no more, I must, I must; and before I may speak she is dismounted and runs off a little way, where she falls upon her knees, as if to give thanks once more for being delivered. Soon I hear she is weeping. So I tie the bridle to a bough, and go to her, and find her in a strange shaking, as she were in a great cold or fever, tho' the night was mild. And at each shaking she moans, oh, oh, oh, as if in pain. I take her shoulder, but 'twas like my hand scalded her, she twitches away, thus, sir, yet no other notice, nor spoke. Then of another sudden she falls in a seeming fit flat upon her face with her arms stretched out upon the ground, and there is more shaking and moaning. I will tell you, sir, Jones was as fearful then as of all else before. I thought they she spake so darkly of played hot cockles with her soul, and now did torment her for her sins and took possession of her flesh. Dear God, her sobs and sighs were like one in hellfire. I have heard such from a woman's throat when brought to bed, as she labours, sir, if your worship will pardon. So 'twas, I swear. I drew back till the fit was finished and then she lay still a minute or more, though I heard her yet sob again and a while. At last I went close where she lay and asked, was she ill? Whereat, after a little pause, like one who speaks in sleep, she says, Never so well in all my life. Then, Christ is returned within me. I say, I thought thee possessed. And she: Yes, so I was, but as I should be, by Him alone, and have no fear; now I am saved. Next she sat and bowed her face upon her knees, yet soon looked up and said, I am famished with hunger, have you no bait? So I said, What's left of a penny brick and a morsel of cheese, and she replies, That will suffice. Which I fetched, sir, and brought to her, and she stood to take it from my hands, then went to sit in more ease upon a fallen tree that lay close by; and began to eat, but stopped, and asked if I was hungry too. I said I was, no matter, I had starved before. No, I won't have that, said she, thou hast comforted me in my hour of need, let us share. So I sat beside her and she brake me a piece of bread and the cheese, tho' no more than two or three mouthfuls each. And then I asked what she meant, that she was saved. She said, why, the Lord is within me, and I pray it shall be as well with thee, Farthing. He will not forsake us now, and we may be forgiven what we have done and seen. Which I found strange words in a strumpet, sir, but said I hoped it so. And she replied, I was brought up a Friend, I have lost the light and all else these last five years; now the Lord has rekindled it in His mercy.
Q. And believed you her cant, all this quaking and shaking?
A. I must, sir. It seemed no pretence. No actress, no, none I have seen, could play it so well.
Q. Ill. But proceed.
A. Then said I 'twas very well speaking so, and of being saved and forgiven, still I must know what his Lordship had been about in that place, and where Dick could be gone. To which she answers, Why didst lie to me, Farthing? What lie, I say. She says, That his Lordship's father has set thee upon this. No lie, say I. Yes, she says, for else thou'dst have known for certain who I am, and not needed to put thy questions. Well, sir, I was caught, though I tried my best, but she would not have it, for she took my hand and pressed it, so to tell me I wasted my breath. Then said, Art thou afraid? Be no more afraid. Then, We are friends now, Farthing, and friends and lies don't walk together. I thought then to change my tack, since the first one brought me upon the rocks, and said, Very well, even so it can be truth if we wish, and we should together make it such; for it might bring us great reward at His Grace's hands, as well she knew. To which she said, Death is more like, I know the great of this world better than thee. They would rather do murder than let live those who can bring scandal on their name. And scandal I have, such as they would never bear, nor believe belike even it were told. For who would take my word, or thine?
Q. She cozened thee, man; made thee play coney to a cunning whore.
A. She was much changed, sir. She had not spoke so kind before.
Q. Kind when she called you liar to your face? Why did you not answer your Christian duty lay in apprising His Grace?
A. I thought it best to let bide my plan; sir. For she seemed fixed, she said she had promised in her prayings she'd straight to her parents, she did know they lived; and I would have her speak of other things. So we came to what we should do that night. I was for riding with her behind me for Bristol, as she wanted. To which she said she feared to go back upon our road, it was best we went on for Bideford, and take ship.
Q. She gave no reason?
A. That she had given me credit at first for being His Grace's spy, for his Lordship had told her that such there were, who dogged his steps. And they might now be on our heels, and she should be recognized for certain if we met. And I thought then, sir, it made no odds. If she could take ship, so might I, and still come to Bristol together. And so 'twas, your worship, that we did make for Bideford.
Q. Come to her tale, upon the road.
A. Well, sir, I will tell all, tho' not as it came, for it came not all at once, but some upon the road that night and some when we were at Bideford, where we lodged two days, as I will tell. To begin she told me she first had met his Lordship at Claiborne's a month before, where he was brought by another lord who much frequented the place; and she said little better than pandar to it, sir, for all his rank. That she took his Lordship to her chamber for his pleasure, yet once there he'd have none of her, though he seemed forward enough in desire o
f her when in company below. That he placed five guineas upon her table and said he hoped it would buy her silence in what he had to propose. Which was that there was a great fault in his nature and alas he could not enjoy what she was hired to provide him with, for which he hoped she would the more pity than mock him. Notwithstanding which, he knew not how, it did afford him some pleasure to see the venereous act performed; that he had a willing manservant; and that if she could oblige him in so unnatural a thing he would see her 'ceeding well recompensed for it. He durst not-for his fair name let wind of his disadvantage come to his friend's or Mother Claiborne's ears, nor for that reason risk to effect his desire in the house where they were. But to prevent that, if she agreed, he would first come to visit her there as a normal man might; then, having won her mistress's confidence, would propose to hire her out on some other pretext, when what he wished could take place. That he promised she should find the servant a lusty, handsome young fellow and perhaps more to her taste than many others she must take to her arms.
Q. I am to understand, that his Lordship never went to her bed?
A. So she said, sir. And how as on his next visit his Lordship pointed from her window down in the street, and showed her Dick there, who seemed as he said to her. And so, to be short, she consented, for she told me she then took some pity for his Lordship, who spoke to her with more courtesy and consideration than she was commonly used to. On that or another visit she said he spoke of the unjust curse upon him and the embarrassments he was placed in by it, and in particular by his father, who was much vexed by his seeming disobedience as to a certain marriage and threatened him to stop him of his inheritance and I know not what else. And then he confessed that this he proposed was counselled him by a learned doctor in London, who claimed to have cured others in his Lordship's case by this method.
Q. He had not tried it before, as he first pretended?
A. 'Tis as Rebecca believed, sir.
Q. Had she known such cases, or had such requests, before?
A. She did not say, sir. But I have heard talk of such, with the debosht, sir, begging your worship's pardon. Such as old men, who have lost their natural vigours. I forget, she said he told also he had tried more decent remedies, such as be found at the apothecary's. Yet all to no avail.
Q. Come to the journey west - what told he concerning that?
A. That he would carry her upon a tour he proposed to make there, for he had heard of new waters, recent found, and reputed excellent for his failing, which he would also take, and thus try the both cures at once. That he would not have his father's spies upon his heels, watching all he did, so some pretext must be found.
Q. That of the elopement and the lady's maid?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. Did she speak of a party of pleasure, with other rakes?
A. No, sir.
Q. No matter. How did his Lordship account to her for your part in all this?
A. Well you may ask, sir. For I did myself, as we walked. And she said she was told we came as added colour to the pretext, and Mr Lacy as companion also to his Lordship. That she was to hold her distance, not question us, nor let herself be questioned.
Q. How came she to where you first met, by Staines?
A. I did not think to ask, sir. I don't doubt his Lordship had her in hiding, for she said she had done his wish with Dick, and he gave her money and thanked her, when 'twas done. Yet once we were set out, she found his Lordship soon altered, his former courtesy had been but a mask upon his real face. She must do as he wished before him that next night also. After which he seemed far less pleased, and upbraided her for showing so little of her bagnio arts, or what you may call 'em, sir; and how he would not hear blame for Dick's part in it, which came from a quickness in his passion that she could not prevent.
Q. We speak of the night at Basingstoke?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. What said she of Dick?
A. That the fellow seemed blind to his master's needs, so she were for himself to enjoy as he pleased. That he seemed not to know what she truly was, to believe she loved him because he had this use of her, tho' in such wicked circumstance.
Q. She but feigned to show some favour for him, then?
A. She said she felt some pity for him, sir, she could see his passion for her was real. That he knew no better, and having only half his wits, had no blame in that. She told me he came to her in the night, after his Lordship had dismissed them, to lie with her again. Which out of fear she had allowed.
Q. You asked of what happened at Amesbury, when they rode out in the night?
A. I did, sir, and 'tis such a tale you will not believe.
Q. That may well be; but out with it.
A. How upon our arrival, his Lordship called her apart to his room and said he was sorry for venting his impatience the previous night, she must not take it amiss that he had placed too great expectations upon being roused. Then that close by Amesbury there lay a place said to have especial powers to restore such as he, and that night he would try it, and she must come with him. She must not be afraid, it was but a crotchet of his, he would prove superstition. He swore she would come to no harm, whatever befell.
Q. He said this, he would prove superstition?
A. Her very words, sir. And she told me, tho' his manner was kind again, she was much alarmed, for she felt some madness in his Lordship, some bias of the mind, and wished she had never come. Yet he made her further assurances, and promised reward, until she agreed.
Q. In all this so far, seemed she truthful?
A. As I could tell, sir. 'Twas dark, d could not see her face. She did seem to speak as one who would relieve her conscience, in plain sincerity, for all the sinfulness of what she had done.
Q. On.
A. Well, sir, they rode out, as I saw and told Mr Lacy, and to the heathen temple there on the hill, that they call Stonage. Where his Lordship had commanded Dick with their two horses apart, outside the place, then led her to its centre, where he pointed to a great stone that lay imbedded flat beside others that stood and told her to lie upon it, for such was the superstition, or so he said, that a woman if taken there might help a man regain his vigours. At first she would not, she was too afraid. Whereat she said he grew angry again and began cruelly to abuse her. At the end the poor woman must do as he bade, to still him, though she said she was froze with terror. So, sir, she lies on her back upon the stone as upon a bed.
Q. In her nakedness?
A. No, sir. But his Lordship said she should raise her petticoats and bare her merkin, begging your pardon, and place herself in the posture of love. Which she did, thinking his Lordship would now essay his prowess upon her, in this supposed auspicious place. Yet he did nothing, save to stand a little aside, between two great standing stones, the like to watch. Which she put down to a timidity in him, some fear he would still be disappointed in his hopes. And after a while she spake, saying, would he not try, she grew cold. He bade her hold her tongue, and lie still; and ever stood where he was, ten paces off. She knew not what time passed, yet it was many minutes, and she grew sore cold and discomforted upon her hard couch. That then there was all of a sudden a great rush or hurtle close in the night above, as of some great falcon that passed. And as a flash of lightning, so be it no thunder-clap warned of its coming; and tho' but in this great flash, she did see a figure that stood above her on a stone pillar as a statue might, next above where she lay, that seemed of a great and dark-cloaked blackamoor, which did gaze most greedily down upon her, like he was that falcon whose wings she heard, his cloak still aflutter from his falling, and so he would in an instant spring down further upon her, as a bird upon its prey. Sir, she did say this most gashly and terrible vision was come and gone so quick she could not be sure it lay not in her imaginings; yet must she now believe it was no imagining, for what had happened after in the cavern, that very day we spake. And she said furthermore how, a moment or two after / the lightning, there came a strange gust of air upon her, as from
a furnace, yet one not near, that tho' it did not burn her skin, never the less did carry a most rank and foul stench as of roasting carrion upon it; which did by some mercy pass as quick as the other. And that then all was dark and cold as before.
Q. This figure did not pounce upon her? She felt nothing, no touch upon her, beside the warm air?
A. No, sir. I did ask, and she said not. She'd have said, if she had, for she feared as much again as she told me, she could not forget it.
Q. Who thought she this figure was, this buzzard blackamoor?
A. The King of Hell, sir, the Prince of Darkness.
Q. Satan himself, the Devil?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. She saw horns, his tail?
A. No, sir, and said she was so beshocked by her alarm, she was not in her normal senses; and likewise all passed so swift, in two snaps of her fingers, so she put it, she had no time to think nor mark. And did most know this was he that she said, from what happened later; that I shall come to, your worship.
Q. What followed, there at the temple?
A. As strange again, though less supernatural, sir. For she said she lay in a swoon, she knows not how long, but woke to find his Lordship kneeling beside her, who took her hand, then made her rise and supported her, and of a sudden embraced her as she might be a sister or a wife, so she put it, and said, Thou art a brave girl, I am well content with thee. To which she said she was sore frightened, sir, as who would not be; and asks his Lordship what passed above. To which he says, Nothing, it can't harm thee. Then that they must go. Which they did, sir, she said he took her arm to help her, and said again she had done most well; and how now he knew he had chosen one fit to his end.
Q. Where was Dick in all this?
A. I come to it, sir. They came on him there where he had been commanded to wait. And as with her, she saw his Lordship step forward and embrace him, and in no mere form, see you, as one who gives heartfelt thanks to an equal, not as common master to man.
