‘I beseech you, sir,’ said I, ‘do not impute disguise and hypocrisy to me. I have put on no disguise.’ ‘What a plague,’ said he, for that was his word, ‘do you mean then by this dress?’
‘I mean, may it please your honour,’ said I, ‘one of the honestest things in the world. I have been in disguise, indeed, ever since my good lady your mother took me from my poor parents. I came to my lady so low in garb, that these clothes I have on are a princely suit, to those I had then. And her goodness heaped upon me rich clothes, and other bounties: and as I am now returning to my parents, I cannot wear those good things without being laughed at; and so have bought what will be more suitable to my degree.’
He then took me in his arms, and presently pushed me from him. ‘Mrs Jervis,’ said he, ‘take the little witch from me; I can neither bear, nor forbear her.’ (Strange words these!) ‘But stay; you shan’t go! – Yet begone! – No, come back again.’
I thought he was mad, for my share; for he knew not what he would have. I was going, however; but he stepped after me, and took hold of my arm, and brought me in again: I am sure he made my arm black and blue; for the marks are upon it still. ‘Sir, sir,’ said I, ‘pray have mercy; I will, I will come in.’
He sat down, and looked at me, and, as I thought afterwards, as silly as such a poor girl as I. At last he said, ‘Well, Mrs Jervis, as I was telling you, you may permit her to stay a little longer, till I see if Lady Davers will have her; provided she humble herself, and ask this as a favour, and is sorry for her pertness, and the liberty she has taken with my character, as well out of the house, as in it.’
‘Your honour indeed told me so,’ said Mrs Jervis.
I was silent and motionless too. ‘What a thankless creature! ‘said he. ‘Do you hear, statue, you may stay a fortnight longer, till I see Lady Davers. Can you neither speak, nor be thankful?’
‘Your honour frights me so,’ said I, ‘that I can hardly speak: but I have only to beg, as a favour, that I may go to my father and mother.’
‘Why, fool,’ said he, ‘won’t you like to go to wait on Lady Davers?’
‘Sir,’ replied I, ‘I was once fond of that honour; but you were pleased to say, I might be in danger from her ladyship’s nephew, or he from me.’
‘Impertinence!’ said he. ‘Do you hear, Mrs Jervis, do you hear how she retorts upon me?’ And he looked very angry, and coloured.
I then fell a weeping; for Mrs Jervis said, ‘Fie, Pamela, fie!’ And I said, ‘My lot is very hard, indeed! I am sure I would hurt nobody: and I have been, it seems, guilty of indiscretions, which have cost me my place, and my master’s favour. And when the time is come, that I should return to my poor parents – Good, your honour, what have I done, that I must be used worse than if I had robbed you!’
‘Robbed me!’ said he; ‘why so you have, girl; you have robbed me.’
‘Who! I, sir?’ said I: ‘have I robbed you? Why then you are a Justice of Peace, and may send me to gaol, if you please, and bring me to a trial for my life! If you can prove that I have robbed you, I am sure I ought to the.’
Now I was quite ignorant of his meaning; though I did not like it when it was afterwards explained, neither. Well, thought I, at the instant, what will this come to at last, if the poor Pamela shall be thought to be a thief! And how shall I shew my face to my honest parents, if I am but suspected?
‘But, sir,’ said I, ‘let me ask one question, and not displease you; for I don’t mean disrespectfully: Why, if I have done amiss, am I not left to be discharged by your house-keeper, as other maidservants usually are? Why should you so demean yourself to take notice of me? For indeed I am not of consequence enough for my master to concern himself, and be angry, about such a creature as I am.’
‘Do you hear, Mrs Jervis, how pertly I am interrogated? Why, sauce-box,’ says he, ‘did not my good mother desire me to be kind to you? And have you not been always distinguished by me, more than a common servant has reason to expect? And does your ingratitude upbraid me for this?’
I said something mutteringly, and he vowed he would hear it. I begged excuse; but he insisted upon it. ‘Why then,’ replied I, ‘if your honour must know, I said, That my good lady did not desire your kindness to extend to the summer-house and her dressing-room.’
Well, this was a little saucy, you’ll say! And he flew into such a passion, that I was forced to run for it; and Mrs Jervis said, It was happy I got out of his way.
Why, what makes him then provoke one so? I’m almost sorry for it; but I would be glad to get away at any rate: for I begin to be more afraid of him than ever.
Just now Mr Jonathan sent me these lines. Bless me! what shall I do?
‘Dear Mrs Pamela, Take care of yourself; for Rachel heard my master say to Mrs Jervis, who, she believes, was pleading for you, “Say no more, Mrs Jervis; for by G— I will have her.” Burn this instantly.’
O pray for your poor daughter! I am called to go to bed by Mrs Jervis; for it is past eleven; and I am sure she shall hear of it; for all this is owing to her, though she did not mean any harm. But I have been, and am, in a strange fluster; and I suppose too, she’ll say, I have been full pert.
O my dear father and mother, power and riches never want advocates: but, poor gentlewoman! she cannot live without him: and he has been very good to her.
Perhaps I shall send this in the morning; but may-be not; so won’t conclude: though I can’t say too often, that I am (yet with great apprehensions)
Your most dutiful Daughter.
LETTER XXV
O let me, my dear parents, take up my complaint, and say, Never was poor creature so barbarously used, as your Pamela! Indeed, my dear father and mother, my heart is just broken! I can neither write as I should do, nor let it alone; for to whom but to you can I vent my griefs, and keep my heart from bursting! Wicked, wicked man! I have no patience when I think of him! But yet, don’t be frighted – for – I hope – I am honest! But if my head and my heart will let me, you shall hear all.
John went your way in the morning; but I have been too much distracted to send by him; and have seen nobody but Mrs Jervis, and Rachel, and one I hate to see, or be seen by: and indeed I hate now to see any body. Strange things I have to tell you, that happened since last night, that good Mr Jonathan’s letter, and my master’s harshness, put me into such a fluster. But I will keep you no longer in suspence.
I went to Mrs Jervis’s chamber; and there my wicked master had hid himself (base gentleman as he is), in her closet, where she has a few books, chest of drawers, and such-like. Ever since the summer-house affair, till this sad night, (when I neglected my caution), I always used to look into that closet, and another in the room, and under the bed; and, indeed, being displeased with Mrs Jervis for what had happened in the day, I thought of nothing else but being angry with her.
I sat myself down on one side of the bed, and she on the other, and we began to undress ourselves; but she on that side next the closet, that held the worst heart in the world. ‘So,’ said Mrs Jervis, ‘you won’t speak to me, Pamela! I find you are angry with me.’ ‘Why, Mrs Jervis,’ said I, ‘so I am, a little; it would be wrong to deny it. You see what I have suffered by your forcing me in to my master: and a gentlewoman of your years and experience must needs know, that it was not fit for me to pretend to be any body else for my own sake, nor with regard to my master.’
‘But,’ said she, ‘who would have thought it would have turned out so?’ ‘Aye,’ said I, little thinking who heard me, ‘Lucifer always is ready to promote his own work and workmen. You presently saw what use he made of it, pretending not to know me, on purpose to be free with me: and when he took upon himself to know me, to quarrel with me, and use me hardly: and you too,’ said I, ‘to cry “Fie, fie, Pamela!” cut me to the heart: for that encouraged him.’
‘Do you think, my dear,’ said she, ‘that I would encourage him? I never said so to you before; but since you force it from me, I must tell you, that ever since you consul
ted me, I have used my utmost endeavours to divert him from his wicked purposes: and he has promised fair; but to say all in a word, he doats upon you; and I see it is not in his power to help it.’
Luckily I said nothing of the note from Mr Jonathan; for I began to suspect all the world almost: but I said, to try Mrs Jervis, ‘Well then, what would you have me do? You see he is for having me wait on Lady Davers now.’
‘Why, I’ll tell you freely, my dear Pamela,’ said she, ‘and I trust to your discretion to conceal what I say: My master has been often desiring me to put you upon asking him to let you stay.’
‘Let me interrupt you, Mrs Jervis,’ said I, ‘to tell you that it was not the pride of my heart, but the pride of my honesty, that made me resolve against asking to stay: for, what must have been the case? Here my master has been very rude to me, once and twice. He has given me warning to leave my place, and uses me very harshly; perhaps, to frighten me, to his purposes, as he supposes I would be fond of staying (as indeed I should, if I could be safe; for I love you and every one in the house, and value him, if he would act as my master). Well then, as I know his designs, what would have been my asking to stay, but an indirect allowance of all that he has done, and an encouragement of his further wicked devices?’
‘You say well, my dear child,’ says she; ‘and for all these considerations, and for what I have heard this day, after you ran away (and I am glad you went as you did), I cannot persuade you to stay; and shall be glad, which is what I never thought I could have said, that you were well at your father’s; for if Lady Davers will entertain you, she may as well have you from thence as from hence.’
‘There’s my good Mrs Jervis!’ said I; ‘God will bless you for your good counsel to a poor maiden, that is hard beset. But pray what did he say when I was gone?’
‘Why,’ says she, ‘he was very angry at your hints of the summer-house, and dressing-room.’
‘He would hear them,’ said I. ‘I think I was very bold; but it was in a good cause. Besides, Mrs Jervis, consider, it was the truth; if he does not love to hear of the summer-house and the dressing-room, why should he not be ashamed to continue in the same bad mind?’
‘But,’ said she, ‘when you had muttered this to yourself, you might have told him any thing else.’
‘Well,’ replied I, ‘I cannot tell a wilful lie, and so there’s an end of it. Lord bless me! I wish I was well out of the house, though it was at the bottom of a wet ditch, on the wildest common in England; for I find that you now give him up, and think there is danger in staying.’
‘It signifies nothing,’ said she, ‘to tell you all he said; but it was enough to make me fear you would not be so safe as I could wish; and, upon my word, Pamela, I don’t wonder he loves you; for, without flattery, you are a charming girl! and I never saw you look more lovely in my life, than in that same new dress of yours. And then it was such a surprize upon us all! I believe truly, you owe some of your danger to the lovely appearance you made.’
‘Hush!’ said I, ‘Mrs Jervis, did you not hear something stir in the closet?’ ‘No, silly girl!’ said she; ‘your fears are always awake.’ ‘But indeed,’ said I, ‘I think I heard something rustle.’ ‘May be,’ says she, ‘the cat may be got there: but I hear nothing.’
I was hush! but she said, ‘Pr’ythee, my good girl, make haste to-bed. See if the door be fast.’ I did, and was thinking to look in the closet; but hearing no more noise, thought it needless, and so went again and sat myself down on the bed-side, and proceeded to undress myself. And Mrs Jervis, being by this time undressed, went into bed, and bid me hasten, for she was sleepy.
I don’t know why, but my heart sadly misgave me: indeed, Mr Jonathan’s note was enough to make it do so, with what Mrs Jervis had said. I pulled off all my clothes to an under petticoat; and then hearing a rustling again in the closet, I said, ‘Heaven protect us! but I must look into this closet, before I come to bed.’ And so was going to it slip-shoed,62 when, O dreadful! out rushed my master, in a rich silk morning gown.63
I screamed, and ran to the bed; and Mrs Jervis screamed too; and he said, ‘I’ll do you no harm, if you forbear this noise; but otherwise take the consequence.’
Instantly he came to the bed-side (for I had crept into it, to Mrs Jervis, with my coat64 on, and my shoes); and, taking me in his arms, said, ‘Mrs Jervis, rise, and just step up stairs, to keep the maids from coming down at this noise: I’ll do no harm to this rebel.’
‘O, for heaven’s sake! for pity’s sake! Mrs Jervis,’ said I, ‘if I am not betrayed, don’t leave me; and, I beseech you, raise all the house!’
‘No,’ said Mrs Jervis, ‘I will not stir, my dear lamb; I will not leave you. I wonder at you, sir! ‘and kindly threw herself upon my coat, clasping me round the waist. ‘You shan’t hurt this innocent; for I will lose my life in her defence. Are there not,’ added she, ‘enough wicked ones in the world for your base purpose, but you must attempt such a lamb as this!’
He was in a rage, and threatened to throw her out of the window; and to turn her out of the house the next morning. ‘You need not, sir,’ said she; ‘for I will not stay in it. God defend my poor Pamela till to-morrow, and we will both go together.’ ‘Let me, Pamela,’ said he, ‘expostulate with you but one moment.’ ‘Pray, my dear,’ said Mrs Jervis, ‘don’t hear a word, except he leaves the bed, and goes to the other end of the room.’
Mrs Jervis was about my feet, and upon my coat. The wicked wretch still had me in his arms. I sighed, and screamed, and then fainted away.
‘Pamela! Pamela!’ said Mrs Jervis, as she tells me since, ‘O—h!’ and gave another shriek, ‘my poor Pamela is dead for certain!’
And so, to be sure, I was for a time; for I knew nothing more (one fit following another) till about three hours after, as it proved to be, I found myself in bed, and Mrs Jervis sitting up on one side, with her wrapper65 about her, and Rachel on the other; and no master, for the wicked wretch was gone. But I was so overjoyed, that I hardly could believe myself; and I said, (which were my first words), ‘Mrs Jervis, can I be sure it is you? Rachel, can I be sure it is you? Tell me! can I? Where have I been?’
‘Hush, my dear,’ said Mrs Jervis; ‘you have been in fit after fit. I never in my life was so frightened.’
By this I judged Rachel knew nothing of the matter; and it seems my wicked master had, upon Mrs Jervis’s second noise on my fainting away, slipped out; and, as if he had come from his own chamber, disturbed by the screaming, went up to the maids’ room (who hearing the noise, lay trembling, and afraid to stir) and bid them go down and see what was the matter with me and Mrs Jervis. And he charged Mrs Jervis to say not a word of what had passed; and on that condition he would forgive her for what she had said and done. So the maids came down; for the men lie in the outhouses; and all went up again, when I came to myself a little, except Rachel, who sat up with me, and to bear Mrs Jervis company. I believe they guess the matter to be bad enough; though they dare not say any thing.
When I think of my danger, and the freedoms he actually took, though I believe Mrs Jervis saved me from worse, and she says she did, I am almost beside myself.
At first I was afraid of Mrs Jervis; but I am fully satisfied she is very good, and I should have been lost but for her; and she takes on grievously about it. Had she gone out of the room, to still the maids, as he bid her, he would certainly have shut her out, and then what would have become of your poor Pamela! I must leave off a little; for my eyes and my head are greatly disordered.
LETTER XXVI
I did not rise till ten o’clock, and I had all the concerns and wishes of the family, and multitudes of inquiries about me. My wicked master went out early to hunt; but left word, he would be in to breakfast. And so he was.
He came up to our chamber about eleven. He seemed to have neither sorrow nor shame. He was above both; for he was our master, and put on sharp anger at first.
I had great emotions at his entering the room, and threw my apron ov
er my head, and wept as if my heart would break.
‘Mrs Jervis,’ said he, ‘since I know you, and you know me, so well, it will be difficult for us to live together for the future.’
‘Sir,’ said she, ‘I will take the liberty to say, that, if I did not express my resentment for the usage this poor girl has met with, and in my chamber too, I ought to be looked upon by the dear lamb as the worst of women. I know my obligations, sir, to you and your family; and shall ever acknowledge them. But on this occasion it behoves me to say, whatever be the consequence to myself, that I desire not to stay. Be pleased, therefore, to let poor Pamela and me go away together.’
‘With all my heart,’ said he; ‘and the sooner, the better.’ She wept. ‘I find,’ says he, ‘this girl has made a party of the whole house in her favour.’
‘Her innocence deserves the love of us all,’ said she, very kindly: ‘and, pardon me, sir, but I never could have thought, that the son of my dear, good lady departed, could have so forfeited his honour, as to endeavour to destroy a virtue he ought to protect.’
‘No more of this, Mrs Jervis,’ said he; ‘I will not bear it. As for Pamela, she has a lucky knack of falling into fits when she pleases. But the cursed yellings of you both made me not myself. I intended no harm to her, as I told you, if you’d have forborne your squallings; and I did no harm neither, but to myself; for I raised a hornet’s nest about my ears, that, as far as I know, may have stung to death my reputation.’
‘You will be pleased, sir,’ said Mrs Jervis, ‘to order Mr Longman to take my accounts: they shall all be ready by to-morrow. As for Pamela, she is at liberty, I hope, to go away with me.’
I sat still; for I could not speak, nor look up, so extremely did his presence discompose me; but I was sorry to hear myself the unhappy occasion of Mrs Jervis’s losing her place. I hope, for both their sakes, that matters may be still made up between them.
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