History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter v.
1840 words | Chapter 252
Showing who the amiable lady, and her unamiable maid, were.
As in the month of June, the damask rose, which chance hath planted
among the lilies, with their candid hue mixes his vermilion; or as
some playsome heifer in the pleasant month of May diffuses her
odoriferous breath over the flowery meadows; or as, in the blooming
month of April, the gentle, constant dove, perched on some fair bough,
sits meditating on her mate; so, looking a hundred charms and
breathing as many sweets, her thoughts being fixed on her Tommy, with
a heart as good and innocent as her face was beautiful, Sophia (for it
was she herself) lay reclining her lovely head on her hand, when her
maid entered the room, and, running directly to the bed, cried,
“Madam--madam--who doth your ladyship think is in the house?” Sophia,
starting up, cried, “I hope my father hath not overtaken us.” “No,
madam, it is one worth a hundred fathers; Mr Jones himself is here at
this very instant.” “Mr Jones!” says Sophia, “it is impossible! I
cannot be so fortunate.” Her maid averred the fact, and was presently
detached by her mistress to order him to be called; for she said she
was resolved to see him immediately.
Mrs Honour had no sooner left the kitchen in the manner we have before
seen than the landlady fell severely upon her. The poor woman had
indeed been loading her heart with foul language for some time, and
now it scoured out of her mouth, as filth doth from a mud-cart, when
the board which confines it is removed. Partridge likewise shovelled
in his share of calumny, and (what may surprize the reader) not only
bespattered the maid, but attempted to sully the lily-white character
of Sophia herself. “Never a barrel the better herring,” cries he,
“_Noscitur a socio_, is a true saying. It must be confessed, indeed,
that the lady in the fine garments is the civiller of the two; but I
warrant neither of them are a bit better than they should be. A couple
of Bath trulls, I'll answer for them; your quality don't ride about at
this time o' night without servants.” “Sbodlikins, and that's true,”
cries the landlady, “you have certainly hit upon the very matter; for
quality don't come into a house without bespeaking a supper, whether
they eat or no.”
While they were thus discoursing, Mrs Honour returned and discharged
her commission, by bidding the landlady immediately wake Mr Jones, and
tell him a lady wanted to speak with him. The landlady referred her to
Partridge, saying, “he was the squire's friend: but, for her part, she
never called men-folks, especially gentlemen,” and then walked
sullenly out of the kitchen. Honour applied herself to Partridge; but
he refused, “for my friend,” cries he, “went to bed very late, and he
would be very angry to be disturbed so soon.” Mrs Honour insisted
still to have him called, saying, “she was sure, instead of being
angry, that he would be to the highest degree delighted when he knew
the occasion.” “Another time, perhaps, he might,” cries Partridge;
“but _non omnia possumus omnes_. One woman is enough at once for a
reasonable man.” “What do you mean by one woman, fellow?” cries
Honour. “None of your fellow,” answered Partridge. He then proceeded
to inform her plainly that Jones was in bed with a wench, and made use
of an expression too indelicate to be here inserted; which so enraged
Mrs Honour, that she called him jackanapes, and returned in a violent
hurry to her mistress, whom she acquainted with the success of her
errand, and with the account she had received; which, if possible, she
exaggerated, being as angry with Jones as if he had pronounced all the
words that came from the mouth of Partridge. She discharged a torrent
of abuse on the master, and advised her mistress to quit all thoughts
of a man who had never shown himself deserving of her. She then ripped
up the story of Molly Seagrim, and gave the most malicious turn to his
formerly quitting Sophia herself; which, I must confess, the present
incident not a little countenanced.
The spirits of Sophia were too much dissipated by concern to enable
her to stop the torrent of her maid. At last, however, she interrupted
her, saying, “I never can believe this; some villain hath belied him.
You say you had it from his friend; but surely it is not the office of
a friend to betray such secrets.” “I suppose,” cries Honour, “the
fellow is his pimp; for I never saw so ill-looked a villain. Besides,
such profligate rakes as Mr Jones are never ashamed of these matters.”
To say the truth, this behaviour of Partridge was a little
inexcusable; but he had not slept off the effect of the dose which he
swallowed the evening before; which had, in the morning, received the
addition of above a pint of wine, or indeed rather of malt spirits;
for the perry was by no means pure. Now, that part of his head which
Nature designed for the reservoir of drink being very shallow, a small
quantity of liquor overflowed it, and opened the sluices of his heart;
so that all the secrets there deposited run out. These sluices were
indeed, naturally, very ill-secured. To give the best-natured turn we
can to his disposition, he was a very honest man; for, as he was the
most inquisitive of mortals, and eternally prying into the secrets of
others, so he very faithfully paid them by communicating, in return,
everything within his knowledge.
While Sophia, tormented with anxiety, knew not what to believe, nor
what resolution to take, Susan arrived with the sack-whey. Mrs Honour
immediately advised her mistress, in a whisper, to pump this wench,
who probably could inform her of the truth. Sophia approved it, and
began as follows: “Come hither, child; now answer me truly what I am
going to ask you, and I promise you I will very well reward you. Is
there a young gentleman in this house, a handsome young gentleman,
that----.” Here Sophia blushed and was confounded. “A young
gentleman,” cries Honour, “that came hither in company with that saucy
rascal who is now in the kitchen?” Susan answered, “There was.”--“Do
you know anything of any lady?” continues Sophia, “any lady? I don't
ask you whether she is handsome or no; perhaps she is not; that's
nothing to the purpose; but do you know of any lady?” “La, madam,”
cries Honour, “you will make a very bad examiner. Hark'ee, child,”
says she, “is not that very young gentleman now in bed with some nasty
trull or other?” Here Susan smiled, and was silent. “Answer the
question, child,” says Sophia, “and here's a guinea for you.”--“A
guinea! madam,” cries Susan; “la, what's a guinea? If my mistress
should know it I shall certainly lose my place that very instant.”
“Here's another for you,” says Sophia, “and I promise you faithfully
your mistress shall never know it.” Susan, after a very short
hesitation, took the money, and told the whole story, concluding with
saying, “If you have any great curiosity, madam, I can steal softly
into his room, and see whether he be in his own bed or no.” She
accordingly did this by Sophia's desire, and returned with an answer
in the negative.
Sophia now trembled and turned pale. Mrs Honour begged her to be
comforted, and not to think any more of so worthless a fellow. “Why
there,” says Susan, “I hope, madam, your ladyship won't be offended;
but pray, madam, is not your ladyship's name Madam Sophia Western?”
“How is it possible you should know me?” answered Sophia. “Why that
man, that the gentlewoman spoke of, who is in the kitchen, told about
you last night. But I hope your ladyship is not angry with me.”
“Indeed, child,” said she, “I am not; pray tell me all, and I promise
you I'll reward you.” “Why, madam,” continued Susan, “that man told us
all in the kitchen that Madam Sophia Western--indeed I don't know how
to bring it out.”--Here she stopt, till, having received encouragement
from Sophia, and being vehemently pressed by Mrs Honour, she proceeded
thus:--“He told us, madam, though to be sure it is all a lie, that
your ladyship was dying for love of the young squire, and that he was
going to the wars to get rid of you. I thought to myself then he was a
false-hearted wretch; but, now, to see such a fine, rich, beautiful
lady as you be, forsaken for such an ordinary woman; for to be sure so
she is, and another man's wife into the bargain. It is such a strange
unnatural thing, in a manner.”
Sophia gave her a third guinea, and, telling her she would certainly
be her friend if she mentioned nothing of what had passed, nor
informed any one who she was, dismissed the girl, with orders to the
post-boy to get the horses ready immediately.
Being now left alone with her maid, she told her trusty waiting-woman,
“That she never was more easy than at present. I am now convinced,”
said she, “he is not only a villain, but a low despicable wretch. I
can forgive all rather than his exposing my name in so barbarous a
manner. That renders him the object of my contempt. Yes, Honour, I am
now easy; I am indeed; I am very easy;” and then she burst into a
violent flood of tears.
After a short interval spent by Sophia, chiefly in crying, and
assuring her maid that she was perfectly easy, Susan arrived with an
account that the horses were ready, when a very extraordinary thought
suggested itself to our young heroine, by which Mr Jones would be
acquainted with her having been at the inn, in a way which, if any
sparks of affection for her remained in him, would be at least some
punishment for his faults.
The reader will be pleased to remember a little muff, which hath had
the honour of being more than once remembered already in this history.
This muff, ever since the departure of Mr Jones, had been the constant
companion of Sophia by day, and her bedfellow by night; and this muff
she had at this very instant upon her arm; whence she took it off with
great indignation, and, having writ her name with her pencil upon a
piece of paper which she pinned to it, she bribed the maid to convey
it into the empty bed of Mr Jones, in which, if he did not find it,
she charged her to take some method of conveying it before his eyes in
the morning.
Then, having paid for what Mrs Honour had eaten, in which bill was
included an account for what she herself might have eaten, she mounted
her horse, and, once more assuring her companion that she was
perfectly easy, continued her journey.
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