History of Tom Jones, A Foundling — Bk 10: Ch 04-06

[*] A celebrated mantua-maker in the Strand, famous for setting off the shapes of women.

Chapter iv.

Containing infallible nostrums for procuring universal disesteem and hatred.

The lady had no sooner laid herself on her pillow than the waiting-woman returned to the kitchen to regale with some of those dainties which her mistress had refused.

The company, at her entrance, shewed her the same respect which they had before paid to her mistress, by rising; but she forgot to imitate her, by desiring them to sit down again.

Indeed, it was scarce possible they should have done so, for she placed her chair in such a posture as to occupy almost the whole fire.

She then ordered a chicken to be broiled that instant, declaring, if it was not ready in a quarter of an hour, she would not stay for it.

Now, though the said chicken was then at roost in the stable, and required the several ceremonies of catching, killing, and picking, before it was brought to the gridiron, my landlady would nevertheless have undertaken to do all within the time; but the guest, being unfortunately admitted behind the scenes, must have been witness to the _fourberie_; the poor woman was therefore obliged to confess that she had none in the house; “but, madam,” said she, “I can get any kind of mutton in an instant from the butcher's. ” “Do you think, then,” answered the waiting-gentlewoman, “that I have the stomach of a horse, to eat mutton at this time of night?

Sure you people that keep inns imagine your betters are like yourselves.

Indeed, I expected to get nothing at this wretched place.

I wonder my lady would stop at it.

I suppose none but tradesmen and grasiers ever call here.

” The landlady fired at this indignity offered to her house;

however, she suppressed her temper, and contented herself with saying, “Very good quality frequented it, she thanked heaven!

” “Don't tell me,” cries the other, “of quality!

I believe I know more of people of quality than such as you.

--But, prithee, without troubling me with any of your impertinence, do tell me what I can have for supper; for, though I cannot eat horse-flesh, I am really hungry.

” “Why, truly, madam,” answered the landlady, “you could not take me again at such a disadvantage; for I must confess I have nothing in the house, unless a cold piece of beef, which indeed a gentleman's footman and the post-boy have almost cleared to the bone.

” “Woman,” said Mrs Abigail (so for shortness we will call her), “I entreat you not to make me sick.

If I had fasted a month, I could not eat what had been touched by the fingers of such fellows.

Is there nothing neat or decent to be had in this horrid place?

” “What think you of some eggs and bacon, madam?

” said the landlady.

“Are your eggs new laid?

are you certain they were laid to-day?

and let me have the bacon cut very nice and thin; for I can't endure anything that's gross.

--Prithee try if you can do a little tolerably for once, and don't think you have a farmer's wife, or some of those creatures, in the house.

”--The landlady began then to handle her knife; but the other stopt her, saying, “Good woman, I must insist upon your first washing your hands;

for I am extremely nice, and have been always used from my cradle to have everything in the most elegant manner.

” The landlady, who governed herself with much difficulty, began now the necessary preparations; for as to Susan, she was utterly rejected, and with such disdain, that the poor wench was as hard put to it to restrain her hands from violence as her mistress had been to hold her tongue.

This indeed Susan did not entirely; for, though she literally kept it within her teeth, yet there it muttered many “marry-come-ups, as good flesh and blood as yourself;” with other such indignant phrases.

While the supper was preparing, Mrs Abigail began to lament she had not ordered a fire in the parlour; but, she said, that was now too late.

“However,” said she, “I have novelty to recommend a kitchen; for I do not believe I ever eat in one before.

” Then, turning to the post-boys, she asked them, “Why they were not in the stable with their horses?

If I must eat my hard fare here, madam,” cries she to the landlady, “I beg the kitchen may be kept clear, that I may not be surrounded with all the blackguards in town: as for you, sir,” says she to Partridge, “you look somewhat like a gentleman, and may sit still if you please; I don't desire to disturb anybody but mob.

” “Yes, yes, madam,” cries Partridge, “I am a gentleman, I do assure you, and I am not so easily to be disturbed.

_Non semper vox casualis est verbo nominativus_.

” This Latin she took to be some affront, and answered, “You may be a gentleman, sir; but you don't show yourself as one to talk Latin to a woman.

” Partridge made a gentle reply, and concluded with more Latin; upon which she tossed up her nose, and contented herself by abusing him with the name of a great scholar.

The supper being now on the table, Mrs Abigail eat very heartily for so delicate a person; and, while a second course of the same was by her order preparing, she said, “And so, madam, you tell me your house is frequented by people of great quality?

” The landlady answered in the affirmative, saying, “There were a great many very good quality and gentlefolks in it now.

There's young Squire Allworthy, as that gentleman there knows.

” “And pray who is this young gentleman of quality, this young Squire Allworthy?

” said Abigail.

“Who should he be,” answered Partridge, “but the son and heir of the great Squire Allworthy, of Somersetshire!

” “Upon my word,” said she, “you tell me strange news; for I know Mr Allworthy of Somersetshire very well, and I know he hath no son alive.

” The landlady pricked up her ears at this, and Partridge looked a little confounded.

However, after a short hesitation, he answered, “Indeed, madam, it is true, everybody doth not know him to be Squire Allworthy's son; for he was never married to his mother; but his son he certainly is, and will be his heir too, as certainly as his name is Jones.

” At that word, Abigail let drop the bacon which she was conveying to her mouth, and cried out, “You surprize me, sir!

Is it possible Mr Jones should be now in the house?

” “_Quare non?

_” answered Partridge, “it is possible, and it is certain.

” Abigail now made haste to finish the remainder of her meal, and then repaired back to her mistress, when the conversation passed which may be read in the next chapter.

Chapter v.

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.

Chapter vi.

Containing, among other things, the ingenuity of Partridge, the madness of Jones, and the folly of Fitzpatrick.

It was now past five in the morning, and other company began to rise and come to the kitchen, among whom were the serjeant and the coachman, who, being thoroughly reconciled, made a libation, or, in the English phrase, drank a hearty cup together.

In this drinking nothing more remarkable happened than the behaviour of Partridge, who, when the serjeant drank a health to King George, repeated only the word King; nor could he be brought to utter more;

for though he was going to fight against his own cause, yet he could not be prevailed upon to drink against it.

Mr Jones, being now returned to his own bed (but from whence he returned we must beg to be excused from relating), summoned Partridge from this agreeable company, who, after a ceremonious preface, having obtained leave to offer his advice, delivered himself as follows:-- “It is, sir, an old saying, and a true one, that a wise man may sometimes learn counsel from a fool; I wish, therefore, I might be so bold as to offer you my advice, which is to return home again, and leave these _horrida bella_, these bloody wars, to fellows who are contented to swallow gunpowder, because they have nothing else to eat.

Now, everybody knows your honour wants for nothing at home; when that's the case, why should any man travel abroad?

” “Partridge,” cries Jones, “thou art certainly a coward; I wish, therefore, thou wouldst return home thyself, and trouble me no more.

” “I ask your honour's pardon,” cries Partridge; “I spoke on your account more than my own; for as to me, Heaven knows my circumstances are bad enough, and I am so far from being afraid, that I value a pistol, or a blunderbuss, or any such thing, no more than a pop-gun.

Every man must die once, and what signifies the manner how?

besides, perhaps I may come off with the loss only of an arm or a leg.

I assure you, sir, I was never less afraid in my life; and so, if your honour is resolved to go on, I am resolved to follow you.

But, in that case, I wish I might give my opinion.

To be sure, it is a scandalous way of travelling, for a great gentleman like you to walk afoot.

Now here are two or three good horses in the stable, which the landlord will certainly make no scruple of trusting you with; but, if he should, I can easily contrive to take them; and, let the worst come to the worst, the king would certainly pardon you, as you are going to fight in his cause.

” Now, as the honesty of Partridge was equal to his understanding, and both dealt only in small matters, he would never have attempted a roguery of this kind, had he not imagined it altogether safe; for he was one of those who have more consideration of the gallows than of the fitness of things; but, in reality, he thought he might have committed this felony without any danger; for, besides that he doubted not but the name of Mr Allworthy would sufficiently quiet the landlord, he conceived they should be altogether safe, whatever turn affairs might take; as Jones, he imagined, would have friends enough on one side, and as his friends would as well secure him on the other.

When Mr Jones found that Partridge was in earnest in this proposal, he very severely rebuked him, and that in such bitter terms, that the other attempted to laugh it off, and presently turned the discourse to other matters; saying, he believed they were then in a bawdy house, and that he had with much ado prevented two wenches from disturbing his honour in the middle of the night.

“Heyday!

” says he, “I believe they got into your chamber whether I would or no; for here lies the muff of one of them on the ground.

” Indeed, as Jones returned to his bed in the dark, he had never perceived the muff on the quilt, and, in leaping into his bed, he had tumbled it on the floor.

This Partridge now took up, and was going to put into his pocket, when Jones desired to see it.

The muff was so very remarkable, that our heroe might possibly have recollected it without the information annexed.

But his memory was not put to that hard office; for at the same instant he saw and read the words Sophia Western upon the paper which was pinned to it.

His looks now grew frantic in a moment, and he eagerly cried out, “Oh Heavens!

how came this muff here?

” “I know no more than your honour,” cried Partridge; “but I saw it upon the arm of one of the women who would have disturbed you, if I would have suffered them.

” “Where are they?

” cries Jones, jumping out of bed, and laying hold of his cloaths.

“Many miles off, I believe, by this time,” said Partridge.

And now Jones, upon further enquiry, was sufficiently assured that the bearer of this muff was no other than the lovely Sophia herself.

The behaviour of Jones on this occasion, his thoughts, his looks, his words, his actions, were such as beggar all description.

After many bitter execrations on Partridge, and not fewer on himself, he ordered the poor fellow, who was frightened out of his wits, to run down and hire him horses at any rate; and a very few minutes afterwards, having shuffled on his clothes, he hastened down-stairs to execute the orders himself, which he had just before given.

But before we proceed to what passed on his arrival in the kitchen, it will be necessary to recur to what had there happened since Partridge had first left it on his master's summons.

The serjeant was just marched off with his party, when the two Irish gentlemen arose, and came downstairs; both complaining that they had been so often waked by the noises in the inn, that they had never once been able to close their eyes all night.

The coach which had brought the young lady and her maid, and which, perhaps, the reader may have hitherto concluded was her own, was, indeed, a returned coach belonging to Mr King, of Bath, one of the worthiest and honestest men that ever dealt in horse-flesh, and whose coaches we heartily recommend to all our readers who travel that road.

By which means they may, perhaps, have the pleasure of riding in the very coach, and being driven by the very coachman, that is recorded in this history.

The coachman, having but two passengers, and hearing Mr Maclachlan was going to Bath, offered to carry him thither at a very moderate price.

He was induced to this by the report of the hostler, who said that the horse which Mr Maclachlan had hired from Worcester would be much more pleased with returning to his friends there than to prosecute a long journey; for that the said horse was rather a two-legged than a four-legged animal.

Mr Maclachlan immediately closed with the proposal of the coachman, and, at the same time, persuaded his friend Fitzpatrick to accept of the fourth place in the coach.

This conveyance the soreness of his bones made more agreeable to him than a horse; and, being well assured of meeting with his wife at Bath, he thought a little delay would be of no consequence.

Maclachlan, who was much the sharper man of the two, no sooner heard that this lady came from Chester, with the other circumstances which he learned from the hostler, than it came into his head that she might possibly be his friend's wife; and presently acquainted him with this suspicion, which had never once occurred to Fitzpatrick himself.

To say the truth, he was one of those compositions which nature makes up in too great a hurry, and forgets to put any brains into their head.

Now it happens to this sort of men, as to bad hounds, who never hit off a fault themselves; but no sooner doth a dog of sagacity open his mouth than they immediately do the same, and, without the guidance of any scent, run directly forwards as fast as they are able.

In the same manner, the very moment Mr Maclachlan had mentioned his apprehension, Mr Fitzpatrick instantly concurred, and flew directly up-stairs, to surprize his wife, before he knew where she was; and unluckily (as Fortune loves to play tricks with those gentlemen who put themselves entirely under her conduct) ran his head against several doors and posts to no purpose.

Much kinder was she to me, when she suggested that simile of the hounds, just before inserted; since the poor wife may, on these occasions, be so justly compared to a hunted hare.

Like that little wretched animal, she pricks up her ears to listen after the voice of her pursuer; like her, flies away trembling when she hears it; and, like her, is generally overtaken and destroyed in the end.

This was not however the case at present; for after a long fruitless search, Mr Fitzpatrick returned to the kitchen, where, as if this had been a real chace, entered a gentleman hallowing as hunters do when the hounds are at a fault.

He was just alighted from his horse, and had many attendants at his heels.