wished for the good clerk again, with great encomiums upon you, my dear
father; and the company staid supper also, and departed exceeding well
satisfied, and with abundance of wishes for the continuance of our
mutual happiness; and my master desired Mr. Peters to answer for him to
the ringers at the town, if they should hear of it; till our return
into this country; and that then he would be bountiful to them, because
he would not publicly declare it till he had first done so in
Bedfordshire.
Monday, the fifth day.
I have had very little of my dear friend’s company this day; for he
only staid breakfast with me, and rode out to see a sick gentleman
about eighteen miles off, who begged (by a man and horse on purpose) to
speak with him, believing he should not recover, and upon part of whose
estate my master has a mortgage. He said, My dearest, I shall be very
uneasy, if I am obliged to tarry all night from you; but, lest you
should be alarmed, if I don’t come home by ten, don’t expect me: For
poor Mr. Carlton and I have pretty large concerns together; and if he
should be very ill, and would be comforted by my presence, (as I know
he loves me, and his family will be more in my power, if he dies, than
I wish for,) charity will not let me refuse.
It is now ten o’clock at night, and I fear he will not return. I fear,
for the sake of his poor sick friend, who, I doubt, is worse. Though I
know not the gentleman, I am sorry for his own sake, for his family’s
sake, and for my dear master’s sake, who, by his kind expressions, I
find, loves him: And, methinks, I should be sorry any grief should
touch his generous heart; though yet there is no living in this world,
without too many occasions for concern, even in the most prosperous
state. And it is fit it should be so; or else, poor wretches, as we
are! we should look no farther, but be like sensual travellers on a
journey homeward, who, meeting with good entertainment at some inn on
the way, put up their rest there, and never think of pursuing their
journey to their proper home.—This, I remember, was often a reflection
of my good lady’s, to whom I owe it.
Eleven o’clock.
Mrs. Jewkes has been with me, and asked if I will have her for a
bed-fellow, in want of a better? I thanked her; but I said, I would see
how it was to be by myself one night.
I might have mentioned, that I made Mrs. Jewkes dine and sup with me;
and she was much pleased with it, and my behaviour to her. And I could
see, by her manner, that she was a little struck inwardly at some of
her former conduct to me. But, poor wretch! it is much, I fear, because
I am what I am; for she has otherwise very little remorse I doubt. Her
talk and actions are entirely different from what they used to be,
quite circumspect and decent; and I should have thought her virtuous,
and even pious, had I never known her in another light.
By this we may see, my dear father and mother, of what force example
is, and what is in the power of the heads of families to do: And this
shews, that evil examples, in superiors, are doubly pernicious, and
doubly culpable, because such persons are bad themselves, and not only
do no good, but much harm to others; and the condemnation of such must,
to be sure, be so much the greater!—And how much the greater still must
my condemnation be, who have had such a religious education under you,
and been so well nurtured by my good lady, if I should forget, with all
these mercies heaped upon me, what belongs to the station I am
preferred to!—O how I long to be doing some good! For all that is past
yet, is my dear, dear master’s, God bless him! and return him safe to
my wishes! for methinks, already, ’tis a week since I saw him. If my
love would not be troublesome and impertinent, I should be nothing
else; for I have a true grateful spirit; and I had need to have such a
one, for I am poor in every thing but will.
Tuesday morning, eleven o’clock.
My dear, dear—master (I’m sure I should still say; but I will learn to
rise to a softer epithet, now-and-then) is not yet come. I hope he is
safe and well!—So Mrs. Jewkes and I went to breakfast. But I can do
nothing but talk and think of him, and all his kindness to me, and to
you, which is still me, more intimately!—I have just received a letter
from him, which he wrote overnight, as I find by it, and sent early
this morning. This is a copy of it.
TO MRS. ANDREWS
‘MY DEAREST PAMELA, Monday night.
‘I hope my not coming home this night will not frighten you. You may
believe I can’t help it. My poor friend is so very ill, that I doubt he
can’t recover. His desires to have me stay with him are so strong, that
I shall sit up all night with him, as it is now near one o’clock in the
morning; for he can’t bear me out of his sight: And I have made him and
his distressed wife and children so easy, in the kindest assurances I
could give him of my consideration for him and them, that I am looked
upon (as the poor disconsolate widow, as she, I doubt, will soon be,
tells me,) as their good angel. I could have wished we had not engaged
to the good neighbourhood at Sir Simon’s for to-morrow night; but I am
so desirous to set out on Wednesday for the other house, that, as well
as in return for the civilities of so many good friends, who will be
there on purpose, I would not put it off. What I beg of you, therefore,
my dear, is, that you would go in the chariot to Sir Simon’s, the
sooner in the day the better, because you will be diverted with the
company, who all so much admire you; and I hope to join you there by
your tea-time in the afternoon, which will be better than going home,
and returning with you, as it will be six miles difference to me; and I
know the good company will excuse my dress, on the occasion. I count
every hour of this little absence for a day: for I am, with the utmost
sincerity,
‘My dearest love, for ever yours, etc.’
‘If you could go to dine with them, it will be a freedom that would be
very pleasing to them; and the more, as they don’t expect it.’
I begin to have a little concern, lest his fatigue should be too great,
and for the poor sick gentleman and family; but told Mrs. Jewkes, that
the least intimation of his choice should be a command to me, and so I
would go to dinner there; and ordered the chariot to be got ready to
carry me: when a messenger came up, just as I was dressed, to tell her
she must come down immediately. I see at the window, that visitors are
come; for there is a chariot and six horses, the company gone out of
it, and three footmen on horseback; and I think the chariot has
coronets. Who can it be, I wonder?—But here I will stop, for I suppose
I shall soon know.
Good sirs! how unlucky this is! What shall I do!—Here is Lady Davers
come, her own self! and my kind protector a great, great many miles
off!—Mrs. Jewkes, out of breath, comes and tells me this, and says, she
is inquiring for my master and me. She asked her, it seemed, naughty
lady as she is, if I was whored yet! There’s a word for a lady’s mouth!
Mrs. Jewkes says, she knew not what to answer. And my lady said, She is
not married, I hope? And said she, I said, No: because you have not
owned it yet publicly. My lady said, That was well enough. Said I, I
will run away, Mrs. Jewkes; and let the chariot go to the bottom of the
elm-walk, and I will steal out of the door unperceived: But she is
inquiring for you, madam, replied she, and I said you was within, but
going out; and she said, she would see you presently, as soon as she
could have patience. What did she call me? said I. The creature, madam;
I will see the creature, said she, as soon as I can have patience. Ay,
but, said I, the creature won’t let her, if she can help it.
Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, favour my escape, for this once; for I am sadly
frighted.—Said she, I’ll bid the chariot go down, as you order, and
wait till you come; and I’ll step down and shut the hall door, that you
may pass unobserved; for she sits cooling herself in the parlour, over
against the staircase. That’s a good Mrs. Jewkes! said I: But who has
she with her? Her woman, answered she, and her nephew; but he came on
horseback, and is going into the stables; and they have three
footmen.—And I wish, said I, they were all three hundred miles
off!—What shall I do?—So I wrote thus far, and wait impatiently to hear
the coast is clear.
Mrs. Jewkes tells me I must come down, or she will come up. What does
she call me now? said I. Wench, madam, Bid the wench come down to me.
And her nephew and her woman are with her.
Said I, I can’t go, and that’s enough!—You might contrive it that I
might get out, if you would.—Indeed, madam, said she, I cannot; for I
went to shut the door, and she bid me let it stand open; and there she
sits over against the staircase. Then, said I, I’ll get out of the
window, I think!—(And fanned myself;) for I am sadly frightened. Laud,
madam, said she, I wonder you so much disturb yourself!—You’re on the
right side the hedge, I’m sure; and I would not be so discomposed for
any body. Ay, said I, but who can help constitution? I dare say you
would no more be so discomposed, that I can help it.—Said she, Indeed,
madam, if it was to me, I would put on an air as mistress of the house,
as you are, and go and salute her ladyship, and bid her welcome. Ay,
ay, replied I, fine talking!—But how unlucky this is, your good master
is not at home!
What answer shall I give her, said she, to her desiring to see
you?—Tell her, said I, I am sick a-bed; I’m dying, and must not be
disturbed; I’m gone out—or any thing.
But her woman came up to me just as I had uttered this, and said, How
do you do, Mrs. Pamela? My lady desires to speak to you. So I must
go.—Sure she won’t beat me!—Oh that my dear protector was at home!
Well, now I will tell you all that happened in this frightful
interview.—And very bad it was.
I went down, dressed as I was, and my gloves on, and my fan in my hand,
to be just ready to step into the chariot, when I could get away; and I
thought all my trembling fits had been over now; but I was mistaken;
for I trembled sadly. Yet resolved to put on as good an air as I could.
So I went to the parlour, and said, making a very low courtesy, Your
servant, my good lady! And your servant again, said she, my lady, for I
think you are dressed out like one.
A charming girl, though! said her rakish nephew, and swore a great
oath: Dear aunt, forgive me, but I must kiss her; and was coming to me.
And I said, Forbear, uncivil gentleman! I won’t be used freely. Jackey,
said my lady, sit down, and don’t touch the creature—She’s proud enough
already. There’s a great difference in her air, I’ll assure you, since
I saw her last.
Well, child, said she, sneeringly, how dost find thyself? Thou’rt
mightily come on, of late!—I hear strange reports about thee!—Thou’rt
almost got into fool’s paradise, I doubt!—And wilt find thyself
terribly mistaken in a little while, if thou thinkest my brother will
disgrace his family, to humour thy baby-face!
I see, said I, sadly vexed, (her woman and nephew smiling by,) your
ladyship has no very important commands for me; and I beg leave to
withdraw. Beck, said she to her woman, shut the door, my young lady and
I must not have done so soon.
Where’s your well-mannered deceiver gone, child?—says she.—Said I, When
your ladyship is pleased to speak intelligibly, I shall know how to
answer.
Well, but my dear child, said she, in drollery, don’t be too pert
neither, I beseech thee. Thou wilt not find thy master’s sister half so
ready to take thy freedoms, as thy mannerly master is!—So, a little of
that modesty and humility that my mother’s waiting-maid used to shew,
will become thee better than the airs thou givest thyself, since my
mother’s son has taught thee to forget thyself.
I would beg, said I, one favour of your ladyship, That if you would
have me keep my distance, you will not forget your own degree.—Why,
suppose, Miss Pert, I should forget my degree, wouldst thou not keep
thy distance then?
If you, madam, said I, lessen the distance yourself, you will descend
to my level, and make an equality, which I don’t presume to think of;
for I can’t descend lower than I am—at least in your ladyship’s esteem!
Did I not tell you, Jackey, said she, that I should have a wit to talk
to?—He, who swears like a fine gentleman at every word, rapped out an
oath, and said, drolling, I think, Mrs. Pamela, if I may be so bold as
to say so, you should know you are speaking to Lady Davers!—Sir, said
I, I hope there was no need of your information, and so I can’t thank
you for it; and am sorry you seem to think it wants an oath to convince
me of the truth of it.
He looked more foolish than I, at this, if possible, not expecting such
a reprimand.—And said, at last, Why, Mrs. Pamela, you put me half out
of countenance with your witty reproof!—Sir, said I, you seem quite a
fine gentleman; and it will not be easily done, I dare say.
How now, pert one, said my lady, do you know whom you talk to?—I think
I do not, madam, replied I: and for fear I should forget myself more,
I’ll withdraw. Your ladyship’s servant, said I; and was going: but she
rose, and gave me a push, and pulled a chair, and, setting the back
against the door, sat down in it.
Well, said I, I can bear anything at your ladyship’s hands; but I was
ready to cry though. And I went, and sat down, and fanned myself, at
the other end of the room.
Her woman, who stood all the time, said softly, Mrs. Pamela, you should
not sit in my lady’s presence. And my lady, though she did not hear
her, said, You shall sit down, child, in the room where I am, when I
give you leave.
So I stood up, and said, When your ladyship will hardly permit me to
stand, one might be indulged to sit down. But I ask you, said she,
Whither your master is gone? To one Mr. Carlton, madam, about eighteen
miles off, who is very sick. And when does he come home?—This evening,
madam. And where are you going? To a gentleman’s house in the town,
madam.—And how was you to go? In the chariot, madam.—Why, you must be a
lady in time, to be sure!—I believe you’d become a chariot mighty well,
child!—Was you ever out in it with your master?
Pray, your ladyship, said I, a little too pertly, perhaps, be pleased
to ask half a dozen such questions together; because one answer may do
for all!—Why, bold-face, said she, you’ll forget your distance, and
bring me to your level before my time.
I could no longer refrain tears, but said, Pray your ladyship, let me
ask what I have done, to be thus severely treated? I never did your
ladyship any harm. And if you think I am deceived, as you was pleased
to hint, I should be more entitled to your pity, than your anger.
She rose, and took me by the hand, and led me to her chair; and then
sat down; and still holding my hand, said, Why Pamela, I did indeed
pity you while I thought you innocent; and when my brother seized you,
and brought you down hither, without your consent, I was concerned for
you; and I was still more concerned for you, and loved you, when I
heard of your virtue and resistance, and your laudable efforts to get
away from him. But when, as I fear, you have suffered yourself to be
prevailed upon, and have lost your innocence, and added another to the
number of the fools he has ruined, (This shocked me a little,) I cannot
help shewing my displeasure to you.
Madam, replied I, I must beg no hasty judgment; I have not lost my
innocence.—Take care, take care, Pamela! said she: don’t lose your
veracity, as well as your honour!—Why are you here, when you are at
full liberty to go whither you please?—I will make one proposal to you,
and if you are innocent, I am sure you’ll accept it. Will you go and
live with me?—I will instantly set out with you in my chariot, and not
stay half an hour longer in this house, if you’ll go with me.—Now, if
you are innocent, and willing to keep so, deny me, if you can.
I am innocent, madam, replied I, and willing to keep so; and yet I
cannot consent to this. Then, said she, very mannerly, Thou liest,
child, that’s all: and I give thee up!
And so she arose, and walked about the room in great wrath. Her nephew
and her woman said, Your ladyship’s very good; ’tis a plain case; a
very plain case!
I would have removed the chair, to have gone out; but her nephew came
and sat in it. This provoked me; for I thought I should be unworthy of
the honour I was raised to, though I was afraid to own it, if I did not
shew some spirit; and I said, What, sir, is your pretence in this
house, to keep me a prisoner here? Because, said he—I like it.—Do you
so, sir? replied I: if that is the answer of a gentleman to such an one
as I, it would not, I dare say, be the answer of a gentleman to a
gentleman.—My lady! my lady! said he, a challenge, a challenge, by gad!
No, sir, said I, I am of a sex that gives no challenges; and you think
so too, or you would not give this occasion for the word.
Said my lady, Don’t be surprised, nephew; the wench could not talk
thus, if she had not been her master’s bed-fellow.—Pamela, Pamela, said
she, and tapped me upon the shoulder two or three times, in anger, thou
hast lost thy innocence, girl; and thou hast got some of thy bold
master’s assurance, and art fit to go any where.—Then, and please your
ladyship, said I, I am unworthy of your presence, and desire I may quit
it.
No, replied she, I will know first what reason you can give for not
accepting my proposal, if you are innocent? I can give, said I, a very
good one: but I beg to be excused. I will hear it, said she. Why, then,
answered I, I should perhaps have less reason to like this gentleman,
than where I am.
Well then, said she, I’ll put you to another trial. I’ll set out this
moment with you to your father and mother, and give you up safe to
them. What do you say to that?—Ay, Mrs. Pamela, said her nephew, now
what does your innocence say to that?—’Fore gad, madam, you have
puzzled her now.
Be pleased, madam, said I, to call off this fine gentleman. Your
kindness in these proposals makes me think you would not have me
baited. I’ll be d——d, said he, if she does not make me a bull-dog! Why
she’ll toss us all by and by! Sir, said I, you indeed behave as if you
were in a bear-garden.
Jackey, be quiet, said my lady. You only give her a pretence to evade
my questions. Come, answer me, Pamela. I will, madam, said I, and it is
thus: I have no occasion to be beholden to your ladyship for this
honour; for I am to set out to-morrow morning on the way to my
parents.—Now again thou liest, wench!—I am not of quality, said I, to
answer such language.—Once again, said she, provoke me not, by these
reflections, and this pertness; if thou dost, I shall do something by
thee unworthy of myself. That, thought I, you have done already; but I
ventured not to say so. But who is to carry you, said she, to your
father and mother? Who my master pleases, madam, said I. Ay, said she,
I doubt not thou wilt do every thing he pleases, if thou hast not
already. Why now tell me, Pamela, from thy heart, hast thou not been in
bed with thy master? Ha, wench!—I was quite shocked at this, and said,
I wonder how your ladyship can use me thus!—I am sure you can expect no
answer; and my sex, and my tender years, might exempt me from such
treatment, from a person of your ladyship’s birth and quality, and who,
be the distance ever so great, is of the same sex with me.
Thou art a confident wench, said she, I see!—Pray, madam, said I, let
me beg you to permit me to go. I am waited for in the town, to dinner.
No, replied she, I can’t spare you; and whomsoever you are to go to,
will excuse you, when they are told ’tis I that command you not to
go;—and you may excuse it too, young Lady Would-be, if you consider,
that it is the unexpected coming of your late lady’s daughter, and your
master’s sister, that commands your stay.
But a pre-engagement, your ladyship will consider, is something.—Ay, so
it is; but I know not what reason waiting-maids have to assume these
airs of pre-engagements! Oh, Pamela, Pamela, I am sorry for thy thus
aping thy betters, and giving thyself such airs: I see thou’rt quite
spoiled! Of a modest, innocent girl, that thou wast, and humble too,
thou art now fit for nothing in the world, but what I fear thou art.
Why, please your ladyship, said her kinsman, what signifies all you
say? The matter’s over with her, no doubt; and she likes it; and she is
in a fairy-dream, and ’tis pity to awaken her before her dream’s
out.—Bad as you take me to be, madam, said I, I am not used to such
language or reflections as this gentleman bestows upon me; and I won’t
bear it.
Well, Jackey, said she, be silent; and, shaking her head, Poor
girl!—said she—what a sweet innocence is here destroyed!—A thousand
pities!—I could cry over her, if that would do her good! But she is
quite lost, quite undone; and then has assumed a carriage upon it, that
all those creatures are distinguished by!
I cried sadly for vexation; and said, Say what you please, madam; if I
can help it, I will not answer another word.
Mrs. Jewkes came in, and asked if her ladyship was ready for dinner?
She said, Yes. I would have gone out with her but my lady said, taking
my hand, she could not spare me. And, miss, said she, you may pull off
your gloves, and lay your fan by, for you shan’t go; and, if you behave
well, you shall wait upon me at dinner, and then I shall have a little
further talk with you.
Mrs. Jewkes said to me, Madam, may I speak one word with you?—I can’t
tell, Mrs. Jewkes, said I; for my lady holds my hand, and you see I am
a kind of prisoner.
What you have to say, Mrs. Jewkes, said she, you may speak before me.
But she went out, and seemed vexed for me; and she says, I looked like
the very scarlet.
The cloth was laid in another parlour, and for three persons, and she
led me in: Come, my little dear, said she, with a sneer, I’ll hand you
in; and I would have you think it as well as if it was my brother.
What a sad case, thought I, should I be in, if I were as naughty as she
thinks me! It was bad enough as it was.
Jackey, said my lady, come, let us go to dinner. She said to her woman,
Do you, Beck, help Pamela to ’tend us; we will have no
men-fellows.—Come, my young lady, shall I help you off with your white
gloves? I have not, madam, said I, deserved this at your ladyship’s
hands.
Mrs. Jewkes, coming in with the first dish, she said, Do you expect any
body else, Mrs. Jewkes, that you lay the cloth for three? said she, I
hoped your ladyship and madam would have been so well reconciled, that
she would have sat down too.—What means the clownish woman? said my
lady, in great disdain: Could you think the creature should sit down
with me? She does, madam, and please your ladyship, with my master.—I
doubt it not, good woman, said she, and lies with him too, does she
not? Answer me, fat-face!—How these ladies are privileged.
If she does, madam, said she, there may be a reason for it, perhaps!
and went out.—So! said she, has the wench got thee over too? Come, my
little dear, pull off thy gloves, I say; and off she pulled my left
glove herself, and spied my ring. O my dear God! said she, if the wench
has not got a ring!—Well, this is a pretty piece of foolery, indeed!
Dost know, my friend, that thou art miserably tricked? And so, poor
innocent, thou hast made a fine exchange, hast thou not? Thy honesty
for this bauble? And, I’ll warrant, my little dear has topped her part,
and paraded it like any real wife; and so mimics still the
condition!—Why, said she, and turned me round, thou art as mincing as
any bride! No wonder thou art thus tricked out, and talkest of thy
pre-engagements! Pr’ythee, child, walk before me to that glass; survey
thyself, and come back to me, that I may see how finely thou can’st act
the theatrical part given thee!
I was then resolved to try to be silent, although most sadly vexed.—So
I went and sat me down in the window, and she took her place at the
upper end of the table; and her saucy Jackey, fleering at me most
provokingly, sat down by her. Said he, Shall not the bride sit down by
us, madam? Ay, well thought of! said my lady: Pray, Mrs. Bride, your
pardon for sitting down in your place!—I said nothing.