Peggy. [Returning.] He won’t deliver his business to me. He will speak
to Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self.
Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand.] Tell him that this is Mrs.
Harriot Lucas; and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that she
is bloated, dropsical, and not the woman she was.
Away went Margery.
Lovel. And now, my dear widow, let me see what a charming Mrs. Lovelace
you’ll make!—Ask if he comes from Miss Howe. Ask if he lives with her.
Ask how she does. Call her, at every word, your dear Miss Howe. Offer
him money—take this half-guinea for him—complain of your head, to have
a pretence to hold it down; and cover your forehead and eyes with your
hand, where your handkerchief hides not your face.—That’s right—and
dismiss the rascal—[here he comes]—as soon as you can.
In came the fellow, bowing and scraping, his hat poked out before him
with both his hands.
Fellow. I am sorry, Madam, an’t please you, to find you ben’t well.
Widow. What is your business with me, friend?
Fellow. You are Mrs. Harriot Lucas, I suppose, Madam?
Widow. Yes. Do you come from Miss Howe?
Fellow. I do, Madam.
Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend?
Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is none of my business.
Widow. What is thy business? I hope Miss Howe is well?
Fellow. Yes, Madam; pure well, I thank God. I wish you were so too.
Widow. I am too full of grief to be well.
Fellow. So belike I have hard to say.
Widow. My head aches so dreadfully, I cannot hold it up. I must beg of
you to let me know your business.
Fellow. Nay, and that be all, my business is soon known. It is but to
give this letter into your own partiklar hands—here it is.
Widow. [Taking it.] From my dear friend Miss Howe?—Ah, my head!
Fellow. Yes, Madam: but I am sorry you are so bad.
Widow. Do you live with Miss Howe?
Fellow. No, Madam: I am one of her tenants’ sons. Her lady-mother must
not know as how I came of this errand. But the letter, I suppose, will
tell you all.
Widow. How shall I satisfy you for this kind trouble?
Fellow. No how at all. What I do is for love of Miss Howe. She will
satisfy me more than enough. But, may-hap, you can send no answer, you
are so ill.
Widow. Was you ordered to wait for an answer?
Fellow. No, I cannot say as that I was. But I was bidden to observe how
you looked, and how you was; and if you did write a line or two, to
take care of it, and give it only to our young landlady in secret.
Widow. You see I look strangely. Not so well as I used to do.
Fellow. Nay, I don’t know that I ever saw you but once before; and that
was at a stile, where I met you and my young landlady; but knew better
than to stare a gentlewoman in the face; especially at a stile.
Widow. Will you eat, or drink, friend?
Fellow. A cup of small ale, I don’t care if I do.
Widow. Margaret, take the young man down, and treat him with what the
house affords.
Fellow. Your servant, Madam. But I staid to eat as I come along, just
upon the Heath yonder; or else, to say the truth, I had been here
sooner. [Thank my stars, thought I, thou didst.] A piece of powdered
beef was upon the table, at the sign of the Castle, where I stopt to
inquire for this house: and so, thoff I only intended to wet my
whistle, I could not help eating. So shall only taste of your ale; for
the beef was woundily corned.
Prating dog! Pox on thee! thought I.
He withdrew, bowing and scraping.
Margaret, whispered I, in a female voice [whispering out of the closet,
and holding the parlour-door in my hand] get him out of the house as
fast as you can, lest they come from church, and catch him here.
Peggy. Never fear, Sir.
The fellow went down, and it seems, drank a large draught of ale; and
Margaret finding him very talkative, told him, she begged his pardon,
but she had a sweetheart just come from sea, whom she was forced to
hide in the pantry; so was sure he would excuse her from staying with
him.
Ay, ay, to be sure, the clown said: for if he could not make sport, he
would spoil none. But he whispered her, that one ’Squire Lovelace was a
damnation rogue, if the truth might be told.
For what? said Margaret. And could have given him, she told the widow
(who related to me all this) a good dowse of the chaps.
For kissing all the women he came near.
At the same time, the dog wrapped himself round Margery, and gave her a
smack, that, she told Mrs. Bevis afterwards, she might have heard into
the parlour.
Such, Jack, is human nature: thus does it operate in all degrees; and
so does the clown, as well as his practises! Yet this sly dog knew not
but the wench had a sweetheart locked up in the pantry! If the truth
were known, some of the ruddy-faced dairy wenches might perhaps call
him a damnation rogue, as justly as their betters of the same sex might
’Squire Lovelace.
The fellow told the maid, that, by what he discovered of the young
lady’s face, it looked very rosy to what he took it to be; and he
thought her a good deal fatter, as she lay, and not so tall.
All women are born to intrigue, Jack; and practise it more or less, as
fathers, guardians, governesses, from dear experience, can tell; and in
love affairs are naturally expert, and quicker in their wits by half
than men. This ready, though raw wench, gave an instance of this, and
improved on the dropsical hint I had given her. The lady’s seeming
plumpness was owing to a dropsical disorder, and to the round posture
she lay in—very likely, truly. Her appearing to him to be shorter, he
might have observed, was owing to her drawing her feet up from pain,
and because the couch was too short, she supposed—Adso, he did not
think of that. Her rosy colour was owing to her grief and
head-ache.—Ay, that might very well be—but he was highly pleased that
he had given the letter into Mrs. Harriot’s own hand, as he should tell
Miss Howe.
He desired once more to see the lady at his going away, and would not
be denied. The widow therefore sat up, with her handkerchief over her
face, leaning her head against the wainscot.
He asked if she had any partiklar message?
No: she was so ill she could not write; which was a great grief to her.
Should he call the next day? for he was going to London, now he was so
near; and should stay at a cousin’s that night, who lived in a street
called Fetter-Lane.
No: she would write as soon as able, and send by the post.
Well, then, if she had nothing to send by him, mayhap he might stay in
town a day or two; for he had never seen the lions in the Tower, nor
Bedlam, nor the tombs; and he would make a holiday or two, as he had
leave to do, if she had no business or message that required his
posting down next day.
She had not.
She offered him the half-guinea I had given her for him; but he refused
it with great professions of disinterestedness, and love, as he called
it, to Miss Howe; to serve whom, he would ride to the world’s-end, or
even to Jericho.
And so the shocking rascal went away: and glad at my heart was I when
he was gone; for I feared nothing so much as that he would have staid
till they came from church.
Thus, Jack, got I my heart’s ease, the letter of Miss Howe; and through
such a train of accidents, as makes me say, that the lady’s stars fight
against her. But yet I must attribute a good deal to my own precaution,
in having taken right measures. For had I not secured the widow by my
stories, and the maid by my servant, all would have signified nothing.
And so heartily were they secured, the one by a single guinea, the
other by half a dozen warm kisses, and the aversion they both had to
such wicked creatures as delighted in making mischief between man and
wife, that they promised, that neither Mrs. Moore, Miss Rawlins, Mrs.
Lovelace, nor any body living, should know any thing of the matter.
The widow rejoiced that I had got the mischief-maker’s letter. I
excused myself to her, and instantly withdrew with it; and, after I had
read it, fell to my short-hand, to acquaint thee with my good luck: and
they not returning so soon as church was done, (stepping, as it proved,
into Miss Rawlins’s, and tarrying there awhile, to bring that busy girl
with them to drink tea,) I wrote thus far to thee, that thou mightest,
when thou camest to this place, rejoice with me upon the occasion.
They are all three just come in.