I have just parted with Mrs. Townsend.* I thought you had once seen her
with me; but she says she never had the honour to be personally known
to you. She has a manlike spirit. She knows the world. And her two
brothers being in town, she is sure she can engage them in so good a
cause, and (if there should be occasion) both their ships’ crews, in
your service.
* For the account of Mrs. Townsend, &c. see Vol. IV. Letter XLII.
Give your consent, my dear; and the horrid villain shall be repaid with
broken bones, at least, for all his vileness!
The misfortune is, Mrs. Townsend cannot be with you till Thursday next,
or Wednesday, at soonest: Are you sure you can be safe where you are
till then? I think you are too near London; and perhaps you had better
be in it. If you remove, let me, the very moment, know whither.
How my heart is torn, to think of the necessity so dear a creature is
driven to of hiding herself! Devilish fellow! He must have been
sportive and wanton in his inventions—yet that cruel, that savage
sportiveness has saved you from the sudden violence to which he has had
recourse in the violation of others, of names and families not
contemptible. For such the villain always gloried to spread his snares.
The vileness of this specious monster has done more, than any other
consideration could do, to bring Mr. Hickman into credit with me. Mr.
Hickman alone knows (from me) of your flight, and the reason of it. Had
I not given him the reason, he might have thought still worse of the
vile attempt. I communicated it to him by showing him your letter from
Hampstead. When he had read it, [and he trembled and reddened, as he
read,] he threw himself at my feet, and besought me to permit him to
attend you, and to give you the protection of his house. The
good-natured man had tears in his eyes, and was repeatedly earnest on
this subject; proposing to take his chariot-and-four, or a set, and in
person, in the face of all the world, give himself the glory of
protecting such an oppressed innocent.
I could not but be pleased with him. And I let him know that I was. I
hardly expected so much spirit from him. But a man’s passiveness to a
beloved object of our sex may not, perhaps, argue want of courage on
proper occasions.
I thought I ought, in return, to have some consideration for his
safety, as such an open step would draw upon him the vengeance of the
most villanous enterpriser in the world, who has always a gang of
fellows, such as himself, at his call, ready to support one another in
the vilest outrages. But yet, as Mr. Hickman might have strengthened
his hands by legal recourses, I should not have stood upon it, had I
not known your delicacy, [since such a step must have made a great
noise, and given occasion for scandal, as if some advantage had been
gained over you,] and were there not the greatest probability that all
might be more silently, and more effectually, managed, by Mrs.
Townsend’s means.
Mrs. Townsend will in person attend you—she hopes, on Wednesday—her
brothers, and some of their people, will scatteringly, and as if they
knew nothing of you, [so we have contrived,] see you safe not only to
London, but to her house at Deptford.
She has a kinswoman, who will take your commands there, if she herself
be obliged to leave you. And there you may stay, till the wretch’s
fury, on losing you, and his search, are over.
He will very soon, ’tis likely, enter upon some new villany, which may
engross him: and it may be given out, that you are gone to lay claim to
the protection of your cousin Morden at Florence.
Possibly, if he can be made to believe it, he will go over, in hopes to
find you there.
After a while, I can procure you a lodging in one of our neighbouring
villages, where I may have the happiness to be your daily visiter. And
if this Hickman be not silly and apish, and if my mother do not do
unaccountable things, I may the sooner think of marrying, that I may,
without controul, receive and entertain the darling of my heart.
Many, very many, happy days do I hope we shall yet see together; and as
this is my hope, I expect that it will be your consolation.
As to your estate, since you are resolved not to litigate for it, we
will be patient, either till Colonel Morden arrives, or till shame
compels some people to be just.
Upon the whole, I cannot but think your prospects now much happier than
they could have been, had you been actually married to such a man as
this. I must therefore congratulate you upon your escape, not only from
a horrid libertine, but from so vile a husband, as he must have made to
any woman; but more especially to a person of your virtue and delicacy.
You hate him, heartily hate him, I hope, my dear—I am sure you do. It
would be strange, if so much purity of life and manners were not to
abhor what is so repugnant to itself.
In your letter before me, you mention one written to me for a feint.* I
have not received any such. Depend upon it, therefore, that he must
have it. And if he has, it is a wonder that he did not likewise get my
long one of the 7th. Heaven be praised that he did not; and that it
came safe to your hands!
* See Vol. V. Letters XXI. and XXII.
I send this by a young fellow, whose father is one of our tenants, with
command to deliver it to no other hands but your’s. He is to return
directly, if you give him any letter. If not, he will proceed to London
upon his own pleasures. He is a simple fellow; but very honest. So you
may say anything to him. If you write not by him, I desire a line or
two, as soon as possible.
My mother knows nothing of his going to you; nor yet of your abandoning
the fellow. Forgive me! But he is not entitled to good manners.
I shall long to hear how you and Mrs. Townsend order matters. I wish
she could have been with you sooner. But I have lost no time in
engaging her, as you will suppose. I refer to her, what I have further
to say and advise. So shall conclude with my prayers, that Heaven will
direct and protect my dearest creature, and make your future days
happy!