Thou hast heard from M’Donald and Mowbray the news. Bad or good, I know
not which thou’lt deem it. I only wish I could have given thee joy upon
the same account, before the unhappy lady was seduced from Hampstead;
for then of what an ungrateful villany hadst thou been spared the
perpetration, which now thou hast to answer for!
I came to town purely to serve thee with her, expecting that thy next
would satisfy me that I might endeavour it without dishonour. And at
first when I found her gone, I half pitied thee; for now wilt thou be
inevitably blown up: and in what an execrable light wilt thou appear to
all the world!—Poor Lovelace! caught in thy own snares! thy punishment
is but beginning.
But to my narrative: for I suppose thou expectest all particulars from
me, since Mowbray has informed thee that I have been collecting them.
‘The noble exertion of spirit she has made on Friday night, had, it
seems, greatly disordered her; insomuch that she was not visible till
Saturday evening; when Mabell saw her; and she seemed to be very ill:
but on Sunday morning, having dressed herself, as if designing to go to
church, she ordered Mabell to get her a coach to the door.
‘The wench told her, She was to obey her in every thing but the calling
of a coach or chair, or in relation to letters.
‘She sent for Will. and gave him the same command.
‘He pleaded his master’s orders to the contrary, and desired to be
excused.
‘Upon this, down she went, herself, and would have gone out without
observation; but finding the street-door double-locked, and the key not
in the lock, she stept into the street-parlour, and would have thrown
up the sash to call out to the people passing by, as they doubted not:
but that, since her last attempt of the same nature, had been fastened
down.
‘Hereupon she resolutely stept into Mrs. Sinclair’s parlour in the
back-house; where were the old devil and her two partners; and demanded
the key of the street-door, or to have it opened for her.
‘They were all surprised; but desired to be excused, and pleaded your
orders.
‘She asserted, that you had no authority over her; and never should
have any: that their present refusal was their own act and deed: she
saw the intent of their back house, and the reason of putting her
there: she pleaded her condition and fortune; and said, they had no way
to avoid utter ruin, but by opening their doors to her, or by murdering
her, and burying her in their garden or cellar, too deep for detection:
that already what had been done to her was punishable by death: and bid
them at their peril detain her.’
What a noble, what a right spirit has this charming creature, in cases
that will justify an exertion of spirit!—
‘They answered that Mr. Lovelace could prove his marriage, and would
indemnify them. And they all would have vindicated their behaviour on
Friday night, and the reputation of their house. But refusing to hear
them on that topic, she flung from them threatening.
‘She then went up half a dozen stairs in her way to her own apartment:
but, as if she had bethought herself, down she stept again, and
proceeded towards the street-parlour; saying, as she passed by the
infamous Dorcas, I’ll make myself protectors, though the windows
suffer. But that wench, of her own head, on the lady’s going out of
that parlour to Mrs. Sinclair’s, had locked the door, and taken out the
key: so that finding herself disappointed, she burst into tears, and
went sobbing and menacing up stairs again.
‘She made no other attempt till the effectual one. Your letters and
messages, they suppose, coming so fast upon one another (though she
would not answer one of them) gave her some amusement, and an assurance
to them, that she would at last forgive you; and that then all would
end as you wished.
‘The women, in pursuance of your orders, offered not to obtrude
themselves upon her; and Dorcas also kept out of her sight all the rest
of Sunday; also on Monday and Tuesday. But by the lady’s condescension,
(even to familiarity) to Mabell, they imagined, that she must be
working in her mind all that time to get away. They therefore redoubled
their cautions to the wench; who told them so faithfully all that
passed between her lady and her, that they had no doubt of her fidelity
to her wicked trust.
‘’Tis probable she might have been contriving something all this time;
but saw no room for perfecting any scheme. The contrivance by which she
effected her escape seems to me not to have been fallen upon till the
very day; since it depended partly upon the weather, as it proved. But
it is evident she hoped something from Mabell’s simplicity, or
gratitude, or compassion, by cultivating all the time her civility to
her.
‘Polly waited on her early on Wednesday morning; and met with a better
reception than she had reason to expect. She complained however, with
warmth, of her confinement. Polly said there would be an happy end to
it (if it were a confinement,) next day, she presumed. She absolutely
declared to the contrary, in the way Polly meant it; and said, That Mr.
Lovelace, on his return [which looked as if she intended to wait for
it] should have reason to repent the orders he had given, as they all
should their observance of them: let him send twenty letters, she would
not answer one, be the consequence what it would; nor give him hope of
the least favour, while she was in that house. She had given Mrs.
Sinclair and themselves fair warning, she said: no orders of another
ought to make them detain a free person: but having made an open
attempt to go, and been detained by them, she was the calmer, she told
Polly; let them look to the consequence.
‘But yet she spoke this with temper; and Polly gave it as her opinion,
(with apprehension for their own safety,) that having so good a handle
to punish them all, she would not go away if she might. And what,
inferred Polly, is the indemnity of a man who has committed the vilest
of rapes on a person of condition; and must himself, if prosecuted for
it, either fly, or be hanged?
‘Sinclair, [so I will still call her,] upon this representation of
Polly, foresaw, she said, the ruin of her poor house in the issue of
this strange business; and the infamous Sally and Dorcas bore their
parts in the apprehension: and this put them upon thinking it advisable
for the future, that the street-door should generally in the day-time
be only left upon a bolt-latch, as they called it, which any body might
open on the inside; and that the key should be kept in the door; that
their numerous comers and goers, as they called their guests, should be
able to give evidence, that she might have gone out if she would: not
forgetting, however, to renew their orders to Will. to Dorcas, to
Mabell, and the rest, to redouble their vigilance on this occasion, to
prevent her escape: none of them doubting, at the same time, that her
love of a man so considerable in their eyes, and the prospect of what
was to happen, as she had reason to believe, on Thursday, her uncle’s
birth-day, would (though perhaps not till the last hour, for her pride
sake, was their word) engage her to change her temper.
‘They believe, that she discovered the key to be left in the door; for
she was down more than once to walk in the little garden, and seemed to
cast her eye each time to the street-door.
‘About eight yesterday morning, an hour after Polly had left her, she
told Mabell, she was sure she should not live long; and having a good
many suits of apparel, which after her death would be of no use to any
body she valued, she would give her a brown lustring gown, which, with
some alterations to make it more suitable to her degree, would a great
while serve her for a Sunday wear; for that she (Mabell) was the only
person in that house of whom she could think without terror or
antipathy.
‘Mabell expressing her gratitude upon the occasion, the lady said, she
had nothing to employ herself about, and if she could get a workwoman
directly, she would look over her things then, and give her what she
intended for her.
‘Her mistress’s mantua-maker, the maid replied, lived but a little way
off: and she doubted not that she could procure her, or one of the
journey-women to alter the gown out of hand.
‘I will give you also, said she, a quilted coat, which will require but
little alteration, if any; for you are much about my stature: but the
gown I will give directions about, because the sleeves and the robings
and facings must be altered for your wear, being, I believe, above your
station: and try, said she, if you can get the workwoman, and we’ll
advise about it. If she cannot come now, let her come in the afternoon;
but I had rather now, because it will amuse me to give you a lift.
‘Then stepping to the window, it rains, said she, [and so it had done
all the morning:] slip on the hood and short cloak I have seen you
wear, and come to me when you are ready to go out, because you shall
bring me in something that I want.
‘Mabell equipped herself accordingly, and received her commands to buy
her some trifles, and then left her; but in her way out, stept into the
back parlour, where Dorcas was with Mrs. Sinclair, telling her where
she was going, and on what account, bidding Dorcas look out till she
came back. So faithful as the wench to the trust reposed in her, and so
little had the lady’s generosity wrought upon her.
‘Mrs. Sinclair commended her; Dorcas envied her, and took her cue: and
Mabell soon returned with the mantua-maker’s journey-woman; (she
resolved, she said, but she would not come without her); and then
Dorcas went off guard.
‘The lady looked out the gown and petticoat, and before the workwoman
caused Mabell to try it on; and, that it might fit the better, made the
willing wench pull off her upper-petticoat, and put on that she gave
her. Then she bid them go into Mr. Lovelace’s apartment, and contrive
about it before the pier-glass there, and stay till she came to them,
to give them her opinion.
‘Mabell would have taken her own clothes, and hood, and short cloak
with her: but her lady said, No matter; you may put them on again here,
when we have considered about the alterations: there’s no occasion to
litter the other room.
‘They went; and instantly, as it is supposed, she slipt on Mabell’s
gown and petticoat over her own, which was white damask, and put on the
wench’s hood, short cloak, and ordinary apron, and down she went.
‘Hearing somebody tripping along the passage, both Will. and Dorcas
whipt to the inner-hall door, and saw her; but, taking her for Mabell,
Are you going far, Mabell? cried Will.
‘Without turning her face, or answering, she held out her hand,
pointing to the stairs; which they construed as a caution for them to
look out in her absence; and supposing she would not be long gone, as
she had not in form, repeated her caution to them, up went Will,
tarrying at the stairs-head in expectation of the supposed Mabell’s
return.
‘Mabell and the workwoman waited a good while, amusing themselves not
disagreeably, the one with contriving in the way of her business, the
other delighting herself with her fine gown and coat. But at last,
wondering the lady did not come in to them, Mabell tiptoed it to her
door, and tapping, and not being answered, stept into the chamber.
‘Will. at that instant, from his station at the stairs-head, seeing
Mabell in her lady’s clothes; for he had been told of the present,
[gifts to servants fly from servant to servant in a minute,] was very
much surprised, having, as he thought, just seen her go out in her own;
and stepping up, met her at the door. How the devil can this be? said
he: just now you went out in your own dress! How came you here in this?
and how could you pass me unseen? but nevertheless, kissing her, said,
he would now brag he had kissed his lady, or one in her clothes.
‘I am glad, Mr. William, cried Mabell, to see you here so diligently.
But know you where my lady is?
‘In my master’s apartment, answered Will. Is she not? Was she not
talking with you this moment?
‘No, that’s Mrs. Dolins’s journey-woman.
‘They both stood aghast, as they said; Will, again recollecting he had
seen Mabell, as he thought, go out in her own clothes. And while they
were debating and wondering, up comes Dorcas with your fourth letter,
just then brought for the lady, and seeing Mabell dressed out, (whom
she had likewise beheld a little before), as she supposed, in her
common clothes; she joined in the wonder; till Mabell, re-entering the
lady’s apartment, missed her own clothes; and then suspecting what had
happened, and letting the others into the ground of the suspicion, they
all agreed that she had certainly escaped. And then followed such an
uproar of mutual accusation, and you should have done this, and you
have done that, as alarmed the whole house; every apartment in both
houses giving up its devil, to the number of fourteen or fifteen,
including the mother and her partners.
‘Will. told them his story; and then ran out, as on the like occasion
formerly, to make inquiry whether the lady was seen by any of the
coachmen, chairmen, or porters, plying in that neighbourhood: while
Dorcas cleared herself immediately, and that at the poor Mabell’s
expense, who made a figure as guilty as awkward, having on the
suspected price of her treachery; which Dorcas, out of envy, was ready
to tear from her back.
‘Hereupon all the pack opened at the poor wench, while the mother
foamed at the mouth, bellowed out her orders for seizing the suspected
offender; who could neither be heard in her own defence, nor had she
been heard, would have been believed.
‘That such a perfidious wretch should ever disgrace her house, was the
mother’s cry; good people might be corrupted; but it was a fine thing
if such a house as her’s could not be faithfully served by cursed
creatures who were hired knowing the business they were to be employed
in, and who had no pretence to principle!—D—n her, the wretch
proceeded!—She had no patience with her! call the cook, and call the
scullion!
‘They were at hand.
‘See, that guilty pyeball devil, was her word—(her lady’s gown upon her
back)—but I’ll punish her for a warning to all betrayers of their
trust. Put on the great gridiron this moment, [an oath or a curse at
every word:] make up a roaring fire—the cleaver bring me this
instant—I’ll cut her into quarters with my own hands; and carbonade and
broil the traitress for a feast to all the dogs and cats in the
neighbourhood, and eat the first slice of the toad myself, without salt
or pepper.
‘The poor Mabell, frighted out of her wits, expected every moment to be
torn in pieces, having half a score open-clawed paws upon her all at
once. She promised to confess all. But that all, when she had obtained
a hearing, was nothing: for nothing had she to confess.
‘Sally, hereupon with a curse of mercy, ordered her to retire;
undertaking that she and Polly would examine her themselves, that they
might be able to write all particulars to his honour; and then, if she
could not clear herself, or, if guilty, give some account of the lady,
(who had been so wicked as to give them all this trouble,) so as they
might get her again, then the cleaver and gridiron might go to work
with all their heart.
‘The wench, glad of this reprieve, went up stairs; and while Sally was
laying out the law, and prating away in her usual dictorial manner,
whipt on another gown, and sliding down the stairs, escaped to her
relations. And this flight, which was certainly more owing to terror
than guilt, was, in the true Old Bailey construction, made a
confirmation of the latter.’
These are the particulars of Miss Harlowe’s flight. Thou’lt hardly
think me too minute.—How I long to triumph over thy impatience and fury
on the occasion!
Let me beseech thee, my dear Lovelace, in thy next letter, to rave most
gloriously!—I shall be grievously disappointed if thou dost not.
Where, Lovelace, can the poor lady be gone? And who can describe the
distress she must be in?
By thy former letters, it may be supposed, that she can have very
little money: nor, by the suddenness of her flight, more clothes than
those she has on. And thou knowest who once said,* ‘Her parents will
not receive her. Her uncles will not entertain her. Her Norton is in
their direction, and cannot. Miss Howe dare not. She has not one friend
or intimate in town—entirely a stranger to it.’ And, let me add, has
been despoiled of her honour by the man for whom she had made all these
sacrifices; and who stood bound to her by a thousand oaths and vows, to
be her husband, her protector, and friend!
* See Vol. IV. Letter XXI.
How strong must be her resentment of the barbarous treatment she has
received! how worthy of herself, that it has made her hate the man she
once loved! and, rather than marry him, choose to expose her disgrace
to the whole world: to forego the reconciliation with her friends which
her heart was so set upon: and to hazard a thousand evils to which her
youth and her sex may too probably expose an indigent and friendly
beauty!
Rememberest thou not that home push upon thee, in one of the papers
written in her delirium; of which, however it savours not?——
I will assure thee, that I have very often since most seriously
reflected upon it: and as thy intended second outrage convinces me that
it made no impression upon thee then, and perhaps thou hast never
thought of it since, I will transcribe the sentence.
‘If, as religion teaches us, God will judge us, in a great measure! by
our benevolent or evil actions to one another—O wretch! bethink thee,
in time bethink thee, how great must be thy condemnation.’*
* See Vol. VI. Letter XVI.
And is this amiable doctrine the sum of religion? Upon my faith,
believe it is. For, to indulge a serious thought, since we are not
atheists, except in practice, does God, the BEING of Beings, want any
thing of us for HIMSELF! And does he not enjoin us works of mercy to
one another, as the means to obtain his mercy? A sublime principle, and
worthy of the SUPREME SUPERINTENDENT and FATHER of all things!—But if
we are to be judged by this noble principle, what, indeed, must be thy
condemnation on the score of this lady only? and what mine, and what
all our confraternity’s, on the score of other women: though we are
none of us half so bad as thou art, as well for want of inclination, I
hope, as of opportunity!
I must add, that, as well for thy own sake, as for the lady’s, I wish
ye were yet to be married to each other. It is the only medium that can
be hit upon to salve the honour of both. All that’s past may yet be
concealed from the world, and from all her sufferings, if thou
resolvest to be a tender and kind husband to her.
And if this really be thy intention, I will accept with pleasure of a
commission from thee that shall tend to promote so good an end,
whenever she can be found; that is to say, if she will admit to her
presence a man who professes friendship to thee. Nor can I give a
greater demonstration, that I am
Thy sincere friend, J. BELFORD.
P.S. Mabell’s clothes were thrown into the passage this morning: nobody
knows by whom.