In the midst of this agreeableness, the coach came to the door. The
pretended Lady Betty besought me to give them my company to their
cousin Leeson’s. I desired to be excused: yet suspected nothing. She
would not be denied. How happy would a visit so condescending make her
cousin Leeson!——Her cousin Leeson was not unworthy of my acquaintance:
and would take it for the greatest favour in the world.
I objected my dress. But the objection was not admitted. She bespoke a
supper of Mrs. Moore to be ready at nine.
Mr. Lovelace, vile hypocrite, and wicked deceiver! seeing, as he said,
my dislike to go, desired his Ladyship not to insist upon it.
Fondness for my company was pleaded. She begged me to oblige her: made
a motion to help me to my fan herself: and, in short, was so very
urgent, that my feet complied against my speech and my mind: and being,
in a manner, led to the coach by her, and made to step in first, she
followed me: and her pretended niece, and the wretch, followed her: and
away it drove.
Nothing but the height of affectionate complaisance passed all the way:
over and over, what a joy would this unexpected visit give her cousin
Leeson! What a pleasure must it be to such a mind as mine, to be able
to give so much joy to every body I came near!
The cruel, the savage seducer (as I have since recollected) was in a
rapture all the way; but yet such a sort of rapture, as he took visible
pains to check.
Hateful villain! how I abhor him!—What mischief must be then in his
plotting heart!—What a devoted victim must I be in all their eyes!
Though not pleased, I was nevertheless just then thoughtless of danger;
they endeavouring thus to lift me up above all apprehensions of that,
and above myself too.
But think, my dear, what a dreadful turn all had upon me, when, through
several streets and ways I knew nothing of, the coach slackening its
pace, came within sight of the dreadful house of the dreadfullest woman
in the world; as she proved to me.
Lord be good unto me! cried the poor fool, looking out of the coach—Mr.
Lovelace!—Madam! turning to the pretended Lady Betty!—Madam! turning to
the niece, my hands and eyes lifted up—Lord be good unto me!
What! What! What! my dear.
He pulled the string—What need to have come this way? said he—But since
we are, I will but ask a question—My dearest life, why this
apprehension?
The coachman stopped: his servant, who, with one of her’s was behind,
alighted—Ask, said he, if I have any letters? Who knows, my dearest
creature, turning to me, but we may already have one from the
Captain?—We will not go out of the coach!—Fear nothing—Why so
apprehensive?—Oh! these fine spirits!—cried the execrable insulter.
Dreadfully did my heart then misgive me: I was ready to faint. Why this
terror, my life? you shall not stir out of the coach but one question,
now the fellow has drove us this way.
Your lady will faint, cried the execrable Lady Betty, turning to him—My
dearest Niece! (niece I will call you, taking my hand)—we must alight,
if you are so ill.—Let us alight—only for a glass of water and
hartshorn—indeed we must alight.
No, no, no—I am well—quite well—Won’t the man drive on?—I am well—quite
well—indeed I am.—Man, drive on, putting my head out of the coach—Man,
drive on!—though my voice was too low to be heard.
The coach stopt at the door. How I trembled!
Dorcas came to the door, on its stopping.
My dearest creature, said the vile man, gasping, as it were for breath,
you shall not alight—Any letters for me, Dorcas?
There are two, Sir. And here is a gentleman, Mr. Belton, Sir, waits for
your honour; and has done so above an hour.
I’ll just speak to him. Open the door—You sha’n’t step out, my dear—A
letter perhaps from Captain already!—You sha’n’t step out, my dear.