quite discouraged, not at all doubting but that the jade had a right
scent of things, and that she knew and remembered my face, but had
artfully concealed her knowledge of me till she might perhaps do it more
to my disadvantage. I told all this to Amy, for she was all the relief I
had. The poor soul (Amy) was ready to hang herself, that, as she said,
she had been the occasion of it all; and that if I was ruined (which was
the word I always used to her), she had ruined me; and she tormented
herself about it so much, that I was sometimes fain to comfort her and
myself too.
What Amy vexed herself at was, chiefly, that she should be surprised so
by the girl, as she called her; I mean surprised into a discovery of
herself to the girl; which indeed was a false step of Amy's, and so I
had often told her. But it was to no purpose to talk of that now, the
business was, how to get clear of the girl's suspicions, and of the girl
too, for it looked more threatening every day than other; and if I was
uneasy at what Amy had told me of her rambling and rattling to her
(Amy), I had a thousand times as much reason to be uneasy now, when she
had chopped upon me so unhappily as this; and not only had seen my face,
but knew too where I lived, what name I went by, and the like.
And I am not come to the worst of it yet neither, for a few days after
my friend the Quaker had made her visit, and excused me on the account
of indisposition, as if they had done it in over and above kindness,
because they had been told I was not well, they come both directly to my
lodgings to visit me: the captain's wife and my daughter (who she called
sister), and the captain, to show them the place; the captain only
brought them to the door, put them in, and went away upon some business.
Had not the kind Quaker, in a lucky moment, come running in before them,
they had not only clapped in upon me, in the parlour, as it had been a
surprise, but which would have been a thousand times worse, had seen Amy
with me; I think if that had happened, I had had no remedy but to take
the girl by herself, and have made myself known to her, which would have
been all distraction.
But the Quaker, a lucky creature to me, happened to see them come to the
door, before they rung the bell, and instead of going to let them in,
came running in with some confusion in her countenance, and told me who
was a-coming; at which Amy run first and I after her, and bid the Quaker
come up as soon as she had let them in.
I was going to bid her deny me, but it came into my thoughts, that
having been represented so much out of order, it would have looked very
odd; besides, I knew the honest Quaker, though she would do anything
else for me, would not lie for me, and it would have been hard to have
desired it of her.
After she had let them in, and brought them into the parlour, she came
up to Amy and I, who were hardly out of the fright, and yet were
congratulating one another that Amy was not surprised again.
They paid their visit in form, and I received them as formally, but took
occasion two or three times to hint that I was so ill that I was afraid
I should not be able to go to Holland, at least not so soon as the
captain must go off; and made my compliment how sorry I was to be
disappointed of the advantage of their company and assistance in the
voyage; and sometimes I talked as if I thought I might stay till the
captain returned, and would be ready to go again; then the Quaker put
in, that then I might be too far gone, meaning with child, that I should
not venture at all; and then (as if she should be pleased with it)
added, she hoped I would stay and lie in at her house; so as this
carried its own face with it, 'twas well enough.
But it was now high time to talk of this to my husband, which, however,
was not the greatest difficulty before me; for after this and other chat
had taken up some time, the young fool began her tattle again; and two
or three times she brought it in, that I was so like a lady that she had
the honour to know at the other end of the town, that she could not put
that lady out of her mind when I was by, and once or twice I fancied the
girl was ready to cry; by and by she was at it again, and at last I
plainly saw tears in her eyes; upon which I asked her if the lady was
dead, because she seemed to be in some concern for her. She made me much
easier by her answer than ever she did before; she said she did not
really know, but she believed she was dead.
This, I say, a little relieved my thoughts, but I was soon down again;
for, after some time, the jade began to grow talkative; and as it was
plain that she had told all that her head could retain of Roxana, and
the days of joy which I had spent at that part of the town, another
accident had like to have blown us all up again.
I was in a kind of dishabille when they came, having on a loose robe,
like a morning-gown, but much after the Italian way; and I had not
altered it when I went up, only dressed my head a little; and as I had
been represented as having been lately very ill, so the dress was
becoming enough for a chamber.
This morning vest, or robe, call it as you please, was more shaped to
the body than we wear them since, showing the body in its true shape,
and perhaps a little too plainly if it had been to be worn where any men
were to come; but among ourselves it was well enough, especially for hot
weather; the colour was green, figured, and the stuff a French damask,
very rich.
This gown or vest put the girl's tongue a running again, and her sister,
as she called her, prompted it; for as they both admired my vest, and
were taken up much about the beauty of the dress, the charming damask,
the noble trimming, and the like, my girl puts in a word to the sister
(captain's wife), "This is just such a thing as I told you," says she,
"the lady danced in." "What," says the captain's wife, "the Lady Roxana
that you told me of? Oh! that's a charming story," says she, "tell it my
lady." I could not avoid saying so too, though from my soul I wished her
in heaven for but naming it; nay, I won't say but if she had been
carried t'other way it had been much as one to me, if I could but have
been rid of her, and her story too, for when she came to describe the
Turkish dress, it was impossible but the Quaker, who was a sharp,
penetrating creature, should receive the impression in a more dangerous
manner than the girl, only that indeed she was not so dangerous a
person; for if she had known it all, I could more freely have trusted
her than I could the girl, by a great deal, nay, I should have been
perfectly easy in her.
However, as I have said, her talk made me dreadfully uneasy, and the
more when the captain's wife mentioned but the name of Roxana. What my
face might do towards betraying me I knew not, because I could not see
myself, but my heart beat as if it would have jumped out at my mouth,
and my passion was so great, that, for want of vent, I thought I should
have burst. In a word, I was in a kind of a silent rage, for the force I
was under of restraining my passion was such as I never felt the like
of. I had no vent, nobody to open myself to, or to make a complaint to,
for my relief; I durst not leave the room by any means, for then she
would have told all the story in my absence, and I should have been
perpetually uneasy to know what she had said, or had not said; so that,
in a word, I was obliged to sit and hear her tell all the story of
Roxana, that is to say, of myself, and not know at the same time whether
she was in earnest or in jest, whether she knew me or no; or, in short,
whether I was to be exposed, or not exposed.
She began only in general with telling where she lived, what a place she
had of it, how gallant a company her lady had always had in the house;
how they used to sit up all night in the house gaming and dancing; what
a fine lady her mistress was, and what a vast deal of money the upper
servants got; as for her, she said, her whole business was in the next
house, so that she got but little, except one night that there was
twenty guineas given to be divided among the servants, when, she said,
she got two guineas and a half for her share.
She went on, and told them how many servants there was, and how they
were ordered; but, she said, there was one Mrs. Amy who was over them
all; and that she, being the lady's favourite, got a great deal. She did
not know, she said, whether Amy was her Christian name or her surname,
but she supposed it was her surname; that they were told she got
threescore pieces of gold at one time, being the same night that the
rest of the servants had the twenty guineas divided among them.
I put in at that word, and said it was a vast deal to give away. "Why,"
says I, "it was a portion for a servant." "O madam!" says she, "it was
nothing to what she got afterwards; we that were servants hated her
heartily for it; that is to say, we wished it had been our lot in her
stead." Then I said again, "Why, it was enough to get her a good
husband, and settle her for the world, if she had sense to manage it."
"So it might, to be sure, madam," says she, "for we were told she laid
up above £500; but, I suppose, Mrs. Amy was too sensible that her
character would require a good portion to put her off."
"Oh," said I, "if that was the case it was another thing."
"Nay," says she, "I don't know, but they talked very much of a young
lord that was very great with her."
"And pray what came of her at last?" said I, for I was willing to hear a
little (seeing she would talk of it) what she had to say, as well of Amy
as of myself.
"I don't know, madam," said she, "I never heard of her for several
years, till t'other day I happened to see her."
"Did you indeed?" says I (and made mighty strange of it); "what! and in
rags, it may be," said I; "that's often the end of such creatures."
"Just the contrary, madam," says she. "She came to visit an acquaintance
of mine, little thinking, I suppose, to see me, and, I assure you, she
came in her coach."
"In her coach!" said I; "upon my word, she had made her market then; I
suppose she made hay while the sun shone. Was she married, pray?"
"I believe she had been married, madam," says she, "but it seems she had
been at the East Indies; and if she was married, it was there, to be
sure. I think she said she had good luck in the Indies."
"That is, I suppose," said I, "had buried her husband there."
"I understood it so, madam," says she, "and that she had got his
estate."
"Was that her good luck?" said I; "it might be good to her, as to the
money indeed, but it was but the part of a jade to call it good luck."
Thus far our discourse of Mrs. Amy went, and no farther, for she knew no
more of her; but then the Quaker unhappily, though undesignedly, put in
a question, which the honest good-humoured creature would have been far
from doing if she had known that I had carried on the discourse of Amy
on purpose to drop Roxana out of the conversation.
But I was not to be made easy too soon. The Quaker put in, "But I think
thou saidst something was behind of thy mistress; what didst thou call
her? Roxana, was it not? Pray, what became of her?"
"Ay, ay, Roxana," says the captain's wife; "pray, sister, let's hear the
story of Roxana; it will divert my lady, I'm sure."
"That's a damned lie," said I to myself; "if you knew how little 't
would divert me, you would have too much advantage over me." Well, I saw
no remedy, but the story must come on, so I prepared to hear the worst
of it.
"Roxana!" says she, "I know not what to say of her; she was so much
above us, and so seldom seen, that we could know little of her but by
report; but we did sometimes see her too; she was a charming woman
indeed, and the footmen used to say that she was to be sent for to
court."
"To court!" said I; "why, she was at court, wasn't she? the Pall Mall is
not far from Whitehall."
"Yes, madam," says she, "but I mean another way."
"I understand thee," says the Quaker; "thou meanest, I suppose, to be
mistress to the king."
"Yes, madam," said she.
I cannot help confessing what a reserve of pride still was left in me;
and though I dreaded the sequel of the story, yet when she talked how
handsome and how fine a lady this Roxana was, I could not help being
pleased and tickled with it, and put in questions two or three times of
how handsome she was; and was she really so fine a woman as they talked
of; and the like, on purpose to hear her repeat what the people's
opinion of me was, and how I had behaved.
"Indeed," says she, at last, "she was a most beautiful creature as ever
I saw in my life." "But then," said I, "you never had the opportunity to
see her but when she was set out to the best advantage."
"Yes, yes, madam," says she, "I have seen her several times in her
_déshabille_. And I can assure you, she was a very fine woman; and that
which was more still, everybody said she did not paint."
This was still agreeable to me one way; but there was a devilish sting
in the tail of it all, and this last article was one; wherein she said
she had seen me several times in my _déshabille_. This put me in mind
that then she must certainly know me, and it would come out at last;
which was death to me but to think of.
"Well, but, sister," says the captain's wife, "tell my lady about the
ball; that's the best of all the story; and of Roxana's dancing in a
fine outlandish dress."
"That's one of the brightest parts of her story indeed," says the girl.
"The case was this: we had balls and meetings in her ladyship's
apartments every week almost; but one time my lady invited all the
nobles to come such a time, and she would give them a ball; and there
was a vast crowd indeed," says she.
"I think you said the king was there, sister, didn't you?"
"No, madam," says she, "that was the second time, when they said the
king had heard how finely the Turkish lady danced, and that he was
there to see her; but the king, if his Majesty was there, came
disguised."
"That is, what they call incog.," says my friend the Quaker; "thou canst
not think the king would disguise himself." "Yes," says the girl, "it
was so; he did not come in public with his guards, but we all knew which
was the king well enough, that is to say, which they said was the king."
"Well," says the captain's wife, "about the Turkish dress; pray let us
hear that." "Why," says she, "my lady sat in a fine little drawing-room,
which opened into the great room, and where she received the compliments
of the company; and when the dancing began, a great lord," says she, "I
forget who they called him (but he was a very great lord or duke, I
don't know which), took her out, and danced with her; but after a while,
my lady on a sudden shut the drawing-room, and ran upstairs with her
woman, Mrs. Amy; and though she did not stay long (for I suppose she had
contrived it all beforehand), she came down dressed in the strangest
figure that ever I saw in my life; but it was exceeding fine."
Here she went on to describe the dress, as I have done already; but did
it so exactly, that I was surprised at the manner of her telling it;
there was not a circumstance of it left out.
I was now under a new perplexity, for this young slut gave so complete
an account of everything in the dress, that my friend the Quaker
coloured at it, and looked two or three times at me, to see if I did not
do so too; for (as she told me afterwards) she immediately perceived it
was the same dress that she had seen me have on, as I have said before.
However, as she saw I took no notice of it, she kept her thought private
to herself; and I did so too, as well as I could.
I put in two or three times, that she had a good memory, that could be
so particular in every part of such a thing.
"Oh, madam!" says she, "we that were servants, stood by ourselves in a
corner, but so as we could see more than some strangers; besides," says
she, "it was all our conversation for several days in the family, and
what one did not observe another did." "Why," says I to her, "this was
no Persian dress; only, I suppose your lady was some French comedian,
that is to say, a stage Amazon, that put on a counterfeit dress to
please the company, such as they used in the play of Tamerlane at Paris,
or some such."
"No, indeed, madam," says she, "I assure you my lady was no actress; she
was a fine modest lady, fit to be a princess; everybody said if she was
a mistress, she was fit to be a mistress to none but the king; and they
talked her up for the king as if it had really been so. Besides, madam,"
says she, "my lady danced a Turkish dance; all the lords and gentry said
it was so; and one of them swore he had seen it danced in Turkey
himself, so that it could not come from the theatre at Paris; and then
the name Roxana," says she, "was a Turkish name."
"Well," said I, "but that was not your lady's name, I suppose?"
"No, no, madam," said she, "I know that. I know my lady's name and
family very well; Roxana was not her name, that's true, indeed."
Here she run me aground again, for I durst not ask her what was Roxana's
real name, lest she had really dealt with the devil, and had boldly
given my own name in for answer; so that I was still more and more
afraid that the girl had really gotten the secret somewhere or other;
though I could not imagine neither how that could be.
In a word, I was sick of the discourse, and endeavoured many ways to put
an end to it, but it was impossible; for the captain's wife, who called
her sister, prompted her, and pressed her to tell it, most ignorantly
thinking that it would be a pleasant tale to all of us.
Two or three times the Quaker put in, that this Lady Roxana had a good
stock of assurance; and that it was likely, if she had been in Turkey,
she had lived with, or been kept by, some great bashaw there. But still
she would break in upon all such discourse, and fly out into the most
extravagant praises of her mistress, the famed Roxana. I run her down as
some scandalous woman; that it was not possible to be otherwise; but she
would not hear of it; her lady was a person of such and such
qualifications that nothing but an angel was like her, to be sure; and
yet, after all she could say, her own account brought her down to this,
that, in short, her lady kept little less than a gaming ordinary; or, as
it would be called in the times since that, an assembly for gallantry
and play.
All this while I was very uneasy, as I said before, and yet the whole
story went off again without any discovery, only that I seemed a little
concerned that she should liken me to this gay lady, whose character I
pretended to run down very much, even upon the foot of her own relation.
But I was not at the end of my mortifications yet, neither, for now my
innocent Quaker threw out an unhappy expression, which put me upon the
tenters again. Says she to me, "This lady's habit, I fancy, is just such
a one as thine, by the description of it;" and then turning to the
captain's wife, says she, "I fancy my friend has a finer Turkish or
Persian dress, a great deal." "Oh," says the girl, "'tis impossible to
be finer; my lady's," says she, "was all covered with gold and diamonds;
her hair and head-dress, I forget the name they gave it," said she,
"shone like the stars, there were so many jewels in it."
I never wished my good friend the Quaker out of my company before now;
but, indeed, I would have given some guineas to have been rid of her
just now; for beginning to be curious in the comparing the two dresses,
she innocently began a description of mine; and nothing terrified me so
much as the apprehension lest she should importune me to show it, which
I was resolved I would never agree to. But before it came to this, she
pressed my girl to describe the tyhaia, or head-dress, which she did so
cleverly that the Quaker could not help saying mine was just such a one;
and after several other similitudes, all very vexatious to me, out comes
the kind motion to me to let the ladies see my dress; and they joined
their eager desires of it, even to importunity.
I desired to be excused, though I had little to say at first why I
declined it; but at last it came into my head to say it was packed up
with my other clothes that I had least occasion for, in order to be sent
on board the captain's ship; but that if we lived to come to Holland
together (which, by the way, I resolved should never happen), then, I
told them, at unpacking my clothes, they should see me dressed in it;
but they must not expect I should dance in it, like the Lady Roxana in
all her fine things.
This carried it off pretty well; and getting over this, got over most of
the rest, and I began to be easy again; and, in a word, that I may
dismiss the story too, as soon as may be, I got rid at last of my
visitors, who I had wished gone two hours sooner than they intended it.
As soon as they were gone, I ran up to Amy, and gave vent to my passions
by telling her the whole story, and letting her see what mischiefs one
false step of hers had like, unluckily, to have involved us all in;
more, perhaps, than we could ever have lived to get through. Amy was
sensible of it enough, and was just giving her wrath a vent another way,
viz., by calling the poor girl all the damned jades and fools (and
sometimes worse names) that she could think of, in the middle of which
up comes my honest, good Quaker, and put an end to our discourse. The
Quaker came in smiling (for she was always soberly cheerful). "Well,"
says she, "thou art delivered at last; I come to joy thee of it; I
perceived thou wert tired grievously of thy visitors."
"Indeed," says I, "so I was; that foolish young girl held us all in a
Canterbury story; I thought she would never have done with it." "Why,
truly, I thought she was very careful to let thee know she was but a
cook-maid." "Ay," says I, "and at a gaming-house, or gaming-ordinary,
and at t'other end of the town too; all which (by the way) she might
know would add very little to her good name among us citizens."
"I can't think," says the Quaker, "but she had some other drift in that
long discourse; there's something else in her head," says she, "I am
satisfied of that." Thought I, "Are you satisfied of it? I am sure I am
the less satisfied for that; at least 'tis but small satisfaction to me
to hear you say so. What can this be?" says I; "and when will my
uneasiness have an end?" But this was silent, and to myself, you may be
sure. But in answer to my friend the Quaker, I returned by asking her a
question or two about it; as what she thought was in it, and why she
thought there was anything in it. "For," says I, "she can have nothing
in it relating to me."
"Nay," says the kind Quaker, "if she had any view towards thee, that's
no business of mine; and I should be far from desiring thee to inform
me."
This alarmed me again; not that I feared trusting the good-humoured
creature with it, if there had been anything of just suspicion in her;
but this affair was a secret I cared not to communicate to anybody.
However, I say, this alarmed me a little; for as I had concealed
everything from her, I was willing to do so still; but as she could not
but gather up abundance of things from the girl's discourse, which
looked towards me, so she was too penetrating to be put off with such
answers as might stop another's mouth. Only there was this double
felicity in it, first, that she was not inquisitive to know or find
anything out, and not dangerous if she had known the whole story. But,
as I say, she could not but gather up several circumstances from the
girl's discourse, as particularly the name of Amy, and the several
descriptions of the Turkish dress which my friend the Quaker had seen,
and taken so much notice of, as I have said above.
As for that, I might have turned it off by jesting with Amy, and asking
her who she lived with before she came to live with me. But that would
not do, for we had unhappily anticipated that way of talking, by having
often talked how long Amy had lived with me; and, which was still worse,
by having owned formerly that I had had lodgings in the Pall Mall; so
that all those things corresponded too well. There was only one thing
that helped me out with the Quaker, and that was the girl's having
reported how rich Mrs. Amy was grown, and that she kept her coach. Now,
as there might be many more Mrs. Amys besides mine, so it was not likely
to be my Amy, because she was far from such a figure as keeping her
coach; and this carried it off from the suspicions which the good
friendly Quaker might have in her head.