MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
MONDAY NIGHT, AUG. 28.
I doubt you will be all impatience that you have not heard from me since
mine of Thursday last. You would be still more so, if you knew that I
had by me a letter ready written.
I went early yesterday morning to Epsom; and found every thing disposed
according to the directions I had left on Friday; and at night the solemn
office was performed. Tourville was there; and behaved very decently,
and with greater concern than I thought he would ever have expressed for
any body.
Thomasine, they told me, in a kind of disguise, was in an obscure pew,
out of curiosity (for it seems she was far from showing any tokens of
grief) to see the last office performed for the man whose heart she had
so largely contributed to break.
I was obliged to stay till this afternoon, to settle several necessary
matters, and to direct inventories to be taken, in order for
appraisement; for every thing is to be turned into money, by his will.
I presented his sister with the hundred guineas the poor man left me as
his executor, and desired her to continue in the house, and take the
direction of every thing, till I could hear from his nephew at Antigua,
who is heir at law. He had left her but fifty pounds, although he knew
her indigence; and that it was owing to a vile husband, and not to
herself, that she was indigent.
The poor man left about two hundred pounds in money, and two hundred
pounds in two East-India bonds; and I will contrive, if I can, to make
up the poor woman's fifty pounds, and my hundred guineas, two hundred
pounds to her; and then she will have some little matter coming in
certain, which I will oblige her to keep out of the hands of a son, who
has completed that ruin which his father had very nearly effected.
I gave Tourville his twenty pounds, and will send you and Mowbray your's
by the first order.
And so much for poor Belton's affairs till I see you.
I got to town in the evening, and went directly to Smith's. I found Mrs.
Lovick and Mrs. Smith in the back shop, and I saw they had been both in
tears. They rejoiced to see me, however; and told me, that the Doctor
and Mr. Goddard were but just gone; as was also the worthy clergyman, who
often comes to pray by her; and all three were of opinion, that she would
hardly live to see the entrance of another week. I was not so much
surprised as grieved; for I had feared as much when I left her on
Saturday.
I sent up my compliments; and she returned, that she would take it for a
favour if I would call upon her in the morning by eight o'clock. Mrs.
Lovick told me that she had fainted away on Saturday, while she was
writing, as she had done likewise the day before; and having received
benefit then by a little turn in a chair, she was carried abroad again.
She returned somewhat better; and wrote till late; yet had a pretty good
night: and went to Covent-garden church in the morning; but came home so
ill that she was obliged to lie down.
When she arose, seeing how much grieved Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith were
for her, she made apologies for the trouble she gave them--You were
happy, said she, before I came hither. It was a cruel thing in me to
come amongst honest strangers, and to be sick, and die with you.
When they touched upon the irreconcileableness of her friends, I have had
ill offices done me to them, said she, and they do not know how ill I am;
nor will they believe any thing I should write. But yet I cannot
sometimes forbear thinking it a little hard, that out of so many near and
dear friends as I have living, not one of them will vouchsafe to look
upon me. No old servant, no old friend, proceeded she, to be permitted
to come near me, without being sure of incurring displeasure! And to
have such a great work to go through by myself, a young creature as I am,
and to have every thing to think of as to my temporal matters, and to
order, to my very interment! No dear mother, said the sweet sufferer, to
pray by me and bless me!--No kind sister to sooth and comfort me!--But
come, recollected she, how do I know but all is for the best--if I can
but make a right use of my discomforts?--Pray for me, Mrs. Lovick--pray
for me, Mrs. Smith, that I may--I have great need of your prayers.--This
cruel man has discomposed me. His persecutions have given me pain just
here, [putting her hand to her heart.] What a step has he made me take
to avoid him!--Who can touch pitch, and not be defiled? He had made a
bad spirit take possession of me, I think--broken in upon all my duties
--and will not yet, I doubt, let me be at rest. Indeed he is very cruel
--but this is one of my trials, I believe. By God's grace, I shall be
easier to-morrow, and especially if I have no more of his tormentings,
and if I can get a tolerable night. And I will sit up till eleven, that
I may.
She said, that though this was so heavy a day with her, she was at other
times, within these few days past especially, blessed with bright hours;
and particularly that she had now and then such joyful assurances, (which
she hoped were not presumptuous ones,) that God would receive her to his
mercy, that she could hardly contain herself, and was ready to think
herself above this earth while she was in it: And what, inferred she to
Mrs. Lovick, must be the state itself, the very aspirations after which
have often cast a beamy light through the thickest darkness, and, when I
have been at the lowest ebb, have dispelled the black clouds of
despondency?--As I hope they soon will this spirit of repining.
She had a pretty good night, it seems; and this morning went in a chair
to St. Dunstan's church.
The chairmen told Mrs. Smith, that after prayers (for she did not return
till between nine and ten) they carried her to a house in Fleet-street,
whither they never waited on her before. And where dost think this was?
--Why to an undertaker's! Good Heaven! what a woman is this! She went
into the back shop, and talked with the master of it about half an hour,
and came from him with great serenity; he waiting upon her to her chair
with a respectful countenance, but full of curiosity and seriousness.
'Tis evident that she went to bespeak her house that she talked of*--As
soon as you can, Sir, were her words to him as she got into the chair.
Mrs. Smith told me this with the same surprise and grief that I heard it.
* See Letter XXIII. of this volume.
She was very ill in the afternoon, having got cold either at St.
Dunstan's, or at chapel, and sent for the clergyman to pray by her; and
the women, unknown to her, sent both for Dr. H. and Mr. Goddard: who were
just gone, as I told you, when I came to pay my respects to her this
evening.
And thus have I recounted from the good women what passed to this night
since my absence.
I long for to-morrow, that I may see her: and yet it is such a melancholy
longing as I never experienced, and know not how to describe.