History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
and hearing likewise whose it was (for as the squire more than once
roared forth the word daughter, so Sophia, in the midst of her
struggling, cried out upon her father), he thought proper to
relinquish his prey, having only disordered her handkerchief, and with
his rude lips committed violence on her lovely neck.
If the reader's imagination doth not assist me, I shall never be able
to describe the situation of these two persons when Western came into
the room. Sophia tottered into a chair, where she sat disordered,
pale, breathless, bursting with indignation at Lord Fellamar;
affrighted, and yet more rejoiced, at the arrival of her father.
His lordship sat down near her, with the bag of his wig hanging over
one of his shoulders, the rest of his dress being somewhat disordered,
and rather a greater proportion of linen than is usual appearing at
his bosom. As to the rest, he was amazed, affrighted, vexed, and
ashamed.
As to Squire Western, he happened at this time to be overtaken by an
enemy, which very frequently pursues, and seldom fails to overtake,
most of the country gentlemen in this kingdom. He was, literally
speaking, drunk; which circumstance, together with his natural
impetuosity, could produce no other effect than his running
immediately up to his daughter, upon whom he fell foul with his tongue
in the most inveterate manner; nay, he had probably committed violence
with his hands, had not the parson interposed, saying, “For heaven's
sake, sir, animadvert that you are in the house of a great lady. Let
me beg you to mitigate your wrath; it should minister a fulness of
satisfaction that you have found your daughter; for as to revenge, it
belongeth not unto us. I discern great contrition in the countenance
of the young lady. I stand assured, if you will forgive her, she will
repent her of all past offences, and return unto her duty.”
The strength of the parson's arms had at first been of more service
than the strength of his rhetoric. However, his last words wrought
some effect, and the squire answered, “I'll forgee her if she wull ha
un. If wot ha un, Sophy, I'll forgee thee all. Why dost unt speak?
Shat ha un! d--n me, shat ha un! Why dost unt answer? Was ever such a
stubborn tuoad?”
“Let me intreat you, sir, to be a little more moderate,” said the
parson; “you frighten the young lady so, that you deprive her of all
power of utterance.”
“Power of mine a--,” answered the squire. “You take her part then,
you do? A pretty parson, truly, to side with an undutiful child! Yes,
yes, I will gee you a living with a pox. I'll gee un to the devil
sooner.”
“I humbly crave your pardon,” said the parson; “I assure your worship
I meant no such matter.”
My Lady Bellaston now entered the room, and came up to the squire, who
no sooner saw her, than, resolving to follow the instructions of his
sister, he made her a very civil bow, in the rural manner, and paid
her some of his best compliments. He then immediately proceeded to his
complaints, and said, “There, my lady cousin; there stands the most
undutiful child in the world; she hankers after a beggarly rascal, and
won't marry one of the greatest matches in all England, that we have
provided for her.”
“Indeed, cousin Western,” answered the lady, “I am persuaded you wrong
my cousin. I am sure she hath a better understanding. I am convinced
she will not refuse what she must be sensible is so much to her
advantage.”
This was a wilful mistake in Lady Bellaston, for she well knew whom Mr
Western meant; though perhaps she thought he would easily be
reconciled to his lordship's proposals.
“Do you hear there,” quoth the squire, “what her ladyship says? All
your family are for the match. Come, Sophy, be a good girl, and be
dutiful, and make your father happy.”
“If my death will make you happy, sir,” answered Sophia, “you will
shortly be so.”
“It's a lye, Sophy; it's a d--n'd lye, and you know it,” said the
squire.
“Indeed, Miss Western,” said Lady Bellaston, “you injure your father;
he hath nothing in view but your interest in this match; and I and all
your friends must acknowledge the highest honour done to your family
in the proposal.”
“Ay, all of us,” quoth the squire; “nay, it was no proposal of mine.
She knows it was her aunt proposed it to me first.--Come, Sophy, once
more let me beg you to be a good girl, and gee me your consent before
your cousin.”
“Let me give him your hand, cousin,” said the lady. “It is the fashion
now-a-days to dispense with time and long courtships.”
“Pugh!” said the squire, “what signifies time; won't they have time
enough to court afterwards? People may court very well after they have
been a-bed together.”
As Lord Fellamar was very well assured that he was meant by Lady
Bellaston, so, never having heard nor suspected a word of Blifil, he
made no doubt of his being meant by the father. Coming up, therefore,
to the squire, he said, “Though I have not the honour, sir, of being
personally known to you, yet, as I find I have the happiness to have
my proposals accepted, let me intercede, sir, in behalf of the young
lady, that she may not be more solicited at this time.”
“You intercede, sir!” said the squire; “why, who the devil are you?”
“Sir, I am Lord Fellamar,” answered he, “and am the happy man whom I
hope you have done the honour of accepting for a son-in-law.”
“You are a son of a b----,” replied the squire, “for all your laced
coat. You my son-in-law, and be d--n'd to you!”
“I shall take more from you, sir, than from any man,” answered the
lord; “but I must inform you that I am not used to hear such language
without resentment.”
“Resent my a--,” quoth the squire. “Don't think I am afraid of such a
fellow as thee art! because hast got a spit there dangling at thy
side. Lay by your spit, and I'll give thee enough of meddling with
what doth not belong to thee. I'll teach you to father-in-law me. I'll
lick thy jacket.”
“It's very well, sir,” said my lord, “I shall make no disturbance
before the ladies. I am very well satisfied. Your humble servant, sir;
Lady Bellaston, your most obedient.”
His lordship was no sooner gone, than Lady Bellaston, coming up to Mr
Western, said, “Bless me, sir, what have you done? You know not whom
you have affronted; he is a nobleman of the first rank and fortune,
and yesterday made proposals to your daughter; and such as I am sure
you must accept with the highest pleasure.”
“Answer for yourself, lady cousin,” said the squire, “I will have
nothing to do with any of your lords. My daughter shall have an honest
country gentleman; I have pitched upon one for her--and she shall ha'
un.--I am sorry for the trouble she hath given your ladyship with all
my heart.” Lady Bellaston made a civil speech upon the word trouble;
to which the squire answered--“Why, that's kind--and I would do as
much for your ladyship. To be sure relations should do for one
another. So I wish your ladyship a good night.--Come, madam, you must
go along with me by fair means, or I'll have you carried down to the
coach.”
Sophia said she would attend him without force; but begged to go in a
chair, for she said she should not be able to ride any other way.
“Prithee,” cries the squire, “wout unt persuade me canst not ride in a
coach, wouldst? That's a pretty thing surely! No, no, I'll never let
thee out of my sight any more till art married, that I promise thee.”
Sophia told him, she saw he was resolved to break her heart. “O break
thy heart and be d--n'd,” quoth he, “if a good husband will break it.
I don't value a brass varden, not a halfpenny, of any undutiful b--
upon earth.” He then took violent hold of her hand; upon which the
parson once more interfered, begging him to use gentle methods. At
that the squire thundered out a curse, and bid the parson hold his
tongue, saying, “At'nt in pulpit now? when art a got up there I never
mind what dost say; but I won't be priest-ridden, nor taught how to
behave myself by thee. I wish your ladyship a good-night. Come along,
Sophy; be a good girl, and all shall be well. Shat ha' un, d--n me,
shat ha' un!”
Mrs Honour appeared below-stairs, and with a low curtesy to the squire
offered to attend her mistress; but he pushed her away, saying, “Hold,
madam, hold, you come no more near my house.” “And will you take my
maid away from me?” said Sophia. “Yes, indeed, madam, will I,” cries
the squire: “you need not fear being without a servant; I will get you
another maid, and a better maid than this, who, I'd lay five pounds to
a crown, is no more a maid than my grannum. No, no, Sophy, she shall
contrive no more escapes, I promise you.” He then packed up his
daughter and the parson into the hackney coach, after which he mounted
himself, and ordered it to drive to his lodgings. In the way thither
he suffered Sophia to be quiet, and entertained himself with reading a
lecture to the parson on good manners, and a proper behaviour to his
betters.
It is possible he might not so easily have carried off his daughter
from Lady Bellaston, had that good lady desired to have detained her;
but, in reality, she was not a little pleased with the confinement
into which Sophia was going; and as her project with Lord Fellamar had
failed of success, she was well contented that other violent methods
were now going to be used in favour of another man.
Chapter vi.
By what means the squire came to discover his daughter.
Though the reader, in many histories, is obliged to digest much more
unaccountable appearances than this of Mr Western, without any
satisfaction at all; yet, as we dearly love to oblige him whenever it
is in our power, we shall now proceed to shew by what method the
squire discovered where his daughter was.
In the third chapter, then, of the preceding book, we gave a hint (for
it is not our custom to unfold at any time more than is necessary for
the occasion) that Mrs Fitzpatrick, who was very desirous of
reconciling her uncle and aunt Western, thought she had a probable
opportunity, by the service of preserving Sophia from committing the
same crime which had drawn on herself the anger of her family. After
much deliberation, therefore, she resolved to inform her aunt Western
where her cousin was, and accordingly she writ the following letter,
which we shall give the reader at length, for more reasons than one.
“HONOURED MADAM,
“The occasion of my writing this will perhaps make a letter of mine
agreeable to my dear aunt, for the sake of one of her nieces, though
I have little reason to hope it will be so on the account of
another.
“Without more apology, as I was coming to throw my unhappy self at
your feet, I met, by the strangest accident in the world, my cousin
Sophy, whose history you are better acquainted with than myself,
though, alas! I know infinitely too much; enough indeed to satisfy
me, that unless she is immediately prevented, she is in danger of
running into the same fatal mischief, which, by foolishly and
ignorantly refusing your most wise and prudent advice, I have
unfortunately brought on myself.
“In short, I have seen the man, nay, I was most part of yesterday in
his company, and a charming young fellow I promise you he is. By
what accident he came acquainted with me is too tedious to tell you
now; but I have this morning changed my lodgings to avoid him, lest
he should by my means discover my cousin; for he doth not yet know
where she is, and it is adviseable he should not, till my uncle hath
secured her.----No time therefore is to be lost; and I need only
inform you, that she is now with Lady Bellaston, whom I have seen,
and who hath, I find, a design of concealing her from her family.
You know, madam, she is a strange woman; but nothing could misbecome