History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
squire would have struck him. I would not have your honour be
melancholy, sir, nor despair; things may go better, as long as you are
sure of my lady, and that I am certain you may be; for she never will
be brought to consent to marry any other man. Indeed I am terribly
afeared the squire will do her a mischief in his passion, for he is a
prodigious passionate gentleman; and I am afeared too the poor lady
will be brought to break her heart, for she is as tender-hearted as a
chicken. It is pity, methinks, she had not a little of my courage. If
I was in love with a young man, and my father offered to lock me up,
I'd tear his eyes out but I'd come at him; but then there's a great
fortune in the case, which it is in her father's power either to give
her or not; that, to be sure, may make some difference.”
Whether Jones gave strict attention to all the foregoing harangue, or
whether it was for want of any vacancy in the discourse, I cannot
determine; but he never once attempted to answer, nor did she once
stop till Partridge came running into the room, and informed him that
the great lady was upon the stairs.
Nothing could equal the dilemma to which Jones was now reduced. Honour
knew nothing of any acquaintance that subsisted between him and Lady
Bellaston, and she was almost the last person in the world to whom he
would have communicated it. In this hurry and distress, he took (as is
common enough) the worst course, and, instead of exposing her to the
lady, which would have been of little consequence, he chose to expose
the lady to her; he therefore resolved to hide Honour, whom he had but
just time to convey behind the bed, and to draw the curtains.
The hurry in which Jones had been all day engaged on account of his
poor landlady and her family, the terrors occasioned by Mrs Honour,
and the confusion into which he was thrown by the sudden arrival of
Lady Bellaston, had altogether driven former thoughts out of his head;
so that it never once occurred to his memory to act the part of a sick
man; which, indeed, neither the gaiety of his dress, nor the freshness
of his countenance, would have at all supported.
He received her ladyship therefore rather agreeably to her desires
than to her expectations, with all the good humour he could muster in
his countenance, and without any real or affected appearance of the
least disorder.
Lady Bellaston no sooner entered the room, than she squatted herself
down on the bed: “So, my dear Jones,” said she, “you find nothing can
detain me long from you. Perhaps I ought to be angry with you, that I
have neither seen nor heard from you all day; for I perceive your
distemper would have suffered you to come abroad: nay, I suppose you
have not sat in your chamber all day drest up like a fine lady to see
company after a lying-in; but, however, don't think I intend to scold
you; for I never will give you an excuse for the cold behaviour of a
husband, by putting on the ill-humour of a wife.”
“Nay, Lady Bellaston,” said Jones, “I am sure your ladyship will not
upbraid me with neglect of duty, when I only waited for orders. Who,
my dear creature, hath reason to complain? Who missed an appointment
last night, and left an unhappy man to expect, and wish, and sigh, and
languish?”
“Do not mention it, my dear Mr Jones,” cried she. “If you knew the
occasion, you would pity me. In short, it is impossible to conceive
what women of condition are obliged to suffer from the impertinence of
fools, in order to keep up the farce of the world. I am glad, however,
all your languishing and wishing have done you no harm; for you never
looked better in your life. Upon my faith! Jones, you might at this
instant sit for the picture of Adonis.”
There are certain words of provocation which men of honour hold can
properly be answered only by a blow. Among lovers possibly there may
be some expressions which can be answered only by a kiss. Now the
compliment which Lady Bellaston now made Jones seems to be of this
kind, especially as it was attended with a look, in which the lady
conveyed more soft ideas than it was possible to express with her
tongue.
Jones was certainly at this instant in one of the most disagreeable
and distressed situations imaginable; for, to carry on the comparison
we made use of before, though the provocation was given by the lady,
Jones could not receive satisfaction, nor so much as offer to ask it,
in the presence of a third person; seconds in this kind of duels not
being according to the law of arms. As this objection did not occur to
Lady Bellaston, who was ignorant of any other woman being there but
herself, she waited some time in great astonishment for an answer from
Jones, who, conscious of the ridiculous figure he made, stood at a
distance, and, not daring to give the proper answer, gave none at all.
Nothing can be imagined more comic, nor yet more tragical, than this
scene would have been if it had lasted much longer. The lady had
already changed colour two or three times; had got up from the bed and
sat down again, while Jones was wishing the ground to sink under him,
or the house to fall on his head, when an odd accident freed him from
an embarrassment out of which neither the eloquence of a Cicero, nor
the politics of a Machiavel, could have delivered him, without utter
disgrace.
This was no other than the arrival of young Nightingale, dead drunk;
or rather in that state of drunkenness which deprives men of the use
of their reason without depriving them of the use of their limbs.
Mrs Miller and her daughters were in bed, and Partridge was smoaking
his pipe by the kitchen fire; so that he arrived at Mr Jones's
chamber-door without any interruption. This he burst open, and was
entering without any ceremony, when Jones started from his seat and
ran to oppose him, which he did so effectually, that Nightingale never
came far enough within the door to see who was sitting on the bed.
Nightingale had in reality mistaken Jones's apartment for that in
which himself had lodged; he therefore strongly insisted on coming in,
often swearing that he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones,
however, prevailed over him, and delivered him into the hands of
Partridge, whom the noise on the stairs soon summoned to his master's
assistance.
And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own apartment,
where at the very instant of his entrance he heard Lady Bellaston
venting an exclamation, though not a very loud one; and at the same
time saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast agitation, which
in a lady of a tender constitution would have been an hysteric fit.
In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle between the two men,
of which she did not know what would be the issue, as she heard
Nightingale swear many oaths he would come to his own bed, attempted
to retire to her known place of hiding, which to her great confusion
she found already occupied by another.
“Is this usage to be borne, Mr Jones?” cries the lady.--“Basest of
men?----What wretch is this to whom you have exposed me?” “Wretch!”
cries Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place of
concealment--“Marry come up!----Wretch forsooth?----as poor a wretch
as I am, I am honest; this is more than some folks who are richer can
say.”
Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take off the edge of
Mrs Honour's resentment, as a more experienced gallant would have
done, fell to cursing his stars, and lamenting himself as the most
unfortunate man in the world; and presently after, addressing himself
to Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd protestations of
innocence. By this time the lady, having recovered the use of her
reason, which she had as ready as any woman in the world, especially
on such occasions, calmly replied: “Sir, you need make no apologies, I
see now who the person is; I did not at first know Mrs Honour: but now
I do, I can suspect nothing wrong between her and you; and I am sure
she is a woman of too good sense to put any wrong constructions upon
my visit to you; I have been always her friend, and it may be in my
power to be much more hereafter.”
Mrs Honour was altogether as placable as she was passionate. Hearing,
therefore, Lady Bellaston assume the soft tone, she likewise softened
hers.----“I'm sure, madam,” says she, “I have been always ready to
acknowledge your ladyship's friendships to me; sure I never had so
good a friend as your ladyship----and to be sure, now I see it is your
ladyship that I spoke to, I could almost bite my tongue off for very
mad.--I constructions upon your ladyship--to be sure it doth not
become a servant as I am to think about such a great lady--I mean I
was a servant: for indeed I am nobody's servant now, the more
miserable wretch is me.--I have lost the best mistress----” Here
Honour thought fit to produce a shower of tears.--“Don't cry, child,”
says the good lady; “ways perhaps may be found to make you amends.
Come to me to-morrow morning.” She then took up her fan which lay on
the ground, and without even looking at Jones walked very majestically
out of the room; there being a kind of dignity in the impudence of
women of quality, which their inferiors vainly aspire to attain to in
circumstances of this nature.
Jones followed her downstairs, often offering her his hand, which she
absolutely refused him, and got into her chair without taking any
notice of him as he stood bowing before her.
At his return upstairs, a long dialogue past between him and Mrs
Honour, while she was adjusting herself after the discomposure she had
undergone. The subject of this was his infidelity to her young lady;
on which she enlarged with great bitterness; but Jones at last found
means to reconcile her, and not only so, but to obtain a promise of
most inviolable secrecy, and that she would the next morning endeavour
to find out Sophia, and bring him a further account of the proceedings
of the squire.
Thus ended this unfortunate adventure to the satisfaction only of Mrs
Honour; for a secret (as some of my readers will perhaps acknowledge
from experience) is often a very valuable possession: and that not
only to those who faithfully keep it, but sometimes to such as whisper
it about till it come to the ears of every one except the ignorant
person who pays for the supposed concealing of what is publickly
known.
Chapter viii.
Short and sweet.
Notwithstanding all the obligations she had received from Jones, Mrs
Miller could not forbear in the morning some gentle remonstrances for
the hurricane which had happened the preceding night in his chamber.
These were, however, so gentle and so friendly, professing, and indeed
truly, to aim at nothing more than the real good of Mr Jones himself,
that he, far from being offended, thankfully received the admonition
of the good woman, expressed much concern for what had past, excused
it as well as he could, and promised never more to bring the same
disturbances into the house.
But though Mrs Miller did not refrain from a short expostulation in
private at their first meeting, yet the occasion of his being summoned
downstairs that morning was of a much more agreeable kind, being
indeed to perform the office of a father to Miss Nancy, and to give
her in wedlock to Mr Nightingale, who was now ready drest, and full as
sober as many of my readers will think a man ought to be who receives
a wife in so imprudent a manner.
And here perhaps it may be proper to account for the escape which this
young gentleman had made from his uncle, and for his appearance in the
condition in which we have seen him the night before.
Now when the uncle had arrived at his lodgings with his nephew, partly
to indulge his own inclinations (for he dearly loved his bottle), and