History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
they were laid to-day? and let me have the bacon cut very nice and
thin; for I can't endure anything that's gross.--Prithee try if you
can do a little tolerably for once, and don't think you have a
farmer's wife, or some of those creatures, in the house.”--The
landlady began then to handle her knife; but the other stopt her,
saying, “Good woman, I must insist upon your first washing your hands;
for I am extremely nice, and have been always used from my cradle to
have everything in the most elegant manner.”
The landlady, who governed herself with much difficulty, began now the
necessary preparations; for as to Susan, she was utterly rejected, and
with such disdain, that the poor wench was as hard put to it to
restrain her hands from violence as her mistress had been to hold her
tongue. This indeed Susan did not entirely; for, though she literally
kept it within her teeth, yet there it muttered many “marry-come-ups,
as good flesh and blood as yourself;” with other such indignant
phrases.
While the supper was preparing, Mrs Abigail began to lament she had
not ordered a fire in the parlour; but, she said, that was now too
late. “However,” said she, “I have novelty to recommend a kitchen; for
I do not believe I ever eat in one before.” Then, turning to the
post-boys, she asked them, “Why they were not in the stable with their
horses? If I must eat my hard fare here, madam,” cries she to the
landlady, “I beg the kitchen may be kept clear, that I may not be
surrounded with all the blackguards in town: as for you, sir,” says
she to Partridge, “you look somewhat like a gentleman, and may sit
still if you please; I don't desire to disturb anybody but mob.”
“Yes, yes, madam,” cries Partridge, “I am a gentleman, I do assure
you, and I am not so easily to be disturbed. _Non semper vox casualis
est verbo nominativus_.” This Latin she took to be some affront, and
answered, “You may be a gentleman, sir; but you don't show yourself as
one to talk Latin to a woman.” Partridge made a gentle reply, and
concluded with more Latin; upon which she tossed up her nose, and
contented herself by abusing him with the name of a great scholar.
The supper being now on the table, Mrs Abigail eat very heartily for
so delicate a person; and, while a second course of the same was by
her order preparing, she said, “And so, madam, you tell me your house
is frequented by people of great quality?”
The landlady answered in the affirmative, saying, “There were a great
many very good quality and gentlefolks in it now. There's young Squire
Allworthy, as that gentleman there knows.”
“And pray who is this young gentleman of quality, this young Squire
Allworthy?” said Abigail.
“Who should he be,” answered Partridge, “but the son and heir of the
great Squire Allworthy, of Somersetshire!”
“Upon my word,” said she, “you tell me strange news; for I know Mr
Allworthy of Somersetshire very well, and I know he hath no son
alive.”
The landlady pricked up her ears at this, and Partridge looked a
little confounded. However, after a short hesitation, he answered,
“Indeed, madam, it is true, everybody doth not know him to be Squire
Allworthy's son; for he was never married to his mother; but his son
he certainly is, and will be his heir too, as certainly as his name is
Jones.” At that word, Abigail let drop the bacon which she was
conveying to her mouth, and cried out, “You surprize me, sir! Is it
possible Mr Jones should be now in the house?” “_Quare non?_” answered
Partridge, “it is possible, and it is certain.”
Abigail now made haste to finish the remainder of her meal, and then
repaired back to her mistress, when the conversation passed which may
be read in the next chapter.
Chapter v.
Showing who the amiable lady, and her unamiable maid, were.
As in the month of June, the damask rose, which chance hath planted
among the lilies, with their candid hue mixes his vermilion; or as
some playsome heifer in the pleasant month of May diffuses her
odoriferous breath over the flowery meadows; or as, in the blooming
month of April, the gentle, constant dove, perched on some fair bough,
sits meditating on her mate; so, looking a hundred charms and
breathing as many sweets, her thoughts being fixed on her Tommy, with
a heart as good and innocent as her face was beautiful, Sophia (for it
was she herself) lay reclining her lovely head on her hand, when her
maid entered the room, and, running directly to the bed, cried,
“Madam--madam--who doth your ladyship think is in the house?” Sophia,
starting up, cried, “I hope my father hath not overtaken us.” “No,
madam, it is one worth a hundred fathers; Mr Jones himself is here at
this very instant.” “Mr Jones!” says Sophia, “it is impossible! I
cannot be so fortunate.” Her maid averred the fact, and was presently
detached by her mistress to order him to be called; for she said she
was resolved to see him immediately.
Mrs Honour had no sooner left the kitchen in the manner we have before
seen than the landlady fell severely upon her. The poor woman had
indeed been loading her heart with foul language for some time, and
now it scoured out of her mouth, as filth doth from a mud-cart, when
the board which confines it is removed. Partridge likewise shovelled
in his share of calumny, and (what may surprize the reader) not only
bespattered the maid, but attempted to sully the lily-white character
of Sophia herself. “Never a barrel the better herring,” cries he,
“_Noscitur a socio_, is a true saying. It must be confessed, indeed,
that the lady in the fine garments is the civiller of the two; but I
warrant neither of them are a bit better than they should be. A couple
of Bath trulls, I'll answer for them; your quality don't ride about at
this time o' night without servants.” “Sbodlikins, and that's true,”
cries the landlady, “you have certainly hit upon the very matter; for
quality don't come into a house without bespeaking a supper, whether
they eat or no.”
While they were thus discoursing, Mrs Honour returned and discharged
her commission, by bidding the landlady immediately wake Mr Jones, and
tell him a lady wanted to speak with him. The landlady referred her to
Partridge, saying, “he was the squire's friend: but, for her part, she
never called men-folks, especially gentlemen,” and then walked
sullenly out of the kitchen. Honour applied herself to Partridge; but
he refused, “for my friend,” cries he, “went to bed very late, and he
would be very angry to be disturbed so soon.” Mrs Honour insisted
still to have him called, saying, “she was sure, instead of being
angry, that he would be to the highest degree delighted when he knew
the occasion.” “Another time, perhaps, he might,” cries Partridge;
“but _non omnia possumus omnes_. One woman is enough at once for a
reasonable man.” “What do you mean by one woman, fellow?” cries
Honour. “None of your fellow,” answered Partridge. He then proceeded
to inform her plainly that Jones was in bed with a wench, and made use
of an expression too indelicate to be here inserted; which so enraged
Mrs Honour, that she called him jackanapes, and returned in a violent
hurry to her mistress, whom she acquainted with the success of her
errand, and with the account she had received; which, if possible, she
exaggerated, being as angry with Jones as if he had pronounced all the
words that came from the mouth of Partridge. She discharged a torrent
of abuse on the master, and advised her mistress to quit all thoughts
of a man who had never shown himself deserving of her. She then ripped
up the story of Molly Seagrim, and gave the most malicious turn to his
formerly quitting Sophia herself; which, I must confess, the present
incident not a little countenanced.
The spirits of Sophia were too much dissipated by concern to enable
her to stop the torrent of her maid. At last, however, she interrupted
her, saying, “I never can believe this; some villain hath belied him.
You say you had it from his friend; but surely it is not the office of
a friend to betray such secrets.” “I suppose,” cries Honour, “the
fellow is his pimp; for I never saw so ill-looked a villain. Besides,
such profligate rakes as Mr Jones are never ashamed of these matters.”
To say the truth, this behaviour of Partridge was a little
inexcusable; but he had not slept off the effect of the dose which he
swallowed the evening before; which had, in the morning, received the
addition of above a pint of wine, or indeed rather of malt spirits;
for the perry was by no means pure. Now, that part of his head which
Nature designed for the reservoir of drink being very shallow, a small
quantity of liquor overflowed it, and opened the sluices of his heart;
so that all the secrets there deposited run out. These sluices were
indeed, naturally, very ill-secured. To give the best-natured turn we
can to his disposition, he was a very honest man; for, as he was the
most inquisitive of mortals, and eternally prying into the secrets of
others, so he very faithfully paid them by communicating, in return,
everything within his knowledge.
While Sophia, tormented with anxiety, knew not what to believe, nor
what resolution to take, Susan arrived with the sack-whey. Mrs Honour
immediately advised her mistress, in a whisper, to pump this wench,
who probably could inform her of the truth. Sophia approved it, and
began as follows: “Come hither, child; now answer me truly what I am
going to ask you, and I promise you I will very well reward you. Is
there a young gentleman in this house, a handsome young gentleman,
that----.” Here Sophia blushed and was confounded. “A young
gentleman,” cries Honour, “that came hither in company with that saucy
rascal who is now in the kitchen?” Susan answered, “There was.”--“Do
you know anything of any lady?” continues Sophia, “any lady? I don't
ask you whether she is handsome or no; perhaps she is not; that's
nothing to the purpose; but do you know of any lady?” “La, madam,”
cries Honour, “you will make a very bad examiner. Hark'ee, child,”
says she, “is not that very young gentleman now in bed with some nasty
trull or other?” Here Susan smiled, and was silent. “Answer the
question, child,” says Sophia, “and here's a guinea for you.”--“A
guinea! madam,” cries Susan; “la, what's a guinea? If my mistress
should know it I shall certainly lose my place that very instant.”
“Here's another for you,” says Sophia, “and I promise you faithfully
your mistress shall never know it.” Susan, after a very short
hesitation, took the money, and told the whole story, concluding with
saying, “If you have any great curiosity, madam, I can steal softly
into his room, and see whether he be in his own bed or no.” She
accordingly did this by Sophia's desire, and returned with an answer
in the negative.
Sophia now trembled and turned pale. Mrs Honour begged her to be
comforted, and not to think any more of so worthless a fellow. “Why
there,” says Susan, “I hope, madam, your ladyship won't be offended;
but pray, madam, is not your ladyship's name Madam Sophia Western?”
“How is it possible you should know me?” answered Sophia. “Why that
man, that the gentlewoman spoke of, who is in the kitchen, told about
you last night. But I hope your ladyship is not angry with me.”
“Indeed, child,” said she, “I am not; pray tell me all, and I promise
you I'll reward you.” “Why, madam,” continued Susan, “that man told us
all in the kitchen that Madam Sophia Western--indeed I don't know how
to bring it out.”--Here she stopt, till, having received encouragement
from Sophia, and being vehemently pressed by Mrs Honour, she proceeded
thus:--“He told us, madam, though to be sure it is all a lie, that
your ladyship was dying for love of the young squire, and that he was