the stomach of a horse, to eat mutton at this time of night? Sure
you people that keep inns imagine your betters are like yourselves.
Indeed, I expected to get nothing at this wretched place. I wonder
my lady would stop at it. I suppose none but tradesmen and grasiers
ever call here." The landlady fired at this indignity offered to her
house; however, she suppressed her temper, and contented herself
with saying, "Very good quality frequented it, she thanked heaven!"
"Don't tell me," cries the other, "of quality! I believe I know more
of people of quality than such as you.- But, prithee, without
troubling me with any of your impertinence, do tell me what I can have
for supper; for, though I cannot eat horse-flesh, I am really hungry."
"Why, truly, madam," answered the landlady, "you could not take me
again at such a disadvantage; for I must confess I have nothing in the
house, unless a cold piece of beef, which indeed a gentleman's footman
and the post-boy have almost cleared to the bone." "Woman," said
Mrs. Abigail (so for shortness we will call her), "I entreat you not
to make me sick. If I had fasted a month, I could not eat what had
been touched by the fingers of such fellows. Is there nothing neat
or decent to be had in this horrid place?" "What think you of some
eggs and bacon, madam?" said the landlady. "Are your eggs new laid?
are you certain 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; 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 5
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 it 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 menfolks, 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 believer, 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 curisity, 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 going to the wars to get rid of you. I thought
to myself then he was a false-hearted wretch; but, now, to see such
a fine, rich, beautiful lady as you be, forsaken for such an
