ordinary woman; for to be sure so she is, and another man's wife
into the bargain. It is such a strange unnatural thing, in a manner."
Sophia gave her a third guinea, and, telling her she would certainly
be her friend if she mentioned nothing of what had passed, nor
informed any one who she was, dismissed the girl, with orders to the
post-boy to get the horses ready immediately.
Being now left alone with her maid, she told her trusty
waiting-woman, "That she never was more easy than at present. I am now
convinced," said she, "he is not only a villain, but a low despicable
wretch. I can forgive all rather than his exposing my name in so
barbarous a manner. That renders him the object of my contempt. Yes,
Honour, I am now easy; I am indeed; I am very easy;" and then she
burst into a violent flood of tears.
After a short interval spent by Sophia, chiefly in crying, and
assuring her maid that she was perfectly easy, Susan arrived with an
account that the horses were ready, when a very extraordinary
thought suggested itself to our young heroine, by which Mr. Jones
would be acquainted with her having been at the inn, in a way which,
if any sparks of affection for her remained in him, would be at
least some punishment for his faults.
The reader will be pleased to remember a little muff, which hath had
the honour of being more than once remembered already in this history.
This muff, ever since the departure of Mr. Jones, had been the
constant companion of Sophia by day, and her bedfellow by night; and
this muff she had at this very instant upon her arm; whence she took
it off with great indignation, and, having writ her name with her
pencil upon a piece of paper which she pinned to it, she bribed the
maid to convey it into the empty bed of Mr. Jones, in which, if he did
not find it, she charged her to take some method of conveying it
before his eyes in the morning.
Then, having paid for what Mrs. Honour had eaten, in which bill
was included an account for what she herself might have eaten, she
mounted her horse, and, once more assuring her companion that she
was perfectly easy, continued her journey.
Chapter 6
Containing, among other things, the ingenuity of Partridge, the
madness of Jones, and the folly of Fitzpatrick
It was now past five in the morning, and other company began to rise
and come to the kitchen, among whom were the serjeant and the
coachman, who, being thoroughly reconciled, made a libation, or, in
the English phrase, drank a hearty cup together.
In this drinking nothing more remarkable happened than the behaviour
of Partridge, who, when the serjeant drank a health to King George,
repeated only the word King; nor could he be brought to utter more;
for though he was going to fight against his own cause, yet he could
not be prevailed upon to drink against it.
Mr. Jones, being now returned to his own bed (but from whence he
returned we must beg to be excused from relating), summoned
Partridge from this agreeable company, who, after a ceremonious
preface, having obtained leave to offer his advice, delivered
himself as follows:-
"It is, sir, an old saying, and a true one, that a wise man may
sometimes learn counsel from a fool; I wish, therefore, I might be
so bold as to offer you my advice, which is to return home again,
and leave these horrida bella, these bloody wars, to fellows who are
contented to swallow gunpowder, because they have nothing else to eat.
Now, everybody knows your honour wants for nothing home; when that's
the case, why should any man travel abroad?"
"Partridge," cries Jones, "thou art certainly a coward; I wish,
therefore, thou wouldst return home thyself, and trouble me no more."
"I ask your honour's pardon," cries Partridge; "I spoke on your
account more than my own; for as to me, Heaven knows my
circumstances are bad enough, and I am so far from being afraid,
that I value a pistol, or a blunderbuss, or any such thing, no more
than a pop-gun. Every man must die once, and what signifies the manner
how? besides, perhaps I may come off with the loss only of an arm or a
leg. I assure you, sir, I was never less afraid in my life; and so, if
your honour is resolved to go on, I am resolved to follow you. But, in
that case, I wish I might give my opinion. To be sure, it is a
scandalous way of travelling, for a great gentleman like you to walk
afoot. Now here are two or three good horses in the stable, which
the landlord will certainly make no scruple of trusting you with; but,
if he should, I can easily contrive to take them; and, let the worst
come to the worst, the king would certainly pardon you, as you are
going to fight in his cause."
Now, as the honesty of Partridge was equal to his understanding, and
both dealt only in small matters, he would never have attempted a
roguery of this kind, had he not imagined it altogether safe; for he
was one of those who have more consideration of the gallows than of
the fitness of things; but, in reality, he thought he might have
committed this felony without any danger; for, besides that he doubted
not but the name of Mr. Allworthy would sufficiently quiet the
landlord, he conceived they should be altogether safe, whatever turn
affairs might take; as Jones, he imagined, would have friends enough
on one side, and as his friends would as well secure him on the other.
When Mr. Jones found that Partridge was in earnest in this proposal,
he very severely rebuked him, and that in such bitter terms, that
the other attempted to laugh it off, and presently turned the
discourse to other matters; saying, he believed they were then in a
bawdy-house, and that he had with much ado prevented two wenches
from disturbing his honour in the middle of the night. "Heyday!"
says he, "I believe they got into your chamber whether I would or
no; for here lies the muff of one of them on the ground." Indeed, as
Jones returned to his bed in the dark, he had never perceived the muff
on the quilt, and, in leaping into his bed, he had tumbled it on the
floor. This Partridge now took up, and was going to put into his
pocket, when Jones desired to see it. The muff was so very remarkable,
that our heroe might possibly have recollected it without the
information annexed. But his memory was not put to that hard office;
for at the same instant he saw and read the words Sophia Western
upon the paper which was pinned to it. His looks now grew frantic in a
moment, and he eagerly cried out, "Oh Heavens! how came this muff
here?" "I know no more than your honour," cried Partridge; "but I
saw it upon the arm of one of the women who would have disturbed
you, if I would have suffered them." "Where are they?" cries Jones,
jumping out of bed, and laying hold of his cloaths. "Many miles off, I
believe, by this time," said Partridge. And now Jones, upon further
enquiry, was sufficiently assured that the bearer of this muff was
no other than the lovely Sophia herself.
The behaviour of Jones on this occasion, his thoughts, his looks,
his words, his actions, were such as beggar all description. After
many bitter execrations on Partridge, and not fewer on himself, he
ordered the poor fellow, who was frightened out of his wits, to run
down and hire him horses at any rate; and a very few minutes
afterwards, having shuffled on his clothes, he hastened down-stairs to
execute the orders himself, which he had just before given.
But before we proceed to what passed on his arrival in the
kitchen, it will be necessary to recur to what had there happened
since Partridge had first left it on his master's summons.
The serjeant was just marched off with his party, when the two Irish
gentlemen arose, and came downstairs; both complaining that they had
been so often waked by the noises in the inn, that they had never once
been able to close their eyes all night.
The coach which had brought the young lady and her maid, and
which, perhaps, the reader may have hitherto concluded was her own,
was, indeed, a returned coach belonging to Mr. King, of Bath, one of
the worthiest and honestest men that ever dealt in horseflesh, and
whose coaches we heartily recommend to all our readers who travel that
road. By which means they may, perhaps, have the pleasure of riding in
the very coach, and being driven by the very coachman, that is
recorded in this history.
The coachman, having but two passengers, and hearing Mr.
Maclachlan was going to Bath, offered to carry him thither at a very
moderate price. He was induced to this by the report of the hostler,
who said that the horse which Mr. Maclachlan had hired from
Worcester would be much more pleased with returning to his friends
there than to prosecute a long journey; for that the said horse was
rather a two-legged than a four-legged animal.
Mr. Maclachlan immediately closed with the proposal of the coachman,
and, at the same time, persuaded his friend Fitzpatrick to accept of
the fourth place in the coach. This conveyance the soreness of his
bones made more agreeable to him than a horse; and, being well assured
of meeting with his wife at Bath, he thought a little delay would be
of no consequence.
Maclachlan, who was much the sharper man of the two, no sooner heard
that this lady came from Chester, with the other circumstances which
he learned from the hostler, than it came into his head that she might
possibly be his friend's wife; and presently acquainted him with
this suspicion, which had never once occurred to Fitzpatrick
himself. To say the truth, he was one of those compositions which
nature makes up in too great a hurry, and forgets to put any brains
into their heads.
Now it happens to this sort of men, as to bad hounds, who never
hit off a fault themselves; but no sooner doth a dog of sagacity
open his mouth than they immediately do the same, and, without the
guidance of any scent, run directly forwards as fast as they are able.
In the same manner, the very moment Mr. Maclachlan had mentioned his
apprehension, Mr. Fitzpatrick instantly concurred, and flew directly
up-stairs, to surprize his wife, before he knew where she was; and
unluckily (as Fortune loves to play tricks with those gentlemen who
put themselves entirely under her conduct) ran his head against
several doors and posts to no purpose. Much kinder was she to me, when
she suggested that simile of the hounds, just before inserted; since
the poor wife may, on these occasions, be so justly compared to a
hunted hare. Like that little wretched animal, she pricks up her
ears to listen after the voice of her pursuer; like her, flies away
trembling when she hears it; and, like her, is generally overtaken and
destroyed in the end.
This was not however the case at present; for after a long fruitless
search, Mr. Fitzpatrick returned to the kitchen, where, as if this had
been a real chace, entered a gentleman hallowing as hunters do when
the hounds are at a fault. He was just alighted from his horse, and
had many attendants at his heels.
Here, reader, it may be necessary to acquaint thee with some
matters, which, if thou dost know already, thou art wiser than I
take thee to be. And this information thou shalt receive in the next
chapter.
Chapter 7
In which are concluded the adventures that happened at the inn at
Upton
In the first place, then, this gentleman just arrived was no other
person than Squire Western himself, who was come hither in pursuit
of his daughter; and, had he fortunately been two hours earlier, he
had not only found her, but his niece into the bargain; for such was
the wife of Mr. Fitzpatrick, who had run away with her five years
before, out of the custody of that sage lady, Madam Western.
Now this lady had departed from the inn much about the same time
with Sophia; for, having been waked by the voice of her husband, she
had sent up for the landlady, and being by her apprized of the matter,
had bribed the good woman, at an extravagant price, to furnish her
with horses for her escape. Such prevalence had money in this
family; and though the mistress would have turned away her maid for
a corrupt hussy, if she had known as much as the reader, yet she was
no more proof against corruption herself than poor Susan had been.
Mr. Western and his nephew were not known to one another; nor indeed
would the former have taken any notice of the latter if he had known
him; for, this being a stolen match, and consequently an unnatural one
in the opinion of the good squire, he had, from the time of her
committing it, abandoned the poor young creature, who was then no more
than eighteen, as a monster, and had never since suffered her to be
named in his presence.
The kitchen was now a scene of universal confusion, Western
enquiring after his daughter, and Fitzpatrick as eagerly after his
wife, when Jones entered the room, unfortunately having Sophia's
muff in his hand.
As soon as Western saw Jones, he set up the same holla as is used by
sportsmen when their game is in view. He then immediately run up and
laid hold of Jones, crying, "We have got the dog fox, I warrant the
bitch is not far off." The jargon which followed for some minutes,
where many spoke different things at the same time, as it would be
very difficult to describe, so would it be no less unpleasant to read.
Jones having, at length, shaken Mr. Western off, and some of the
company having interfered between them, our heroe protested his
innocence as to knowing anything of the lady; when Parson Supple
stepped up, and said, "It is folly to deny it; for why, the marks of
guilt are in thy hands. I will myself asseverate and bind it by an
oath, that the muff thou bearest in thy hand belongeth unto Madam
Sophia; for I have frequently observed her, of later days, to bear
it about her." "My daughter's muff!" cries the squire in a rage. "Hath
