The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, Henry Fielding [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

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 stopped, 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 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 anyone 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