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

proposals to your daughter; and such as I am sure you must accept with the highest pleasure.”

“Answer for yourself, lady cousin,” said the squire, “I will have nothing to do with any of your lords. My daughter shall have an honest country gentleman; I have pitched upon one for her⁠—and she shall ha’ un. I am sorry for the trouble she hath given your ladyship with all my heart.” Lady Bellaston made a civil speech upon the word trouble; to which the squire answered, “Why, that’s kind⁠—and I would do as much for your ladyship. To be sure relations should do for one another. So I wish your ladyship a good night.⁠—Come, madam, you must go along with me by fair means, or I’ll have you carried down to the coach.”

Sophia said she would attend him without force; but begged to go in a chair, for she said she should not be able to ride any other way.

“Prithee,” cries the squire, “wout unt persuade me canst not ride in a coach, wouldst? That’s a pretty thing surely! No, no, I’ll never let thee out of my sight any more till art married, that I promise thee.” Sophia told him, she saw he was resolved to break her heart. “O break thy heart and be d⁠⸺⁠n’d,” quoth he, “if a good husband will break it. I don’t value a brass varden, not a halfpenny, of any undutiful b⁠⸺ upon earth.” He then took violent hold of her hand; upon which the parson once more interfered, begging him to use gentle methods. At that the squire thundered out a curse, and bid the parson hold his tongue, saying, “At’nt in pulpit now? when art a got up there I never mind what dost say; but I won’t be priest-ridden, nor taught how to behave myself by thee.⁠—I wish your ladyship a good night.⁠—Come along, Sophy; be a good girl, and all shall be well. Shat ha’ un, d⁠⸺⁠n me, shat ha’ un!”

Mrs. Honour appeared below-stairs, and with a low curtesy to the squire offered to attend her mistress; but he pushed her away, saying, “Hold, madam, hold, you come no more near my house.”⁠—“And will you take my maid away from me?” said Sophia.⁠—“Yes, indeed, madam, will I,” cries the squire: “you need not fear being without a servant; I will get you another maid, and a better maid than this, who, I’d lay five pounds to a crown, is no more a maid than my grannum. No, no, Sophy, she shall contrive no more escapes, I promise you.” He then packed up his daughter and the parson into the hackney coach, after which he mounted himself, and ordered it to drive to his lodgings. In the way thither he suffered Sophia to be quiet, and entertained himself with reading a lecture to the parson on good manners, and a proper behaviour to his betters.

It is possible he might not so easily have carried off his daughter from Lady Bellaston, had that good lady desired to have detained her; but, in reality, she was not a little pleased with the confinement into which Sophia was going; and as her project with Lord Fellamar had failed of success, she was well contented that other violent methods were now going to be used in favour of another man.

VI

By what means the squire came to discover his daughter.

Though the reader, in many histories, is obliged to digest much more unaccountable appearances than this of Mr. Western, without any satisfaction at all; yet, as we dearly love to oblige him whenever it is in our power, we shall now proceed to show by what method the squire discovered where his daughter was.

In the third chapter, then, of the preceding book, we gave a hint (for it is not our custom to unfold at any time more than is necessary for the occasion) that Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who was very desirous of reconciling her uncle and aunt Western, thought she had a probable opportunity, by the service of preserving Sophia from committing the same crime which had drawn on herself the anger of her family. After much deliberation, therefore, she resolved to inform her aunt Western where her cousin was, and accordingly she writ the following letter, which we shall give the reader at length, for more reasons than one.

Honoured Madam⁠—The occasion of my writing this will perhaps make a letter of mine agreeable to my dear aunt, for the sake of one of her nieces, though I have little reason to hope it will be so on the account of another.

Without more apology, as I was coming to throw my unhappy self at your feet, I met, by the strangest accident in the world, my cousin Sophy, whose history you are better acquainted with than myself, though, alas! I know infinitely too much; enough indeed to satisfy me, that unless she is immediately prevented, she is in danger of running into the same fatal mischief, which, by foolishly and ignorantly refusing your most wise and prudent advice, I have unfortunately brought on myself.

In short, I have seen the man, nay, I was most part of yesterday in his company, and a charming young fellow I promise you he is. By what accident he came acquainted with me is too tedious to tell you now; but I have this morning changed my lodgings to avoid him, lest he should by my means discover my cousin; for he doth not yet know where she is, and it is adviseable he should not, till my uncle hath secured her.⁠—No time therefore is to be lost; and I need only inform you, that she is now with Lady Bellaston, whom I have seen, and who hath, I find, a design of concealing her from her family. You know, madam, she is a strange woman; but nothing could misbecome me more than to presume to give any hint to one of your great understanding and great knowledge of