Clarissa Harlowe, Samuel Richardson [black authors fiction .txt] 📗

But neither answer nor fluttering saluted my ear; and, the people being very quiet, I led on to the next apartment; and, the key being on the outside, I opened it, and looked all around it, and into the closet.

The man said he never saw so uncivil a gentleman in his life.

Hark thee, friend, said I; let me advise thee to be a little decent; or I shall teach thee a lesson thou never learnedst in all thy life.

Sir, said he, ’tis not like a gentleman, to affront a man in his own house.

Then prithee, man, replied I, don’t crow upon thine own dunghil.

I stepped back to the locked door: My dear Miss Harlowe, I beg of you to open the door, or I’ll break it open;⁠—pushing hard against it, that it cracked again.

The man looked pale: and, trembling with his fright, made a plaguey long face; and called to one of his bodice-makers above, Joseph, come down quickly.

Joseph came down: a lion’s-face grinning fellow; thick, and short, and bushy-headed, like an old oak-pollard. Then did master John put on a sturdier look. But I only hummed a tune, traversed all the other apartments, sounded the passages with my knuckles, to find whether there were private doors, and walked up the next pair of stairs, singing all the way; John and Joseph, and Mrs. Smith, following me up, trembling.

I looked round me there, and went into two open-door bedchambers; searched the closets, and the passages, and peeped through the keyhole of another: no Miss Harlowe, by Jupiter! What shall I do!⁠—what shall I do! as the girls say.⁠—Now will she be grieved that she is out of the way.

I said this on purpose to find out whether these people knew the lady’s story; and had the answer I expected from Mrs. Smith⁠—I believe not, Sir.

Why so, Mrs. Smith? Do you know who I am?

I can guess, Sir.

Whom do you guess me to be?

Your name is Mr. Lovelace, Sir, I make no doubt.

The very same. But how came you to guess so well, dame Smith! You never saw me before, did you?

Here, Jack, I laid out for a compliment, and missed it.

’Tis easy to guess, Sir; for there cannot be two such gentlemen as you.

Well said, dame Smith⁠—but mean you good or bad?⁠—Handsome was the least I thought she would have said.

I leave you to guess, Sir.

Condemned, thought I, by myself, on this appeal.

Why, father Smith, thy wife is a wit, man!⁠—Didst thou ever find that out before?⁠—But where is widow Lovick, dame Smith? My cousin John Belford says she is a very good woman. Is she within? or is she gone with Miss Harlowe too?

She will be within by-and-by, Sir. She is not with the lady.

Well, but my good dear Mrs. Smith, where is the lady gone? and when will she return?

I can’t tell, Sir.

Don’t tell fibs, dame Smith; don’t tell fibs, chucking her under the chin: which made John’s upper-lip, with chin shortened, rise to his nose.⁠—I am sure you know!⁠—But here’s another pair of stairs: let us see: Who lives up there?⁠—but hold, here’s another room locked up, tapping at the door⁠—Who’s at home? cried I.

That’s Mrs. Lovick’s apartment. She is gone out, and has the key with her.

Widow Lovick! rapping again, I believe you are at home: pray open the door.

John and Joseph muttered and whispered together.

No whispering, honest friends: ’tis not manners to whisper. Joseph, what said John to thee?

John! Sir, disdainfully repeated the good woman.

I beg pardon, Mrs. Smith: but you see the force of example. Had you showed your honest man more respect, I should. Let me give you a piece of advice⁠—women who treat their husbands irreverently, teach strangers to use them with contempt. There, honest master John; why dost not pull off thy hat to me?⁠—Oh! so thou wouldst, if thou hadst it on: but thou never wearest thy hat in thy wife’s presence, I believe; dost thou?

None of your fleers and your jeers, Sir, cried John. I wish every married pair lived as happily as we do.

I wish so too, honest friend. But I’ll be hanged if thou hast any children.

Why so, Sir?

Hast thou?⁠—Answer me, man: Hast thou, or not?

Perhaps not, Sir. But what of that?

What of that?⁠—Why I’ll tell thee: The man who has no children by his wife must put up with plain John. Hadst thou a child or two, thou’dst be called Mr. Smith, with a courtesy, or a smile at least, at every word.

You are very pleasant, Sir, replied my dame. I fancy, if either my husband or I had as much to answer for as I know whom, we should not be so merry.

Why then, dame Smith, so much the worse for those who were obliged to keep you company. But I am not merry⁠—I am sad!⁠—Hey-ho!⁠—Where shall I find my dear Miss Harlowe?

My beloved Miss Harlowe! (calling at the foot of the third pair of stairs), if you are above, for Heaven’s sake answer me. I am coming up.

Sir, said the good man, I wish you’d walk down. The servants’ rooms, and the working-rooms, are up those stairs, and another pair; and nobody’s there that you want.

Shall I go up, and see if Miss Harlowe be there, Mrs. Smith?

You may, Sir, if you please.

Then I won’t; for, if she was, you would not be so obliging.

I am ashamed to give you all this attendance: you are the politest traders I ever knew. Honest Joseph, slapping him upon the shoulders on a sudden, which made him jump, didst ever grin for a wager, man?⁠—for the rascal seemed not displeased with me; and, cracking his flat face from ear to ear, with a distended mouth, showed his teeth, as broad and as black as his thumbnails.⁠—But don’t I hinder thee? What canst earn a-day, man?

Half-a-crown I can earn a-day; with an air of pride and petulance, at being startled.

There then is a day’s wages for thee. But thou needest not attend me farther.

Come, Mrs. Smith, come John, (Master Smith I should say), let’s