by G. M. Best
Charles Wesley shook his head. ‘I do not like those preachers who promote themselves, Miss Westbrook. It looks to me like sounding their own trumpet. God may use me to strengthen the weak hands and feeble knees of others, but please do not place me on any pedestal. I judge myself to be a man in whom there is no strength. I am often weary and faint in mind and I do not always show the love to others that God desires or I would wish. If truth were told, I am continually tempted to leave off preaching and hide myself away. I should then be free of any temptation to take pride in what I do, and instead have leisure to attend to my own improvement.’
Both women were taken aback by the man’s humility. They were used to clergy who were pompous and proud. ‘No one is perfect, sir,’ replied Sophia.
The preacher smiled back at her but there was no hint of flirtation in it. ‘Once we have experienced God’s saving grace we should strive for perfection because God’s wonderful love for us demands no less.’
‘I have heard say that in encouraging people to seek perfection you encourage religious extremism?’
‘I should not judge any person by common report. I assure you that, whatever our failings, we are not fanatics. We are merely Christians who are trying to put our faith into practice. People are creatures of habit, Miss Westbrook, and so we encourage a daily routine of prayer and study of the scriptures and we expect people to feed and clothe the poor, visit the sick and imprisoned, and comfort the dying. We ask all to refrain from drunkenness and contentious argument and instead to toil day and night to bring the gospel message to all by word and deed. That is the method of living that our enemies deem enthusiastic madness and folly!’
All this was said with such conviction that Sophia could not help but admire hm. Nevertheless, she asked, ‘Yet people also say that you are also secret Jacobites? Are you?’
Wesley laughed. ‘Good gracious no!’ he exclaimed. ‘Both my brother and I have frequently made clear our loyalty to King George. It is a mere silly tale invented by those clergy who dislike us preaching in their parishes. They use it as an excuse to hire bands to drum out the sound of our preaching and mobs to attack us. We have had stones and dirt flung at us and clubs raised to strike us. Recently I even had a soldier put a sword to my breast and threaten to kill me. I have seen the homes of some of my friends literally pulled to the ground and our women semi-stripped and dragged through the streets with their petticoats pulled over their heads.’
‘I do not know how you cope with such abuse, sir.’
‘We cope because we know God is always with us in whatever we face. What we have felt and seen of God’s love we tell with confidence and therefore our numbers continue to increase despite the persecution shown to us. Christianity flourishes under the cross. The key to everything in life is to trust in the Lord.’
‘And is that what this nation must now do in the face of an invasion?’ replied Sophia, deeply moved by his words.
‘We must become more worthy. We cannot expect God to be on our side if the soldiers who fight for us remain as they are. Even a young lady like you will appreciate that their wanton blasphemy is a torture to any sober ear and evidence of their shameless wickedness. My brother, who is in the north of England, has been seeking to preach to our armies but he has been prevented.’
‘I know that you must be a very busy man, especially in your brother’s absence, but may I have a little of your time to tell you of a matter that is nothing compared the mighty issues with which you deal, but which means much to me?’
Wesley looked at her and sensing the anxiety behind her outward composure, replied quietly, ‘It is a poor Christian who turns his back on someone who seeks assistance. Come inside the foundry and tell me what concerns you. These fields are no place to linger at this time of year. I already can see that you and Mrs Newton are beginning to shiver with the cold.’
To this suggestion Sophia willingly agreed and soon she and her maid were drinking a cup of tea as she told the preacher all about her situation and about her desire to discover the truth about Tom Jones’s parentage. Charles Wesley listened attentively, only occasionally stopping her to clarify a point. To her surprise he expressed no judgement against her having run away from her father’s command to marry a man she did not love, and she could not help saying, ‘I feared, sir, that you might not choose to help one who has disobeyed God’s command to honour one’s parents.’
‘That is not a reason for parents to command love where there is none and expect unquestioning obedience,’ he replied. ‘I know that from my own family’s experience. My father forced my sister Hetty to marry a man who was most unsuited to her and her husband has wrecked her life. He rails against all religion and he has so frequently abused her that I have had to offer her refuge here to protect her from his drunken behaviour.’
‘I am very sorry to hear that, sir.’
The look in his eyes acknowledged her sympathy, and he smiled before adding, ‘But you may not be sorry to hear that the person who nurses my sister is Jenny Jones and she is almost certainly the person you seek for I know she comes from Bath.’
This news was far better than Sophia had dared hope for in her wildest dreams and she leapt up in excitement. ‘Please may I see her immediately?’ she pleaded.
‘Wait here a moment. Let me go to my sister’s room and see Jenny first. I’ll explain the situation to her and, if she is willing to see you, then I will tend my sister for a time so that she can come here and speak to you.’
Sophia thanked him profusely. Time seemed to stand still as Sophia and her maid waited for the outcome. Then there came the sound of steps and the door opened to reveal a slender woman dressed in the simplest of clothes. Her narrow frame made her look younger than her years but her manner was quite agitated and she nervously clasped and unclasped her thin-wristed hands together. She had blue eyes, a small nose, high cheekbones, and a wide-lipped mouth, and, although her face was heavily lined and her brown hair streaked with grey, she had retained enough beauty in her features to show that she must once have been a very attractive woman.
It was Sophia who spoke first. ‘Are you Jenny Jones?’ she asked, scarce daring to hope that it really was the woman that she travelled so many miles to find.
‘Yes, I am,’ the woman replied, in a voice that slightly trembled. ‘But I have no reason to be proud of the fact because for years I was like a Pharisee, who sees the sins of others but not his own.’ Seeing Sophia knew not how to respond to this, she continued, ‘It was only five years ago that God was pleased to convince me of my sinfulness. I heard Mr Whitefield preach and he gave me the knowledge I was sinking into Hell. That was in the March and I suffered much until I heard Mr Charles Wesley. It was through him that I saw my Saviour bleeding on the cross, dying for all our sins. I trembled so much that those around me had to hold me up and some said that I had gone mad. However, it was the hard work of the Lord letting me know that my sins were forgiven and offering me his peace. Since that day, I have been full of joy and lost in wonder at what God has done for me and I trust I shall not rest helping others until I die and enter the glory that He has prepared for me.’
For the first time, Sophia understood why some of the clergy viewed Methodism with such suspicion. There was such passion in Jenny Jones’s voice that it made her feel uncomfortable. Mastering her nervousness, she replied, ‘I am pleased that you have found such a strong faith and you feel your sins to be forgiven and I am sorry that I have come to remind you of the past when, by your own admission, you were a sinful woman. But, as Mr Wesley has doubtless told you, I desire to know more about the illegitimate child to whom you gave birth all those years ago.’
‘I have committed many sins in my life, Miss Westbrook, but illicit love is not one of them. I want you to know from the outset that I am not and never was Tom Jones’s mother.’
This announcement took Sophia completely by surprise and rendered her momentarily speechless. It was left to Mrs Newton to break the silence. ‘Then
you’d better answer who was his mother, as well as who was his father, and explain why you allowed people to think that poor Tom was your’s and the local schoolmaster’s.’
Jenny Jones struggled visibly with conflicting emotions before summoning the courage to respond. ‘I know that concealing the truth has caused much pain to me and to others and there has not been a day pass without me regretting that. However, you should know that Mr Wesley has persuaded me that the time has come for me to tell that which I have kept hidden for over twenty years. To continue hiding what really happened all those years ago is no longer necessary because the person to whom I pledged my silence is now dead.’
‘It would indeed be a Christian act to reveal the truth, Miss Jones,’ interjected Sophia.
‘I may have been bad in many ways in my youth but I loved Miss Woodforde very much. No lady could have been kinder than she was to me. It made serving her a joy rather than a duty. Such was the interest that she showed in me that, when she saw how ashamed I was that I could not read or write, she paid for me to have lessons with the school-master, Mr Partridge. He too was very kind to me. I think he would have liked me for his wife but I was young and flighty and saw not his worth as a husband. One of my bitterest regrets is that I paid him back ill for all that he did for me.’ She paused and her misery found expression in the tears that formed in her eyes.
‘Your silence over who was Tom’s father caused his dismissal.’
‘Unfortunately it did. I thought his innocence would mean that my silence would not harm him, but its impact was the reverse. I have prayed often for God to forgive me for the pain that I caused him.’
‘If it is any consolation, he is well, calls himself Peartree, and is now the landlord of a successful inn.’
‘I am pleased to hear it and I will thank God for the mercy that he has shown.’
‘Why did you permit people to believe that you were Tom’s mother and stay silent about his true parentage?’
Jenny Jones looked at her with a mixture of pain and defiance. ‘The reason was simple. I had promised Miss Bridget I would say nothing and I kept my word.’
The truth behind what had happened all those years before suddenly struck Sophia and she asked anxiously, ‘Was your silence to hide the fact that Miss Bridget Woodforde was Tom’s mother?’
‘Yes, but I do not wish you to condemn her. She suffered much for that sin.’
Just how remarkable a young woman Sophia was became apparent in her reply. ‘I believe that when a crowd wanted to stone a woman to death for committing adultery, Jesus said that only those without sin could cast a stone. None was able to therefore act against her. I am not sinless and I will not even try to judge Miss Woodforde until you tell us what happened.’
‘For those kind words may you one day join the immortal choir in their hallelujahs, Miss Westbrook!’ replied Jenny Jones. Her face reflected a variety of emotions but relief and gratitude dominated. She knew that most women would be far quicker to judge and condemn her former mistress, but for the moment she enjoyed the pleasure of meeting someone whose mind was more open to forgiveness. It made telling her story so much easier. The rather cold façade that she had built up over the years to protect both herself and Bridget Woodforde for the first time seemed no longer necessary. She relaxed to the extent that Sophia caught a glimpse of the young girl who had sacrificed herself for her mistress all those years ago.
‘Believe me, Miss Westbrook, my mistress was a woman who would have made a wonderful wife to any man, but it was her misfortune not to be blessed with beauty. The men who courted her – and for a time there were many – made plain that they were more interested in her wealth than in her. She wisely refused to enter into a loveless marriage and so took the decision to remain a spinster, though society then judged her a failure. The one person who did not condemn her was her brother, Thomas Woodforde. He loved her for her many virtues and, in return, she threw herself into supporting the many charitable ventures in which he engaged.’
‘I have heard much from Tom about her many kindnesses to people.’
‘It was her kindness to one in particular that caused her downfall. The squire took an interest in a young lad whom he judged very talented. The youth had hopes of one day becoming a great writer and Miss Woodforde encouraged this. The bond between them grew and she spent many enjoyable hours in his company. On her part the interest turned to love. I know not all the details, but one day, consumed by passion, she offered herself to him and they made love. It was a sinful act and one they both immediately regretted. On his part there was no real love. How could there be? He was still a mere boy of sixteen and she was more than twice his age. Once he had satisfied his lust for the first time, he was embarrassed at what had happened and sought to avoid her. For her part she felt she had seduced an innocent and was deeply ashamed. What made the matter even worse was when she discovered that she was with child. How could she face her brother with such evidence of her wicked sinfulness? In her frightened state she confided in me.’
‘And what did you advise her to do?’
‘I told her that she must hide what had happened if she did not wish to ruin four lives.’
‘I can see that her reputation would have been ruined, but who were the other three?’
‘Her brother would have become a laughing-stock; her lover would have had his career ruined; her child would have to live in the knowledge of the shameful behaviour that had led to his or her birth. Miss Woodforde cared not for her own reputation because she felt that her actions deserved whatever opprobrium society chose to cast at her, but she wept bitter tears at the havoc her actions might generate for the others. For that reason, I suggested that she did not tell the youth that their brief intimacy had led to her being with child and that she should disguise her motherhood from her brother. I vowed that, once she had given birth, I would hide the child in such a way that her brother would discover it. Knowing his kindness, I was sure he could be prevailed upon to care for the babe, even though its parentage was unknown.’
‘And she obviously agreed to your plan.’
‘Yes, though not without some soul-searching, and at first my plan appeared to work beautifully. I hid the baby in the squire’s bed so he would discover it on his return from a trip to London and, as I had thought, he ensured that it was well looked after. He even suggested that his sister should help care for it. Unfortunately I had not counted on two things. The first was that suspicion would fall on me as being the mother. When that happened, how could I deny it? I knew if I accepted the blame, then it would guarantee my mistress’s guilty secret would never be uncovered, and so I said that I was Tom’s mother. It cost me dear because, of course, I was then dismissed and sent away.’
‘’Tis amazing what we maids will do for our mistresses,’ muttered Mrs Newton.
‘And I suppose the other thing that went wrong was Mr Partridge being named as the father,’ added Sophia. ‘That is true, but the other thing to which I was referring was the doctor’s betrayal.’
‘The doctor?’
‘Miss Woodforde did not have an easy time in the latter stages of being with child. We had to call in a doctor and swear him to secrecy. His name was Burnett and he confided what had happened to his brother, who was a captain in the army. This brother then blackmailed poor Miss Woodforde because he wanted her money. He told her that he would inform the world what had happened unless she married him.’
‘That explains why she so surprised everyone by her marriage and why it was such an unhappy one!’ exclaimed Sophia.
‘Yes. She paid dear for her sinfulness. The only thing she refused to surrender was Tom. Captain Burnett was keen to have the child removed, especially when he had a son of his own, but she resisted that. She regarded Tom as her true son because at least there had been some love in the act that gave him birth. There was no love on either side when her other son, John, was conceived. Only the satisfaction of her husband’s desire for an heir.’
&nb
sp; ‘So what happened to the young man who never knew that he was the true father of Tom Jones?’
Jenny Jones opened her mouth as if to reply and then suddenly changed her mind. A flicker of uncertainty flashed across her face. Sophia and her maid held their breath, unsure of why she had become silent. After all that they had been through, was she still going to deny them knowledge of Tom’s true father? Jenny Jones paced up and down before them, her face pale, her hands so clenched that the knuckles on her fingers shone white. Finally, she turned and, looking direct into Sophia’s face, said, ‘I have decided this matter is too sensitive to be shared with anyone but you. I must therefore ask that you send away your maid so we may speak in private.’ She turned in Mrs Newton’s direction and added, ‘I have nothing against you, but there is no need for you to know. The fewer who are told the better because the more people who know the more the story will sooner or later pass to those who will make mischief out of it. They can do no harm now to the mother, but Tom’s father is alive and well. If news of his youthful indiscretion became public I am sure that it would prove a source of great embarrassment.’
Sophia could see that her maid was bristling at the implication that she could not hold her tongue, but also knew enough of Mrs Newton’s character to know that Jenny Jones was right. Though her maid was essentially a very good woman, she had a pretty free tongue when it came to gossip. As a consequence it did not take long for Sophia to agree to do as she was bid and to ask Mrs Newton to join Mr Wesley so that she and Jenny Jones could be left alone for at least ten minutes. Needless to say, this did not happen without her maid making her hurt feelings known. Even once she had left the room, the sound of her continued protest could be heard going down the corridor. Jenny Jones remained silent for a few more moments and then suddenly confessed, ‘Tom’s real father went on to become a very popular playwright in London. I believe that he now writes novels. His name is Henry Fielding.’