by G. M. Best
Lady Overbury greeted them all warmly and invited them to each take a seat on one of the mahogany chairs that graced her main reception room. Fielding, Woodforde, and Jones did as they were bid but Westbrook was in too much of a turmoil to sit down and instead chose to stand by the fireplace so that he was as far away from Jones as possible. Lady Overbury immediately tried to set all four men’s minds at rest.
‘I think it important that you should all know from the outset that Miss Westbrook and her maid are safe,’ she said reassuringly, ‘and that, when they left here, they took refuge with a clergyman.’ She turned to look specifically at Westbrook and added, ‘So you need not fear, sir, that your daughter has in any way compromised herself or you.’
‘I’ll have my daughter back and she’ll marry whomever I choose for her, whatever any damned clergyman has to say about the matter!’ Westbrook immediately stormed back, hiding his relief at his daughter’s safety with an outward defiance. ‘And I can tell you now,’ he added, pointing at Jones, ‘it will not be to this pauper!’
Lady Overbury glared at him and only just managed to refrain from telling him that he was a pompous and ill-mannered ass. ‘I suggest that you sit down and calm yourself, sir. Mr Jones is not the man you think him. I know his true parentage and I think when you hear to which family he belongs, you may not be so opposed to the match.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that, damn the insolent bastard!’
‘Mr Westbrook, I’ll not have such language in my presence,’ she responded indignantly. ‘I must have your word you will properly hear me out, or you must leave now. If you cannot be civil you will never know where your daughter is!’
Thomas Woodforde rose and crossed the room to his friend, putting his hand gently but firmly on his arm. ‘Come now, George, be sensible. You forget your manners. Come, sit down with us. Will you not hear what Lady Overbury has to say like a gentleman and without interrupting her?’
Westbrook reluctantly nodded his acceptance and did as the squire bid but his brow remained thunderous.
‘Good. Now I can begin my tale in full,’ said Lady Overbury. She smiled and looked directly at Tom Jones, whose attention had been focused entirely on her since he had entered the room. ‘Whilst I was in London I received information about how Jenny Jones had recently confessed the truth of what really happened all those years ago and that her confession revealed you had an entirely different parentage from the one commonly believed.’ She paused to look at the impact of her words on the others. Fielding looked surprised, Woodforde appeared shocked, and Westbrook’s expression was one of utter disbelief.
‘Then she was not my mother?’ The muscles in Jones’s neck tightened in anticipation as he tried to keep the extent of his emotion out of his voice.
‘If it was not Jenny Jones, it was some other strumpet!’ interjected Westbrook.
‘No, sir!’ shouted back Lady Overbury and her cheeks flushed red with annoyance. ‘I can assure you that Mr Jones’s mother was a good and kind lady and one much loved by all who knew her.’ She paused to find the right words. ‘But a woman who, in a moment of weakness, surrendered her virtue to a young man.’
‘Then she cannot have been a woman of any moral substance,’ said Woodforde with a slight sneer.
‘I think you will disagree when I tell you it was your sister, Miss Bridget.’
The squire recoiled as if he had been hit in the face. ‘How dare you insult her memory by such an allegation!’
‘It is not an allegation, sir. Trust me, it is the truth. Your sister became with child and sought to hide the fact. She took Jenny Jones into her confidence, little knowing the trouble that would cause for her servant. She had no desire to see what she had done cause you pain and no desire to let her child grow up unloved. The solution was to have the son to whom she secretly gave birth placed in your bed. You know the rest. She encouraged your natural kindness and you adopted the child. She thus got to see her son grow up and she was able to ensure that you provided him with the best possible education. Unfortunately she paid a very heavy price for her action. The doctor who came in secret to deliver the child threatened to betray her unless she married his brother, who was a destitute soldier.’
Woodforde’s heart told him that Lady Overbury was speaking the truth and he suddenly looked both vulnerable and miserable. ‘So that’s why she married Captain Burnett! It was the one act in her life that I never understood. How my sister must have suffered!’ Tears began to form in his eyes. He swiveled round to face Tom Jones and said emotionally, ‘I loved you when I thought you were no one. I have even more cause to love you now that I know you are my nephew.’ Not caring what the others might think, the two men rose and embraced with tears in their eyes. Then Woodforde turned to Westbrook. ‘George, this boy is as much part of my family as John Burnett and I can assure you that he will inherit half my estate because I will split it between him and his half-brother. Unlike John, he loves your daughter. Do you still therefore wish to refuse him as a prospective son-in-law?’
‘Can we be certain that this Jenny Jones is telling the truth? I doubt it,’ replied Westbrook taciturnly. ‘And even if she is, what kind of father would permit your sister to face what she faced in marrying that dreadful soldier? Why did he not do the honourable thing and marry her himself? It is certain that this lad’s blood will have been tainted by having a most inappropriate father.’
Lady Overbury controlled herself with great difficulty, resentful of Westbrook’s constantly negative attitude. Her mouth twitched with irritation. ‘Tom’s father did not know that Miss Bridget was with child. She never told him.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’ he snapped back.
‘There are reasons that I am not yet at liberty to say.’ She turned to Henry Fielding. ‘Before I go any further in this matter I will require your advice.’
He paled and with a slight huskiness in his voice murmured, ‘You know that I will help in whatever way that I can, Lady Overbury.’
‘Then please accompany me into the next room. I would speak to you in private.’
All Fielding’s normal lightness of manner disappeared. He looked very troubled, but with his customary unfailing charm he followed her out of the room meekly, leaving the other three men bewildered at what might happen next.
‘I think I know what you are going to say, Lady Overbury,’ Fielding said drily as soon as he and Lady Overbury were alone together. ‘I am Tom’s father.’
She nodded, but without a hint of disapproval in her face. ‘Poor Miss Bridget loved you enough not only to seduce you but also to hide the fact. I think she did so not just because she felt deeply ashamed of having had an affair with a boy so young but because she did not desire her folly to wreck your career.’ She paused and looked at him and, after a moment’s hesitation, said, ‘Do you want the others to know?’ Seeing his obvious discomfort and doubt, she then added, ‘Or do you want to keep it a secret that you are Tom’s father?’
Fielding considered for a moment how to reply and realized his emotions were too confused to permit a rational response. With typical honesty he replied, ‘I do not know what I want, Lady Overbury. This all comes as a great surprise to me.’ For the first time his voice cracked and he lost control. She saw him visibly pull himself together and then he said carefully, ‘I want Tom to marry Sophia and to know that I am his father and proud to be so, but equally I do not want the story of what has happened to sully Miss Bridget’s memory or make Squire Woodforde a laughing stock.’ He ran his hands across his agitated face. ‘And I have no idea what Mr Westbrook might say or do if he hears I am Tom’s father. The man is far too unpredictable to hazard a guess.’ He hesitated and then added, ‘What would you advise me to do?’
‘It is unfair to pass the responsibility for what you should do onto me,’ she protested. He knew that she was right and inwardly cursed his weakness. She saw the misery in his face and her heart went out to him. Almost instinctively she continued, ‘But I will gi
ve you an answer out of the friendship we have long had.’ He smiled through his pain and his eyes conveyed his gratitude. She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. ‘I have given the matter some thought since I first heard the account of Jenny Jones. I think Tom needs to know who his father is and the truth provides the best chance he has of gaining Mr Westbrook’s assent to him marrying Sophia. However, I can see no reason why the world need know. Let the squire formally adopt Tom as a member of his family. That will cause no surprise. His love for the lad is widely known. Let him and Mr Westbrook agree Tom’s marriage to Sophia. That will cause no comment. It is known that Mr Burnett has no desire to marry her. Let you and your son see as much of each other as you desire. That will evoke no suspicions. He and you have forged a friendship that will permit you to continue meeting without the world having to know your true relationship.’
‘And what of John Burnett? Should he be told?’
‘No,’ she responded coldly, pursing her lips. ‘I do not trust him. I believe he might threaten to tell the world if it suited him.’
‘As ever, Lady Overbury, I bow to your wisdom and common sense.’ The tenseness in his shoulders remained and there was a fine sweat across his brow but it was evident from the firm way in which he said this that he had regained mastery of himself. ‘Let us return to the others and let me speak of what happened all those years ago. Your part is done.’
The outcome when the others heard what Fielding had to say about his youthful indiscretion was better than Lady Overbury had dared hope. For a start Westbrook surprised everyone by his willingness to accept what had happened without even the hint of a sarcastic or prudish comment, while Woodforde placed no blame for his sister’s condition on the writer. Rather he pitied both of them for engaging in such a momentary madness and the truth enabled him to understand her reluctance to let society know what had happened. In an odd sort of way he was grateful to know that the blood that ran through Tom’s veins came from such good stock. Jones shared his uncle’s relief. He had long held Fielding in high regard and he could have wished to discover no better father. Once the initial emotions of all present had settled, there was unanimous agreement that no one else should be told, not even John Burnett. ‘He will just have to accept that I have formally adopted Tom as a member of the family so that he can marry Sophia,’ commented Woodforde, ‘and while I have no doubt that he will resent it, he will not think it strange. It is no secret that I have long loved Tom.’
It was at this point that Lady Overbury left the room and then shortly returned with Sophia, having first told her all that had transpired. Any possible awkwardness between her and her father was averted by the young woman immediately throwing herself into his arms and begging his forgiveness. This Westbrook duly gave and it was he who then, to everyone’s surprise, graciously led his daughter over to Jones. He placed one of Sophia’s hands in that of the young man. ‘It was far too easy to hide my daughter’s disappearance from the man I thought she should wed because he showed no interest in seeing her. I will not seek to give her any more to such a man. Your feelings for her have always been far stronger and, now that I know that you have a father that I can respect, it puts your love in a different light, especially as your uncle is the best friend that I have and your mother was a woman whom I deeply admired and whose folly I can bring myself to forgive. Take my daughter’s hand in marriage and take care of her. She may be errant and headstrong but her actions have shown me how much she clearly loves you and I will not seek to give her any more to a man who does not deserve a woman of her worth.’
There was much to rejoice in that afternoon as tales were exchanged and more was said about what Sophia and her maid had done in the time that they had been away, including the assistance provided by Charles Wesley and the mistaken prejudice against his followers. The conversation flowed freely between them all for over an hour until Fielding, his face alight with joy, ventured to suggest that they celebrate their combined happiness with a visit to see a performance of The Beggar’s Opera that was scheduled to commence at six o’clock and for which he had a reserved box.
‘What a splendid idea!’ exclaimed Sophia, rising to her feet and giving him a dazzling smile.
‘I must warn you before you become too excited, that the production is not taking place in a proper theatre,’ responded Fielding. ‘The small playroom built by George Trim was closed when its site was chosen for the new Royal Mineral Water Hospital. The travelling company putting on The Beggar’s Opera is therefore performing at the Globe Inn near the Westgate. It is not the best of locations but I can assure you that those who go are well entertained and at half the price of what they would pay to see a play in London.’
‘It is not appropriate for the ladies to go there,’ interrupted Westbrook, his face showing his irritation at the turn in the conversation. ‘I do not know what I deplore more – the scandalous behaviour of the actors and actresses and those who gather round such playhouses, or the lewdness and impiety of the plays themselves. The players who perform in the Globe are profligate wretches and, in my opinion, there is not a performance that does not corrupt the onlooker. I am with the famous Mr Law in thinking that those who take to the stage are the vilest vermine that hell ever vomited forth.’
‘I think you overstate your case, sir,’ muttered Fielding, trying not to show his amazement at Westbrook’s puritanical stance. ‘I wrote plays myself until the Licensing Act swept away my ability to offer topical satires and I do not judge myself to be the kind of person that you describe!’
‘Then you are a rare exception, sir. And you must, from your own experience, know that those who perform on stage are the scum and stain of humanity. They set out to debauch our minds and morals.’
Fielding shook his head. ‘There are works, such as those by Shakespeare, that enlighten the human soul, Mr Westbrook, and, as far as less moral works are concerned, it seems to me that there is nothing wrong in making people forget their sorrows and anxieties by indulging for a time in amusing scenes or foolish fantasies.’
Westbrook’s face reddened and it was obvious to all the others that he was not going to back down. ‘Fine words,’ he said, swallowing convulsively, ‘but everyone knows that The Beggar’s Opera is designed to simply seduce the audience into liking rakes and bawds. And it is common knowledge that half the whores in this city hang about wherever plays of this sort are being performed, knowing they can get ready customers from those who have had their consciences corrupted! Pickpockets and other thieves also make the Globe their haunt.’
Fielding saw that the man was far too pig-headed to listen to the voice of reason and confined himself to saying, ‘It seems to me that this particular opera encourages us to believe that it is better to enjoy life for a while and die on the gallows than have no fun and die in the gutter. I am not sure that is an entirely false premise.’
‘Honesty and modesty are jewels in their own right, sir,’ uttered Westbrook pompously.
‘That may be so, but it is only to be expected that some people will choose a life of crime rather than exist in hopeless poverty or seize moments of pleasure in a world that often denies happiness.’
Lady Overbury sensed that the discussion was leading to needless antagonism and feared that, if it were permitted to continue unchecked, it might cause Westbrook to reconsider whether Fielding was a suitable father-in-law for his daughter. She therefore looked at the writer and intervened in a typically decisive manner. ‘As you know, Sir Henry, I love a good play, but I will support Mr Westbrook on this particular production. He is quite right. From all that I have heard The Beggar’s Opera is not a salubrious work and the venue does not suit me. I would therefore prefer to remain within my lodgings tonight, especially if Sophia might be permitted to stay here with me for a few days. I would welcome her reading to me on an evening.’ She looked beseechingly in the direction of Sophia’s father. ‘I have grown to value your daughter’s company and I would prefer not to be in Bath unaccom
panied during my short time here. I know that you have just been reunited but surely, Mr Westbrook, there is no need for Sophia to immediately return home. It would do her good to spend a little more time with Mr Jones after all that has happened and I am happy to act as chaperon.’
Sophia looked anxiously in her father’s direction. Being permitted to stay near her lover was far more important than any visit to a playhouse. Westbrook smiled triumphantly, feeling vindicated by Lady Overbury’s support. ‘You are a woman of integrity, madam. I know my daughter is in safe hands in company such as yours. For that reason I am content for her and her maid to remain with you until you return to London. You can help her prepare sensibly for her forthcoming marriage.’
‘Thank you, sir. I am much obliged for your confidence in me.’
On this happy note Westbrook and Woodforde shortly afterwards took their leave so that the latter could find appropriate lodgings for the night before returning home the next day. No sooner had they gone then the mood of those who remained visibly lightened. The unpredictable and often irrational behaviour of Westbrook had been a little trying even if none had chosen to refer to it.
‘And what would you have me read this evening, Lady Overbury?’ asked Sophia.
‘Nothing tonight, my dear.’
‘But I thought you wished for that?’
‘I do, but it is not necessary tonight. This evening I am content to stay here and read by myself. I suggest that you and Mr Jones go with Mr Fielding and see the opera at the Globe together.’ She laughed at the surprise shown by her young ward to this declaration. ‘The opera may not be salubrious but it is fun and you will enjoy it. Whatever your father says, I do not think it will destroy your morals. Treat it for what it is – a bit of foolish nonsense. Just don’t tell him I let you go and see it!’