I was then commissioned to order the chariot.
At the foot of the stairs I met the Captain, who was most impatiently waiting the result of the conference. In an instant we were joined by Sir Clement. A thousand enquiries were then made concerning Madame Duval’s opinion of the letter, and her intentions upon it: and when I would have left them, Sir Clement, pretending equal eagerness with the Captain, caught my hand, and repeatedly detained me, to ask some frivolous question, to the answer of which he must be totally indifferent. At length, however, I broke from them; they retired into the parlour, and I executed my commission.
The carriage was soon ready, and Madame Duval having begged Lady Howard to say she was not well, stole softly down stairs, desiring me to follow her. The chariot was ordered at the garden-door; and when we were seated, she told the man, according to the clerk’s directions, to drive to Mr Justice Tyrell’s, asking, at the same time, how many miles off he lived?
I expected he would have answered that he knew of no such person; but, to my great surprise, he said, ‘Why ’Squire Tyrell lives about nine miles beyond the park.’
‘Drive fast, then,’ cried she, ‘and you sha’n’t be no worse for it.’
During our ride, which was extremely tedious, she tormented herself with a thousand fears for M. Du Bois’ safety; and piqued herself very much upon having escaped unseen by the Captain, not only that she avoided his triumph, but because she knew him to be so much M. Du Bois’ enemy, that she was sure he would prejudice the Justice against him, and endeavour to take away his life. For my part, I was quite ashamed of being engaged in so ridiculous an affair, and could only think of the absurd appearance we should make upon our arrival at Mr Tyrell’s.
When we had been out near two hours, and expected every moment to stop at the place of our destination, I observed that Lady Howard’s servant, who attended us on horseback, rode on forward till he was out of sight, and soon after returning, came up to the chariot-window, and delivering a note to Madame Duval, said he had met a boy, who was just coming with it to Howard Grove, from the Clerk of Mr Tyrell.
While she was reading it, he rode round to the other window, and, making a sign for secrecy, put into my hand a slip of paper, on which was written, ‘Whatever happens, be not alarmed, – for you are safe, – though you endanger all mankind!’
I readily imagined that Sir Clement must be the author of this note, which prepared me to expect some disagreeable adventure: but I had no time to ponder upon it, for Madame Duval had no sooner read her own letter, than in an angry tone of voice, she exclaimed, ‘Why now what a thing is this! here we’re come all this way for nothing!’
She then gave me the note, which informed her, that she need not trouble herself to go to Mr Tyrell’s as the prisoner had had the address to escape. I congratulated her upon this fortunate incident; but she was so much concerned at having rode so far in vain, that she seemed less pleased than provoked. However, she ordered the man to make what haste he could home, as she hoped, at least, to return before the Captain should suspect what had passed.
The carriage turned about, and we journeyed so quietly for near an hour, that I began to flatter myself we should be suffered to proceed to Howard Grove without further molestation, when suddenly, the footman called out, ‘John, are we going right?’
‘Why, I a’n’t sure,’ said the coachman, ‘but I’m afraid we turned wrong.’
‘What do you mean by that, Sirrah?’ said Madame Duval, ‘why if you lose your way, we shall be all in the dark.’
‘I think we should turn to the left,’ said the footman.
‘To the left!’ answered the other, ‘no, no, I’m partly sure we should turn to the right.’
‘You had better make some enquiry,’ said I.
‘Ma foi,’ cried Madame Duval, ‘we’re in a fine hole, here! – they neither of them know no more than the post. However, I’ll tell my Lady, as sure as you’re born, so you’d better find the way.’
‘Let’s try this lane,’ said the footman.
‘No,’ said the coachman, ‘that’s the road to Canterbury; we had best go straight on.’
‘Why that’s the direct London road,’ returned the footman, ‘and will lead us twenty miles about.’
‘Pardi,’ cried Madame Duval, ‘why they won’t go one way nor t’other! and, now we’re come all this jaunt for nothing, I suppose we shan’t get home to-night!’
‘Let’s go back to the public-house,’ said the footman, ‘and ask for a guide.’
‘No, no,’ said the other, ‘if we stay here a few minutes, somebody or other will pass by: and the horses are almost knocked up already.’
‘Well, I protest,’ cried Madame Duval, ‘I’d give a guinea to see them sots both horse-whipped! As sure as I’m alive, they’re drunk! Ten to one but they’ll overturn us next!’
After much debating, they, at length, agreed to go on, till we came to some inn, or met with a passenger who could direct us. We soon arrived at a small farm-house, and the footman alighted, and went into it.
In a few minutes he returned, and told us we might proceed, for that he had procured a direction; ‘But,’ added he, ‘it seems there are some thieves hereabouts; and so the best way will be for you to leave your watches and purses with the farmer, who I know very well, and who is an honest man, and a tenant of my Lady’s.’
‘Thieves!’ cried Madame Duval, looking aghast, ‘the Lord help us! – I’ve no doubt but we shall be all murdered!’
The farmer came up to us, and we gave him all we were worth, and the servants followed our example. We then proceeded, and Madame Duval’s anger so entirely subsided, that, in the mildest manner imaginable, she entreated them to make haste, and promised to tell their Lady how diligent and obliging they had been. She perpetually stopped them, to ask if they apprehended any danger; and was, at length, so much overpowered by her fears, that she made the footman fasten his horse to the back of the carriage, and then come and seat himself within it. My endeavours to encourage her were fruitless; she sat in the middle, held the man by the arm, and protested that if he did but save her life, she would make his fortune. Her uneasiness gave me much concern, and it was with the utmost difficulty I forbore to acquaint her that she was imposed upon; but the mutual fear of the Captain’s resentment to me, and of her own to him, neither of which would have any moderation, deterred me. As to the footman, he was evidently in torture from restraining his laughter, and I observed that he was frequently obliged to make most horrid grimaces, from pretended fear, in order to conceal his risibility.
Very soon after, ‘The robbers are coming!’ cried the coachman.
The footman opened the door, and jumped out of the chariot.
Madame Duval gave a loud scream.
I could no longer preserve my silence.
‘For Heaven’s sake, my dear Madam,’ said I, ‘don’t be alarmed, – you are in no danger – you are quite safe, – there is nothing but – ’
Here the chariot was stopped, by two men, in masks, who, at each side, put in their hands, as if for our purses. Madame Duval sunk to the bottom of the chariot, and implored their mercy. I shrieked involuntarily, although prepared for the attack: one of them held me fast, while the other tore poor Madame Duval out of the carriage, in spite of her cries, threats, and resistance.
I was really frightened, and trembled exceedingly. ‘My angel!’ cried the man who held me, ‘you cannot surely be alarmed, – do you not know me? – I shall hold myself in eternal abhorrence, if I have really terrified you.’
‘Indeed, Sir Clement, you have,’ cried I, – ‘but, for Heaven’s sake, where is Madame Duval? – why is she forced away?’
‘She is perfectly safe; the Captain has her in charge: but suffer me now, my adored Miss Anville, to take the only opportunity that is allowed me, to speak upon another, a much dearer, much sweeter subject.’
And then he hastily came into the chariot, and seated himself next to me. I would fain have disengaged mys
elf from him, but he would not let me; ‘Deny me not, most charming of women,’ cried he, ‘deny me not this only moment that is lent me, to pour forth my soul into your gentle ears, – to tell you how much I suffer from your absence, – how much I dread your displeasure, – and how cruelly I am affected by your coldness!’
‘O Sir, this is no time for such language, – pray leave me, pray go to the relief of Madame Duval, – I cannot bear that she should be treated with such indignity.’
‘And will you, – can you command my absence? – When may I speak to you, if not now? – does the Captain suffer me to breathe a moment out of his sight? – and are not a thousand impertinent people for ever at your elbow.’
‘Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your style, or I will not hear you. The impertinent people you mean, are among my best friends, and you would not, if you really wished me well, speak of them so disrespectfully.’
‘Wish you well! – O Miss Anville, point but out to me how, in what manner I may convince you of the fervour of my passion, – tell me but what services you will accept from me, – and you shall find my life, my fortune, my whole soul at your devotion.’
‘I want nothing, Sir, that you can offer; – I beg you not to talk to me so – so strangely. Pray leave me, and pray assure yourself, you cannot take any method so successless to shew any regard for me, as entering into schemes so frightful to Madame Duval, and so disagreeable to myself.’
‘The scheme was the Captain’s; I even opposed it: though, I own, I could not refuse myself the so-long-wished-for happiness, of speaking to you once more, without so many of – your friends to watch me. And I had flattered myself, that the note I charged the footman to give you would have prevented the alarm you have received.’
‘Well, Sir, you have now, I hope, said enough; and, if you will not go yourself to see for Madame Duval, at least suffer me to enquire what is become of her.’
‘And when may I speak to you again?’
‘No matter when, – I don’t know, – perhaps – ’
‘Perhaps what, my angel?’
‘Perhaps never, Sir, – if you torment me thus.’
‘Never! O Miss Anville, how cruel, how piercing to my soul is that icy word! – Indeed, I cannot endure such displeasure.’
‘Then, Sir, you must not provoke it. Pray leave me directly.’
‘I will, Madam: but let me, at least, make a merit of my obedience, – allow me to hope that you will, in future, be less averse to trusting yourself for a few moments alone with me.’
I was surprised at the freedom of this request; but, while I hesitated how to answer it, the other mask came up to the chariot-door, and, in a voice almost stifled with laughter, said, ‘I’ve done for her! – the old buck is safe; – but we must sheer off directly, or we shall be all aground.’
Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his horse, and rode off. The Captain, having given some directions to the servants, followed him.
I was both uneasy and impatient to know the fate of Madame Duval, and immediately got out of the chariot to seek her. I desired the footman to shew me which way she was gone; he pointed with his finger, by way of answer, and I saw that he dared not trust his voice to make any other. I walked on, a very quick pace, and soon, to my great consternation, perceived the poor lady, seated upright in a ditch. I flew to her, with unfeigned concern at her situation. She was sobbing, nay, almost roaring, and in the utmost agony of rage and terror. As soon as she saw me, she redoubled her cries, but her voice was so broken, I could not understand a word she said. I was so much shocked, that it was with difficulty I forbore exclaiming against the cruelty of the Captain, for thus wantonly ill-treating her; and I could not forgive myself for having passively suffered the deception. I used my utmost endeavours to comfort her, assuring her of our present safety, and begging her to rise, and return to the chariot.
Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her feet, and with frightful violence, she actually beat the ground with her hands.
I then saw, that her feet were tied together with a strong rope, which was fastened to the upper branch of a tree, even with an hedge which ran along the ditch where she sat. I endeavoured to untie the knot, but soon found it was infinitely beyond my strength. I was, therefore, obliged to apply to the footman; but being very unwilling to add to his mirth, by the sight of Madame Duval’s situation, I desired him to lend me a knife; I returned with it, and cut the rope. Her feet were soon disentangled, and then, though with great difficulty, I assisted her to rise. But what was my astonishment, when, the moment she was up, she hit me a violent slap on the face! I retreated from her with precipitation and dread, and she then loaded me with reproaches, which, though almost unintelligible, convinced me that she imagined I had voluntarily deserted her; but she seemed not to have the slightest suspicion that she had not been attacked by real robbers.
I was so much surprised and confounded at the blow, that, for some time, I suffered her to rave without making any answer; but her extreme agitation, and real suffering, soon dispelled my anger, which all turned into compassion. I then told her, that I had been forcibly detained from following her, and assured her of my real sorrow at her ill usage.
She began to be somewhat appeased; and I again entreated her to return to the carriage, or give me leave to order that it should draw up to the place where we stood. She made no answer, till I told her, that the longer we remained still, the greater would be the danger of our ride home. Struck with this hint, she suddenly, and with hasty steps, moved forward.
Her dress was in such disorder, that I was quite sorry to have her figure exposed to the servants, who all of them, in imitation of their master, hold her in derision: however, the disgrace was unavoidable.
The ditch, happily, was almost quite dry, or she must have suffered still more seriously; yet, so forlorn, so miserable a figure, I never before saw. Her head-dress had fallen off; her linen was torn; her negligee had not a pin left in it; her petticoats she was obliged to hold on; and her shoes were perpetually slipping off. She was covered with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really horrible, for the pomatum and powder from her head, and the dust from the road, were quite pasted on her skin by her tears, which, with her rouge, made so frightful a mixture, that she hardly looked human.
The servants were ready to die with laughter, the moment they saw her; but not all my remonstrances could prevail upon her to get into the carriage, till she had most vehemently reproached them both, for not rescuing her. The footman, fixing his eyes on the ground, as if fearful of again trusting himself to look at her, protested that the robbers had vowed they would shoot him, if he moved an inch, and that one of them had stayed to watch the chariot; while the other carried her off; adding, that the reason of their behaving so barbarously, was to revenge our having secured our purses. Notwithstanding her anger, she gave immediate credit to what he said, and really imagined that her want of money had irritated the pretended robbers to treat her with such cruelty. I determined, therefore, to be carefully upon my guard, not to betray the imposition, which could now answer no other purpose, than occasioning an irreparable breach between her and the Captain.
Just as we were seated in the chariot, she discovered the loss which her head had sustained, and called out, ‘My God! what is becomed of my hair? – why the villain has stole all my curls!’
She then ordered the man to run and see if he could find any of them in the ditch. He went, and presently returning, produced a great quantity of hair, in such a nasty condition, that I was amazed she would take it; and the man, as he delivered it to her, found it impossible to keep his countenance; which she no sooner observed, than all her stormy passions were again raised. She flung the battered curls in his face, saying, ‘Sirrah, what do you grin for? I wish you’d been served so yourself, and you would n’t have found it no such joke: you are the impudentest fellow ever I see, and if I find you dare grin at me any more, I shall make no ceremony of boxing your ears.’
> Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retired, and we drove on.
Her anger now subsiding into grief, she began most sorrowfully to lament her case.
‘I believe,’ she cried, ‘never nobody was so unlucky as I am! and so here, because I ha’n’t had misfortunes enough already, that puppy has made me lose my curls! – Why, I can’t see nobody without them: – only look at me, – I was never so bad off in my life before. Pardi, if I’d know’d as much, I’d have brought two or three sets with me: but I’d never a thought of such a thing as this.’
Finding her now somewhat pacified, I ventured to ask an account of her adventure, which I will endeavour to write in her own words.
‘Why, child, all this misfortune comes of that puppy’s making us leave our money behind us; for as soon as the robber see I did not put nothing in his hands, he lugged me out of the chariot by main force, and I verily thought he’d have murdered me. He was as strong as a lion; I was no more in his hands than a child. But I believe never nobody was so abused before, for he dragged me down the road, pulling and hawling me all the way, as if I’d no more feeling than a horse. I’m sure I wish I could see that man cut up and quartered alive! however, he’ll come to the gallows; that’s one good thing. So, as soon as we’d got out of sight of the chariot, – though he need n’t have been afraid, for, if he’d beat me to a mummy, those cowardly fellows would n’t have said nothing to it. – So, when I was got there, what does he do, but, all of a sudden, he takes me by both the shoulders, and he gives me such a shake! – Mon Dieu! I shall never forget it, if I live to be an hundred. I’m sure I dare say I’m out of joint all over. And, though I made as much noise as ever I could, he took no more notice of it than nothing at all, but there he stood, shaking me in that manner, as if he was doing it for a wager. I’m determined, if it costs me all my fortune, I’ll see that villain hanged. He shall be found out, if there’s e’er a justice in England. So when he had shook me till he was tired, and I felt all over like a jelly, without saying never a word, he takes and pops me into the ditch! I’m sure I thought he’d have murdered me, as much as I ever thought any thing in my life, for he kept bumping me about, as if he thought nothing too bad for me. However, I’m resolved I’ll never leave my purse behind me again, the longest day I have to live. So when he couldn’t stand over me no longer, he holds out his hands again for my money; but he was as cunning as could be, for he would n’t speak a word, because I should n’t swear to his voice; however, that sha’n’t save him, for I’ll swear to him any day in the year, if I can but catch him. So, when I told him I had no money, he fell to jerking me again, just as if he had but that moment begun! And, after that, he got me close by a tree, and out of his pocket he pulls a great cord! – It’s a wonder I did not swoon away, for as sure as you’re alive, he was going to hang me to that tree. I screamed like any thing mad, and told him if he would but spare my life, I’d never prosecute him, nor tell nobody what he’d done to me: so he stood some time, quite in a brown study, a-thinking what he should do. And so, after that, he forced me to sit down in the ditch, and he tied my feet together, just as you see them, and then, as if he had not done enough, he twitched off my cap, and, without saying nothing, got on his horse, and left me in that condition, thinking, I suppose, that I might lie there and perish.’
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