A Maggot - John Fowles

by John Fowles

  Q. My man says you still denied, when he spoke of Mr Lacy; that you swore on your oath you knew no such person.

  A. It was but to prove him, sir, to see if he knew as much as he claimed. And when I was satisfied he did, I lied no more.

  Q. And shall lie no more, Jones.

  A. I shall not, sir. Indeed I shan't.

  Q. Be it so. We will come to what happened subsequent to your setting forth from London. I first desire to know whether there are any matters in Mr Lacy's deposition, or such of it as you have read, that you know are false.

  A. Not one, sir.

  Q. Or inexact?

  A. No, sir. 'Twas all as he says, that I know.

  Q. Or deficient in any substantial way - were there matters of import you discovered that you did not tell him?

  A. No, sir. 'Twas my duty to tell him all I saw and marked. And so I did.

  Q. There is nothing you can add?

  A. Upon my oath, there is not, sir.

  Q. Do you deny that you ran away, as Mr Lacy tells, without his permission?

  A. No, sir. 'Twas as I did write him, sir. I would see my old mother, God rest her soul, and I knew but the Bristol Channel between us, and thought I should not have better opportunity. Near is my petticoat, but nearer's my smock, as the saying goes. I was wrong, sir, I know it. But I have been a bad son, see you, and wished to mend.

  Q. Was not your employment with Mr Bartholomew at an end, that very next day? Why should you not ask Mr Lacy if you might go then?

  A. I judged he would say no, sir.

  Q. Why?

  A. Because he's a fearful gentleman, sir, and I knew would not want to ride alone in those parts.

  Q. Had he not been a good friend to you - on this as well as past occasions? Found employment for you?

  A. Well, sir, I won't deny it, and so was I deep ashamed to treat him, yet see you my conscience as a son and Christian said I ought, and must. So I did.

  Q. And hoped you would find his forgiveness when you returned to London?

  A. I hoped, sir. He is soft of heart too, God bless him. And Christian likewise.

  Q. I would have you tell me what you made of Mr Bartholomew's servant Dick.

  A. I made nothing of him, sir. Jones knew him no better at the end than at the beginning.

  Q. You found nothing strange in him?

  A. What was plain to any, sir. That 'twas beyond an Irishman's belief, a gentleman thinking to employ him for what he was. He was strong enough, well set, for a good lackey, but naught else, see you.

  Q Not a gentleman's servant, you would say?

  A. He did what he was bid, sir, well enough. And I'll allow his master's secrets was safe enough with him. And his belongings. He would not even let me touch the little chest we had upon the pack-horse, that weighed so heavy. Our first day out I would help him carry it up, he pushed me off; and so for the rest. He was more jealous cur than serving-man in that.

  Q. Marked you nothing else peculiar in him?

  A. That he would not laugh, nor even smile, not even when the company was merry as cup and can. There was a maid at Basingstoke one morning at the well, where Dick and I and others was standing by, and would dowse the stableboy for some impertinence, and ran after him with the bucket but fell, and dowsed herself, which a dead man would have laughed to see how droll it was. But not he. He stood always at the coffin's side, as the saying goes. Ever found sixpence, and lost a shilling.

  Q. A melancholy fellow?

  A. Simple, sir. As if he had dropped from the moon. He was more figure of wood than human flesh. Except with the girl. I could tell your worship a tale there.

  Q. Seemed he frightened of his master?

  A. No, sir. Quick to his command, but no more than is natural. Attentive when they spoke by their signs - which I learned to read a little, and tried to speak to Dick by what I could make out of'em, but 'twas wasted time.

  Q. Why?

  A. I cannot say, sir. In simple things, such as help me tie that, give a hand to lift this, he would understand. Tried I to ask something of him, of what he thought, no more than in

  common friendship at an idle moment, he would not. I should as well have spoken my mother's Welsh.

  Q. So was he not less simple than he seemed?

  A. It may be, sir. Some might say that.

  Q. I have a deposition of Master Puddicombe, of the Black Hart Inn. He says you told there of a lunatic fit one night upon the road.

  A. I told tales wherever we went, sir. Mirrors for larks, as they say.

  Q. It was false?

  A. Sir, I did in that as I was bid by Mr Lacy and the gentleman.

  Q. That you should spread word the fellow was moon-ridden?

  A. Not in the particular, sir. Since Dick must seem so close, that I should play the loose-tongued companion, free with his tittle-tattle, and so put off suspicion.

  Q. And did you not say the maidservants should watch to their dealings with him?

  A. I may have, sir. And if I did, 'twas nearer the mark.

  Q. In what way?

  A. That was no Italian eunuch, sir, no Faribelly. For all he lacked elsewhere.

  Q. You speak of the maid Louise?

  A. I do, sir.

  Q. And of other females, upon your road?

  A. He had eyes only for her, sir. The other was no more than spice. To tickle the young women in Puddicombe's house.

  Q. And did you not tickle one such in a grosser manner, Jones?

  A. In play, sir. No more, upon my word. I tried for a buss.

  Q. And her bed, sir?

  A. Well, I am still young, sir. Begging your worship's respect I have my natural vigours, like any man. I had had the goose's simpers at supper, see you. She was but a country malkin.

  Q. Very well. Let us pass to Louise. What think you now of what you first told Mr Lacy, to wit, that you had seen her at Claiborne's house one day?

  A. 'Twas night, sir, and by linklight, no more than a passing quick as she went in. I did not swear to it. I don't doubt I was mistook. The eye's a shrew, it will look for the worst. 'Twas a resembling, not her.

  Q. You tell me, you are now positive you was mistaken?

  A. Yes, sir. Was I not?

  Q. Why ask you?

  A. That you should seem to doubt it, sir. 'Twas whist, whist, I smell a bird's nest. A fancy I took, that was wrong.

  Q. You are positive she was not what you thought?

  A. I took Mr Bartholomew's word, sir. Or rather, Mr Lacy's taking of his word as to who she was. 'Twas well for him, 'twas well for me.

  Q. Did you speak much with her?

  A. Little, sir. She made it plain at setting-out she was nice, would keep herself to herself. Why, nice as a nun's hen, hoity-toity she cared not to look on me, if we sat at table or

  had to pass; and had better things than to talk, when we were on the road. 'Twas fit her name was French.

  Q. Was this her niceness not excessive in a purported maid?

  A. So in these times are most of her kind, sir. Odsocks, they'd all have you believe 'em their mistresses.

  Q. No vulgar oaths in this room.

  A. I beg your worship's pardon.

  Q. You did not know her by any other name?

  A. No, sir, how should I?

  Q. Know you the name of she you saw to enter Claiborne's?

  A. No, sir, nor he I was with that pointed her out. Save that he knew she was a prize piece in the house, that was called the Quaker Maid. And we thought the gentleman we had

  brought might be come to go with her. That was the Marquis of I........, sir.

  Q. You were there as chairman, is it so?

  A. Yes, sir, as I was by occasion, when I had no better for my bread.

  Q. You went often as chairman to this house?

  A. Sometimes, sir. As it fell.

  Q. And had never learnt the names of its strumpets?

  A. No, sir. Only that it was said to hold the best flesh in London, for that half the richest cull
s - begging your pardon, sir, I would say the greatest gentlemen of London, did go through its doors.

  Q. And you are certain, she you travelled with was not this whore?

  A. I am now, sir.

  Q. Did you not ask this Louise whence she came, and such things?

  A. I did, sir, and more times than once before we came to Amesbury. Such as how long she had been in service, and where. 'Twas charity to a miser, she had a manner of saying

  little to tell you nothing. That was no clack-patten tongue.

  Q. And when you asked her of the going out in the night at Amesbury?

  A. She denied it flat, sir, and grew angry, in a fluster, then sour as verjuice, and I knew she lied, as to that.

  Q. Now, before you knew Dick was privy to her bed, had you marked any understanding between them?

  A. 'Twas plain enough in him, sir, that he was besotted, to one who watched close if she were by. He'd scarce take his eyes off her; and once he'd served his master, he'd serve her.

  Q. How so?

  A. Why, carry her victuals, carry her bundle, what he could. 'Twas like the old rhyme: He that loves glass without G, Take away L, and that is he.

  Q. But she was more modest in showing affection?

  A. More sly, sir. You would take him more her pet dog than her lover, by the outward of it. But after Amesbury, when 'twas out, she hid less. She would sleep riding, I see her now, sat forward there between his arms, head turned to rest against his breast, so a child would or a wife.

  Q. And this, despite she was so nice?

  A. 'Tis as the proverb says, sir. Know Eve, know all.

  Q. Rode she most often there, or behind?

  A. Why to begin, behind, sir, as is most common, like to mackaw or cockatoon upon a perch. Then took the third day to sitting forward between his arms, she did say it was more soft, thereupon the withers; which she might the better have said it was softer between the lusty fellow's legs, begging your worship's pardon.

  Q Did you not ask her more of him, if they was not to marry?

  A. I did not, sir. For Mr Lacy had told me privily not to pry further, fear it would seem I was spying on Mr Bartholomew for him, which he would not have. So I held my tongue and thought kinder of her, that perhaps at first she feared I might mock her for her fancy for such a fellow as Dick, and had been short with me for my own good.

  Q. How is that?

  A. Why, sir, she was a handsome wench. Love will creep if it can't go. I daresay my eyes soon told her as much.

  Q. You played the gallant?

  A. I might have, sir, if she'd let. But 'twas half to see if she knew what gallantry was. And whether my thinking her one of Mother Claiborne's lambs was true.

  Q. You can tell me nothing more of her?

  A. No, sir.

  Q. And you have seen or heard nothing of her, or of Dick, or of his master, since the last day of April?

  A. No, sir.

  Q. Or read report, in newspaper or gazette?

  A. No, sir, on my word.

  Q. And your belief has been that Mr Bartholomew succeeded in his plan of elopement, without any crime committed in which you are blameable?

  A. Yes, sir, until this present. Where I might be alarmed, were I not innocent, and see your worship's most just and merciful. I have no fear, my part was nothing, no more than porter at the door, see you.

  Q. Why have you stayed in Wales, and not returned to London for the money Mr Lacy holds for you?

  A. I wrote Mr Lacy my reasons, sir, this three months gone.

  Q. He knows naught of this.

  A. No, sir, and I will take your liberty to inform you why. First when I was landed where I was born, I did have news that made me weep, your worship, weep as a child, for I found my poor old mother, God rest her soul, was no more, but in her grave, and had been the like these three years past; and a sister likewise, that I had loved, but six months gone. And now I had no more than a brother left, that is poorer even than Jones, true Welsh beside, which is brother most to his own misery. Well, sir, with him I did lodge most wretched for a month and help as I might. Then says d, Jones, says I, 'tis time you were returned to London. 'Tis a miserable small Welsh place, your Swansea, sir. While money and Jones is like the clocks of London, sir, we are never long together. All I had brought was run down Gutter Lane. So I set out to walk to London, being short of means to a better way. And came to Cardiff, where I met a friend, who took me to his home and made me welcome; and by chance another man was there, who when he heard that I could write and cipher, and had been in the world, spoke of a place he knew where he worked himself, which was Mr Williams's where your man found me, sir. For see you his old clerk was but three days before struck sudden of an apoplexy, and given for dead, which now he is, and Mr Williams had such press of business upon him -

  Q. Yes, yes. Come to your letter.

  A. Why, sir, it was to tell of this post I had found and that I was happy as a fairday fowl in it, found apt and industrious by my new master, and so could not come to London. That I was very sorry for what I had done and hoped he would now consider to forgive me, which if he could, I should be grateful he might find some means to send me my accompt with him.

  Q. How sent you this letter?

  A. By one who had cause to Gloucester, sir, and who said he would see it sent further from there, for which I gave him a shilling. Which he assured me was done when he returned. But I lost my expense and trouble, sir, I had no answer of it.

  Q. Did you not write again?

  A. I thought it not worth the trouble, sir. That Mr Lacy was angry, and serving me as I served him, as I dare say he had right.

  Q. Too trifling a sum to be worth your trouble?

  A. Yes, sir.

  Q. How much, by your account?

  A. I had already taken some of Mr Lacy, before we parted.

  Q. How much?

  A. Several guineas' worth, sir.

  Q. Be exact.

  A A guinea the god's-penny before we left and else beside.

  Q. How much else?

  A. I asked some of Mr Lacy at Taunton, sir. I believe 'twas two or three guineas.

  Q. Mr Lacy says one.

  A. I have forgot, sir. I should have sworn it more.

  Q. You are so mighty careless of money you confound one and three? (Non respondet) You had taken two guineas, Jones. That left owed to you?

  A. Eight, sir.

  Q. How much does your present place pay per annum?

  A. Ten pound a year, your worship, and I know what you would be at. But I thought it lost money, so counted it little.

  Q. Near a year's wages, it is little?

  A. I knew not how to claim it.

  Q. Do not ships bring coals from Wales to London, and often?

  A. It may be, sir.

  Q. What, you work at a chandler's and are not sure?

  A. Yes, I am sure, sir.

  Q. Thought you not to send a letter by one of them, or take passage yourself, to recover your money?

  A. Jones is no sailor, sir. I fear the sea, and the privateers.

  Q. I say there is some other reason. You are lying.

  A. No, sir.

  Q. Yes, sir. You had found out something of this expedition into the West, that you saw fit not to tell Mr Lacy and that you knew might bring you and all who were associated with it into your present trouble. You would not run away and give up all your money, were there not some greater cause.

  A. I knew no more than we were told, sir. Upon my oath. Or found out for ourselves, that Mr Lacy has already said.

  Q. I have thee limed in thy own lime, man. Your first letter to Mr Lacy spoke of a ship to Swansea out of Barnstaple, that first of May. I have written to enquire. There was none such, nor for ten days after.

  A. No, sir, I was wrongly informed, as I found when I came there. So I thought it, when I wrote it down. At Barnstaple I was told I should do better at Bideford. Where I went, and found a collier three days thence. That is truth, sir. You may in
quire. Her name was the Henrietta, Master James Parry of Porthcawl, an excellent captain and well known.

  Q. How spent you those three days?

  A. I lay in Barnstaple that first day, sir, and the next to Bideford, where I inquired on the quay there and found Mr Parry and spoke with him for my passage. Which we took the day following and had a safe crossing, I thank the Lord.

  Q. Who told you wrongly of this ship at Barnstaple- who at the Black Hart?

  A. Why, sir, I forget now. One who was there.

  Q. You wrote Mr Lacy that it was Puddicombe.

  A. Then it was he, sir.

  Q. Jones, I warn thee. Thou reek'st of lies as thy country's breath doth stink of leeks.

  A. No, sir. As God is my witness.

  Q. I have thy letter here, which states plain that Master Puddicombe told thee. But he swears he did not, and he's no liar.

  A. Then I mistook, sir. It was writ in great haste.

  Q. And in great botch, like the rest of thy story. For I have written to the Crown, Jones, about the horse. Now, will you still say it was left there on the first of the month or at any day subsequent indeed? Why do you not answer?

  A. Sir, I am confused. I recollect now, I rode with it to Bideford and did leave it there, at the sign of the Barbadoes where I lodged, with money to keep till 'twas fetched, but did not forget to send message by a boy to the Crown in t'other place, for if any should inquire and think me thief of it. I swear, sir, you must forgive I am out of wits. I said the first day without thought, to be brief. I did not think it material.

  Q. Then I will tell thee why, thou rogue, and how near the gallows thou art. Dick is dead, upon strong suspicion of murder, his body found hanged not a day's ride from where

  thou slept; his master's chest found robbed, the box vanished; and since that day, no word of his master nor the maid. In which black mystery a strong presumption is that they lie

  murdered also - and a stronger still, that it is by thee. (Here the deponent exclaimed in the Welsh tongue.) What is this?

  A. Not true, not true. (Here more words in the Welsh tongue.)

  Q. What's not true?

  A. The woman lives. I have seen her after.

  Q. Well mayst thou hang thy head, Jones. Attempt me one more lie, and I'll have it hanged where it best belongs, I promise thee that.