‘Well,’ said he, ‘let Longman make up your accounts, as soon as you will; and Mrs Jewkes, my Lincolnshire house-keeper, shall come hither in your place, and won’t be less obliging, I dare say, than you have been.’ ‘I never, sir,’ said she, ‘disobliged you till now; and, permit me to say, that the regard I have for your honour–’
‘No more, no more,’ said he, ‘of such antiquated topics. I have been no bad friend to you; and I shall always esteem you, though you have not been so faithful to my secrets as I could have wished, and have laid me open to this girl, which has made her more apprehensive of me than she had occasion to be.’
‘Well, sir,’ said she, ‘after what passed yesterday, and last night–’
‘Still, Mrs Jervis, still reflecting upon me, and all for imaginary faults! for what harm have I done the girl? I won’t bear your impertinence. But yet, in respect to my mother, I am willing to part with you upon good terms: though you ought both of you to reflect on your last night’s freedom of conversation, in relation to me; which I should have resented more than I do, but that I am conscious I acted beneath myself in stepping into your closet; where I might have expected to hear a multitude of impertinence between you.’
‘You have no objection, I hope, sir,’ said she, ‘to Pamela’s going away on Thursday next, as she intended.’ ‘You are mighty solicitous,’ returned he, ‘about Pamela: but, no, not I; let her go as soon as she will: she is a foolish girl, and has brought all this upon herself; and upon me more trouble than she can have had from me: I will never more concern myself about her. I have a proposal made me, since I have been out this morning, that I shall perhaps embrace; and so wish only, that a discreet use may be made of what is past; and there’s an end of every thing with me, as to Pamela, I assure you.’
I clasped my hands together through my apron, overjoyed at this, though I was soon to go away: for, wicked as he has been to me, I wish his prosperity with all my heart, for my good old lady’s sake.
‘Well, Pamela,’ said he, ‘you need not now be afraid to speak to me; tell me what you lifted up your hands at?’ I said not a word. Said he, ‘If you like what I have said, hold out your hand.’ I held it out through my apron; for I could not speak to him; and he took hold of it, and pressed it, though less hard than he did my arm the day before. ‘What does the little fool cover her face for?’ said he. ‘Pull your apron away; and let me see how you look after your freedom of speech of me last night. No wonder you are ashamed to see me. You know you were very free with my character.’
I could not stand this insult, as I took it to be, considering his behaviour to me; and I then spoke and said, ‘O the difference between the minds of thy creatures,66 good God! how shall some be cast down in their innocence, while others can triumph in their guilt!’
And so saying, I went up stairs to my chamber, and wrote all this; for though he vexed me by his taunting, yet I was pleased to hear he was likely to be married, and that his wicked intentions were laid aside as to me.
I hope I have passed the worst; or else it is very hard. And yet I shall not think myself quite safe till I am with you: for, methinks, after all, his repentance and amendment are mighty suddenly resolved upon. But the Divine Grace is not confined to space,67 and remorse may have smitten him to the heart, and I hope has, for his treatment of me!
Having opportunity, I send this to you now, which I know will grieve you to the heart. But I hope I shall bring my next scribble myself: and so conclude, though half-broken hearted,
Your ever-dutiful Daughter.
LETTER XXVII
I am glad, my dear father, that I desired you not to meet me. John says you won’t, on his telling you, that he is sure I shall get a conveyance by Farmer Nichols’s means: but as for the chariot he talked to you of, I can’t expect that favour: and besides, I should not care for it, because it would look so much above me. But Farmer Brady, they say, has a chaise with one horse, as well as Farmer Nichols, and one or other we can either borrow or hire, though money runs a little low, after what I have laid out; but I don’t care to say so here, though I warrant I might have what I would of Mrs Jervis, or Mr Jonathan, or Mr Longman; but then how shall I pay it, you’ll say? And besides, I don’t love to be too much obliged.
But the chief reason I’m glad you don’t set out to meet me, is the uncertainty; for it seems I must stay another week still, and hope certainly to go Thursday after. For poor Mrs Jervis will go at the same time, she says, and can’t be ready before.
Oh! that I was once well with you! Though he is very civil too at present, and not so cross as he was; and yet he is as teazing another way, as you shall hear. For yesterday he had a rich suit of clothes brought home, which they call a birth-day suit;68 for he intends to go to Court next birth-day; and our folks will have it, he is to be made a lord. I wish they would make him an honest man, as he was always thought to be; but, alas for me! I have not found him such.
And so, as I was saying, he had these clothes brought home, and he tried them on. And before he pulled them off, he sent for me, when nobody else was in the parlour with him. ‘Pamela,’ said he, ‘you are so neat and so nice in your own dress, that you must be a judge of ours. How are these clothes made? Do they fit me? ‘What a poor vanity was this! But I suppose he could not think of a better pretence to send for me in to him. ‘I am no judge, sir,’ said I; and curtesying, would have withdrawn. But he bid me stay.
His waistcoat stood on end with lace,69 and he looked very grand. But what he offered so lately has made me very serious, and his familiar talk to me very apprehensive.
He asked me, why I did not wear my usual clothes? (for, you must know, I still continue in my new dress). ‘Though I think,’ says he, ‘that every thing looks well upon you.’ ‘I have no clothes, sir,’ said I, ‘that I ought to call my own, but these: and it is no matter what such an one as I wear.’ ‘You look very serious, Pamela,’ said he: ‘I see you can bear malice.’ ‘Yes, so I can, sir,’ replied I, ‘according to the occasion!’ ‘Your eyes always look red, I think. Are you not a fool, to take an innocent freedom so much to heart? I am sure, you, and that other fool, Mrs Jervis, frightened me by your hideous squalling, as much as I could terrify you.’
‘Give me leave to say, sir, that if your honour could be so much afraid of your own servants knowing of your attempts upon a poor creature, that is under your protection while she is in this house, surely you ought to be more afraid of God Almighty, in whose presence we all stand, and to whom the greatest, as well as the least, must be accountable, let them think what they please.’
He took my hand, in a kind of good-humoured mockery, and said, ‘Well urged, my pretty teacher! When my Lincolnshire chaplain dies, I’ll put thee on a gown and cassock, and thou’lt make a good figure in his place!’
‘I wish,’ said I – and there I stopt. He would hear what I was going to say. ‘If you will, sir, it was this – I wish your honour’s conscience would be your preacher, and then you would need no other chaplain.’
‘Well, well, Pamela,’ said he, ‘no more of this unfashionable jargon. I did not send for you so much for your opinion of my new suit, as to tell you, you are welcome to stay (since Mrs Jervis desires it) till she goes.’
‘Welcome to stay, sir!’ repeated I. ‘I hope you will forgive me saying, that I shall rejoice when I am out of this house!’
‘Well,’ said he, ‘you are an ungrateful girl; but I am thinking it would be pity, with these soft hands, and that lovely skin,’ (still holding my hand, and fooling with it) ‘that you should return again to hard work, as you must, if you go to your father’s; I would, therefore, advise Mrs Jervis to take a house in London, and let lodgings to us members of parliament, when we come to town; and such a pretty daughter, as you may pass for, will always fill her house, and she’ll get a great deal of money.’
This was a barbarous joke, you will own, my dear parents. An insult from his pride and plenty upon our meanness and want; and so was the more cruel.
<
br /> Being ready to cry before, the tears gushed out; and I would fain have withdrawn my hand from his, but could not; and then I said, ‘Your treatment of me, sir, has been just of a piece with these words. But do you do well to put yourself upon a foot, as I may say, with such a poor maiden as me? And let me ask you, sir, whether this becomes your fine clothes, and a master’s station?’
‘Charmingly put,’ said he. ‘But why so serious, my pretty Pamela? Why so grave?’ And would kiss me. But my heart was full; and I said, ‘Let me alone! I will tell you, if you were a king, and insulted me as you have done, that you have forgotten to act like a gentleman: and I won’t stay to be used thus! I will go to the next farmer’s, and there wait for Mrs Jervis, if she must go: and I’d have you know, sir, that I can stoop to the meanest work, even that of your scullions, rather than bear such ungentlemanly imputations.’
‘I sent for you in,’ said he, ‘in high good humour; but ’tis impossible to hold it with such an impertinent. However, I’ll keep my temper. But while I see you here, pray don’t put on those dismal grave looks! Why, girl, you should forbear ‘em, if it were but for your pride-sake; for the family will think you are grieving to leave the house.’ Was not this poor for such a gentleman? ‘Then, sir,’ said I, ‘I will try to convince them, as well as your honour, of the contrary; for I will endeavour to be more chearful while I stay, for that very reason.’
‘I will set this down by itself,’ replied he, ‘as the first time that ever what I advised had any weight with you.’ ‘And I will add,’ returned I, ‘as the first advice you have given me of late, that was fit to be followed!’
He laughed, and I snatched my hand from him, and hurried away as fast as I could. Ah! thought I, married! I’m sure ‘tis time you were married, or at this rate no honest maiden ought to live with you.
How easy it is to go from bad to worse, when once people give way to vice! But do you think, my dear father, that my master shewed any great matter of wit in this conversation with his poor servant? But I am now convinced that wickedness is folly with a witness.70 Since, if I may presume to judge, I think he has shewn a great deal of foolishness, as well in his sentiments and speeches, as in his actions to me; and yet passes not for a silly man, on other occasions, but the very contrary. Perhaps, however, he despises me too much to behave otherwise than he does to such a poor girl.71
How would my poor lady, had she lived, have grieved to see him sunk so low! But perhaps, in that case, he would have been better. Though he told Mrs Jervis he had an eye upon me, in his mother’s life-time; and that he intended to let me know as much by-the-bye! Here’s shamelessness! Sure the world must be near at an end; for all the gentlemen about are almost as bad as he! And see the fruits of such examples! There is ‘squire Martin in the Grove has had three lyings-in in his house, in three months past; one by himself, and one by his coachman, and one by his woodman; and yet he has turned neither of them away. Indeed, how can he, when they but foil ow his own vile example?
But what sort of creatures must the women be, do you think, to give way to such wickedness? This it is that makes every one be thought of alike. What a world do we live in! for it is grown more a wonder, that the men are resisted, than that the women comply. This, I suppose, makes me such a sauce-box, and bold-face, and a creature; and all because I won’t be indeed what he calls me.
But I pity these poor creatures: one knows not what arts and stratagems men may devise to gain their vile ends. For do I not see, by my narrow escapes, what hardships poor maidens go through, whose lot it is to go out to service; especially to houses where there is not the fear of God, and good rule kept by the heads of the family.
But it is time to put an end to this letter, which I do, by subscribing myself, what I shall ever be,
Your dutiful Daughter.
LETTER XXVIII
John, my dear father and mother, says that you wept when you read the last letter, that I sent by him. I am sorry you let him see that you did; for they all mistrust already how matters are; and as it is no credit, that I have been attempted, though it is, that I have resisted; yet I am sorry they have cause to think so evil of my master from any of us.
Mrs Jervis has made up her accounts with Mr Longman, but nevertheless will stay in her place. I am glad of it, for her own sake, and for my master’s; for she has a good master of him; so indeed all have but poor me! and he has a good housekeeper in her.
Mr Longman, it seems, took upon him to talk to my master, how faithful and careful of his interests she was, and how exact in her accounts; and he told him, there was no comparison between her accounts and Mrs Jewkes’s, at the Lincolnshire estate.
He said so many fine things, it seems, of Mrs Jervis, that my master sent for her in Mr Longman’s presence, and said, Pamela might come along with her: I suppose to mortify me, that I must go, while she was to stay: but as, when I go away, I was not to go with her, nor she with me, I did not matter it much: only it would have been creditable to such a poor girl, had the housekeeper been to bear me company, when I went.
‘Well, Mrs Jervis,’ said my master to her, ‘Mr Longman says you have made up your accounts with him, with your usual fidelity and exactness. I had a good mind to make you an offer of continuing with me, if you can be a little sorry for your hasty words, which were far from being so respectful as I have deserved from you.’
She seemed at a loss what to say, because Mr Longman was there; and she could not speak of the occasion of those words, which was me.
‘Indeed, Mrs Jervis,’ said Mr Longman, ‘I must needs say before your face, that since I have known my master’s family, I have never found such good management in it, nor so much love and harmony neither. I wish the Lincolnshire estate were as well served!’ ‘No more of that,’ said my master; ‘but Mrs Jervis may stay if she will; and here, Mrs Jervis, pray accept of these guineas, which, at the close of every year’s accounts, I will present you with, besides your salary, as long as I find your care so useful and agreeable.’ And he gave her five guineas.
She made a low court’sy, and thanking him, looked towards me, as if she would have spoken for me.
He took her meaning, I believe; for he said, ‘Indeed I love to encourage merit and obligingness, Mr Longman; but I can never be equally kind to those who don’t deserve it at my hands, as to those who do’; and then he looked full at me. ‘Mr Longman,’ continued he, ‘I said that girl might come in with Mrs Jervis, because they love to be always together: for Mrs Jervis is very good to her, and loves her as well as if she were her daughter. But else –’
Mr Longman, interrupting him, said, ‘Good to Mrs Pamela! Ay, sir, and so she is, to be sure! But every body must be good to her; for–’
He was going on. But my master said, ‘No more, no more, Mr Longman! I see old men are taken with pretty young girls, as well as other folks; and fair looks hide many a fault, where a person has the art to behave obligingly.’ ‘Why, and please your honour,’ said Mr Longman, ‘every body–’ and was going on, I believe, to say something more in my praise; but he interrupted him, and said, ‘Not a word more of this Pamela. I can’t let her stay, I assure you; not only because of her pertness, but because of her writing out of my family all the secrets in it.’
‘Ay!’ said the good old man; ‘I’m sorry for that too! But, sir! –’ ‘No more, I say,’ said my master; ‘for my reputation is so well established,’ (mighty fine, thought I!) ‘that I care not what any body writes or says of me: but to tell you the truth, (not that it need go further) I think of changing my condition soon; and, you know, young lathes of birth and fortune will chuse their own servants, and that’s my chief reason why Pamela can’t stay. As for the rest,’ said he, ‘the girl is a good sort of girl, take her all together; though I must needs say, a little pert, since my mother’s death, in her answers, and gives me two words for one, which I can’t bear; nor is there reason I should, you know, Mr Longman.’
‘No, to be sure, sir; but ’tis strange, methinks, she
should be so mild and meek to every one of us in the house, and forget herself where she should shew most respect!’
‘Very true, Mr Longman, but so it is, I assure you: and it was from her pertness, that Mrs Jervis and I had the misunderstanding: and I should mind it the less, but that the girl (there she stands, I say it to her face) has sense above her years, and knows better.’
I was in great pain to say something, but yet I knew not what, before Mr Longman; and Mrs Jervis looked at me, and walked to the window to hide her concern for me. At last, I said, ‘It is for you, sir, to say what you please; and for me only to say, God bless your honour!’
Poor Mr Longman faltered in his speech, and was ready to cry. Said my insulting master to me, ‘Why pr’ythee, Pamela, now shew thyself as thou art, before Mr Longman. Can’st thou not give him a specimen of that pertness which thou hast exercised where it least becomes thee?’
Was he wise for this, my dear father and mother? Did he not deserve all the truth to be told? Indeed I did say, ‘Your honour may play upon a poor girl, that you know can answer, but dare not.’
‘Insinuating girl,’ replied he, ‘say the worst you can before Mr Longman, and before Mrs Jervis. And as you are going away, and have the love of every body, I would be a little justified to my family, that you have no reason to complain of hardships from me, as I have of pert saucy answers from you, besides exposing me in your letters.’
‘Surely, sir,’ said I, ‘I am of no consequence equal to this, in your honour’s family, that such a great gentleman as you should need to justify yourself about me. I am glad Mrs Jervis stays with your honour, and I know I have not deserved to stay; and more than that, I don’t desire to stay.’
‘Ads-bobbers!’72 said Mr Longman, and ran to me; ‘don’t say so, don’t say so, dear Mrs Pamela! We all love you dearly; and pray down of your knees, and ask his honour’s pardon, and we will all become pleaders in a body; and I and Mrs Jervis at the head of it, to beg his honour’s pardon, and to continue you, at least till his honour marries.’
Pamela Page 12