Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  I did not know what to do. And I blamed myself for my free speech; for now I had given her some pretence; and oh! thought I, here have I unseasonably, by my mal-pertness,118 ruined the only project I had left.

  The gardener saw what passed; but she called to him, ‘What do you stare at, Jacob? Pray, mind what you are upon.’ And away he walked to another quarter, out of sight.

  Well, thought I, I must put on the dissembler a little, I see. She took my hand roughly, ‘Come, get up,’ said she, ‘and come in a-doors. I’ll Jezebel you!’ ‘Why, dear Mrs Jewkes!’ said I. ‘None of your dears, and your coaxing!’ said she; ‘why not Jezebel again?’ She was in a violent passion, I saw. And again I blamed myself for provoking her. ‘If you don’t rise, and go in,’ said she, ‘of your own accord, I can take such a slender creature as you under my arm, and carry you in. You don’t know my strength.’ ‘Indeed I do,’ said I, ‘too well; and will you not use me worse, when I am within? ‘I arose. She muttered to herself all the way, ‘I to be a Jezebel with you, that have used you so well!’ and such-like.

  When I came near the house, I said, sitting down upon a settle-bench,119 ‘Well, I will not go in, till you say, you forgive me, Mrs Jewkes. If you will forgive my calling you that name, I will forgive your beating me.’ She sat down by me; and, after some angry words, ‘Well, I think I will forgive you this time,’ said she; and kissed me, as a mark of reconciliation. I told her, I wished she would let me know what her instructions were, and the liberty she could allow me, in which case she should find that I would, if possible, confine myself within the prescribed bounds, and not expect more from her than she could grant me.

  ‘This,’ said she, ‘is something like: I wish I could give you all the liberty you desire; for you must think it is no pleasure to me to tie you to my petticoat: but people that will do their duty, must have some trouble; and what I do is to serve as good a master, to be sure, as lives.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘to every body but me!’ ‘He loves you too well,’ returned she, ‘and thence arise your grievances; so you ought to bear them.’ ‘Love!’ repeated I. ‘Such love is a thousand times worse than his hate would be.’ ‘Come,’ said she, ‘don’t let the wench see you have been crying, nor tell her any tales; for you won’t tell them fairly, I am sure; and I’ll send her to attend you; and you shall take another walk in the garden, if you will: perhaps it will get you a stomach to your dinner; for you don’t eat enough to keep life and soul together. You are beauty to the bone,’ added the strange wretch, ‘or you could not look so well as you do, with so little stomach, so little rest, and so much pining and whining for nothing at all.’ Say what you will, wicked woman as you are, thought I, so I can be rid of your bad tongue and bad company. She left me, and sent the maid to walk with me. I hoped now to find some opportunity to come at my sun-flower. But I walked the other way, to take that spot in my return, to avoid suspicion.

  I forced my discourse to the maid; but it was all upon general matters; for I find she is asked after everything I say and do. When I came near the place, I said, ‘Pray, step to the gardener, and ask him to gather me a sallad.’ She called out, ‘Jacob!’ I told her, he could not hear her so far off. And when she had stepped about a bow-shot from me, I stooped down, and took a letter, without direction, from between the tiles, and thrust it in my bosom. She was with me before I could well secure it; and I trembled like a fool, that I feared I should discover myself. ‘You seem frighted, madam,’ said she. ‘I am frighted,’ answered I; and a lucky thought just then entered my head: ‘I stooped to smell at the sun-flower, and a great nasty worm running into the ground, startled me; for I can’t abide worms.’ ‘Sun-flowers,’ said she, ‘don’t smell.’ ‘So I find,’ replied I. We then walked in; and Mrs Jewkes said, ‘You have not staid long; you shall go another time.’

  I went up to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my letter, found the contents to be these that follow:

  ‘I am infinitely concerned for your distress. I most heartily wish it may be in my power to serve and save so much innocence, beauty, and merit. My whole dependence is upon Mr B. and I have a near view of being provided for, by his favour to me. But yet I would sooner forfeit all my hopes in him, (trusting in God for the rest) than not assist you, if possible. I never looked upon Mr B. in the light he now appears in to me, in your case. To be sure, he is no professed debauchee. But I am entirely of opinion you should, if possible, get out of his hands, and especially as you are in very bad ones in Mrs Jewkes’s.

  ‘We have in this neighbourhood the widow Jones, mistress of a good fortune, and a woman of virtue. We have also old Sir Simon Darnford. His lady is a good woman; and they have two daughters, virtuous young ladies. All the rest are but middling people, and traders, at best. I will represent your case, if you please, either to Mrs Jones or Lady Darnford, in hopes they will afford you protection. I see no probability of keeping myself concealed in this matter; but will, as I said, risque all things to serve you; for I never saw a sweetness and innocence like yours; and your hard case has attached me entirely to you; for I know, as you so happily express yourself, if I can serve you in this affair, I shall thereby perform all the acts of religion in one.

  ‘As to Lady Davers, I will convey a letter, if you please, to her; but it must not be from our post-house.120 And let this be a caution to you in other respects; for the man owes all his bread to Mr B. and his place too; and I believe, by something that dropped from him over a can121 of ale, has his instructions. You don’t know how you are surrounded: all which confirms me in your opinion, that no honour is meant you, let what will be professed; and I am glad you want no caution on that head.

  ‘Give me leave to say, that I had heard much in your praise, but, I think, greatly short of what you deserve, both in person and mind: my eyes convince me of the one, your letter of the other. I will not enlarge any further than to assure you, that I am, and will be, to the best of my power,

  Your faithful Friend and Servant,

  ARTHUR WILLIAMS.

  ‘I will go once every morning, and once every evening, after school-time, to look for your letters. I will go in, and return without entering the house, if I see the coast clear: otherwise, to avoid suspicion, I will go in.’

  In answer to this agreeable letter, I wrote instantly as follows:

  ‘Reverend Sir,

  ‘How suitable to your function, and your character, is your kind letter! God bless you for it! I now think I am beginning to be happy. I should be sorry to have you suffer on my account; but if you should, I hope it will be made up to you an hundred-fold by that God whom you so faithfully serve. I should be too happy, could I ever have it in my power to contribute in the least to it. But alas! to serve me, must be for God’s sake only; for I am low in fortune; though in mind, I hope, too high to do a mean or unworthy deed, were it even to gain a kingdom. But I lose time.

  ‘Any way you think best, I shall be pleased with; for I know not the persons, nor in what manner it is proper to apply to them. I am glad of the hint you so kindly give me of the man at the post-house. I was thinking of opening a way to serve myself by letter, when I could have opportunity; but I see more and more, that I am indeed strangely surrounded with dangers; and that there is no dependence to be made on my master’s professions.

  ‘I should think, sir, if either of those ladies would give leave, I might some way get out by means of your key; and as it is impossible, watched as I am, to know when it can be, suppose, sir, you could get one made by it, and put it, the next opportunity, under the sun-flower! I am sure no time is to be lost; because it is my wonder, that Mrs Jewkes is not jealous about this key; for she forgets not the minutest thing. But, sir, if I had a key, and, if these ladies would not shelter me, I could get away from hence. And if once out of the house, they could have no pretence to force me in again; for I have done no harm, and hope to make my story good to any compassionate person; and by this means you need not be known. Torture should not wring from me anything to your detrimen
t, I assure you.

  ‘One thing more, good sir. Have you no correspondence with my master’s Bedfordshire family? I inclose a letter of a deceitful wretch (for I can trust you with anything) poor John Arnold. Its contents will tell you, why I inclose it. Perhaps, by John’s means, I might be informed of my master’s motions, and particularly as to his intentions of coming hither, and the time; for come he will, I have no doubt; and that is my dread. You will see, sir, that John seems desirous to atone for his treachery to me. I leave this hint for you to improve upon, and am, Reverend Sir,

  Your ever obliged and thankful Servant.

  ‘I hope, sir, by your favour, I could send a little packet, now-and-then, some how, to my father and mother. I have a little stock of money, about five or six guineas: shall I put half into your hands, to defray the charge of a man and horse, or any other incidents?’

  I had but just time to transcribe this letter, before I was called to dinner; and I put that for Mr Williams, with a wafer in it, into my bosom, to get an opportunity to deposit it.

  Of all the flowers in the garden, the sun-flower surely is the loveliest! It is a propitious one to me! How nobly my plot succeeds! But I begin to be afraid my writings may be discovered; for they grow bulky: I stitch them hitherto in my under-coat, next my linen. But if this brute should search me! I must try to please her, and then she will not.

  I am but just come from a walk in the garden; and have deposited my letter by a simple wile. I got some horse-beans;122 and we took a turn in the garden, to angle. She baited the hook, and I held it, and soon hooked a noble carp. ‘Play it, play it,’ said she. I did, and brought it to the bank. A sad thought just then came into my head; and I took it gently off the hook, and threw it in again; and O the pleasure it seemed to have, on flouncing in, when at liberty! ‘Why this?’ says she. ‘O Mrs Jewkes! I was thinking this poor carp was the unhappy Pamela. I was comparing myself to my naughty master. As we deceived and hooked the poor carp, so was I betrayed by false baits; and when you said, play it, play it, it went to my heart, to think I should sport with the destruction of the fish I had betrayed: I could not but fling it in again; and did you not see the joy with which it flounced from us? O that some good merciful person would procure me my liberty in like manner; for I cannot but think my danger equal!’

  ‘Lord bless thee!’ said she, ‘what a thought is that!’ ‘Well, I can angle no more,’ said I. ‘I’ll try my fortune,’ said she, and took the rod. ‘Do,’ answered I, ‘and I will plant life, if I can, while you are destroying it. I have some horse-beans here, and will go and stick them into one of the borders, to see how long they will be coming up; and I will call the bed I put them in, my garden.’

  By this simple contrivance, I hope, my dear father and mother, I shall have an opportunity to convey to you my letters, if I cannot get away myself. Let the wicked woman smile at my simplicity if she will; I have now a pretence to bend my steps to that spot; and if the mould should look a little fresh, it won’t be so much suspected.

  She mistrusted nothing of this; and I went and stuck in here and mere my beans, for about the length of five ells,123 on each side of the sun-flower; and easily deposited my letter. And not a little proud am I of this contrivance. Sure something will do at last!

  FRIDAY, SATURDAY

  I have just now told you a trick of mine: I will now tell you a trick of this wicked woman’s. She came to me, ‘I have a bill,’ said she, ‘which I cannot change till to-morrow; and a tradesman instantly wants his money; and I don’t love to turn poor trades-folks away without their money: have you any about you?’ ‘I have a little,’ replied I: ‘how much will do?’ ‘Oh!’ said she, ‘I want ten pounds.’ ‘Alas!’ said I, ‘I have but six guineas, and a very trifle of silver.’ ‘Lend me what you have,’ said she, ‘till to-morrow. I will return it you then without fail.’ O my folly! I gave her the six guineas, and she went down stairs: and when she came up again, she laughed, and said, ‘Well, I have paid the tradesman.’ ‘I hope,’ said I, ‘you’ll repay me to-morrow.’ The wretch, laughing loud, replied, ‘Why, what occasion have you for money? To tell you the truth, lambkin, I did not want it. I only feared you might make a bad use of it; and now I can trust Nan with you a little oftener, especially as I have got the key of your portmanteau; so that you can neither corrupt her with money nor fine things.’

  Never did any body look more silly than I! How I fretted to be so foolishly taken in! And the more, as I had hinted to Mr Williams, that I would put part of it into his hands to defray the charges of my sending to you. I cried for vexation! And now, my dear father, I have not five shillings left to support me, were I to get away! Was ever such a fool! I must be priding myself in my contrivances, truly! ‘Was this vile trick in your instructions, wolfkin?’ said I, as she called me lambkin. ‘Jezebel, you mean, child!’ said she. ‘Well, I now forgive you heartily; let’s kiss and be friends!’ ‘Out upon you!’ said I; ‘I cannot bear you.’ But I durst not call her names again, being afraid of the weight of her huge paw, which I have once felt.

  The more I think of this thing, the more I am grieved, and the more do I blame myself.

  This night the man from the post-house brought a letter for Mrs Jewkes, in which was one inclosed to me: she brought it up to me. ‘Well, my good master don’t forget us,’ said she. ‘He has sent you a letter; and see what he writes to me’ So she read, That he hoped her fair charge was well, happy, and contented. That he did not doubt her care and kindness to me; and that she could not use me too well.

  ‘There’s a master for you!’ said she: ‘sure you will love and pray for him.’ I desired her to read the rest. ‘No, no,’ said she, ‘but I won’t.’ ‘Are there,’ said I, ‘any orders for taking away my shoes, and for beating me?’ ‘No,’ said she; ‘nor does he call me Jezebel: but I thought we had forgiven one another.’

  This is a copy of his letter to me:

  ‘My dear PAMELA,

  ‘I begin to repent already, that I have bound myself by promise, not to see you till you give me leave. Can you place so much confidence in me, as to invite me down? Assure yourself, that you shall not have cause to repent of your obligingness. Consider who it is that urges you to give him leave to go to his own house, as a favour. I the more earnestly press for your consent, as Mrs Jewkes acquaints me, that you take your restraint very heavily; and that you neither eat nor rest well; and yet I cannot take off this restraint, till I have had some discourse with you, that must tend to make you one of the happiest of women. It is your interest, therefore, my dear girl, to give me a dispensation from my promise, in order to shorten the time of this restraint. John, on his return from you, acquainted me with your uneasiness, in such terms, as, I must own, somewhat alarmed me. But surely your resentment will not throw you upon a rashness that might encourage a daring hope. This fellow hinted to me (in his superabundant concern for you) that Mrs Jewkes used you with unkindness. If, on my arrival at the Hall, I find this to be so, I will put that woman entirely in your power; you shall, if you please, dismiss her for ever from my service; and Mrs Jervis, or whom else you please, shall attend you in her place.

  ‘Till I have settled two or three points of consequence with Lady Davers, I do not think myself at liberty to explain further my intentions in your favour. But of this you may assure yourself, that I mean to act by you with the utmost honour; for your merit and innocence have very tenderly impressed me. But you must place some confidence in me. I cannot bear to be mistrusted by those to whom I intend kindness.

  ‘I look upon the letter you wrote at my request, to be shewn to your father and mother (who are entirely easy upon it) as one instance of the confidence I wish for. And you shall not, I repeat, have reason to repent it.

  ‘Mrs Jewkes will convey to me your answer. Let it be such as I wish for. And you will inexpressibly oblige

  Your true Friend.’

  True friend! Wicked man! O my dear parents! what a true friend is he, who seeks to gain the confidence of a youn
g creature, his servant, in order to ruin her! I have no doubt of his intent. He may think it doing me honour, and no doubt but he does, by setting me above want, to make me a kept and vile, creature! There are those who, perhaps, would think such offers from such a man no dishonour, the more’s the pity: but you, my dear parents, have too well instructed me, to permit me to be of that mind. What can there be to settle between Lady Davers and him, that can concern such a poor girl as I am? If there were any thing, could he not trust me with a secret that was to make for my good, if he believed I should think it for my real good? O the artful deluder! My innocence, he says, has very tenderly impressed him! Yet, to seek to destroy what has engaged him; and so to make me an abandoned wretch! Have I not heard you both talk enough of these subjects, and what false hearts these men have?

  I was so much convinced of his baseness by this very letter, that, comparing its contents with the trick he had played me, and with the situation I am in with this bad woman set over me, I became the more impatient in my hopes to find a letter from Mr Williams, that might open a prospect for me to escape the alarming danger.124

  I took an evening turn, as I called it, in Mrs Jewkes’s company; and coming to the place, I stopt, and said, ‘Do you think, Mrs Jewkes, any of my beans can have struck125 since yesterday?’ She laughed, and said, ‘You are a poor gardener; but I love to see you divert yourself.’

  She passing on, I found my good friend had deposited, and slipping it into my bosom (for her back was towards me), ‘Here,’ said I, drawing her back by the sleeve, having a bean in my hand, ‘is one of them; but it has not stirred.’ ‘No, to be sure,’ said she, and turned upon me a most wicked jest,126 unbecoming a woman’s mouth. When I came in, I hurried to my closet, and read as follows: