‘I am sorry to tell you, that I have had a repulse from Mrs Jones. She is concerned at your case, she says; but don’t care to make herself enemies. I applied to Lady Darnford, and told her, in the most pathetic terms I could think of, your sad story, and shewed her your more pathetic letter. I found her well-disposed; but she would advise with Sir Simon, she said, who, by-the-by, is not a man of a character famous for virtue. She did, in my presence; and he said, “Why, what is all this, my dear, but that our neighbour has a mind to his mother’s waiting-maid! And if he takes care she wants for nothing, I don’t see any great injury will be done her. He hurts no family by this.”’
So, my dear father and mother, it seems, that poor peoples virtue is to go for nothing.
‘“And I think, Mr Williams, you, of all men, should not engage in this affair, against your friend and patron.”
‘He spoke this in so determined a manner, that it silenced the lady; and I had only to beg no notice should be taken of the matter, as proceeding from me.
’ I have hinted your case to Mr Peters, the minister of this parish; but I am concerned to say (for he bears an irreproachable character)127 that he imputed selfish views to me, as if I would make an interest in your affections, by my zeal. And when I represented the duties of our function, and the like, and protested my disinterestedness, he coldly said, I was very good; but was a young man, and knew little of the world. And though it was a thing to be lamented, yet when he and I should set about to reform mankind in this respect, we should have enough upon our hand’; since, such attempts, he said, were too common and too fashionable to be decried with success by private clergymen. And then he uttered some reflections upon the conduct of the present fathers of the church, in regard to the first personages of the realm, as a justification of his coldness on this score.
‘I represented the different circumstances of your case: that other women lived in a state of guilt by their own consent; but to serve you, was to save an innocence that had but few examples. And then I shewed him your letter.
‘He said, it was prettily written; and he was sorry for you; and that your good intentions ought to be encouraged. “But what,” said he, “would you have me to do, Mr Williams?” “Why, suppose, sir,” said I, “that, if she can make her escape, you should give her shelter in your house, with your spouse and niece, till she can get to her friends!” “What, and embroil myself with a man of Mr B.’s power and fortune! Not I, I assure you! And I would have you consider what you are about: for Mr B. is a man of strong passions; and by what you have told me, and the letter you have shewed me, seems determined to carry his point. I am sorry,” added he, “for the young woman; but see not that our embroiling ourselves for her, with such a man as he is, will do her any service. The case, the more”s the pity! is too common. And if she is so pretty, as you say, she might have fallen into worse hands; for he is not an ungenerous man, nor profligately wicked, except in this case: and it is what all young gentlemen will do.”
‘This is what Mr Peters was pleased to say; and I am greatly concerned for him, I assure you. However, I am not discouraged by this ill success, let what will follow as to myself, if I can serve you.
‘I besought Mr Peters to take no notice of my application to him. He promised that he would not: and I am sure I may rely upon his word. He would be glad you were safe, I dare say: but, poor gentleman! he is like too many of us. He wants courage, when a man of power is in the case.128
‘I do not hear, as yet, that Mr B. is coming. I am glad of your hint relating to that unhappy fellow, John Arnold. Something, perhaps, will strike out from that, which may be useful.
‘As to your pacquets, if you seal them up, and lay them in the usual place, (if you find it not suspected) I will watch an opportunity to convey them; but if they are large, you had best be very cautious. This evil woman, I find, mistrusts me.
‘I just hear, that the gentleman is dying, whose living Mr B. has promised me. I have almost a scruple to take it, as I am acting so contrary to his desires; but I hope he will one day thank me for it.
’As to money, don’t think of it at present. Command all in my power to do for you, without reserve.
‘I believe, when we hear he is coming, it will be best to make use of the key, which I shall soon procure you; and I can borrow a horse for you, I believe, to wait within half a mile of the backdoor, that opens to the pasture; and will contrive by myself, or by somebody else, to have you conducted to some place of present safety. So don’t be discomforted, I beseech you. I am, excellent Mrs Pamela,
Your faithful Friend, &c.’
I made a thousand sad reflections upon the former part of this honest gentleman’s kind letter; and, but for the hope he gave me at last, should have given up my case as quite desperate. I then wrote to him, to thank him most gratefully for his kind endeavours. In my letter, I lamented the little concern the gentry he applied to, had shewn for a case so circumstanced; the wickedness of the world, first to give way to such iniquitous fashions, and then plead the frequency of them, in order to excuse themselves from attempting to amend them; and how unaffected people were with the distresses of others. I waved my former hint of writing to Lady Davers; since that, I feared, would only serve to harden her brother, and make him come down the sooner, and to be more determined on my ruin; besides, that it might make Mr Williams suspected to be the person by whose means such a letter was conveyed. My lady, I told him, both loved and feared her brother; and it was a doubt whether, if her ladyship would interest herself in my behalf, it would have any effect upon him: that, therefore, I would entirely rely upon his assistance in the key and the horse, which he had offered to procure for me. I acquainted him with my master’s desire to be permitted, as he called it, to come down: a condescension vastly too great, did he not build upon that my requested permission (could he obtain it) a kind of indirect consent to his vile views. I was fearful, I said, that his coming might be sudden, and therefore thought no time was to be. lost: and acquainted him with the abominable trick of this base woman, in borrowing my little money, and refusing to restore it; on the contrary, glorying in her artful wickedness in getting it from me.
I was so closely watched, that I had not opportunity to take a copy of the letter I wrote. But when I had it ready in my bosom, I was easy.
I was guilty of art in my turn; for I told her, that I wanted to have her advice upon the letter of my master to me. She was highly pleased. ‘Ay,’ said she, ‘this is something like, and now we will take a turn in the garden, or where you please.’ I pretended it was indifferent to me; but at the same time led into the garden, and began to talk to her of my master’s letter; though I did not acquaint her with all the contents; mentioning to her only that he wanted my consent to come down, and hoped she used me kindly, and the like. And I said, ‘Now, Mrs Jewkes, let me have your advice as to this.’ ‘Why, then,’ said she, ‘I will give it you freely: e’en send to him to come down: it will highly oblige him, and I dare say you’ll fare the better for it.’ ‘How the better?’ said I. ‘I dare say, you think yourself, that he intends my ruin.’ ‘I hate,’ said she, ‘that foolish word ruin Why ne’er a lady in the land lives happier than you may do, if you will, or be more honourably used.’
‘Well, Mrs Jewkes,’ said I, ‘I shall not at this time dispute with you about the words ruin or honourable; for I find we have quite different notions of both: but now I will speak plainer than ever I did. Do you think he intends to make proposals to me, as to a kept mistress, or kept slave rather, or do you not?’ ‘Why, lambkin,’ said she, ‘what dost thou think, thyself?’ ‘I fear,’ said I, ‘he does.’ ‘Well,’ said she, ‘but if he does (for I know nothing of the matter, I assure you), you may have your own terms. I see that you may do anything with him.’
I could not bear this to be spoken, though it was what I had long feared; and began to exclaim in passionate terms. ‘Nay,’ said she, ‘he may marry you, as far as I know.’ ‘No, no,’ said I, ‘that cannot be. I n
either desire nor expect it. His high condition in the world does not permit me to have such a thought. And the whole of his conduct by me shews but too plainly what his base views are; yet you would have me invite him to come down, would you? What, Mrs Jewkes, invite my ruin?’
‘Ruin!’ said she, and put up her ugly horse-lip:129 ‘It is what I would do, in your place; and if it was to be as you think, I should rather be out of my pain, than live in continual apprehensions, as you do.’ ‘An hour of innocence,’ replied I, ‘is worth an age of guilt: and were my life to be made ever so miserable by it, I should never forgive myself, if I were not to lengthen out to the longest minute the time of my innocency. Who knows what Providence may do for me?’
‘Who knows,’ said she, ‘as he loves you so well, but you may move him in your favour by your prayers and tears? Prayers and tears you are a good one at, lambkin.’ [Was she not an odious wretch? A woman! surely she cannot have the nature of a woman!] ‘And for that reason,’ continued she, ‘I should think you had better let him come down.’
‘A good one at prayers and tears, Mrs Jewkes! You are a wicked woman’ (‘Jezebel,’ said she) ‘thus to make a jest of the calamity of a poor young creature, designed, as perhaps you know, for a sacrifice!’
She only laughed – Ugly creature! She only laughed – You cannot imagine how ugly she is when she laughs. How must she look when she cries?130
‘I will write to him,’ continued I, ‘because he expects an answer; else, perhaps, he will make my silence a pretence to come down. How can a letter go?’
‘I will take care of that,’ said she; ‘it is in my instructions.’ Ay, thought I, so I suppose, by the hint Mr Williams gave me about the post-house.
The gardener coming by, I said, ‘Mr Jacob, I have planted a few beans, and I call the border where I have planted them my garden. It is just by the door, out yonder, I’ll shew it you; pray, don’t dig them up.’ I went on with him; and when we had turned the alley, out of her sight, and were near the place, ‘Pray,’ said I, ‘fetch me a few more beans, or a few pease.’ He smiled, I suppose, at my foolishness, but went on, nodding his compliance; and I popped my letter to Mr Williams under the mould, and stepped back, as if waiting for his return. She was not far off. He presently came back with some beans. She followed him; and whispering me, ‘I am afraid of some fetch!’ said she. ‘You don’t use to send on such simple errands.’ I was frighted. ‘My master writes,’ proceeded she, ‘that I must have all my eyes about me; for though you are as innocent as a dove, yet you are as cunning as a serpent.131 But I’ll forgive you, if you cheat me.’
I then thought of my money, and could have called her names, had I dared: and I said, ‘Pray, Mrs Jewkes, now you talk of for giving me if I cheat you, be so kind as to pay me my money; for though I have no occasion for it, yet I know you was but in jest, and intended to give it me again.’ ‘You shall have it in a proper time,’ said she; ‘but indeed, I was in earnest to get it out of your hands, for fear you should make an ill use of it.’
We cavilled upon this subject as we walked in, and I went up to write my letter to my master; and, as I intended to shew it her, I wrote accordingly as to her part of it; for I made little account of his offer of Mrs Jervis to me, instead of this wicked woman (however agreeable that would have been) nor indeed of anything he said: for were his designs honourable, in the just sense of the word, he needed not to have caused me to be run away with, and confined as I am. Here follows a copy of my letter:
‘Honoured Sir,
‘When I consider how easily you might make me happy, since all I desire is to be permitted to go to my father and mother: when I reflect upon your former proposal to me, in relation to a certain person, not one word of which is now mentioned; and upon my being in so strange a manner run away with, and still kept here a miserable prisoner; do you think, sir, (pardon your poor servant’s freedom; my fears make me bold) that your general assurances of honour, can have the effect upon me, that, were it not for these things, all your words ought to have? O sir! I too much apprehend, that your notions of honour and mine are very different. And I have no other hope but in your continued absence. If you have any proposals to make me, that are consistent with your honourable professions, in my humble sense of the word, a few lines will communicate them to me, and I will return such an answer as befits me.
‘Why, sir, must I be close watched, a wretched prisoner! hindered from stirring out, from speaking to any body, from going so much as to church to pray for you, who have been till of late so generous a benefactor to me; why, sir, I humbly ask, why all this, if you mean honourably? Pardon me, I hope you will; but as-to seeing you, I cannot bear the dreadful apprehension. Whatever you have to propose, whatever you intend by me, let my assent be that of a free person, mean as I am, and not of a slave, who is to be threatened and frightened into a compliance with measures which you yourself, if I may judge by your conduct towards me, think I would naturally abhor. My restraint is indeed hard upon me. I am very uneasy under it. Shorten it, I beseech you, if you would wish me to avoid a rashness worse than that you seem to be apprehensive of. For, let me say, that if I am made desperate, you know not what the wretched Pamela dare do, rather than submit to dishonour. I am, sir,
Your greatly oppressed
and very unhappy Servant.’
After I had taken a copy of this, I folded it up; and Mrs Jewkes coming, just as I had done, sat down by me, and said, when she saw me direct it, ‘I wish you would tell me if you have taken my advice, and consented to my master’s coming down.’ ‘If it will oblige you,’ said I, ‘I will read the whole letter to you.’ ‘That’s good,’ said she; ‘then I’ll love you dearly.’
I read it to her, and she praised me much for my wording it; but said, she thought I pushed the matter very close; and it would better bear talking of, than writing about. She wanted an explanation of what I wrote about the proposal in relation to a certain person; but I said, she must take it as she heard it. ‘Well, well,’ said she, ‘I make no doubt you understand each other, and will do so more and more.’
I sealed up the letter, and she undertook to send it away.
SUNDAY
As I now knew it would be in vain to expect leave to go to church, I did not ask for it; and was the less felicitous on this head, because, if I might have permission to go, the sight of the neighbouring gentry, who had rejected Mr Williams’s proposal in my favour, would have given me great regret and sorrow; and it was impossible I should have edified under any doctrine preached by Mr Peters: so I applied myself to my private devotions.
Mr Williams came yesterday, and this day, as usual, and took my letter; but having no good opportunity, we avoided speaking to each other: but I was concerned I had not the key; for I would not have lost a moment to procure one, had I been him, and he me. Mrs Jewkes came up, and wanted me sadly to sing her a psalm, as she had often on common days importuned me for a song upon the harpsichord, which I always declined, because of my sad situation; as now I did, on account of my spirits being so low that I could hardly speak, nor cared to be spoken to; but when she was gone, I remembering the cxxxviith psalm to be affecting, turned to it, and took the liberty to alter it somewhat nearer to my case, as follows:
I
When sad I sat in Brandon-hall,132
All guarded round about,
And drought of ev’ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
II
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke;
III
Then she to whom I pris’ner was,
Said to me’ tauntingly,
‘Now chear your heart, and sing a song,
And tune your mind to joy.’
IV
‘Alas!’ said I, ‘how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthralled
>
By such a wicked thing!’
V
But yet, if from my innocence
I, e’en in thought should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The harpsichord to guide.
VI
And let my tongue within my mouth
Be locked for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv’rance past.
VII
And thou, Almighty, recompence
The evils I endure,
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
VIII
Remember, Lord, this Mrs Jewkes,
When with a mighty sound,
She cries, ‘Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!’
IX
E’en so shalt thou, O wicked one,
At length to shame be brought;
And happy shall all those be called,
That my deliv’rance wrought.
x
Yea, blessed shall the man be called
That shames thee of dry evil;
And saves me from dry vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the d—1.
MONDAY, TUESDAY, and WEDNESDAY
I write now with a little more liking, because Mr Williams has got a large parcel of my papers safe, in his hands, to send them to you, as he has opportunity; so I am not quite uselessly employed; and I am delivered, besides, from the fear of their being found, if I should be searched. I have been permitted to take an airing five or six miles, with Mrs Jewkes: but, though I know not the reason, she watches me more closely than ever; so that Mr Williams and I have, by consent, discontinued, for these three days, the sun-flower correspondence.
The poor cook-maid has had a sad mischance; for she has been hurt by a vicious bull in the pasture, by the side of the garden, not far from the back-door. Now this pasture I am to cross, which is about half a mile, and then is a common, and near that a private horse-road, where I hope to find an opportunity for escaping, as soon as Mr Williams can get me a horse, and has made all ready for me: for he has got me the key, which he put under the mould, just by the door, as he found an opportunity to hint to me.
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