‘I, for my part,’ said Mr Brooks, ‘wish you joy most heartily, madam. My wife told me a good deal of the beauties of your person; but I did not think we had such a flower in the county.’
I felt my face glow even more than it did at my entrance: yet was not so weak as to take a compliment for a strict truth. I curtsied in silence;352 and Mr B. led me to my seat. The gentlemen seemed to try which should say the handsomest things of me. Yet were very free with one another (Mr Martin particularly) upon matrimony in general. The married men, willing, as it seemed, to draw me out, called upon me to defend the state I had so newly entered into.
I was sorry, I said, that so sacred an institution was supposed to want it. I dared to say, it did not with any married gentleman present. They had doubtless reason, and I questioned not their justice, to defend the state against the reflections of the finest gentlemen.
I had compliments from every gentleman on this occasion. Mr Martin affected to be dashed; but it was only affectation. He is not easily put out of countenance.
Mr Brooks whispered Mr B. that he might call me what he would; and so might the women of condition in the neighbourhood; but that for behaviour, good sense, and politeness, he thought he had never (even beauty out of the question) seen a more accomplished woman.
‘My dear friend,’ answered my delighted master, ‘I told you before, that her fine person made me a lover; but it was her mind, that made me an husband.’
The first course coming in, Mr Arthur was pleased to observe, much to my advantage, on the ease and freedom with which I did the honours of the table; and said, he would bring his lady to be a witness, and a learner both, of my manner. Mr B. looking at me, as wishing me to speak, I said, I should be proud of Mrs Arthur’s favour; and if I could be honoured with it, and with that of the ladies of the other gentlemen present, I should be enabled by their example to think myself better qualified for the place, to which the goodness of my dear Mr B. had exalted me; and which, at present, I was sensible, I filled with much insufficiency.
Mr B. seemed pleased at the approbation given to what I said, by every gentleman.
Mr Arthur drank to my health and happiness; and said, ‘My wife told Mr B. madam, you had very good luck in such a husband; but I now see who has the best of it.’ ‘Come, come,’ said Mr Brooks, ‘let us make no compliments; the truth of the matter is, our good neighbour’s generosity and judgment have met with so equal a match, in his lady’s beauty and merit, that I know not which has the best luck. But may you be both long happy together, say I!’ And he drank a glass of wine.
Mr B. addressed himself to me, on all occasions, in the kindest, tenderest, and most respectful manner. Insomuch that the free Mr Martin said, ‘Did you ever think our good friend here, who used to ridicule matrimony so much, would have made so complaisant a husband? How long do you intend, sir, that this shall hold?’ ‘As long as my good girl deserves it,’ said he, ‘and that I am sure will be for ever. But,’ continued the kind gentleman, ‘you need not wonder I have changed my mind as to wedlock; for I never expected to meet with one whose behaviour, and sweetness of temper, were so likely to make me happy.’
After dinner, and having drank in one glass good healths to their ladies, I withdrew; and they sat and drank, as they boasted, two bottles of Burgundy each; and went away full of my praises, and vowing to bring their ladies to see me.
John having brought me your kind letter, my dear father, I told my master, after his friends were gone, how gratefully you received his generous intentions as to the Kentish farm, and promised your best endeavours to serve him in that estate; and that you hoped your industry and care would be so well employed in it, that you should be very little troublesome to him as to the liberal manner in which he had intended to add to a provision, that of itself exceeded all you wished.
He was very well pleased with your chearful acceptance of it.
I am glad your engagements to the world353 lie in so small a compass: as soon as you have gotten an account of them exactly, you will be pleased to send it me, with the list you are so kind to promise to procure for me of the deserving poor.
I think, as my dear Mr B. is so generous, you should account nothing, that is plain, too good. Pray, don’t be afraid of laying out upon yourselves. My dear Mr B. will not, when you come to us, permit you to return to your old abode; but will engage you to stay with us, till you set out for Kent. Be pleased, therefore, to dispose of yourselves accordingly.
I hope, my dear father, you have quite left off all slavish business. As Farmer Jones has, as I have heard you say, been kind to you, pray, when you take leave of him and his family, present them with three guineas worth of good books: such as a Family Bible, a Common Prayer, a Whole Duty of Man,354 or any other you think will be acceptable; for they live a great way from church; and in winter the ways from their farm thither are almost unpassable.
John has brought me my papers safe. I will send them to Lady Davers, the first opportunity, down to the place I mentioned in my last.
My dear Mr B. just now tells me, that he will carry me in the morning a little airing, about ten miles off, in his chariot and four, to breakfast at a farm-house, noted for a fine dairy, and whither, now-and-then, the neighbouring gentry of both sexes resort for that purpose. And he will send Abraham on horseback, before us, to let the good folks know it. How can I forbear making you a partaker with me of all my pleasures, and the distinction given me by this best of husbands!
THURSDAY
Prepare, my dear parents, to hear something very particular. We set out at about half an hour after six, in the morning; and got to the truly neat house I mentioned in my former, by half an hour after eight.
We were prettily received and entertained here, by the good woman, and her daughter; and an elegancy ran through every thing, persons as well as furniture, yet all plain. And my master said to the good housewife, ‘Do your young boarding-school ladies still at times continue their visits to you, Mrs Dobson?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said she; ‘I expect three or four of them every minute.’
‘There is, my dear,’ said he, ‘within three miles of this farm, a very good boarding-school for ladies. The governess of it keeps a chaise and pair, which is to be made a double chaise355 at pleasure; and in summer-time, when the misses perform their tasks well, she favours them with an airing to this place, three or four at a time, to breakfast: and this serves both for a reward, and for exercise. The young ladies who have this favour, are not a little proud of it; and it brings them forward in their respective talks.’
‘A very good method, sir,’ said I. And just as we were talking, the chaise came in with four misses, all pretty much of a size, and a maid-servant to attend them. They were shewn another little neat apartment, that went through ours; and made their honours356 very prettily as they passed by us. I went into the room to them, and asked them questions about their work, and their lessons; and what they had done to deserve such a fine airing and breakfasting. They all answered me very prettily. ‘And pray, little ladies,’ said I, ‘what may I call your names?’ One was called Miss Burdoff, one Miss Nugent, one Miss Booth, and the fourth Miss Goodwin. ‘I don‘t know which,’ said I, ‘is the prettiest; but you are all best, my little dears; and you have a very good governess, to indulge you with such a fine airing, and such delicate cream, and bread and butter. I hope you think so.’
My master came in. He kissed each of them; but looked more wistfully on Miss Goodwin, than on any of the others; but I thought nothing just then: had she been called Miss Godfrey, I had hit upon it in a trice.
When we returned to our own room, he said, ‘Which do you think the prettiest of those children?’ ‘Really, sir,’ replied I, ‘it is hard to say: Miss Booth is a pretty brown357 girl, and has a fine eye. Miss Burdoff has a great deal of sweetness in her countenance, but her features are not so regular. Miss Nugent has a fine complexion: and Miss Goodwin has a fine black eye, and is, besides, I think, the genteelest-shaped child. But they are all pret
ty.’
Their maid led them into the garden, to shew them the beehives; and Miss Goodwin made a particular fine curtsey to my master. And I said, ‘I believe miss knows you, sir.’ And taking her by the hand, ‘Do you know this gentleman, my pretty dear?’ ‘Yes, madam,’ said she; ‘he is my own uncle.’ I clasped her in my arms: ‘O, why did you not tell me, sir,’ said I, ‘that you had a niece among these little ladies?’ And I kissed her, and away she tript after the others.
‘But pray, sir,’ said I, ‘how can this be? You have no sister nor brother, but Lady Davers. How can this be?’
He smiled; and then I said, ‘O, my dearest sir, tell me now of a truth, does not this pretty miss stand in a nearer relation to you, than that of a niece? I know she does! I know she does!’
‘’Tis even so, my dear,’ replied he; ‘and you remember my sister’s good-natured hint of Miss Sally Godfrey –’ ‘I do, sir,’ answered I: ‘but this young lady is Miss Goodwin, not Godfrey.’ ‘Her mother chose that name for her,’ answered he, ‘because she would not have her called by her own.’ ‘You must excuse me, sir,’ said I ; ’ I must go and prattle with her. ‘I will send for her in again,’ replied he. He did; and in she came, in a moment. I took her in my arms, and said, ‘Will you love me, my charming dear? Will you let me be your aunt?’ ‘Yes, madam,’ answered she; ‘and I will love you dearly: but I must not love my uncle.’ ‘Why so?’ asked Mr B. ‘Because,’ replied she, ‘you would not speak to me at first! And because you would not let me call you uncle’ (for it seems she was bid not, that I might not guess at her presently); ‘and yet,’ said the pretty dear, ‘I had not seen you a great while – so I had not.’
‘Well, Pamela,’ said he, ‘now can you allow me to love this little innocent?’ ‘Allow you, sir!’ replied I; ‘you would be very barbarous, if you did not; and I should be more so, if I did not promote it all I could, and love the little innocent myself, for your sake, and for her own sake, and in compassion to her poor mother, though unknown to me.’ Tears stood in my eyes.
‘Why, my love,’ said he, ‘are your words so kind, and your countenance so sad?’ I drew to the window, from the child, he following me; and said, ‘sad it is not, sir; but I have a strange grief and pleasure mingled at once in my breast, on this occasion: it is indeed a twofold grief, and a twofold pleasure.’ ‘As how, my dear?’ ‘Why, sir, I cannot help being grieved for the poor mother of this sweet babe, to think, if she be living, that she must call her chiefest delight her shame: if she be no more, that she must. have had sad remorse on her mind, when she came to leave the world, and her little babe: and, in the second place, I grieve, that it must be thought a kindness to the dear little soul, not to let her know how near the dearest relation she has in the world is to her. Forgive me, sir; I say not this in the least to reproach you: indeed, I do not. And I have a twofold cause of joy. First, that I have had the grace to escape the misfortune of this poor lady; and next, that this discovery has given me an opportunity to shew the sincerity of my grateful affection for you, sir, in the love I will always bear to this dear child.’
I then stepped to her again, and kissed her; and said, ‘Join with me, my pretty love, to beg your uncle to let you come and live with your new aunt: indeed, my precious, I will love you dearly.’
‘Will you, sir?’ said the little charmer, ‘will you let me go and live with my aunt?’
‘You are very good, my Pamela,’ said he. ‘I have not been once deceived in the hopes my fond heart had entertained of your prudence.’ ‘But will you, sir,’ said I, ‘will you grant me this favour? I shall most sincerely love the little charmer; and she shall be entitled to all I am capable of doing for her, both by example and affection. My dearest sir,’ added I, ‘oblige me in this thing! I think already my heart is set upon it! What a sweet employment and companion shall I have!’
‘We will talk of this some other time,’ replied he; ‘but I must, in prudence, put some bounds to your amiable generosity. I had always intended to surprize you into this discovery; but my sister led the way to it, out of a poorness in her spite, that I could hardly forgive. You have obliged me beyond expression: yet I cannot say, that you have gone much beyond my expectation on this occasion. For I have such a high opinion of you, that I think nothing could have shaken it, but a contrary conduct to this you have shewn on so tender a circumstance.’
‘Well, sir,’ said the dear little miss, ‘then you will not let me go home with my aunt, will you? She will be my pretty aunt; and I am sure she will love me.’ ‘When you break up next, my dear,’ said he, ‘if you are a good girl, you shall pay your new aunt a visit.’ She made a low curtsey, ‘Thank you, sir.’ ‘Yes, my dear,’ said I, ‘and I will get you some pretty picture books against the time. You love reading, I dare say?’ ‘Indeed I do.’ ‘I would have brought some now,’ said I, ‘had I known I should have seen my pretty love.’ ‘Thank you, madam,’ returned she.
I asked him, how old she was? He said, ‘Between six and seven.’ ‘Was she ever, sir, at your house?’ ‘My sister,’ replied he, ‘brought her thither once, as a little relation of her lord’s.’ ‘I remember, sir,’ said I, ‘a little miss, once brought thither by Lady Davers; and Mrs Jervis and I took her to be a relation of Lord Davers.’
‘My sister,’ returned he, ‘knew the whole secret from the beginning: and it made her a great merit with me, that she kept it from the knowledge of my father, who was then living, and of my mother, to her dying-day; although she descended so low, in her passion, as to hint the matter to you.’
The little misses took their leaves soon after. I know not how, but I am strangely taken with this dear child. I wish Mr B. would let me have her home. It would be a great pleasure to have such a fine opportunity, obliged as I am, to shew my love for him, in my fondness for this dear miss.
As we came home together in the chariot, he gave me the following particulars of this affair, additional to what he had before mentioned:
This lady, he said, was of a good family, and the flower of it. Her mother was a person of great art; and, in hopes to draw him in, as she knew that he was heir to a great estate, encouraged his private visits to her daughter; yet, as he was known to be unsettled and wild, and that her daughter was young and inexperienced, and far from being indifferent to him, she seemed not to consider that Miss Godfrey was in more danger from him, than he was from her; but depended too much upon her instructions to her.
At last, the young couple being found in a way, not very creditable to the lady; and he not talking of marriage; the mother thought of taking advantage of his youth, and of intimidating him. Accordingly, the next time he came, when the lovers were together, and not less familiar than before, an half-pay officer,358 her relation, accompanied by one who had been her servant, broke in upon the lovers; and, reproaching him with dishonourable intentions, drew their swords upon him, threatening him with instant death, if he did not engage to marry the young lady on the spot; they having a clergyman in readiness below to join their hands.
He suspected, from some strong circumstances, that the young lady was in the plot, and enraged at the supposed imposition, drew; and was so much in earnest, that he run the servant into the arm; and pressing pretty forward upon the other, as he retreated, he rushed in upon him, near the top of the stairs, and pushed him down one pair. He was much hurt with the fall: Mr B. owned, however, that he might have paid for his rashness; but that the business of his antagonists was rather to frighten than to kill him. He then, in sight of the old lady, the minister, and the other daughters, quitted the house, vowing never more to enter it; and that he would never again visit the young lady.
After this, however, Miss Godfrey found means to engage him to give her a meeting at Woodstock, in which she undertook to clear up his suspicions of her conduct. But there, poor lady! she found herself betrayed (wicked man!) into the grossest fault a young woman can be guilty of, in order to convince him of her innocence in a less.
They afterwards often m
et at Godstow, at Woodstock, and every neighbouring place to Oxford, where he was then studying, as it proved, guilty lessons, instead of improving ones; till, at last, the effect of their frequent interviews grew too obvious to be concealed. In vain did they endeavour to prevail on him by marriage to save the young lady’s credit. At last, they resolved to complain to his father and mother. But he making his sister, then unmarried, and at home, acquainted with the affair, she so managed as to prevail upon them to hush up the matter for the sake of their own reputation; and Miss Godfrey was sent to Marlborough, where, at his sister’s expense, which he answered to her again, she was provided for, and privately lay-in. Miss B. (afterwards Lady Davers) took upon herself the care of the little-one, till it was put to the boarding-school, where it now is.
Mr B. has settled upon the child such a sum of money as the interest of it will handsomely provide for her; and the principal be a tolerable fortune, fit for a gentlewoman, when she comes to be of age.
‘This, my dear,’ said Mr B., when he had given me the above particulars, ‘is the story of Miss Sally Godfrey; and I do assure you, I am far from taking a pride in this affair: but since it has happened, I will do all I can to make the child happy.’
‘And may she be so!’ said I. ‘How much will it add to my felicity, if I can contribute to it! O that you would permit me to have her home.’ He made me no answer in words; but tenderly grasped my hand, and looked pleased.
I asked him, if Miss Goodwin had any notion of who were her father and mother? ‘No,’ answered he. ‘Her governess has been told by my sister, that she is the daughter of a gentleman and his lady, who are related, at a distance, to Lord Davers, and now live at Jamaica; and she calls me uncle, only because I am the brother to Lady Davers, whom she calls aunt, and who is very fond of her, as is also my lord, who knows the whole matter. At all their little school-recesses they have her at their house. I believe,’ added he, ‘the matter is very little known or suspected; for as her mother is of a good family, her friends endeavour to keep it secret, as much as I; and Lady Davers, till her wrath boiled over, the other day, has managed the matter very dexterously and kindly.’