Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 8. Сэмюэл Ричардсон
oak-pollard. Then did master John put on a sturdier look. But I only hummed a tune, traversed all the other apartments, sounded the passages with my knuckles, to find whether there were private doors, and walked up the next pair of stairs, singing all the way; John and Joseph, and Mrs. Smith, following me up, trembling.
I looked round me there, and went into two open-door bed-chambers; searched the closets, and the passages, and peeped through the key-hole of another: no Miss Harlowe, by Jupiter! What shall I do!—what shall I do! as the girls say.—Now will she be grieved that she is out of the way.
I said this on purpose to find out whether these people knew the lady's story; and had the answer I expected from Mrs. Smith—I believe not, Sir.
Why so, Mrs. Smith? Do you know who I am?
I can guess, Sir.
Whom do you guess me to be?
Your name is Mr. Lovelace, Sir, I make no doubt.
The very same. But how came you to guess so well, dame Smith! You never saw me before, did you?
Here, Jack, I laid out for a compliment, and missed it.
'Tis easy to guess, Sir; for there cannot be two such gentlemen as you.
Well said, dame Smith—but mean you good or bad?—Handsome was the least I thought she would have said.
I leave you to guess, Sir.
Condemned, thought I, by myself, on this appeal.
Why, father Smith, thy wife is a wit, man!—Didst thou ever find that out before?—But where is widow Lovick, dame Smith? My cousin John Belford says she is a very good woman. Is she within? or is she gone with Miss Harlowe too?
She will be within by-and-by, Sir. She is not with the lady.
Well, but my good dear Mrs. Smith, where is the lady gone? and when will she return?
I can't tell, Sir.
Don't tell fibs, dame Smith; don't tell fibs, chucking her under the chin: which made John's upper-lip, with chin shortened, rise to his nose. —I am sure you know!—But here's another pair of stairs: let us see: Who lives up there?—but hold, here's another room locked up, tapping at the door—Who's at home? cried I.
That's Mrs. Lovick's apartment. She is gone out, and has the key with her.
Widow Lovick! rapping again, I believe you are at home: pray open the door.
John and Joseph muttered and whispered together.
No whispering, honest friends: 'tis not manners to whisper. Joseph, what said John to thee?
JOHN! Sir, disdainfully repeated the good woman.
I beg pardon, Mrs. Smith: but you see the force of example. Had you showed your honest man more respect, I should. Let me give you a piece of advice—women who treat their husbands irreverently, teach strangers to use them with contempt. There, honest master John; why dost not pull off thy hat to me?—Oh! so thou wouldst, if thou hadst it on: but thou never wearest thy hat in thy wife's presence, I believe; dost thou?
None of your fleers and your jeers, Sir, cried John. I wish every married pair lived as happily as we do.
I wish so too, honest friend. But I'll be hanged if thou hast any children.
Why so, Sir?
Hast thou?—Answer me, man: Hast thou, or not?
Perhaps not, Sir. But what of that?
What of that?—Why I'll tell thee: The man who has no children by his wife must put up with plain John. Hadst thou a child or two, thou'dst be called Mr. Smith, with a courtesy, or a smile at least, at every word.
You are very pleasant, Sir, replied my dame. I fancy, if either my husband or I had as much to answer for as I know whom, we should not be so merry.
Why then, dame Smith, so much the worse for those who were obliged to keep you company. But I am not merry—I am sad!—Hey-ho!—Where shall I find my dear Miss Harlowe?
My beloved Miss Harlowe! [calling at the foot of the third pair of stairs,] if you are above, for Heaven's sake answer me. I am coming up.
Sir, said the good man, I wish you'd walk down. The servants' rooms, and the working-rooms, are up those stairs, and another pair; and nobody's there that you want.
Shall I go up, and see if Miss Harlowe be there, Mrs. Smith?
You may, Sir, if you please.
Then I won't; for, if she was, you would not be so obliging.
I am ashamed to give you all this attendance: you are the politest traders I ever knew. Honest Joseph, slapping him upon the shoulders on a sudden, which made him jump, didst ever grin for a wager, man?—for the rascal seemed not displeased with me; and, cracking his flat face from ear to ear, with a distended mouth, showed his teeth, as broad and as black as his thumb-nails.—But don't I hinder thee? What canst earn a-day, man?
Half-a-crown I can earn a-day; with an air of pride and petulance, at being startled.
There then is a day's wages for thee. But thou needest not attend me farther.
Come, Mrs. Smith, come John, (Master Smith I should say,) let's walk down, and give me an account where the lady is gone, and when she will return.
So down stairs led I. John and Joseph (thought I had discharged the latter,) and my dame, following me, to show their complaisance to a stranger.
I re-entered one of the first-floor rooms. I have a great mind to be your lodger: for I never saw such obliging folks in my life. What rooms have you to let?
None at all, Sir.
I am sorry for that. But whose is this?
Mine, Sir, chuffily said John.
Thine, man! why then I will take it of thee. This, and a bed-chamber, and a garret for one servant, will content me. I will give thee thine own price, and half a guinea a day over, for those conveniencies.
For ten guineas a day, Sir—
Hold, John! (Master Smith I should say)—Before thou speakest, consider— I won't be affronted, man.
Sir, I wish you'd walk down, said the good woman. Really, Sir, you take—
Great liberties I hope you would not say, Mrs. Smith?
Indeed, Sir, I was going to say something like it.
Well, then, I am glad I prevented you; for such words better become my mouth than yours. But I must lodge with you till the lady returns. I believe I must. However, you may be wanted in the shop; so we'll talk that over there.
Down I went, they paying diligent attendance on my steps.
When I came into the shop, seeing no chair or stool, I went behind the compter, and sat down under an arched kind of canopy of carved work, which these proud traders, emulating the royal niche-fillers, often give themselves, while a joint-stool, perhaps, serves those by whom they get their bread: such is the dignity of trade in this mercantile nation!
I looked about me, and above me; and told them I was very proud of my seat; asking, if John were ever permitted to fill this superb niche?
Perhaps he was, he said, very surlily.
That is it that makes thee looks so like a statue, man.
John looked plaguy glum upon me. But his man Joseph and my man Will. turned round with their backs to us, to hide their grinning, with each his fist in his mouth.
I asked, what it was they sold?
Powder, and wash-balls, and snuff, they said; and gloves and stockings.
O come, I'll be your customer. Will. do I want wash-balls?
Yes,