The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, Volumes One and Two. Harriette Wilson
he will no doubt proceed to ask for me by my name. Can you still be serious, while declaring that you have no mistress, and that your master is you know well acquainted both with his lordship and his lady wife?"
"Most certainly, ma'am," said Will, as seriously as though he had been at vespers, "I will just clap your directions down in my pocket-book, so you need not be afraid of me, ma'am; because you see, as I told you before, I'm the most particlerst man as is."
"But suppose he insists, William?"
"Oh, ma'am! I'll tell him I've got my knives to clean, and shut the door very gently in his face."
"Thank you, William, I shall feel obliged to you."
Smith, the haberdasher of Oxford-street, was the next person announced to me, and he followed William into the drawing-room. He is a short, thick-built man, with little twinkling eyes, expressive of eager curiosity, and a bald head. This man had known me when I was quite an infant, having served my mother I believe before I was born, and often talked and played with us all while children. As I grew up, his extreme vulgarity, and the amorous twinkle of his little eyes, furnished me with so much real sport and amusement, that, in gratitude for his being so very ridiculous, I had by degrees lost sight of all my usual reserve towards these sort of people: and once, when I was about eleven years of age, this man caught me in the very act of mimicking his amorous leers at our maidservant. I was close behind him and he saw me in the looking-glass.
"Oh you rogue!" said Smith, and from that day good-bye all serious reserve between Smith and me. I would have cut him, only nobody sold such good gloves and ribbons. I often took people to his shop to amuse them, while I encouraged Smith to be as ridiculous as possible, by affecting to be rather flattered by his beautiful leering and his soft speeches.
Smith was as deaf as a post, and never spoke without popping his ear against one's mouth, to catch the answer, and saying, "Hay! Hay!" long before one's lips could move to address him.
I guessed at the motive for his visiting me on this occasion, for I knew that two of my promissory notes of hand for fifty pounds each had been returned to him on that morning, as they had also been three months before, when I made him renew them. Not that I was in any sort of difficulty during the whole period I remained with Lord Ponsonby, who always took care of me and for me; but Smith's scolding furnished me with so much entertainment, that I purposely neglected his bills, knowing his high charges and how well he could afford to give long credit. He came into the room, with a firmer step than usual and his bow was more stately.
"Your sarvant, Miss."
"Smith," said I, "those bills were paid to-day, I hope?"
Smith shook his head. "Too bad, too bad, Miss, upon my word!"
I laughed.
"You are a pretty creature!" said Smith, drawing in his breath, his amorous feelings for an instant driving the bills out of his head, and then added hastily, with an altered expression of countenance, "But you really must pay your bills!"
"You don't say so?"
"If," continued Smith earnestly; "if you had but ha' let me ha knode, you see; but, in this way, you hurt my credit in the City."
"What signifies having credit, in such a vulgar place as that?"
"You talk like a child," exclaimed Smith impatiently.
"Come," said I to Smith, "hand out your stamps."
"And Miss, do you expect me to find you in stamps too?"
I laughed.
"But," continued Smith, growing enthusiastic all at once, "you look so beautiful and charming in your little blue satin dress. You bought that satin of me I think? Ah, yes, I remember—you do look so pretty, and so tempting, and so, so—oh Lord."
"Mr. Smith, I really will speak to Mrs. Smith, if you will go into these sort of raptures."
"Beg you pardon, beg your pardon! Have got a curious little article here to show you" (pulling something from his breeches pocket, which proved to be some embroidered, covered buttons). "Beg your pardon, but, bless you! You are so well made you see, about here"—touching his own breast. "There is never a one of your sisters like you, about here. I always said it. Hay? hay? I was a saying so, you see, to my young man yesterday when you came into the shop. Now, there's Miss Sophy, pretty creature too! very, but, Oh, Lord! you beat them all, just about here."
"Mr. Smith, I really must send a note to your wife to-morrow."
"Oh, no! I am sure you wont. You would not be so hard-hearted." He then proceeded, in a whisper, "The fact is, there's never a man in England as don't have a bit of frolic; only they doesn't know it you see. Pretty hair!—-"
"Mr. Smith, if you meddle with my hair, I shall seriously be angry, and ring for my servant."
"Beg pardon.—Thousands of pardons—It's the worst of me, I'm so imperdent, you see!—can't help it—been so from child—never could keep my hands off a fine woman! and Mrs. Smith is confined, you see: that's one thing! Hay? Hay? but it shan't happen again. Now about those here bills? If I draw you up two more, now, will you really give me your word they shall be paid?"
"No," answered I.
"You wont?"
"No!"
"Then I'll tell you what, Miss! I can't say as you treat me exactly like a lady, and—now don't laugh—oh, you sly, pretty rogue!—Hay? Hay? Beg pardon—it's my own fault, you see. So very imperdent! Come, I'll draw up these here bills."
He began writing, and I laughed at him again. He shook his head at me. "Sad doings, Miss, these here bills being returned."
"It's the worst of me," said I, mimicking his manner. "It's the worst of me, that I never do pay my bills. Have been so from a child!"
Lord Ponsonby's well-known rap at the door occasioned Smith to be bundled into the street, bills and all, without the slightest ceremony.
I have, I believe, already said that I would not dwell much on that period of my life, which I passed so happily with Lord Ponsonby and which lasted, I think, three years. Lord Rivers used to say to me, "Your little light feet seem scarcely to touch the earth, as though you could almost fly!"
Happiness is a stupid subject to write upon, therefore I will revert to that of the present Lady Berwick, whom I often visited after she took possession of the poor humble lodging which Deerhurst's parsimony had provided for her. First, however, the respect I feel for the memory of a most tender parent, makes me anxious that she should be acquitted from every shadow of blame which might, by some perhaps, be imputed to her, in consequence of her daughters' errors and the life they fell into.
My mother was a natural daughter of a country gentleman, of great respectability and good estate, Mr. Cheney. His only son, General Cheney, was an old guardsman, and died some few years ago. The late Lady Frederick Campbell, aunt of his grace the Duke of Argyle, was so struck with the beauty of my mother as to adopt her and bring her up as her own child. After her marriage, her ladyship still continued her friendship and, indeed, almost up to the time of the very lamented death of that amiable lady.
I remember the ceremony of our being all dressed up in our best frocks to go out of town and pass the day with her ladyship, who was kind enough to stand godmother to my eldest sister. My mother was the most beautiful woman, and possessed the finest and most benevolent countenance, I have ever seen in my whole life. Her education had been carefully attended to by Lady Frederick, and she possessed a most excellent understanding; but, marrying so very young a man more than twenty years her senior, and being remarkably meek and gentle, she acquired such a habit of blind submission to his will, that at home she was more like our sister than our parent. She was powerless to contribute either to our good or our comfort in any one thing which did not suit my father's humour. Having no fortune to bestow on us, she gave us the best education in her power; and, what ought to have done us still more good, she ever set us the very best example; for she was not only virtuous, but patient, industrious,