Amy, for ought I know; I hope you’ll give me Leave to be satisfy’d: I told him, Yes, by all means I wou’d have his Lordship satisfy’d, but I suppos’d he knew who she was.
Well, he fell foul of 213 poor Amy, and indeed, I thought once he wou’d have carry’d the Jest on before my Face, as was once done in a like Case; but his Lordship was not so hot neither; but he wou’d know whether Amy was Mr. Amy, or Mrs. Amy, and so I suppose he did; and then being satisfy’d in that doubtful Case, he walk’d to the farther-end of the Room, and went into a little Closet, and sat down.
In the mean time Amy and I got up, and I bid her run and make the Bed in another Chamber for my Lord, and I gave her Sheets to put into it; which she did immediately, and I put my Lord to-Bed there; and when I had done, at his Desire, went to-Bed to him: I was backward at first, to come to-Bed to him, and made my Excuse, because I had been in-Bed with Amy, and had not shifted me,214 but he was past those Niceties at that time; and as long as he was sure it Mrs. Amy, and not Mr. Amy, he was very well satisfy’d, and so the Jest pass’d over; but Amy appear’d no more all that Night, or the next Day, and when she did, my Lord was so merry with her upon his Ecclairicissiment,215 as he call’d it, that Amy did not know what to do with herself.
Not that Amy was such a nice Lady in the main, if she had been fairly dealt with, as has appear’d in the former Part of this Work; but now she was surpriz’d, and a little hurried, that she scarce knew where she was; and besides, she was, as to his Lordship, as nice a Lady as any in the World, and for any-thing he knew of her, she appear’d as such; the rest was to us only that knew of it.
I held this wicked Scene of Life out eight Years, reckoning from my first coming to England; and tho’ my Lord found no Fault, yet I found, without much examining, that any-one who look’d in my Face, might see I was above twenty Years old, and yet, without flattering myself, I carried my Age, which was above Fifty, very well too.
I may venture to say, that no Woman ever liv’d a Life like me, of six and twenty Years of Wickedness, without the least Signals of Remorse; without any Signs of Repentance; or without so much as a Wish to put an End to it; I had so long habituated myself to a Life of Vice, that really it appear’d to be no Vice to me; I went on smooth and pleasant; I wallow’d in Wealth, and it flow’d in upon me at such a Rate, having taken the frugal Measures that the good Knight directed; so that I had at the End of the eight Years, two Thousand eight Hundred Pounds coming Yearly in, of which I did not spend one Penny, being maintain’d by my Allowance from my Lord —, and more than maintain’d, by above 200 l. per Annum; for tho’ he did not contract for 500 l. a Year, as I made dumb Signs to have it be, yet he gave me Money so often, and that in such large Parcels, that I had seldom so little as seven to eight Hundred Pounds a Year of him, one Year with another.
I must go back here, after telling openly the wicked things I did, to mention something, which however, had the Face of doing good; I remember’d, that when I went from England, which was fifteen Years before, I had left five little Children, turn’d out, as it were, to the wide World, and to the Charity of their Father’s Relations; the Eldest was not six Years old, for we had not been marry’d full seven Years when their Father went away.
After my coming to England, I was greatly desirous to hear how things stood with them; and whether they were all alive or not; and in what Manner they had been maintain’d; and yet I resolv’d not to discover myself to them, in the least; or to let any of the People that had the breeding of them up, know that there was such a-body left in the World, as their Mother.
Amy was the only-body I cou’d trust with such a Commission, and I sent her into Spittle-Fields, to the old Aunt, and to the poor Woman, that were so instrumental in disposing the Relations to take some Care of the Children, but they were both gone, dead and buried some Years; the next Enquiry she made, was at the House where she carry’d the poor Children, and turn’d them in at the Door; when she came there, she found the House inhabited by other People, so that she cou’d make little or nothing of her Enquiries, and came back with an Answer, that indeed, was no Answer to me, for it gave me no Satisfaction at-all: I sent her back to enquire in the Neighbourhood, what was become of the Family that liv’d in that House? and if they were remov’d, where they liv’d? and what Circumstances they were in? and withal, if she cou’d, what became of the poor Children, and how they liv’d, and where? how they had been treated? and the like.
She brought me back word, upon this second going, that she heard as to the Family, that the Husband, who tho’ but Uncle-in-Law to the Children, had yet been kindest to them, was dead; and that the Widow was left but in mean Circumstances, that is to say, she did not want, but that she was not so well in the World as she was thought to be when her Husband was alive.
That as to the poor Children, two of them it seems, had been kept by her, that is to say, by her Husband, while he liv’d, for that it was against her Will, that we all knew; but the honest Neighbours pity’d the poor Children, they said, heartily; for that their Aunt us’d them barbarously, and made them little better than Servants in the House, to wait upon her and her Children, and scarce allow’d them Cloaths fit to wear.
These were, it seems my Eldest, and Third, which were Daughters; the Second was a Son; the Fourth a Daughter; and the Youngest a Son.
To finish the melancholly Part of this History of my two unhappy Girls, she brought me word, that as soon as they were able to go out, and get any Work, they went from her; and some said, she had turn’d them out of Doors; but it seems she had not done so, but she us’d them so cruelly that they left her; and one of them went to Service to a Neighbour’s a little-way off, who knew her, an honest substantial Weaver’s Wife, to whom she was Chamber-Maid, and in a little time she took her Sister out of the Bridewell of her Aunt’s House, and got her a Place too.
This was all melancholly and dull; I sent her then to the Weaver’s House, where the Eldest had liv’d, but found that her Mistress being dead, she was gone, and no-body knew there, whither she went; only that they heard she had liv’d with a great Lady at the other-end of the Town; but they did not know who that Lady was.
These Enquiries took us up three or four Weeks, and I was not one Jot the better for it, for I cou’d hear nothing to my Satisfaction; I sent her next to find out the honest Man, who, as in the Beginning of my Story I observ’d made them be entertain’d, and caus’d the Youngest to be fetch’d from the Town where we liv’d, and where the Parish-Officers had taken Care of him: This Gentleman was still alive; and there she heard that my youngest Daughter and eldest Son was dead also; but that my youngest Son was alive, and was at that time, about 17 Years old; and that he was put out Apprentice, by the Kindness and Charity of his Uncle, but to a mean Trade, and at which he was oblig’d to work very hard.
Amy was so curious in this Part, that she went immediately to see him, and found him all-dirty, and hard at-work; she had no remembrance at-all of the Youth, for she had not seen him since he was about two Years old; and it was evident he cou’d have no Knowledge of her.
However, she talk’d with him, and found him a good sensible mannerly Youth; that he knew little of the Story of his Father or Mother, and had no View of any-thing, but to work hard for his Living; and she did not think fit to put any great things into his Head, lest it shou’d take him off of his Business, and perhaps, make him turn giddy-headed, and be good for nothing; but she went and found out that Kind Man, his Benefactor, who had put him out; and finding him a plain well-meaning, honest, and kind-hearted Man, she open’d her Tale to him the easier: She made a long Story, how she had a prodigious Kindness for the Child, because she had the same for his Father and Mother; told him, that she was the Servant-Maid that brought all of them to their Aunt’s Door, and run away and left them; that their poor Mother wanted Bread; and what came of her after, she wou’d have been glad to know; she added, that her Circumstances had happen’d to mend in the World; and that, as she was in Condition, so she was dispos’d to shew some Kindness to the Children, if she cou’d find them out.
He receiv’d her with all the Civility that so kind a Proposal demanded; gave her an Account what he had done for the Child; how he had maintain’d him, fed and cloath’d him; put him to School, and at last, put him out to a Trade; she said, he had indeed, been a Father to the Child; but Sir, says she, ’tis a very laborious hard-working Trade, and he is but a thin weak Boy; that’s true, says he, but the Boy chose the Trade, and I assure you, I gave 20 l. with him, and am to find him Cloaths all his Apprenticeship;216 and as to its being a hard Trade, says he, that’s the Fate of his Circumstances, poor Boy; I cou’d not well do better for him.
Well, Sir, as you did all for him in Charity, says she, it was exceeding well; but as my Resolution is to do something for him, I desire you will, if possible, take him away again, from that Place, where he works so hard, for I cannot bear to see the Child work so very hard for his Bread, and I will do something for him, that shall make him live without such hard Labour.
He smil’d at that; I can indeed, says he, take him away, but then I must lose my 20 l. that I gave with him.
Well Sir, said Amy, I’ll enable you to lose that 20 l. immediately, and so she put her Hand in her Pocket, and pulls out her Purse.
He begun to be a little amaz’d at her, and look’d her hard in the Face, and that so very much, that she took Notice of it, and said, Sir, I Fancy by your looking at me, you think you know me, but I am assur’d you do not, for I never saw your Face before; I think you have done enough for the Child, and that you ought to be acknowleg’d as a Father to him, but you ought not to lose by your Kindness to him, more than the Kindness of bringing him up obliges you to; and therefore there’s the twenty Pound, added she, and pray let him be fetch’d away.
Well, Madam, says he, I will thank you for the Boy, as well as for my self; but will you please to tell me, what I must do with him.
Sir, says Amy, as you have been so Kind to keep him so many Years, I beg you will take him home again one Year more, and I’ll bring you an hundred Pound more, which I will desire you to lay-out in Schooling and Cloaths for him, and to pay you for his Board; perhaps I may put him in a Condition to return your Kindness.
He look’d pleas’d, but surpriz’d very much, and enquir’d of Amy, but with very great Respect, what he should go to School to learn? and what Trade she would please to put him out to?
Amy said, he should put him to learn a little Latin, and then Merchants-Accounts; and to write a good Hand, for she would have him be put to a Turkey-Merchant.217
Madam, says he, I am glad for his sake, to hear you talk so; but do you know that a Turkey-Merchant will not take him under 4 or 500 Pounds?
Yes Sir, says Amy, I know it very well.
And, says he, that it will require as many Thousands to set him up?
Yes Sir, says Amy, I know that very well too; and resolving to talk very big, she added, I have no Children of my own, and I resolve to make him my Heir; and if ten Thousand Pounds be requir’d to set him up, he shall not want it; I was but his Mother’s Servant when he was born, and I mourn’d heartily for the Disaster of the Family; and I always said, if ever I was worth anything in the World, I wou’d take the Child for my own, and I’ll be as good as my Word now, tho’ I did not then foresee: that it wou’d be with me, as it has been since: And so Amy told him a long Story how she was troubled for me; and what she wou’d give to hear whether I was dead or alive, and what Circumstances I was in; that if she cou’d but find me, if I was ever so poor, she wou’d take Care of me, and make a Gentlewoman of me again.
He told her, That as to the Child’s Mother, she had been reduc’d to the last Extremity, and was oblig’d (as he suppos’d she knew) to send the Children all among her Husband’s Friends; and if it had not been for him, they had all been sent to the Parish; but that he oblig’d the other Relations to share the Charge among them; that he had taken two, whereof he had lost the eldest, who died of the Small-Pox; but that he had been as careful of this, as of his own, and had made very little Difference in their breeding up; only that when he came to put him out, he thought it was best for the Boy, to put him to a Trade which he might set-up in, without a Stock; for otherwise his Time wou’d be lost; and that as to his Mother, he had never been able to hear one Word of her, no, not tho’ he had made the utmost Enquiry after her; that there went a Report, that she had drown’d herself; but that he cou’d never meet with any-body that cou’d give him a certain Account of it.
Amy counterfeited a Cry for her poor Mistress; told him, she wou’d give any thing in the World to see her, if she was alive; and a great deal more such-like Talk they had about that; then they return’d to speak of the Boy.
He enquir’d of her, why she did not seek after the Child before, that he might have been brought up from a younger Age, suitable to what she design’d to do for him.
She told him, she had been out of England, and was but newly return’d from the East-Indies; that she had been out of England, and was but newly return’d, was true; but the latter was false, and was put in to blind him, and provide against farther Enquiries; for it was not a strange thing for young Women to go away poor to the East-Indies, and come home vastly Rich; so she went on with Directions about him; and both agreed in this, that the Boy should by no means be told what was intended for him, but only that he should be taken home again to his Uncle’s; that his Uncle thought the Trade too hard for him, and the like.
About three Days after this, Amy goes again, and carry’d him the hundred Pound she promis’d him, but then Amy made quite another Figure than she did before; for she went in my Coach, with two Footmen after her, and dress’d very fine also, with Jewells and a Gold Watch; and there was indeed, no great Difficulty to make Amy look like a Lady, for she was a very handsome wellshap’d Woman, and genteel enough; the Coachman and Servants were particularly order’d to show her the same Respect as they wou’d to me, and to call her Madam Collins, if they were ask’d any Questions about her.
When the Gentleman saw what a Figure she made, it added to the former Surprize, and he entertain’d her in the most respectful Manner possible; congratulated her Advancement in Fortune, and particularly rejoyc’d that it should fall to the poor Child’s Lot to be so provided for, contrary to all Expectation.
Well, Amy talk’d big, but very free and familiar; told them she had no Pride in her good-Fortune; (and that was true enough for to give Amy her due, she was far from it, and was as good-humour’d a Creature as ever liv’d) that she was the same as ever, and that she always lov’d this Boy, and was resolv’d to do something extraordinary for him.
Then she pull’d out her Money, and paid him down an hundred and twenty Pounds, which, she said, she paid him, that he might be sure he should be no Loser by taking him Home again, and that she would come and see him again, and talk farther about things with him, that so all might be settled for him, in such a Manner, as the Accidents, such as Mortality, or any-thing else, should make no Alteration to the Child’s Prejudice.
At this Meeting, the Uncle brought his Wife out, a good motherly, comely, grave Woman who spoke very tenderly of the Youth, and as it appear’d, had been very good to him, tho’ she had several Children of her own: After a long Discourse, she put in a Word of her own; Madam, say she, I am heartily glad of the good Intentions you have for this poor Orphan, and I rejoice sincerely in it, for his sake; but Madam, you know, (I suppose) that there are two Sisters alive too, may we not speak a Word for them? Poor Girls, says she, they have not been so kindly us’d, as he has; and are turn’d out to the wide World.
Where are they, Madam? says Amy.
Poor Creatures, says the Gentlewoman, they are out at Service; no-body knows where but themselves; their Case is very hard.
Well, Madam, says Amy, tho’, if I cou’d find them, I would assist them; yet my Concern is for my Boy, as I call him, and I will put him into a Condition to take Care of his Sisters.
But, Madam, says the good compassionate Creature, he may not be so charitable perhaps, by his own Inclination, for Brothers are not Fathers; and they have been cruelly us’d already, poor Girls; we have often reliev’d them, both with Victuals and Cloaths too, even while they were pretended to be kept by their barbarous Aunt.
Well, Madam, says Amy, what can I do for them; they are gone, it seems, and cannot be heard of? When I see them, ’tis time enough.
She press’d Amy then, to oblige their Brother, out of the plentiful Fortune he was like to have, to do something for his Sisters, when he should be able.
Amy spoke coldly of that still, but said, she would consider of it; and so they parted for that time; they had several Meetings after this, for Amy went to see her adopted Son, and order’d his Schooling, Cloaths, and other things, but enjoin’d them not to tell the Young-Man any-thing, but that they thought the Trade he was at, too hard for him, and they wou’d keep him at-home a little longer, and give him some Schooling, to fit him for better Business; and Amy appear’d to him as she did before, only as one that had known his Mother, and had some Kindness for him.
Thus this Matter pass’d on for near a Twelve-month, when it happen’d, that one of my Maid-Servants having ask’d Amy Leave, for Amy was Mistress of the Servants, and took, and put-out such as she pleas’d; I say, having ask’d Leave to go into the City, to see her Friends, came Home crying bitterly, and in a most grievous Agony she was, and continued so several Days, till Amy perceiving the Excess, and that the Maid wou’d certainly cry herself Sick; she took an Opportunity with her, and examin’d her about it.
The Maid told her a long Story, that she had been to see her Brother, the only Brother she had in the World; and that she knew he was put-out Apprentice to a —; but there had come a Lady in a Coach, to his Uncle —, who had brought him up, and made him take him Home again; and so the Wench run-on with the whole Story, just as ’tis told above, till she came to that Part that belong’d to herself; and there, says she, I had not let them know where I liv’d; and the Lady wou’d have taken me, and they say, wou’d have provided for me too, as she has done for my Brother, but no-body cou’d tell where to find me, and so I have lost it all, and all the Hopes of being any-thing, but a poor Servant all my Days; and then the Girl fell a-crying again.
Amy said, what’s all this Story? who cou’d this Lady be? it must be some Trick sure? No, she said, it was not a Trick, for she had made them take her Brother home from Apprentice, and bought him new Cloaths, and put him to have more Learning; and the Gentlewoman said she wou’d make him her Heir.
Her Heir! says Amy; what does that amount to; it may be she had nothing to leave him; she might make anybody her Heir.
No, no, says the Girl, she came in a fine Coach and Horses, and I don’t know how-many Footmen to attend her, and brought a great Bag of Gold, and gave it to my Uncle —, he that brought up my Brother, to buy him Cloaths, and to pay for his Schooling and Board.
He that brought up your Brother? says Amy; why, did not he bring you up too, as well as your Brother? Pray who brought you up then?
Here the poor Girl told a melancholly Story, how an Aunt had brought-up her and her Sister, and how barbarously she had us’d them, as we have heard.
By this time Amy had her Head full enough, and her Heart too; and did not know how to hold it, or what to do, for she was satisfied that this was no other than my own Daughter; for she told her all the History of her Father and Mother; and how she was carried by their Maid, to her Aunt’s Door, just as is related in the beginning of my Story.
Amy did not tell me this Story for a great-while; nor did she well know what Course to take in it; but as she had Authority to manage every-thing in the Family, she took Occasion some time after, without letting me know any thing of it, to find some Fault with the Maid, and turn her away.
Her Reasons were good, tho’ at first I was not pleas’d when I heard of it, but I was convinc’d afterwards, that she was in the right; for if she had told me of it, I shou’d have been in great Perplexity between the Difficulty of concealing myself from my own Child, and the Inconvenience of having my Way of Living be known among my First Husband’s Relations, and even to my Husband himself; for as to his being dead at Paris, Amy seeing me resolv’d against marrying any-more, had told me, that she had form’d that Story only to make me easie, when I was in Holland, if any-thing should offer to my liking.
However, I was too tender a Mother still, notwithstanding what I had done, to let this poor Girl go about the World drudging, as it were, for Bread, and slaving at the Fire, and in the Kitchin, as a Cook-Maid; besides it came into my Head, that she might, perhaps, marry some poor Devil of a Footman, or a Coachman, or some such thing, and be undone that way; or, which was worse, be drawn in to lie with some of that course cursed Kind, and be with-Child, and be utterly ruin’d that way; and in the midst of all my Prosperity this gave me great Uneasiness.
As to sending Amy to her, there was no doing that now; for as she had been Servant in the House, she knew Amy, as well as Amy knew me; and no doubt, tho’ I was much out of her Sight, yet she might have had the Curiosity to have peep’d at me, and seen me enough to know me again, if I had discover’d myself to her; so that, in short, there was nothing to be done that way.
However, Amy, a diligent indefatigable Creature, found out another Woman, and gave her her Errand, and sent her to the honest Man’s House in Spittle-Fields, whither she suppos’d the Girl wou’d go, after she was out of her Place; and bade her talk with her, and tell her at a distance, that as something had been done for her Brother, so something wou’d be done for her too; and that she shou’d not be discourag’d, she carried her 20 l. to buy her Cloaths, and bid her not go to Service any-more, but think of other things; that she shou’d take a Lodging in some good Family, and that she shou’d soon hear farther.
The Girl was overjoy’d with this News, you may be sure, and at first a little too much elevated with it, and dress’d herself very handsomely indeed, and as soon as she had done so, came and paid a Visit to Madam Amy, to let her see how fine she was: Amy congratulated her, and wish’d it might be all as she expected; but admonish’d her not to be elevated with it too much; told her, Humility was the best Ornament of a Gentlewoman; and a great deal of good Advice she gave her, but discover’d218 nothing.
All this was acted in the first Years of my setting-up my new Figure here in Town, and while the Masks and Balls were in Agitation;219 and Amy carried on the Affair of setting-out my Son into the World, which we were assisted in by the sage Advice of my faithful Counsellor, Sir Robert Clayton, who procur’d us a Master for him, by whom he was afterwards sent Abroad to Italy, as you shall hear in its Place; and Amy manag’d my Daughter too, very well, tho’ by a third hand.
My Amour with my Lord — began now to draw to an end, and indeed, notwithstanding his Money, it had lasted so long, that I was much more sick of his Lordship, than he cou’d be of me; he grew old, and fretful, and captious, and I must add, which made the Vice itself begin to grow surfeiting and nauceous to me, he grew worse and wickeder the older he grew, and that to such Degree, as is not fit to write of; and made me so weary of him, that upon one of his capricious Humours, which he often took Occasion to trouble me with, I took Occasion to be much less complaisant to him than I us’d to be; and as I knew him to be hasty, I first took care to put him into a little Passion, and then to resent it, and this brought us to Words; in which I told him, I thought he grew sick of me; and he answer’d; in a heat, that truly so he was; I answer’d, that I found his Lordship was endeavouring to make me sick too; that I had met with several such Rubs from him of late; and that he did not use me as he us’d to do; and I begg’d his Lordship, he wou’d make himself easie: This I spoke with an Air of Coldness and Indifference, such as I knew he cou’d not bear; but I did not downright quarrel with him, and tell him I was sick of him too, and desire him to quit me, for I knew that wou’d come of itself; besides, I had receiv’d a great-deal of handsome Usage from him, and I was loth to have the Breach be on my Side, that he might not be able to say I was ungrateful.
But he put the Occasion into my Hands, for he came no more to me for two Months; indeed I expected a Fit of Absence, for such I had had several times before, but not for above a Fortnight or three-Weeks at most: But after I had staid a Month, which was longer than ever he kept away yet, I took a new Method with him, for I was resolv’d now it shou’d be in my Power to continue, or not, as I thought fit; at the end of a Month therefore, I remov’d, and took Lodgings at Kensington Gravel-Pitts,220 and that Part next to the Road to Acton, and left no-body in my Lodgings but Amy and a Footman; with proper Instructions how to behave, when his Lordship being come to himself, shou’d think fit to come again, which I knew he wou’d.
About the end of two Months, he came in the Dusk of the Evening, as usual; the Footman answer’d him, and told him, his Lady was not at-home, but there was Mrs. Amy above; so he did not order her to be call’d down, but went up-Stairs into the Dining-Room, and Mrs. Amy came to him; he ask’d where I was? My Lord, said she, my Mistress has been remov’d a good-while, from hence, and lives at Kensington: Ay, Mrs. Amy! how come you to be here then? My Lord, said she, we are here till the Quarter-Day,221 because the Goods are not remov’d, and to give Answers, if any comes to ask for my Lady: Well, and what Answer are you to give to me? Indeed, my Lord, says Amy, I have no particular Answer to your Lordship, but to tell you, and every-body else, where my Lady lives, that they may not think she’s run away: No, Mrs. Amy, says he, I don’t think she’s run away, but indeed, I can’t go after her so far as that; Amy said nothing to that, but made a Curtsie, and said, she believ’d I wou’d be there again for a Week or two, in a little time: How little time, Mrs. Amy? says my Lord: She comes next Tuesday, says Amy: Very well, says my Lord, I’ll call and see her then; and so he went away.
Accordingly I came on the Tuesday, and staid a Fortnight, but he came not; so I went back to Kensington, and after that, I had very few of his Lordship’s Visits, which I was very glad of, and in a little time after was more glad of it, than I was at first, and upon a far better Account too.
For now I began not to be sick of his Lordship only, but really I began to be sick of the Vice; and as I had good Leisure now to divert and enjoy myself in the World, as much as it was possible for any Woman to do, that ever liv’d in it; so I found that my Judgment began to prevail upon me to fix my Delight upon nobler Objects that I had formerly done; and the very beginning of this brought some just Reflections upon me, relating to things past, and to the former Manner of my living; and tho’ there was not the least Hint in all this, from what may be call’d Religion or Conscience, and far from any-thing of Repentance, or any-thing that was a-kin to it, especially at first; yet the Sence of things, and the Knowledge I had of the World, and the vast Variety of Scenes that I had acted my Part in, began to work upon my Sences, and it came so very strong upon my Mind one Morning, when I had been lying awake some time in my Bed, as if somebody had ask’d me the Question, What was I a Whore for now? It occurr’d naturally upon this Enquiry, that at first I yielded to the Importunity of my Circumstances, the Misery of which, the Devil dismally aggravated, to draw me to comply; for I confess, I had strong Natural Aversions to the Crime at first, partly owing to a virtuous Education, and partly to a Sence of Religion; but the Devil, and that greater Devil of Poverty, prevail’d; and the Person who laid Siege to me, did it in such an obliging, and I may almost say, irresistible Manner, all still manag’d by the Evil Spirit; for I must be allow’d to believe, that he has a Share in all such things, if not the whole Management of them: But, I say, it was carried on by that Person, in such an irresistible Manner, that, (as I said when I related the Fact) there was no withstanding it: These Circumstances, I say, the Devil manag’d, not only to bring me to comply, but he continued them as Arguments to fortifie my Mind against all Reflection, and to keep me in that horrid Course I had engag’d in, as if it were honest and lawful.
But not to dwell upon that now; this was a Pretence, and here was something to be said, tho’ I acknowledge, it ought not to have been sufficient to me at all; but, I say, to leave that, all this was out of Doors; the Devil himself cou’d not form one Argument, or put one Reason into my Head now, that cou’d serve for an Answer, no, not so much as a pretended Answer to this Question, Why I shou’d be a Whore now?
It had for a-while been a little kind of Excuse to me, that I was engag’d with this wicked old Lord, and that I cou’d not, in Honour, forsake him; but how foolish and absurd did it look, to repeat the Word Honour on so vile an Occasion? As if a Woman shou’d prostitute her Honour in Point of Honour; horrid Inconsistency; Honour call’d upon me to detest the Crime and the Man too, and to have resisted all the Attacks which from the beginning had been made upon my Virtue; and Honour, had it been consulted, wou’d have preserv’d me honest from the Beginning.
For HONESTY and HONOUR, are the same.222
This, however, shews us with what faint Excuses, and with what Trifles we pretend to satisfie ourselves, and suppress the Attempts of Conscience in the Pursuit of agreeable Crime, and in the possessing those Pleasures which we are loth to part with.
But this objection wou’d now serve no longer; for my Lord had, in some sort, broke his Engagements (I won’t call it Honour again) with me, and had so far slighted me, as fairly to justine my entire quitting of him now; and so, as the Objection was fully answer’d, the Question remain’d still unanswer’d, Why am I a Whore now? Nor indeed, had I any-thing to say for myself, even to myself, I cou’d not without blushing, as wicked as I was, answer, that I lov’d it for the sake of the Vice, and that I delighted in being a Whore, as such; I say, I cou’d not say this, even to myself, and all alone, nor indeed, wou’d it have been true; I was never able in Justice, and with Truth, to say I was so wicked as that; but as Necessity first debauch’d me, and Poverty made me a Whore at the Beginning; so excess of Avarice for getting Money, and excess of Vanity, continued me in the Crime, not being able to resist the Flatteries of Great Persons; being call’d the finest Woman in France; being caress’d by a Prince; and afterwards I had Pride enough to expect, and Folly enough to believe, tho’ indeed, without ground, by a Great Monarch: These were my Baits, these the Chains by which the Devil held me bound; and by which I was indeed, too fast held for any Reasoning that I was then Mistress of, to deliver me from.
But this was all over now; Avarice cou’d have no Pretence; I was out of the reach of all that Fate could be suppos’d to do to reduce me; now I was so far from Poor, or the Danger of it, that I had fifty Thousand Pounds in my Pocket at least; nay, I had the Income of fifty Thousand Pounds; for I had 2500 l. a Year coming in, upon very good Land-Security, besides 3 or 4000 l. in Money, which I kept by me for ordinary Occasions, and besides Jewels and Plate, and Goods, which were worth near 5600 l. more; these put together, when I ruminated on it all in my Thoughts, as you may be sure I did often, added Weight still to the Question, as above, and it sounded continually in my Head, what’s next? What am I a Whore for now?
It is true, this was, as I say, seldom out of my Thoughts, but yet it made no Impressions upon me of that Kind which might be expected from a Reflection of so important a Nature, and which had so much of Substance and Seriousness in it.
But however, it was not without some little Consequences, even at that time, and which gave a little Turn to my Way of Living at first, as you shall hear in its Place.
But one particular thing interven’d besides this, which gave me some Uneasiness at this time, and made way for other things that follow’d: I have mention’d in several little Digressions, the Concern I had upon me for my Children, and in what Manner I had directed that Affair; I must go on a little with that Part, in order to bring the subsequent Parts of my Story together.
My Boy, the only Son I had left, that I had a legal Right to call Son, was, as I have said, rescued from the unhappy Circumstances of being Apprentice to a Mechanick,223 and was brought-up upon a new foot; but tho’ this was infinitely to his Advantage, yet it put him back near three Years in his coming into the World, for he had been near a Year at the Drudgery he was first put to, and it took up two Year more to form him for what he had Hopes given him he shou’d hereafter be, so that he was full 19 Years old, or rather 20 Years, before he came to be put-out224 as I intended; at the end of which time, I put him to a very flourishing Italian Merchant, and he again sent him to Messina, in the Island of Sicily; and a little before the Juncture I am now speaking of, I had Letters from him, that is to say, Mrs. Amy had Letters from him, intimating, that he was out of his Time,225 and that he had an Opportunity to be taken into an English House there, on very good Terms, if his Support from hence might answer what he was bid to hope for; and so begg’d, that what wou’d be done for him, might be so order’d, that he might have it for his present Advancement, referring for the Particulars to his Master, the Merchant in London, who he had been put Apprentice to here; who, to cut the Story short, gave such a satisfactory Account of it, and of my Young-Man, to my steddy and faithful Counsellor, Sir Robert Clayton, that I made no Scruple to pay 4000 I. which was 1000 l. more than he demanded, or rather propos’d, that he might have Encouragement to enter into the World better than he expected.
His Master remitted the Money very faithfully to him, and finding by Sir Robert Clayton, that the young Gentleman, for so he call’d him, was well supported, wrote such Letters on his Account, as gave him a Credit at Messina, equal in Value to the Money itself.
I cou’d not digest it very well, that I shou’d all this while conceal myself thus from my own Child, and make all this Favour due, in his Opinion, to a Stranger; and yet I cou’d not find in my Heart to let my Son know what a Mother he had, and what a Life she liv’d; when at the same time that he must think himself infinitely oblig’d to me, he must be oblig’d, if he was a Man of Virtue, to hate his Mother, and abhor the Way of Living, by which all the Bounty he enjoy’d, was rais’d.
This is the Reason of mentioning this Part of my Son’s Story, which is otherwise no ways concern’d in my History, but as it put me upon thinking how to put an End to that wicked Course I was in, that my own Child, when he shou’d afterwards come to England in a good Figure, and with the Appearance of a Merchant, shou’d not be asham’d to own me.
But there was another Difficulty, which lay heavier upon me a great-deal, and that was, my Daughter; who, as before, I had reliev’d by the Hands of another Instrument, which Amy had procur’d: The Girl, as I have mention’d, was directed to put herself into a good Garb, take Lodgings, and entertain a Maid to wait upon her, and to give herself some Breeding, that is to say, to learn to Dance, and fit herself to appear as a Gentlewoman; being made to hope, that she shou’d, sometime or other, find that she shou’d be put into a Condition to support her Character, and to make herself amends for all her former Troubles; she was only charg’d not to be drawn into Matrimony, till she was secur’d of a Fortune that might assist to dispose of herself suitable not to what she then was, but what she was to be.
The Girl was too sensible of her Circumstances, not to give all possible Satisfaction of that Kind, and indeed, she was Mistress of too much Understanding, not to see how much she shou’d be oblig’d to that Part, for her own Interest.
It was not long after this, but being well equipp’d, and in every-thing well set-out, as she was directed, she came, as I have related above, and paid a Visit to Mrs. Amy, and to tell her of her good Fortune: Amy pretended to be much surpriz’d at the Alteration, and overjoy’d for her sake, and began to treat her very well, entertain’d her handsomely, and when she wou’d have gone away, pretended to ask my Leave, and sent my Coach home with her; and in short, learning from her where she lodg’d, which was in the City, Amy promis’d to return her Visit, and did so; and in a word, Amy and SUSAN, (for she was my own Name) began an intimate Acquaintance together.
There was an inexpressible Difficulty in the poor Girl’s way, or else I shou’d not have been able to have forborn discovering myself to her, and this was, her having been a Servant in my particular Family; and I cou’d by no means think of ever letting the Children know what a kind of Creature they ow’d their Being to, or given them an Occasion to upbraid their Mother with her scandalous Life, much less to justine the like Practice from my Example.
Thus it was with me; and thus, no doubt, considering Parents always find it, that their own Children are a Restraint to them in their worst Courses, when the Sence of a Superiour Power has not the same Influence: But of that hereafter.
There happen’d however, one good Circumstance in the Case of this poor Girl, which brought about a Discovery sooner than otherwise it wou’d have been; and it was thus: After she and Amy had been intimate for some time, and had exchang’d several Visits, the Girl now grown a Woman, talking to Amy of the gay things that us’d to fall-out when she was Servant in my Family, spoke of it with a kind of Concern, that she cou’d not see [me] her Lady; and at last she adds, ’twas very strange: Madam, says she to Amy, but tho’ I liv’d near two Years in the House, I never saw my Mistress in my Life, except it was that publick Night when she danc’d in the fine Turkish Habit, and then she was so disguis’d, that I knew nothing of her afterwards.
Amy was glad to hear this; but as she was a cunning Girl from the beginning, she was not to be Bit, and so she laid no Stress upon that, at first, but gave me an Account of it; and, I must confess, it gave me a secret Joy, to think that I was not known to her; and that, by virtue of that only Accident, I might, when other Circumstances made room for it, discover myself to her, and let her know she had a Mother in a Condition fit to be own’d.
It was a dreadful Restraint to me before, and this gave me some very sad Reflections, and made way for the great Question I have mention’d above; and by how much the Circumstance was bitter to me, by so much the more agreeable it was, to understand that the Girl had never seen me, and consequently, did not know me again, if she was to be told who I was.
However, the next time she came to visit Amy, I was resolv’d to put it to a Tryal, and to come into the Room, and let her see me, and to see by that, whether she knew me or no; but Amy put me by, lest indeed, as there was reason enough to question, I shou’d not be able to contain, or forbear discovering myself to her; so it went off for that time.
But both these Circumstances, and that is the reason of mentioning them, brought me to consider of the Life I liv’d, and to resolve to put myself into some Figure of Life, in which I might not be scandalous to my own Family, and be afraid to make myself known to my own Children, who were my own Flesh and Blood.
There was another Daughter I had, which, with all our Enquiries we cou’d not hear-of, high nor low, for several Years after the first: But I return to my own Story.
Being now in part remov’d from my old Station, I seem’d to be in a fair Way of retiring from my old Acquaintances, and consequently from the vile abominable Trade I had driven so long; so that the Door seem’d to be, as it were, particularly open’d to my Reformation, if I had any-mind to it in earnest; but for all that, some of my old Friends, as I had us’d to call them, enquir’d me out, and came to visit me at Kensington, and that more frequently than I wish’d they would do; but it being once known where I was, there was no avoiding it, unless I wou’d have downright refus’d and affronted them; and I was not yet in Earnest enough with my Resolutions, to go that length.
The best of it was, my old lewd Favourite, who I now heartily hated, entirely dropp’d me; he came once to visit me, but I caus’d Amy to deny me, and say I was gone out; she did it so oddly too, that when his Lordship went away, he said coldly to her, Well, well, Mrs. Amy, I find your Mistress does not desire to be seen; tell her I won’t trouble her any-more, repeating the Words any-more two or three times over, just at his going away.
I reflected a little on it at first, as unkind to him, having had so many considerable Presents from him; but, as I have said, I was sick of him, and that on some Accounts, which, if I cou’d suffer myself to publish them, wou’d fully justifie my Conduct; but that Part of the Story will not bear telling; so I must leave it, and proceed.
I had begun a little, as I have said above, to reflect upon my Manner of Living, and to think of putting a new Face upon it; and nothing mov’d me to it more, than the Consideration of my having three Children, who were now grown up; and yet, that while I was in that Station of Life, I cou’d not converse with them, or make myself known to them; and this gave me a great-deal of Uneasiness; at last I enter’d into Talk on this Part of it, with my Woman, Amy.
We liv’d at Kensington, as I have said, and though I had done with my old wicked L—, as above, yet I was frequently visited, as I said, by some others, so that, in a word, I began to be known in the Town, not by my Name only, but by my Character too, which was worse.
It was one Morning when Amy was in-Bed with me, and I had some of my dullest Thoughts about me, that Amy hearing me sigh pretty often, ask’d me if I was not well? Yes, Amy, I am well enough, says I, but my Mind is oppress’d with heavy Thoughts, and has been so a good-while; and then I told her how it griev’d me that I cou’d not make myself known to my own Children, or form any Acquaintances in the World: Why so? says Amy; Why prethee, Amy, says I, what will my Children say to themselves, and to one another, when they find their Mother, however rich she may be, is at best but a Whore, a common Whore? And as for Acquaintance, prethee Amy, what sober Lady, or what Family of any Character will visit or be acquainted with a Whore?
Why, all that’s true, Madam, says Amy; but how can it be remedy’d now? ’Tis true Amy, said I, the thing cannot be remedy’d now, but the Scandal of it, I fancy, may be thrown off.
Truly, says Amy I do not see how, unless you will go Abroad again, and live in some other Nation, where nobody has known us, or seen us, so that they cannot say they ever saw us before.
That very Thought of Amy put what follows into my Head; and I return’d, Why Amy, says I, is it not possible for me to shift my Being, from this Part of the Town, and go and live in another Part of the City, or another Part of the Country, and be as entirely conceal’d as if I had never been known?
Yes, says Amy, I believe it might; but then you must put off all your Equipages, and Servants, Coaches, and Horses; change your Liveries, nay, your own Cloaths, and if it was possible, your very Face.
Well, says I, and that’s the way Amy, and that I’ll do, and that forthwith; for I am not able to live in this Manner any longer: Amy came into this with a kind of Pleasure particular to herself, that is to say, with an Eagerness not to be resisted; for Amy was apt to be precipitant in her Motions, and was for doing it immediately: Well, says I, Amy, as soon as you will, but what Course must we take to do it? we cannot put off Servants, and Coach and Horses, and every-thing; leave off House-keeping, and transform ourselves into a new Shape, all in a Moment; Servants must have Warning, and the Goods must be sold off, and a thousand things, and this began to perplex us, and in particular, took us up two or three Days Consideration.
At last, Amy, who was a clever Manager in such Cases, came to me with a Scheme, as she call’d it; I have found it out, Madam, says she; I have found a Scheme how you shall, if you have a-mind to it, begin, and finish a perfect entire Change of your Figure and Circumstances, in one Day; and shall be as much unknown, Madam, in twenty-four Hours, as you wou’d be in so many Years.
Come Amy, says I, let us hear it, for you please me mightily with the Thoughts of it: Why then, says Amy, let me go into the City this Afternoon, and I’ll enquire out some honest, plain, sober Family, where I will take Lodgings for you, as for a Country-Gentlewoman that desires to be in London for about half a Year, and to Board yourself and a Kinswoman, that is half a Servant, half a Companion, meaning myself; and so agree with them by the Month.
To this Lodging (if I hit upon one to your Mind) you may go to-Morrow Morning, in a Hackney-Coach, with no-body but me, and leave such Cloaths and Linnen as you think fit; but to be sure, the plainest you have, and then you are remov’d at once, you need never so much as set your Foot in this House again, (meaning where we then were) or see any-body belonging to it; in the mean time I’ll let the Servants know, that you are going over to Holland upon extraordinary Business, and will leave off your Equipages, and so I’ll give them Warning, or, if they will accept of it, give them a Month’s Wages; then I’ll sell off your Furniture as well as I can; as to your Coach, it is but having it new-painted, and the Lining chang’d, and getting new Harness and Hammer-Cloths,226 and you may keep it still, or dispose of it, as you think fit; and only take care to let this Lodging be in some remote Part of the Town, and you may be as perfectly unknown, as if you had never been in England in your Life.
This was Amy’s Scheme; and it pleas’d me so well, that I resolv’d not only to let her go, but was resolv’d to go with her myself; but Amy put me off of that, because, she said, she shou’d have Occasion to hurry up-and-down so long, that if I was with her, it wou’d rather hinder than farther her; so I wav’d it.
In a word, Amy went, and was gone five long Hours; but when she came back, I cou’d see by her Countenance, that her Success had been suitable to her Pains; for she came laughing and gaping, O Madam! says she, I have pleas’d you to the Life;227 and with that, she tells me how she had fix’d upon a House in a Court in the Minories?228 that she was directed to it meerly by Accident; that it was a Female Family, the Master of the House being gone to New-England; and that the Woman had four Children; kept two Maids, and liv’d very handsomely, but wanted Company to divert her; and that on that very account, she had agreed to take Boarders.
Amy agreed for a good handsome Price, because she was resolv’d I shou’d be us’d well; so she bargain’d to give her 35 l. for the Half-Year, and 50 l. if we took a Maid, leaving that to my Choice; and that we might be satisfied we shou’d meet with nothing very gay; the People were QUAKERS,229 and I lik’d them the better.
I was so pleas’d, that I resolv’d to go with Amy the next Day to see the Lodgings, and to see the Woman of the House, and see how I lik’d them; but if I was pleas’d with the general, I was much more pleas’d with the particulars; for the Gentlewoman, I must call her so, tho’ she was a QUAKER, was a most courteous, obliging, mannerly Person; perfectly well-bred, and perfectly well-humour’d, and in short, the most agreeable Conversation that ever I met with; and which was worth all, so grave, and yet so pleasant and so merry, that ’tis scarce possible for me to express how I was pleas’d and delighted with her Company; and particularly, I was so pleas’d, that I wou’d go away no more; so I e’en took up my Lodging there the very first Night.
In the mean time, tho’ it took up Amy almost a Month so entirely, to put off all the Appearances of Housekeeping, as above; it need take me up no Time to relate it; ’tis enough to say, that Amy quitted all that Part of the World, and came Pack and Package to me, and here we took up our Abode.
I was now in a perfect Retreat indeed; remote from the Eyes of all that ever had seen me, and as much out of the way of being ever seen or heard-of by any of the Gang that us’d to follow me, as if I had been among the Mountains in Lancashire; for when did a Blue Garter, or a Coach-and-Six come into a little narrow Passage in the Minories, or Goodman’s-Fields?230 And as there was no Fear of them, so really I had no Desire to see them, or so much as to hear from them any-more, as long as I liv’d.
I seem’d in a little Hurry while Amy came and went, so every-Day, at first; but when that was over, I liv’d here perfectly retir’d, and with a most pleasant and agreeable Lady; I must call her so, for tho’ a QUAKER, she had a full Share of good Breeding, sufficient to her, if she had been a Dutchess; in a word, she was the most agreeable Creature in her Conversation, as I said before, that ever I met with.
I pretended, after I had been there some time, to be extreamly in Love with the Dress of the QUAKERS,231 and this pleas’d her so much, that she wou’d needs dress me up one Day in a Suit of her own Cloaths; but my real Design was, to see whether it wou’d pass upon me for a Disguise.
Amy was struck with the Novelty, tho’ I had not mention’d my Design to her, and when the QUAKER was gone out of the Room, says Amy, I guess your Meaning; it is a perfect Disguise to you; why you look quite another-body, I shou’d not have known you myself; nay, says Amy, more than that, it makes you look ten Years younger than you did.
Nothing cou’d please me better than that; and when Amy repeated it, I was so fond of it, that I ask’d my QUAKER, (I won’t call her Landlady, ’tis indeed, too course a Word for her, and she deserv’d a much better) I say, I ask’d her if she wou’d sell it; I told her, I was so fond of it, that I wou’d give her enough to buy her a better Suit; she declin’d it at first, but I soon perceiv’d that it was chiefly in good Manners, because I shou’d not dishonour mysef, as she call’d it, to put on her old Cloaths; but if I pleas’d to accept of them, she wou’d give me them for my dressing-Cloaths, and go with me, and buy a Suit for me, that might be better-worth my wearing.
But as I convers’d in a very frank open Manner with her, I bid her do the like with me; that I made no Scruples of such things; but that if she wou’d let me have them, I wou’d satisfie her; so she let me know what they cost, and to make her amends, I gave her three Guineas more than they cost her.
This good (tho’ unhappy) QUAKER had the Misfortune to have had a bad Husband, and he was gone beyond-Sea; she had a good House, and well-furnish’d, and had some Jointure of her own Estate, which supported her and her Children, so that she did not want, but she was not at-all above such a Help, as my being there was to her; so she was as glad of me, as I was of her.
However, as I knew there was no way to fix this new Acquaintance, like making myself a Friend to her, I began with making her some handsome Presents, and the like to her Children; and first, opening my Bundles one Day in my Chamber, I heard her in another Room, and call’d her in, with a kind of familiar way; there I show’d her some of my fine Cloaths, and having among the rest of my things, a Piece of very fine new Holland, 232 which I had bought a little before, worth about 9s. an Ell, I pull’d it out, Here, my Friend, says I, I will make you a Present, if you will accept of it; and with that I laid the Piece of Holland in her Lap.
I cou’d see she was surpriz’d, and that she cou’d hardly speak; What dost thou mean? says she; indeed I cannot have the Face to accept so fine a Present as this; adding, ’Tis fit for thy own Use, but ’tis above my Wear, indeed: I thought she had meant she must not wear it so fine, because she was a QUAKER; SO I return’d, Why, do not you QUAKERS wear fine Linnen neither? Yes, says she, we wear fine Linnen when we can afford it, but this is too good for me: However, I made her take it, and she was very thankful too; but my End was answer’d another Way; for by this I engag’d her so, that as I found her a Woman of Understanding, and of Honesty too, I might, upon any Occasion, have a Confidence in her, which was indeed, what I very much wanted.
By accustoming myself to converse with her, I had not only learn’d to dress like a QUAKER, but so us’d myself to THEE and THOU, that I talk’d like a QUAKER too, as readily and naturally as if I had been born among them; and, in a word, I pass’d for a QUAKER among all People that did not know me; I went but little Abroad, but I had been so us’d to a Coach, that I knew not how well to go without one; besides, I thought it wou’d be a farther Disguise to me, so I told my QUAKER-Friend one Day, that I thought I liv’d too close; that I wanted Air; she propos’d taking a Hackney-Coach sometimes, or a Boat; but I told her, I had always had a Coach of my own, till now, and I cou’d find in my Heart to have one again.
She seem’d to think it strange at first, considering how close I liv’d, but had nothing to say when she found I did not value the Expence; so in short, I resolv’d I wou’d have a Coach: When we came to talk of Equipages; she extoll’d the having all things plain; I said so too; so I left it to her Direction, and a Coach-Maker was sent for, and he provided me a plain Coach, no gilding or painting, lin’d with a light-grey Cloath, and my Coachman had a Coat of the same, and no Lace on his Hat.
When all was ready, I dress’d myself in the Dress I bought of her, and said, Come, I’ll be a QUAKER to-Day, and you and I’ll go Abroad; which we did, and there was not a QUAKER in the Town look’d less like a Counterfeit than I did: But all this was my particular Plot to be the more compleatly conceal’d, and that I might depend upon being not known, and yet need not be confin’d like a Prisoner, and be always in Fear; so that all the rest was Grimace.233
We live’d here very easie and quiet, and yet I cannot say I was so in my Mind; I was like a Fish out of Water; I was as gay, and as young in my Disposition, as I was at five and twenty; and as I had always been courted, flatter’d, and us’d to love it, so I miss’d it in my Conversation;234 and this put me many times, upon looking-back upon things past.
I had very few Moments in my Life, which in their Reflection, afforded me any-thing but Regret; but of all the foolish Actions I had to look back upon in my Life, none look’d so preposterous, and so like Distraction, nor left so much Melancholly on my Mind, as my Parting with my Friend, the Merchant of Paris, and the refusing him upon such honourable and just Conditions as he had offer’d; and tho’ on his just (which I call’d unkind) rejecting my Invitation to come to him again, I had look’d on him with some Disgust, yet now my Mind run upon him continually, and the ridiculous Conduct of my refusing him, and I cou’d never be satisfied about him; I flatter’d myself, that if I cou’d but see him, I cou’d yet Master him, and that he wou’d presently forget all that had pass’d, that might be thought unkind; but as there was no room to imagine any-thing like that to be possible, I threw those Thoughts off again as much as I cou’d.
However, they continually return’d, and I had no Rest Night or Day, for thinking of him, who I had forgot above eleven Years. I told Amy of it, and we talk’d it over sometimes in-Bed, almost whole Nights together; at last, Amy started a thing of her own Head, which put it in a Way of Management, tho’ a wild one too: You are so uneasie, Madam, says she, about this Mr. —, the Merchant at Paris; Come, says she, if you’ll give me Leave, I’ll go over, and see what’s become of him.
Not for ten Thousand Pounds, said I; no, nor if you met him in the Street, not to offer to speak to him on my Account: No, says Amy, I wou’d not speak to him at-all, or if I did, I warrant you it shall not look to be upon your Account; I’ll only enquire after him, and if he is in Being, you shall hear of him; if not, you shall hear of him still, and that may be enough.
Why, says I, if you will promise me not to enter into any-thing relating to me, with him; nor to begin any Discourse at-all, unless he begins it with you, I cou’d almost, be perswaded to let you go and try.
Amy promis’d me all that I desir’d; and, in a word, to cut the Story short, I let her go; but ty’d her up to so many Particulars, that it was almost impossible, her going cou’d signifie any-thing; and had she intended to observe them, she might as well have staid at-home as have gone; for I charg’d her, if she came to see him, she shou’d not so much as take Notice that she knew him again; and if he spoke to her, she shou’d tell him, she was come away from me a great-many Years ago, and knew nothing what was become of me; that she had been come-over to France six Years ago, and was marry’d there, and liv’d at Calais, or to that Purpose.
Amy promis’d me nothing indeed; for, as she said, it was impossible for her to resolve what wou’d be fit to do, or not to do, till she was there, upon the Spot, and had found out the Gentleman, or heard of him; but that then, if I wou’d trust her, as I had always done, she wou’d answer for it, that she wou’d do nothing but what shou’d be for my Interest, and what she wou’d hope I shou’d be very well pleas’d with.
With this general Commision, Amy, notwithstanding she had been so frighted at the Sea, ventur’d her Carcass once more by Water; and away she goes to France; she had four Articles of Confidence in Charge to enquire after, for me; and as I found by her, she had one for herself; I say, four for me, because tho’ her first and principal Errand was, to inform herself of my Dutch Merchant; yet I gave her in Charge to enquire, 2. After my Husband, who I left a Trooper in the Gensd’arms.
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