The Vicar of Wakefield (15 page)

After tea he called me aside, to enquire after my daughter; but
upon my informing him that my enquiry was unsuccessful, he seemed
greatly surprised; adding, that he had been since frequently at my
house, in order to comfort the rest of my family, whom he left
perfectly well. He then asked if I had communicated her misfortune
to Miss Wilmot, or my son; and upon my replying that I had not told
them as yet, he greatly approved my prudence and precaution,
desiring me by all means to keep it a secret: 'For at best,' cried
he, 'it is but divulging one's own infamy; and perhaps Miss Livy
may not be so guilty as we all imagine.' We were here interrupted
by a servant, who came to ask the 'Squire in, to stand up at
country dances; so that he left me quite pleased with the interest
he seemed to take in my concerns. His addresses, however, to Miss
Wilmot, were too obvious to be mistaken; and yet she seemed not
perfectly pleased, but bore them rather in compliance to the will
of her aunt, than from real inclination. I had even the
satisfaction to see her lavish some kind looks upon my unfortunate
son, which the other could neither extort by his fortune nor
assiduity. Mr Thornhill's seeming composure, however, not a little
surprised me: we had now continued here a week, at the pressing
instances of Mr Arnold; but each day the more tenderness Miss
Wilmot shewed my son, Mr Thomhill's friendship seemed
proportionably to encrease for him.

He had formerly made us the most kind assurances of using his
interest to serve the family; but now his generosity was not
confined to promises alone: the morning I designed for my
departure, Mr Thornhill came to me with looks of real pleasure to
inform me of a piece of service he had done for his friend George.
This was nothing less than his having procured him an ensign's
commission in one of the regiments that was going to the West
Indies, for which he had promised but one hundred pounds, his
interest having been sufficient to get an abatement of the other
two. 'As for this trifling piece of service,' continued the young
gentleman, 'I desire no other reward but the pleasure of having
served my friend; and as for the hundred pound to be paid, if you
are unable to raise it yourselves, I will advance it, and you shall
repay me at your leisure.' This was a favour we wanted words to
express our sense of. I readily therefore gave my bond for the
money, and testified as much gratitude as if I never intended to
pay.

George was to depart for town the next day to secure his
commission, in pursuance of his generous patron's directions, who
judged it highly expedient to use dispatch, lest in the mean time
another should step in with more advantageous proposals. The next
morning, therefore, our young soldier was early prepared for his
departure, and seemed the only person among us that was not
affected by it. Neither the fatigues and dangers he was going to
encounter, nor the friends and mistress, for Miss Wilmot actually
loved him, he was leaving behind, any way damped his spirits. After
he had taken leave of the rest of the company, I gave him all I
had, my blessing. 'And now, my boy,' cried I, 'thou art going to
fight for thy country, remember how thy brave grandfather fought
for his sacred king, when loyalty among Britons was a virtue. Go,
my boy, and immitate him in all but his misfortunes, if it was a
misfortune to die with Lord Falkland. Go, my boy, and if you fall,
tho' distant, exposed and unwept by those that love you, the most
precious tears are those with which heaven bedews the unburied head
of a soldier.'

The next morning I took leave of the good family, that had been
kind enough to entertain me so long, not without several
expressions of gratitude to Mr Thornhill for his late bounty. I
left them in the enjoyment of all that happiness which affluence
and good breeding procure, and returned towards home, despairing of
ever finding my daughter more, but sending a sigh to heaven to
spare and to forgive her. I was now come within about twenty miles
of home, having hired an horse to carry me, as I was yet but weak,
and comforted myself with the hopes of soon seeing all I held
dearest upon earth. But the night coming on, I put up at a little
public-house by the roadside, and asked for the landlord's company
over a pint of wine. We sate beside his kitchen fire, which was the
best room in the house, and chatted on politics and the news of the
country. We happened, among other topics, to talk of young 'Squire
Thornhill, who the host assured me was hated as much as his uncle
Sir William, who sometimes came down to the country, was loved. He
went on to observe, that he made it his whole study to betray the
daughters of such as received him to their houses, and after a
fortnight or three weeks possession, turned them out unrewarded and
abandoned to the world. As we continued our discourse in this
manner, his wife, who had been out to get change, returned, and
perceiving that her husband was enjoying a pleasure in which she
was not a sharer, she asked him, in an angry tone, what he did
there, to which he only replied in an ironical way, by drinking her
health. 'Mr Symmonds,' cried she, 'you use me very ill, and I'll
bear it no longer. Here three parts of the business is left for me
to do, and the fourth left unfinished; while you do nothing but
soak with the guests all day long, whereas if a spoonful of liquor
were to cure me of a fever, I never touch a drop.' I now found what
she would be at, and immediately poured her out a glass, which she
received with a curtesy, and drinking towards my good health,
'Sir,' resumed she, 'it is not so much for the value of the liquor
I am angry, but one cannot help it, when the house is going out of
the windows. If the customers or guests are to be dunned, all the
burthen lies upon my back, he'd as lief eat that glass as budge
after them himself.' There now above stairs, we have a young woman
who has come to take up her lodgings here, and I don't believe she
has got any money by her over-civility. I am certain she is very
slow of payment, and I wish she were put in mind of it.'—'What
signifies minding her,' cried the host, 'if she be slow, she is
sure.'—'I don't know that,' replied the wife; 'but I know that I am
sure she has been here a fortnight, and we have not yet seen the
cross of her money.'—'I suppose, my dear,' cried he, 'we shall have
it all in a, lump.'—'In a lump!' cried the other, 'I hope we may
get it any way; and that I am resolved we will this very night, or
out she tramps, bag and baggage.'—'Consider, my dear,' cried the
husband, 'she is a gentlewoman, and deserves more respect.'—'As for
the matter of that,' returned the hostess, 'gentle or simple, out
she shall pack with a sassarara. Gentry may be good things where
they take; but for my part I never saw much good of them at the
sign of the Harrow.'—Thus saying, she ran up a narrow flight of
stairs, that went from the kitchen to a room over-head, and I soon
perceived by the loudness of her voice, and the bitterness of her
reproaches, that no money was to be had from her lodger. I could
hear her remonstrances very distinctly: 'Out I say, pack out this
moment, tramp thou infamous strumpet, or I'll give thee a mark thou
won't be the better for this three months. What! you trumpery, to
come and take up an honest house, without cross or coin to bless
yourself with; come along I say.'—'O dear madam,' cried the
stranger, 'pity me, pity a poor abandoned creature for one night,
and death will soon do the rest.' I instantly knew the voice of my
poor ruined child Olivia. I flew to her rescue, while the woman was
dragging her along by the hair, and I caught the dear forlorn
wretch in my arms.—'Welcome, any way welcome, my dearest lost one,
my treasure, to your poor old father's bosom. Tho' the vicious
forsake thee, there is yet one in the world that will never forsake
thee; tho' thou hadst ten thousand crimes to answer for, he will
forget them all.'—'O my own dear'—for minutes she could no more—'my
own dearest good papa! Could angels be kinder! How do I deserve so
much! The villain, I hate him and myself, to be a reproach to such
goodness. You can't forgive me. I know you cannot.'—'Yes, my child,
from my heart I do forgive thee! Only repent, and we both shall yet
be happy. We shall see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia!'—'Ah!
never, sir, never. The rest of my wretched life must be infamy
abroad and shame at home. But, alas! papa, you look much paler than
you used to do. Could such a thing as I am give you so much
uneasiness? Sure you have too much wisdom to take the miseries of
my guilt upon yourself.'—'Our wisdom, young woman,' replied I.—'Ah,
why so cold a name papa?' cried she. 'This is the first time you
ever called me by so cold a name.'—'I ask pardon, my darling,'
returned I; 'but I was going to observe, that wisdom makes but a
slow defence against trouble, though at last a sure one.

The landlady now returned to know if we did not chuse a more
genteel apartment, to which assenting, we were shewn a room, where
we could converse more freely. After we had talked ourselves into
some degree of tranquillity, I could not avoid desiring some
account of the gradations that led to her present wretched
situation. 'That villain, sir,' said she, 'from the first day of
our meeting made me honourable, though private, proposals.'

'Villain indeed,' cried I; 'and yet it in some measure surprizes
me, how a person of Mr Burchell's good sense and seeming honour
could be guilty of such deliberate baseness, and thus step into a
family to undo it.'

'My dear papa,' returned my daughter, 'you labour under a
strange mistake, Mr Burchell never attempted to deceive me. Instead
of that he took every opportunity of privately admonishing me
against the artifices of Mr Thornhill, who I now find was even
worse than he represented him.'—'Mr Thornhill,' interrupted I, 'can
it be?'—'Yes, Sir,' returned she, 'it was Mr Thornhill who seduced
me, who employed the two ladies, as he called them, but who, in
fact, were abandoned women of the town, without breeding or pity,
to decoy us up to London. Their artifices, you may remember would
have certainly succeeded, but for Mr Burchell's letter, who
directed those reproaches at them, which we all applied to
ourselves. How he came to have so much influence as to defeat their
intentions, still remains a secret to me; but I am convinced he was
ever our warmest sincerest friend.'

'You amaze me, my dear,' cried I; 'but now I find my first
suspicions of Mr Thornhill's baseness were too well grounded: but
he can triumph in security; for he is rich and we are poor. But
tell me, my child, sure it was no small temptation that could thus
obliterate all the impressions of such an education, and so
virtuous a disposition as thine.'

'Indeed, Sir,' replied she, 'he owes all his triumph to the
desire I had of making him, and not myself, happy. I knew that the
ceremony of our marriage, which was privately performed by a popish
priest, was no way binding, and that I had nothing to trust to but
his honour.' 'What,' interrupted I, 'and were you indeed married by
a priest, and in orders?'—'Indeed, Sir, we were,' replied she,
'though we were both sworn to conceal his name.'—'Why then, my
child, come to my arms again, and now you are a thousand times more
welcome than before; for you are now his wife to all intents and
purposes; nor can all the laws of man, tho' written upon tables of
adamant, lessen the force of that sacred connexion.'

'Alas, Papa,' replied she, 'you are but little acquainted with
his villainies: he has been married already, by the same priest, to
six or eight wives more, whom, like me, he has deceived and
abandoned.'

'Has he so?' cried I, 'then we must hang the priest, and you
shall inform against him to-morrow.'—'But Sir,' returned she, 'will
that be right, when I am sworn to secrecy?'—'My dear,' I replied,
'if you have made such a promise, I cannot, nor will I tempt you to
break it. Even tho' it may benefit the public, you must not inform
against him. In all human institutions a smaller evil is allowed to
procure a greater good; as in politics, a province may be given
away to secure a kingdom; in medicine, a limb may be lopt off, to
preserve the body. But in religion the law is written, and
inflexible, never to do evil. And this law, my child, is right: for
otherwise, if we commit a smaller evil, to procure a greater good,
certain guilt would be thus incurred, in expectation of contingent
advantage. And though the advantage should certainly follow, yet
the interval between commission and advantage, which is allowed to
be guilty, may be that in which we are called away to answer for
the things we have done, and the volume of human actions is closed
for ever. But I interrupt you, my dear, go on.'

'The very next morning,' continued she, 'I found what little
expectations I was to have from his sincerity. That very morning he
introduced me to two unhappy women more, whom, like me, he had
deceived, but who lived in contented prostitution. I loved him too
tenderly to bear such rivals in his affections, and strove to
forget my infamy in a tumult of pleasures. With this view, I
danced, dressed, and talked; but still was unhappy. The gentlemen
who visited there told me every moment of the power of my charms,
and this only contributed to encrease my melancholy, as I had
thrown all their power quite away. Thus each day I grew more
pensive, and he more insolent, till at last the monster had the
assurance to offer me to a young Baronet of his acquaintance. Need
I describe, Sir, how his ingratitude stung me. My answer to this
proposal was almost madness. I desired to part. As I was going he
offered me a purse; but I flung it at him with indignation, and
burst from him in a rage, that for a while kept me insensible of
the miseries of my situation. But I soon looked round me, and saw
myself a vile, abject, guilty thing, without one friend in the
world to apply to. Just in that interval, a stage-coach happening
to pass by, I took a place, it being my only aim to be driven at a
distance from a wretch I despised and detested. I was set down
here, where, since my arrival, my own anxiety, and this woman's
unkindness, have been my only companions. The hours of pleasure
that I have passed with my mamma and sister, now grow painful to
me. Their sorrows are much; but mine is greater than theirs; for
mine are mixed with guilt and infamy.'