The Fortunate Mistress (Parts 1 and 2) by Daniel Defoe
company, andshe would pay a boat to bring her back again; so, in a word, Amyprevailed on her to go into the boat with her, and carried her down toGreenwich.
'Tis certain that Amy had no more business at Greenwich than I had, norwas she going thither; but we were all hampered to the last degree withthe impertinence of this creature; and, in particular, I was horriblyperplexed with it.
As they were in the boat, Amy began to reproach her with ingratitude intreating her so rudely who had done so much for her, and been so kind toher; and to ask her what she had got by it, or what she expected to get.Then came in my share, the Lady Roxana. Amy jested with that, andbantered her a little, and asked her if she had found her yet.
But Amy was both surprised and enraged when the girl told her roundlythat she thanked her for what she had done for her, but that she wouldnot have her think she was so ignorant as not to know that what she(Amy) had done was by her mother's order, and who she was beholden tofor it. That she could never make instruments pass for principals, andpay the debt to the agent when the obligation was all to the original.That she knew well enough who she was, and who she was employed by. Thatshe knew the Lady ---- very well (naming the name that I now went by),which was my husband's true name, and by which she might know whethershe had found out her mother or no.
Amy wished her at the bottom of the Thames; and had there been nowatermen in the boat, and nobody in sight, she swore to me she wouldhave thrown her into the river. I was horribly disturbed when she toldme this story, and began to think this would, at last, all end in myruin; but when Amy spoke of throwing her into the river and drowningher, I was so provoked at her that all my rage turned against Amy, and Ifell thoroughly out with her. I had now kept Amy almost thirty years,and found her on all occasions the faithfullest creature to me that everwoman had--I say, faithful to me; for, however wicked she was, still shewas true to me; and even this rage of hers was all upon my account, andfor fear any mischief should befall me.
But be that how it would, I could not bear the mention of her murderingthe poor girl, and it put me so beside myself, that I rose up in a rage,and bade her get out of my sight, and out of my house; told her I hadkept her too long, and that I would never see her face more. I hadbefore told her that she was a murderer, and a bloody-minded creature;that she could not but know that I could not bear the thought of it,much less the mention of it; and that it was the impudentest thing thatever was known to make such a proposal to me, when she knew that I wasreally the mother of this girl, and that she was my own child; that itwas wicked enough in her, but that she must conclude I was ten timeswickeder than herself if I could come into it; that the girl was in theright, and I had nothing to blame her for; but that it was owing to thewickedness of my life that made it necessary for me to keep her from adiscovery; but that I would not murder my child, though I was otherwiseto be ruined by it. Amy replied, somewhat rough and short, Would I not?but she would, she said, if she had an opportunity; and upon these wordsit was that I bade her get out of my sight and out of my house; and itwent so far that Amy packed up her alls, and marched off; and was gonefor almost good and all. But of that in its order; I must go back to herrelation of the voyage which they made to Greenwich together.
They held on the wrangle all the way by water; the girl insisted uponher knowing that I was her mother, and told her all the history of mylife in the Pall Mall, as well after her being turned away as before,and of my marriage since; and which was worse, not only who my presenthusband was, but where he had lived, viz., at Rouen in France. She knewnothing of Paris or of where we was going to live, namely, at Nimeguen;but told her in so many words that if she could not find me here, shewould go to Holland after me.
They landed at Greenwich, and Amy carried her into the park with her,and they walked above two hours there in the farthest and remotestwalks; which Amy did because, as they talked with great heat, it wasapparent they were quarrelling, and the people took notice of it.
They walked till they came almost to the wilderness at the south sideof the park; but the girl, perceiving Amy offered to go in there amongthe woods and trees, stopped short there, and would go no further; butsaid she would not go in there.
Amy smiled, and asked her what was the matter? She replied short, shedid not know where she was, nor where she was going to carry her, andshe would go no farther; and without any more ceremony, turns back, andwalks apace away from her. Amy owned she was surprised, and came backtoo, and called to her, upon which the girl stopped, and Amy coming upto her, asked her what she meant?
The girl boldly replied she did not know but she might murder her; andthat, in short, she would not trust herself with her, and never wouldcome into her company again alone.
It was very provoking, but, however, Amy kept her temper with muchdifficulty, and bore it, knowing that much might depend upon it; so shemocked her foolish jealousy, and told her she need not be uneasy forher, she would do her no harm, and would have done her good if she wouldhave let her; but since she was of such a refractory humour, she shouldnot trouble herself, for she should never come into her company again;and that neither she or her brother or sister should ever hear from heror see her any more; and so she should have the satisfaction of beingthe ruin of her brother and sisters as well as of herself.
The girl seemed a little mollified at that, and said that for herself,she knew the worst of it, she could seek her fortune; but it was hardher brother and sister should suffer on her score; and said somethingthat was tender and well enough on that account. But Amy told her it wasfor her to take that into consideration; for she would let her see thatit was all her own; that she would have done them all good, but thathaving been used thus, she would do no more for any of them; and thatshe should not need to be afraid to come into her company again, for shewould never give her occasion for it any more. This, by the way, wasfalse in the girl too; for she did venture into Amy's company againafter that, once too much, as I shall relate by itself.
They grew cooler, however, afterwards, and Amy carried her into a houseat Greenwich, where she was acquainted, and took an occasion to leavethe girl in a room awhile, to speak to the people in the house, and soprepare them to own her as a lodger in the house; and then going in toher again told her there she lodged, if she had a mind to find her out,or if anybody else had anything to say to her. And so Amy dismissed her,and got rid of her again; and finding an empty hackney-coach in thetown, came away by land to London, and the girl, going down to thewater-side, came by boat.
This conversation did not answer Amy's end at all, because it did notsecure the girl from pursuing her design of hunting me out; and thoughmy indefatigable friend the Quaker amused her three or four days, yet Ihad such notice of it at last that I thought fit to come away fromTunbridge upon it. And where to go I knew not; but, in short, I went toa little village upon Epping Forest, called Woodford, and took lodgingsin a private house, where I lived retired about six weeks, till Ithought she might be tired of her search, and have given me over.
Here I received an account from my trusty Quaker that the wench hadreally been at Tunbridge, had found out my lodgings, and had told hertale there in a most dismal tone; that she had followed us, as shethought, to London; but the Quaker had answered her that she knewnothing of it, which was indeed true; and had admonished her to be easy,and not hunt after people of such fashion as we were, as if we werethieves; that she might be assured, that since I was not willing to seeher, I would not be forced to it; and treating me thus would effectuallydisoblige me. And with such discourses as these she quieted her; and she(the Quaker) added that she hoped I should not be troubled much morewith her.
It was in this time that Amy gave me the history of her Greenwichvoyage, when she spoke of drowning and killing the girl in so serious amanner, and with such an apparent resolution of doing it, that, as Isaid, put me in a rage with her, so that I effectually turned her awayfrom me, as I have said above, and she was gone; nor did she so much astell me whither or which way she was gone. On t
he other hand, when Icame to reflect on it that now I had neither assistant or confidant tospeak to, or receive the least information from, my friend the Quakerexcepted, it made me very uneasy.
I waited and expected and wondered from day to day, still thinking Amywould one time or other think a little and come again, or at least letme hear of her; but for ten days together I heard nothing of her. I wasso impatient that I got neither rest by day or sleep by night, and whatto do I knew not. I durst not go to town to the Quaker's for fear ofmeeting that vexatious creature, my girl, and I could get nointelligence where I was; so I got my spouse, upon pretence of wantingher company, to take the coach one day and fetch my good Quaker to me.
When I had her, I durst ask her no questions, nor hardly knew which endof the business to begin to talk of; but of her own accord she told methat the girl had been three or four times haunting her for news fromme; and that she had been so troublesome that she had been obliged toshow herself a
'Tis certain that Amy had no more business at Greenwich than I had, norwas she going thither; but we were all hampered to the last degree withthe impertinence of this creature; and, in particular, I was horriblyperplexed with it.
As they were in the boat, Amy began to reproach her with ingratitude intreating her so rudely who had done so much for her, and been so kind toher; and to ask her what she had got by it, or what she expected to get.Then came in my share, the Lady Roxana. Amy jested with that, andbantered her a little, and asked her if she had found her yet.
But Amy was both surprised and enraged when the girl told her roundlythat she thanked her for what she had done for her, but that she wouldnot have her think she was so ignorant as not to know that what she(Amy) had done was by her mother's order, and who she was beholden tofor it. That she could never make instruments pass for principals, andpay the debt to the agent when the obligation was all to the original.That she knew well enough who she was, and who she was employed by. Thatshe knew the Lady ---- very well (naming the name that I now went by),which was my husband's true name, and by which she might know whethershe had found out her mother or no.
Amy wished her at the bottom of the Thames; and had there been nowatermen in the boat, and nobody in sight, she swore to me she wouldhave thrown her into the river. I was horribly disturbed when she toldme this story, and began to think this would, at last, all end in myruin; but when Amy spoke of throwing her into the river and drowningher, I was so provoked at her that all my rage turned against Amy, and Ifell thoroughly out with her. I had now kept Amy almost thirty years,and found her on all occasions the faithfullest creature to me that everwoman had--I say, faithful to me; for, however wicked she was, still shewas true to me; and even this rage of hers was all upon my account, andfor fear any mischief should befall me.
But be that how it would, I could not bear the mention of her murderingthe poor girl, and it put me so beside myself, that I rose up in a rage,and bade her get out of my sight, and out of my house; told her I hadkept her too long, and that I would never see her face more. I hadbefore told her that she was a murderer, and a bloody-minded creature;that she could not but know that I could not bear the thought of it,much less the mention of it; and that it was the impudentest thing thatever was known to make such a proposal to me, when she knew that I wasreally the mother of this girl, and that she was my own child; that itwas wicked enough in her, but that she must conclude I was ten timeswickeder than herself if I could come into it; that the girl was in theright, and I had nothing to blame her for; but that it was owing to thewickedness of my life that made it necessary for me to keep her from adiscovery; but that I would not murder my child, though I was otherwiseto be ruined by it. Amy replied, somewhat rough and short, Would I not?but she would, she said, if she had an opportunity; and upon these wordsit was that I bade her get out of my sight and out of my house; and itwent so far that Amy packed up her alls, and marched off; and was gonefor almost good and all. But of that in its order; I must go back to herrelation of the voyage which they made to Greenwich together.
They held on the wrangle all the way by water; the girl insisted uponher knowing that I was her mother, and told her all the history of mylife in the Pall Mall, as well after her being turned away as before,and of my marriage since; and which was worse, not only who my presenthusband was, but where he had lived, viz., at Rouen in France. She knewnothing of Paris or of where we was going to live, namely, at Nimeguen;but told her in so many words that if she could not find me here, shewould go to Holland after me.
They landed at Greenwich, and Amy carried her into the park with her,and they walked above two hours there in the farthest and remotestwalks; which Amy did because, as they talked with great heat, it wasapparent they were quarrelling, and the people took notice of it.
They walked till they came almost to the wilderness at the south sideof the park; but the girl, perceiving Amy offered to go in there amongthe woods and trees, stopped short there, and would go no further; butsaid she would not go in there.
Amy smiled, and asked her what was the matter? She replied short, shedid not know where she was, nor where she was going to carry her, andshe would go no farther; and without any more ceremony, turns back, andwalks apace away from her. Amy owned she was surprised, and came backtoo, and called to her, upon which the girl stopped, and Amy coming upto her, asked her what she meant?
The girl boldly replied she did not know but she might murder her; andthat, in short, she would not trust herself with her, and never wouldcome into her company again alone.
It was very provoking, but, however, Amy kept her temper with muchdifficulty, and bore it, knowing that much might depend upon it; so shemocked her foolish jealousy, and told her she need not be uneasy forher, she would do her no harm, and would have done her good if she wouldhave let her; but since she was of such a refractory humour, she shouldnot trouble herself, for she should never come into her company again;and that neither she or her brother or sister should ever hear from heror see her any more; and so she should have the satisfaction of beingthe ruin of her brother and sisters as well as of herself.
The girl seemed a little mollified at that, and said that for herself,she knew the worst of it, she could seek her fortune; but it was hardher brother and sister should suffer on her score; and said somethingthat was tender and well enough on that account. But Amy told her it wasfor her to take that into consideration; for she would let her see thatit was all her own; that she would have done them all good, but thathaving been used thus, she would do no more for any of them; and thatshe should not need to be afraid to come into her company again, for shewould never give her occasion for it any more. This, by the way, wasfalse in the girl too; for she did venture into Amy's company againafter that, once too much, as I shall relate by itself.
They grew cooler, however, afterwards, and Amy carried her into a houseat Greenwich, where she was acquainted, and took an occasion to leavethe girl in a room awhile, to speak to the people in the house, and soprepare them to own her as a lodger in the house; and then going in toher again told her there she lodged, if she had a mind to find her out,or if anybody else had anything to say to her. And so Amy dismissed her,and got rid of her again; and finding an empty hackney-coach in thetown, came away by land to London, and the girl, going down to thewater-side, came by boat.
This conversation did not answer Amy's end at all, because it did notsecure the girl from pursuing her design of hunting me out; and thoughmy indefatigable friend the Quaker amused her three or four days, yet Ihad such notice of it at last that I thought fit to come away fromTunbridge upon it. And where to go I knew not; but, in short, I went toa little village upon Epping Forest, called Woodford, and took lodgingsin a private house, where I lived retired about six weeks, till Ithought she might be tired of her search, and have given me over.
Here I received an account from my trusty Quaker that the wench hadreally been at Tunbridge, had found out my lodgings, and had told hertale there in a most dismal tone; that she had followed us, as shethought, to London; but the Quaker had answered her that she knewnothing of it, which was indeed true; and had admonished her to be easy,and not hunt after people of such fashion as we were, as if we werethieves; that she might be assured, that since I was not willing to seeher, I would not be forced to it; and treating me thus would effectuallydisoblige me. And with such discourses as these she quieted her; and she(the Quaker) added that she hoped I should not be troubled much morewith her.
It was in this time that Amy gave me the history of her Greenwichvoyage, when she spoke of drowning and killing the girl in so serious amanner, and with such an apparent resolution of doing it, that, as Isaid, put me in a rage with her, so that I effectually turned her awayfrom me, as I have said above, and she was gone; nor did she so much astell me whither or which way she was gone. On t
I waited and expected and wondered from day to day, still thinking Amywould one time or other think a little and come again, or at least letme hear of her; but for ten days together I heard nothing of her. I wasso impatient that I got neither rest by day or sleep by night, and whatto do I knew not. I durst not go to town to the Quaker's for fear ofmeeting that vexatious creature, my girl, and I could get nointelligence where I was; so I got my spouse, upon pretence of wantingher company, to take the coach one day and fetch my good Quaker to me.
When I had her, I durst ask her no questions, nor hardly knew which endof the business to begin to talk of; but of her own accord she told methat the girl had been three or four times haunting her for news fromme; and that she had been so troublesome that she had been obliged toshow herself a