Chapter VIII.
A Voice from the Basket.
Before I reached Home, a drizzling Rain began to fall, which I was very sorry for on Gatty's Account.
In the Course of the Evening, Dr. Elwes called. He said, "What could that young Baggage mean by sending me her three Pounds? I give them in Charge to you, Mrs. Patty, to remit to her, since I don't know her Address."
I said, "You are very kind, Doctor, but Lady Betty is well able to remunerate you."
He said, "Oh, hang Lady Betty—I don't return the Money to her, but to Mrs. Gatty."
"Perhaps," said I, "Mrs. Gatty's Pride will be hurt."
"And have I no Pride, neither?" says he. "I am not accustomed to take Fees of a Lady's Maid."
So, as I saw it was to be so, I said no more, except by Way of Thanks in Gatty's Name; and resolved to remit her the Money as soon as I received a Letter from her.
The Letter was not long a-coming. I have it before me now.
"Larkfield, Hants.,
"Sept. 14, 1749.
"Dear Mrs. Patty,
"Your last Look said so plainly that you should like to hear a Voice from the Basket, that I have taken the largest Sheet of Paper I can find, to tell you about my Journey Home, and how happy I am. About Half-an-hour after we started, it began to rain pretty fast, which incommoded me more than my Companion, as she covered her Head and Shoulders with a piece of Sacking, from which the Rain ran down upon me. When we changed Horses, the Men inside got out to stretch themselves, and I then observed that the Passenger in the Roquelaure was Squire Heavitree, the Father of a Gentleman Farmer in our Neighbourhood whom we know pretty well, and who was doubtless on his Way to visit his Son and have a little Shooting. He, pitying me in the Rain, stepped up and said, 'Young Woman, if my Roquelaure will be of any Service.... Why, Gatty! is it you? Art going Home, Child? There's Room inside the Coach for thee.... Come down, come down from the Basket, I'll pay the Difference!' And, almost whether I would or no, he made me alight and get into the Coach, where I had to ride bodkin between him and the fat Woman with the Puppy-Dog. At first I was very glad to be sheltered from the Rain, but the Coach was very close, and we had only one Window partly open. The Squire chatted so cordially with me, however, that I had little Time to think of Disagreeables; and when he had told me all he had to tell, he fell to questioning. Most of the Passengers were nodding, which was all the better, as I did not like mentioning Names before Folks. By-and-by, the Squire became quiet, and I guessed he was going to nod too; but, stealing a Look at him, I saw he was only thinking. We were now going slowly over a heavy, sandy Road, and the Coach rocked a good deal, and sometimes stuck. I feared once or twice we should be overturned; but the Squire said, 'No Danger;' and, to divert my Attention, pointed out a Gibbet across the Heath, on which a Highwayman hung in Chains; no very pleasant Object. As I looked somewhat apprehensively towards it, suddenly the open Window was blocked up by a Horseman with a black Crape over his Face, who, crying 'Your Money or your Lives!' fired straight through the Coach, so as to shatter the opposite Glass. The next Moment, another Highwayman appeared at the other Window. There's no describing the Noise, Uproar, and Confusion, the Smoke, Stench of Gunpowder, shrieking of Women, and barking of the Puppy. The next Moment, our stout old Squire, disengaging a Blunderbuss from its Sling over our Heads, presented the Muzzle full at the Highwayman who had not yet fired, and sprang out of the Coach with it; on which, the Man galloped up the Bank, stooping low, so as to keep his Horse's Neck between his Head and the Piece; at the same Time dropping his Pistol, which was secured to his Waist by a leathern Strap. He called to the Postilion who rode our third Horse, 'Drive on!' 'No, stop,' cries the Squire, 'for I see another Coach coming up, which may contain an unarmed Party!' The Highwayman, reiterating, 'Drive on!' galloped across the Heath, followed by his two Companions; for a third had been at our first Horse's Head all the While. The Squire continued levelling his Piece at them as long as they were within Range, then took off his Hat, wiped his Head, and turned about to us with a Look of Satisfaction. The other two Men, who all this While had been as white as Death and as still as Stones, now cried, 'Well done, Squire! we're much indebted to you!' while the outside Passengers gave him three Cheers. He took mighty little Note of them, but stepped up to the Coach that had now come up, which proved to contain the Duke of Newcastle, who, being unarmed, was very glad to continue his Journey in Company with us. Thus were three Desperadoes put to flight by one energetic old Man! In another Hour we reached the Inn where we were to dine, where the Duke parted Company with us. The Squire sat at the Head of the Table, and made me sit next him, and insisted on pledging all the Ladies, to keep up our Courage. Every body talked fast and ate fast too, as we were elated at our Escape and pretty hungry. I should tell you, the fat Woman maintained that her snappish little Puppy had thrown the Robber off his Guard; but the Squire shook his Head upon't. While fresh Horses were putting to, a couple of Horsemen, apparently a Clergyman and his Servant, rode into the Inn-Yard. The Squire, stepping out to them, related what had just occurred, and cautioned them against crossing the Heath unarmed. They thanked him, but told him they were two Police-Officers in Disguise, and well armed in the Hope of Attack. In fact, as we have since learnt, they were beset by the very Men who had assailed us, and giving Chase to the Gang, who dispersed as wide as they could, followed them all across the Country till they succeeded in capturing two; one of whom swam his Horse across a River, but was taken on the other Side. The Squire has since been asked to appear against them, but has declined, saying there is already sufficient Evidence, and he has no Mind to swear away Lives that he spared when his Blood was hot.
"After this, you may suppose we could talk of Nothing but Murders, Robberies and such-like delightful Subjects during the greater Part of our Journey: and each seemed trying to outdo the other, in hope of making the others forget how tamely all had behaved except the Squire. Gradually we dropped our Companions at one Place or another, till none remained but the Squire, myself, and the fat Woman. He now began to be amused at the Joy I could not help betraying at the Sight of every well-known Landmark, and tried to tease me by supposing a Dozen ridiculous Accidents that might have happened at Home, to disappoint me of my Pleasure. At length, we stopped at the Corner of a By-Road in Larkfield Parish, and young Mr. Heavitree comes up. 'Are you there, Father?' says he, scrambling up on the Step to look in. 'All right, my Boy,' says the Squire, grasping his Hand, which he shook heartily, 'and here's Gatty Bowerbank come Home to see her Mother.' Mr. Heavitree gave me such a cheerful Smile! 'How glad they will all be!' said he, 'they do not in the least expect you, and have been wondering why you have let them be so long without a Letter. I was at your Mother's just now.' 'She's quite well, then?' cried I. 'Oh yes,' said he, 'but you don't look very well, I think.' 'Manners, Jack!' says the Squire. 'Well, Father, I meant no Harm; here are Horses, Sir, for you and me, and a light Cart for your Luggage.' 'Put Mrs. Gatty's Baggage into the Cart too, my Boy,' says the Squire, 'and send the Horses round to the Green Hatch, for I've a Mind to walk across the Fields with this young Damsel, and see what Reception she gets, and I suppose you won't Mind coming along with us.' 'Not I, Sir,' said Mr. Heavitree, 'I shall like it very much.' So, when the Luggage was put in the Cart, and the Coachman was settled with, we started off, as sociable as could be, talking about the Highway Robbery; and the Squire took Care to tell his Son that I was the only Woman who did not scream when the Pistol was fired into the Coach. Well, we got to the dear old Garden-Gate; and there, strolling along the pebbled Walk just within it, were Lucy and Pen, their Arms about each other's Necks.—The Squire hemmed; they looked round; and oh! what a Cry of Joy they gave! My Mother, hearing the Noise, came out....
"Dear Mrs. Patty, I am writing as small as ever I can, and must write still smaller, if I mean to get in Half of what I want to say. Imagine what a happy Evening we had! My dear Mother shed many Tears, though, when she heard of your Kindness to me throughout my Illness; and desired me to express her Thankfulness to you all in the strongest Terms I could frame. My Ten Pounds proved very acceptable, as it made up, with her Savings, just the Sum she wants to bind Joe to our Village Doctor. Penelope is learning to make Bone-Lace; and Mrs. Evans is so well content with Lucy, that she is going to take her as second Teacher in her School next Quarter, so that we are all getting on mighty well, one Way and another. Also my Mother has realized a pretty little Sum by the Sale of some of my Father's Latin Books, and there are yet more left. Your delicious Plum-Cake was done ample Justice to, and the Boys declare there never were such Gingerbread-Nuts. Now I have filled my Paper to the very Edge, and yet how much I have left unsaid! Put yourself in my Place, and you will know all I would say to you, and to dear Mrs. Honeywood, and to Prue; not forgetting Mr. Honeywood, to whom give my kind Regards."
"Your ever attached and grateful
"Gertrude Bowerbank."
My Father, who was smoking his Pipe whilst I read this Letter to him and my Mother, presently said, "I see them all!"
"See who, Father?"
"Everybody in Mrs. Gatty's Letter—The old Woman with her Pipe, the old Gentleman in his Roquelaure, the Robber hung in Chains on the lone Heath, the Highwaymen, the stout old Squire leaping out with his Blunderbuss, my Lord Duke coming up, the Police-Officers riding into the Yard, the young Farmer coming to meet his Father, Gatty flying up to her Mother—that Letter is as full of Pictures as this Chinese Paper."
After ruminating on it a While longer, he began again, with:
"Gatty ought to marry the Squire."
"Oh Father! his Son, if you please!"
"How do you know the Son is a single Man?"
"Nay, how do we know the Squire is a Widower? He's too old."
"Perhaps she won't marry either," said Prue.
"Perhaps not, Mrs. Prue, but let me tell you, neither you nor your Sister could have writ that Letter."
"Well, Father, I suppose a Woman does not get married for writing a Letter. For my Part, I don't see much in it. Anybody, I suppose, could write, if they had Anything to write about."
"No, that don't follow—it's a non sequitur, as the Scholars say."
"I don't set up for a Scholar, not I," said Prue, "I never was so good a Hand at my Pen as Patty; but I worked the best Sampler, for all that."
"Well," says my Father, "say, when you write to her, Patty, that I don't care how often I pay a Shilling for such a Voice from the Basket as that. I wish she'd send us one every Week."
It indeed was Something curious, how my Father's Fancy was hit by this Letter, which he got me to read to him many Evenings following. What was more remarkable, Mr. Fenwick praised it too, though after a more temperate Manner. He called it easy Writing. Now, sure, what is easy, is not so meritorious as what is difficult! And he added it was almost as good as some of the Letters in the Spectator; which, everybody must own, was immoderate. Gatty could historify plain enough what passed before her own Eyes and was heard by her own Ears; but she could not frame a Sentence that required some Exertion of the Mind to follow; which, I take it, is the Perfection of good Writing; at least, I know that's the Way with our best Authors. And no Shame to her for it: Women are not to be blamed for not shining in what is out of their Province; and she spelt perfectly well, and wrote a neat, flowing Hand, which had found Plenty of Practice under Lady Betty; only, to set her up with the Amandas and Dorindas that corresponded with Sir Richard Steele; why, the Thing was clearly preposterous.
Meanwhile, Mr. Fenwick continued to find his Way down to us most Evenings, with his Book in his Hand; and I must say he made the Time pass very pleasantly and swiftly; but though he read quite loud enough for such a small Company, 'twas evident to himself as well as to us, that his Voice would by no means yet fill a Church; besides which, his Breath soon became short, and a red Spot would come on his Cheek; which, whenever my Mother noticed, she always made him shut his Book, and would talk about Anything that chanced, rather than let him over-tire himself. Meanwhile, he heard Nothing, as far as I could glean, of Mr. Caryl: I know he got no Letters, nor received any Visitor; and that, I think, tended to make the red Spot infix itself on his Cheek. I pitied him heartily—"Hope deferred maketh the Heart sick"—but yet it was a Matter I could not presume to express Sympathy with him upon; nor was I qualified to allay any of his Uneasiness. But I kept anxiously looking out for Mr. Caryl's entering the Shop. One Forenoon, Lady Betty's Man, Mr. James, came in; and, says he, "Your Servant, Mrs. Patty—My Lady is going to give a grand Masked Ball to-morrow Evening; and it occurred to me that you and your Sister might like to look on. If so, I can secure you good Places, where you will see without being seen; and you will only have to come early, and ask the Hall Porter for Mr. James."
I thanked him, and said it would be a vast Treat to us; and after a little Talk about Mrs. Gatty, and my offering him some Refreshment, which he readily selected in the Form of Cherry Brandy and Macarons, he went away.
