Madame Duval gave a loud scream.
I could no longer preserve my silence. “For Heaven’s sake, my dear Madame,” said I, “don’t be alarmed,-you are in no danger,-you are quite safe,-there is nothing but-”
Here the chariot was stopped by two men in masks; who at each side
put in
their hands as if for our purses. Madame Duval sunk to the bottom
of the chariot, and implored their mercy. I shrieked involuntarily,
although prepared for the attack: one of them held me fast, while
the other tore poor Madame Duval out of the carriage, in spite of
her cries, threats, and resistance.
I was really frightened, and trembled exceedingly. “My angel!” cried the man who held me, “you cannot surely be alarmed,-do you not know me?-I shall hold myself in eternal abhorrence, if I have really terrified you.”
“Indeed, Sir Clement, you have,” cried I:-“but, for Heaven’s sake, where is Madame Duval?-why is she forced away?”
“She is perfectly safe; the Captain has her in charge: but suffer
me now, my
adored Miss Anville, to take the only opportunity that is allowed me,
to speak upon another, a much dearer, much sweeter subject.”
And then he hastily came into the chariot, and seated himself next to me. I would fain have disengaged myself from him, but he would not let me: “Deny me not, most charming of women,” cried he, “deny me not this only moment that is lent me, to pour forth my soul into your gentle ears,-to tell you how much I suffer from your absence,-how much I dread your displeasure,-and how cruelly I am affected by your coldness!”
“O, Sir, this is no time for such language;-pray leave me, pray go
to the
relief of Madame Duval,-I cannot bear that she should be treated with
such indignity.”
“And will you,-can you command my absence?-When may I speak to you,
if not
now?-Does the Captain suffer me to breathe a moment out of his
sight?-and are not a thousand impertinent people for ever at your
elbow?”
“Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your style, or I will not hear
you. The
impertinent people you mean are among my best friends; and you would
not, if you really wished me well, speak of them so disrespectfully.”
“Wish you well!-O, Miss Anville, point but out to me how, in what
manner, I
may convince you of the fervour of my passion;-tell me but what
services you will accept from me,-and you shall find my life, my
fortune, my whole soul at your devotion.”
“I want nothing, Sir, that you can offer;-I beg you not to talk to
me so-so
strangely. Pray leave me; and pray assure yourself you cannot take
any method so successless to show any regard for me, as entering into
schemes so frightful to Madame Duval, and so disagreeable to myself.”
“The scheme was the Captain’s: I even opposed it: though, I own,
I could not
refuse myself the so-long-wished-for happiness of speaking to you
once more, without so many of-your friends to watch me. And I had
flattered myself, that the note I charged the footman to give you,
would have prevented the alarm you have received.”
“Well Sir, you have now, I hope, said enough; and, if you will not go
yourself to see for Madame Duval, at least suffer me to inquire what
is become of her.”
“And when may I speak to you again?”
“No matter when,-I don’t know,-perhaps-”
“Perhaps what, my angel?”
“Perhaps never, Sir,-if you torment me thus.”
“Never! O, Miss Anville, how cruel, how piercing to my soul is
that icy
word!-Indeed I cannot endure such displeasure.”
“Then, Sir, you must not provoke it. Pray leave me directly.”
“I will Madam: but let me, at least, make a merit of my
obedience,-allow me
to hope that you will, in future, be less averse to trusting yourself
for a few moments alone with me”
I was surprised at the freedom of this request: but, while I hesitated
how to
answer it, the other mask came up to the chariot-door, and, in a voice
almost stifled with laughter said, “I’ve done for her!-the old buck
is safe;-but we must sheer off directly, or we shall be all ground.”
Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his horse, and rode off. The
Captain
having given some directions to the servants, followed him.
I was both uneasy and impatient to know the fate of Madame Duval, and
immediately got out of the chariot to seek her. I desired the footman
to show me which way she was gone; he pointed with his finger by
way of answer, and I saw that he dared not trust his voice to make
any other. I walked on at a very quick pace, and soon, to my great
consternation, perceived the poor lady seated upright in a ditch. I
flew to her with unfeigned concern at her situation. She was sobbing,
nay, almost roaring, and in the utmost agony of rage and terror. As
soon as she saw me, she redoubled her cries; but her voice was so
broken, I could not understand a word she said. I was so much shocked,
that it was with difficulty I forebore exclaiming against the cruelty
of the Captain for thus wantonly ill-treating her; and I could not
forgive myself for having passively suffered the deception. I used my
utmost endeavours to comfort her, assuring her of our present safety,
and begging her to rise and return to the chariot.
Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her feet, and with
frightful
violence she actually tore the ground with her hands.
I then saw that her feet were tied together with a strong rope, which was fastened to the upper branch of a tree, even with a hedge which ran along the ditch where she sat. I endeavoured to untie the knot; but soon found it was infinitely beyond my strength. I was, therefore, obliged to apply to the footman; but, being very unwilling to add to his mirth by the sight of Madame Duval’s situation. I desired him to lend me a knife: I returned with it, and cut the rope. Her feet were soon disentangled; and then, though with great difficulty, I assisted her to rise. But what was my astonishment, when, the moment she was up, she hit me a violent slap on the face! I retreated from her with precipitation and dread: and she then loaded me with reproaches, which, though almost unintelligible, convinced me that she imagined I had voluntarily deserted her; but she seemed not to have the slightest suspicion that she had not been attacked by real robbers.
I was so much surprised and confounded at the blow, that, for some
time, I
suffered her to rave without making any answer; but her extreme
agitation, and real suffering, soon dispelled my anger, which all
turned into compassion. I then told her, that I had been forcibly
detained from following her, and assured her of my real sorrow of
her ill-usage.
She began to be somewhat appeased; and I again intreated her to
return to the
carriage, or give me leave to order that it should draw up to the
place where we stood. She made no answer, till I told her, that the
longer we remained still, the greater would be the danger of our
ride home. Struck with this hint, she suddenly, and with hasty steps,
moved forward.
Her dress was in such disorder, that I was quite sorry to have
her figure
exposed to the servants, who all of them, in imitation of her master,
hold her in derision: however the disgrace was unavoidable.
The ditch, happily, was almost quite dry, or she must have suffered
still
more seriously; yet so forlorn, so miserable a figure, I never before
saw her. Her head-dress had fallen off, her linen was torn, her
negligee had not a pin left in it, her petticoats she was obliged to
hold on, and her shoes were perpetually slipping off. She was covered
with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really horrible; for
the pomatum and powder from her head, and the dust from the road,
were quite pasted on her skin by her tears, which, with her rouge,
made so frightful a mixture, that she hardly looked human.
The servants were ready to die with laughter the moment they saw her;
but not
all my remonstrances could prevail upon her to get into the carriage,
till she had most vehemently reproached them both for not rescuing
her. The footman, fixing his eyes on the ground, as if fearful of
again trusting himself to look at her, protested that the robbers had
vowed they would shoot him if he moved an inch, and that one of them
had stayed to watch the chariot, while the other carried her off,
adding, that the reason of their behaving so barbarously, was to
revenge our having secured our purses. Notwithstanding, her anger,
she gave immediate credit to what he said; and really imagined that her
want of money had irritated the pretended robbers to treat her with
such cruelty. I determined, therefore, to be carefully upon my guard
not to betray the imposition, which could now answer no other purpose,
then occasioning an irreparable breach between her and the Captain.
Just as we were seated in the chariot, she discovered the loss which
her head
had sustained, and called out, “My God! what is become of my hair?-why,
the villain has stole all my curls!”
She then ordered the man to run and see if he could find any of them
in the
ditch. He went, and presently returning, produced a great quantity of
hair, in such nasty condition, that I was amazed she would take it;
and the man, as he delivered it to her, found it impossible to keep
his countenance; which she no sooner observed, than all her stormy
passions were again raised. She flung the battered curls in his face,
saying, “Sirrah, what do you grin for? I wish you’d been served so
yourself, and you wouldn’t have found it no such joke; you are the
impudentest fellow ever I see; and if I find you dare grin at me any
more, I shall make no ceremony of boxing your ears.”
Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retired, and we drove on.
Her anger now subsiding into grief, she began most sorrowfully to
lament her
case. “I believe,” she cried, “never nobody was so unlucky as I
am! and so here, because I ha’n’t had misfortunes enough already,
that puppy has made me lose my curls!-Why, I can’t see nobody without
them:-only look at me,-I was never so bad off in my life before. Pardi,
if I’d know’d as much, I’d have brought two or three sets with me:
but I’d never a thought of such a thing as this.”
Finding her now somewhat pacified, I ventured to ask an account of her
adventure, which I will endeavour to write in her own words.
“Why, child, all this misfortune comes of that puppy’s making us
leave our
money behind us; for, as soon as the robber see I did put nothing
in his hands, he lugged me out of the chariot by main force, and I
verily thought he’d have murdered me. He was as strong as a lion;
I was no more in his hands than a child. But I believe never nobody
was so abused before; for he dragged me down the road, pulling and
hauling me all the way, as if’d no more feeling than a horse. I’m
sure I wish I could see that man cut up and quartered alive! however,
he’ll come to the gallows, that’s one good thing. So soon as we’d
got out of sight of the chariot, though he needn’t have been afraid,
for if he’d beat me to a mummy, those cowardly fellows wouldn’t have
said nothing to it-so, when I was got there, what does he do, but
all of a sudden he takes me by both the shoulders, and he gives me
such a shake!-Mon Dieu I shall never forget it, if I live to be an
hundred. I’m sure I dare say I’m out of joint all over. And though
I made as much noise as I ever could, he took no more notice of
it than nothing at all; there he stood, shaking me in that manner,
as if he was doing it for a wager. I’m determined, if it costs me
all my fortune, I’ll see that villain hanged. He shall be found out,
if there’s e’er a justice in England. So when he had shook me till he
was tired, and I felt all over like a jelly, without saying never a
word, he takes and pops me into the ditch! I’m sure, I thought he’d
have murdered me, as much as ever I thought any thing in my life;
for he kept bumping me about, as if he thought nothing too bad for
me. However, I’m resolved I’ll never leave my purse behind me again,
the longest day I have to live. So when he couldn’t stand over me
no longer, he holds out his hands again for my money; but he was as
cunning as could be, for he wouldn’t speak a word, because I shouldn’t
swear to his voice; however, that sha’n’t save him, for I’ll swear to
him any day in the year, if I can but catch him. So, when I told him I
had no money, he fell to jerking me again, just as if he had but that
moment begun! And, after that, he got me close by a tree, and out of
his pocket he pulls a great cord!-It’s a wonder I did not swoon away:
for as sure as you’re alive, he was going to hang to me that tree. I
screamed like any thing mad, and told him if he would but spare my
life, I’d never prosecute him, nor tell anybody what he’d done to me:
so he stood some time quite in a brown study, a-thinking what he should
do. And so, after that, he forced me to sit down in the ditch, and he
tied my feet together, just as you see them: and then, as if he had
not done enough, he twitched off my cap, and without saying nothing,
got on his horse and left me in that condition; thinking, I suppose,
that I might lie there and perish.”
Though this narrative almost compelled me to laugh, yet I was really
irritated with the Captain, for carrying his love of tormenting,-sport,
he calls it,-to such barbarous and unjustifiable extremes. I consoled
and soothed her, as well as I was able: and told her, that since
M. Du Bois had escaped, I hoped, when she recovered from her fright,
all would end well.
“Fright, child!” repeated she,-“why that’s not half:-I promise you,
I wish it
was: but here I’m bruised from top to toe and it’s well if ever I have
the right use of my limbs again. However, I’m glad the villain got
nothing but his trouble for his pains. But here the worst is to come,
for I can’t go out, because I’ve got no curls, and so he’ll be escaped
before I can get to the justice to stop him. I’m resolved I’ll tell
Lady Howard how her man served me; for if he hadn’t made me fling
?em away, I dare say I would have pinned them up well enough for
the country.”
“Perhaps Lady Howard may be able to lend you a cap that will wear
without
them.”
“Lady Howard, indeed! why, do you think I’d wear one of her
dowdies? No, I’ll
promise you, I sha’n’t put on no such disguisement. It’s the unluckiest
thing in the world that I did not make the man pick up the curls again;
but he put me in such a passion, I could not think of nothing. I
know I can’t get none at Howard Grove for love nor money: for of
all the stupid places ever I see, that Howard Grove is the worst;
there’s never no getting nothing one wants.”