"That's one of the brightest parts of her story indeed," says the girl.

"The case was this: we had b.a.l.l.s and meetings in her ladyship's apartments every week almost; but one time my lady invited all the n.o.bles to come such a time, and she would give them a ball; and there was a vast crowd indeed," says she.

"I think you said the king was there, sister, didn't you?"

"No, madam," says she, "that was the second time, when they said the king had heard how finely the Turkish lady danced, and that he was there to see her; but the king, if his Majesty was there, came disguised."

"That is, what they call incog.," says my friend the Quaker; "thou canst not think the king would disguise himself." "Yes," says the girl, "it was so; he did not come in public with his guards, but we all knew which was the king well enough, that is to say, which they said was the king."

"Well," says the captain's wife, "about the Turkish dress; pray let us hear that." "Why," says she, "my lady sat in a fine little drawing-room, which opened into the great room, and where she received the compliments of the company; and when the dancing began, a great lord," says she, "I forget who they called him (but he was a very great lord or duke, I don't know which), took her out, and danced with her; but after a while, my lady on a sudden shut the drawing-room, and ran upstairs with her woman, Mrs. Amy; and though she did not stay long (for I suppose she had contrived it all beforehand), she came down dressed in the strangest figure that ever I saw in my life; but it was exceeding fine."

Here she went on to describe the dress, as I have done already; but did it so exactly, that I was surprised at the manner of her telling it; there was not a circ.u.mstance of it left out.

I was now under a new perplexity, for this young s.l.u.t gave so complete an account of everything in the dress, that my friend the Quaker coloured at it, and looked two or three times at me, to see if I did not do so too; for (as she told me afterwards) she immediately perceived it was the same dress that she had seen me have on, as I have said before.

However, as she saw I took no notice of it, she kept her thought private to herself; and I did so too, as well as I could.

I put in two or three times, that she had a good memory, that could be so particular in every part of such a thing.

"Oh, madam!" says she, "we that were servants, stood by ourselves in a corner, but so as we could see more than some strangers; besides," says she, "it was all our conversation for several days in the family, and what one did not observe another did." "Why," says I to her, "this was no Persian dress; only, I suppose your lady was some French comedian, that is to say, a stage Amazon, that put on a counterfeit dress to please the company, such as they used in the play of Tamerlane at Paris, or some such."

"No, indeed, madam," says she, "I a.s.sure you my lady was no actress; she was a fine modest lady, fit to be a princess; everybody said if she was a mistress, she was fit to be a mistress to none but the king; and they talked her up for the king as if it had really been so. Besides, madam,"

says she, "my lady danced a Turkish dance; all the lords and gentry said it was so; and one of them swore he had seen it danced in Turkey himself, so that it could not come from the theatre at Paris; and then the name Roxana," says she, "was a Turkish name."

"Well," said I, "but that was not your lady's name, I suppose?"

"No, no, madam," said she, "I know that. I know my lady's name and family very well; Roxana was not her name, that's true, indeed."

Here she run me aground again, for I durst not ask her what was Roxana's real name, lest she had really dealt with the devil, and had boldly given my own name in for answer; so that I was still more and more afraid that the girl had really gotten the secret somewhere or other; though I could not imagine neither how that could be.

In a word, I was sick of the discourse, and endeavoured many ways to put an end to it, but it was impossible; for the captain's wife, who called her sister, prompted her, and pressed her to tell it, most ignorantly thinking that it would be a pleasant tale to all of us.

Two or three times the Quaker put in, that this Lady Roxana had a good stock of a.s.surance; and that it was likely, if she had been in Turkey, she had lived with, or been kept by, some great bashaw there. But still she would break in upon all such discourse, and fly out into the most extravagant praises of her mistress, the famed Roxana. I run her down as some scandalous woman; that it was not possible to be otherwise; but she would not hear of it; her lady was a person of such and such qualifications that nothing but an angel was like her, to be sure; and yet, after all she could say, her own account brought her down to this, that, in short, her lady kept little less than a gaming ordinary; or, as it would be called in the times since that, an a.s.sembly for gallantry and play.

All this while I was very uneasy, as I said before, and yet the whole story went off again without any discovery, only that I seemed a little concerned that she should liken me to this gay lady, whose character I pretended to run down very much, even upon the foot of her own relation.

But I was not at the end of my mortifications yet, neither, for now my innocent Quaker threw out an unhappy expression, which put me upon the tenters again. Says she to me, "This lady's habit, I fancy, is just such a one as thine, by the description of it;" and then turning to the captain's wife, says she, "I fancy my friend has a finer Turkish or Persian dress, a great deal." "Oh," says the girl, "'tis impossible to be finer; my lady's," says she, "was all covered with gold and diamonds; her hair and head-dress, I forget the name they gave it," said she, "shone like the stars, there were so many jewels in it."

I never wished my good friend the Quaker out of my company before now; but, indeed, I would have given some guineas to have been rid of her just now; for beginning to be curious in the comparing the two dresses, she innocently began a description of mine; and nothing terrified me so much as the apprehension lest she should importune me to show it, which I was resolved I would never agree to. But before it came to this, she pressed my girl to describe the tyhaia, or head-dress, which she did so cleverly that the Quaker could not help saying mine was just such a one; and after several other similitudes, all very vexatious to me, out comes the kind motion to me to let the ladies see my dress; and they joined their eager desires of it, even to importunity.

I desired to be excused, though I had little to say at first why I declined it; but at last it came into my head to say it was packed up with my other clothes that I had least occasion for, in order to be sent on board the captain's ship; but that if we lived to come to Holland together (which, by the way, I resolved should never happen), then, I told them, at unpacking my clothes, they should see me dressed in it; but they must not expect I should dance in it, like the Lady Roxana in all her fine things.

This carried it off pretty well; and getting over this, got over most of the rest, and I began to be easy again; and, in a word, that I may dismiss the story too, as soon as may be, I got rid at last of my visitors, who I had wished gone two hours sooner than they intended it.

As soon as they were gone, I ran up to Amy, and gave vent to my pa.s.sions by telling her the whole story, and letting her see what mischiefs one false step of hers had like, unluckily, to have involved us all in; more, perhaps, than we could ever have lived to get through. Amy was sensible of it enough, and was just giving her wrath a vent another way, viz., by calling the poor girl all the d.a.m.ned jades and fools (and sometimes worse names) that she could think of, in the middle of which up comes my honest, good Quaker, and put an end to our discourse. The Quaker came in smiling (for she was always soberly cheerful). "Well,"

says she, "thou art delivered at last; I come to joy thee of it; I perceived thou wert tired grievously of thy visitors."

"Indeed," says I, "so I was; that foolish young girl held us all in a Canterbury story; I thought she would never have done with it." "Why, truly, I thought she was very careful to let thee know she was but a cook-maid." "Ay," says I, "and at a gaming-house, or gaming-ordinary, and at t'other end of the town too; all which (by the way) she might know would add very little to her good name among us citizens."

"I can't think," says the Quaker, "but she had some other drift in that long discourse; there's something else in her head," says she, "I am satisfied of that." Thought I, "Are you satisfied of it? I am sure I am the less satisfied for that; at least 'tis but small satisfaction to me to hear you say so. What can this be?" says I; "and when will my uneasiness have an end?" But this was silent, and to myself, you may be sure. But in answer to my friend the Quaker, I returned by asking her a question or two about it; as what she thought was in it, and why she thought there was anything in it. "For," says I, "she can have nothing in it relating to me."

"Nay," says the kind Quaker, "if she had any view towards thee, that's no business of mine; and I should be far from desiring thee to inform me."

This alarmed me again; not that I feared trusting the good-humoured creature with it, if there had been anything of just suspicion in her; but this affair was a secret I cared not to communicate to anybody.

However, I say, this alarmed me a little; for as I had concealed everything from her, I was willing to do so still; but as she could not but gather up abundance of things from the girl's discourse, which looked towards me, so she was too penetrating to be put off with such answers as might stop another's mouth. Only there was this double felicity in it, first, that she was not inquisitive to know or find anything out, and not dangerous if she had known the whole story. But, as I say, she could not but gather up several circ.u.mstances from the girl's discourse, as particularly the name of Amy, and the several descriptions of the Turkish dress which my friend the Quaker had seen, and taken so much notice of, as I have said above.

As for that, I might have turned it off by jesting with Amy, and asking her who she lived with before she came to live with me. But that would not do, for we had unhappily antic.i.p.ated that way of talking, by having often talked how long Amy had lived with me; and, which was still worse, by having owned formerly that I had had lodgings in the Pall Mall; so that all those things corresponded too well. There was only one thing that helped me out with the Quaker, and that was the girl's having reported how rich Mrs. Amy was grown, and that she kept her coach. Now, as there might be many more Mrs. Amys besides mine, so it was not likely to be my Amy, because she was far from such a figure as keeping her coach; and this carried it off from the suspicions which the good friendly Quaker might have in her head.

But as to what she imagined the girl had in her head, there lay more real difficulty in that part a great deal, and I was alarmed at it very much, for my friend the Quaker told me that she observed the girl was in a great pa.s.sion when she talked of the habit, and more when I had been importuned to show her mine, but declined it. She said she several times perceived her to be in disorder, and to restrain herself with great difficulty; and once or twice she muttered to herself that she had found it out, or that she would find it out, she could not tell whether; and that she often saw tears in her eyes; that when I said my suit of Turkish clothes was put up, but that she should see it when we arrived in Holland, she heard her say softly she would go over on purpose then.

After she had ended her observations, I added: "I observed, too, that the girl talked and looked oddly, and that she was mighty inquisitive, but I could not imagine what it was she aimed at." "Aimed at," says the Quaker, "'tis plain to me what she aims at. She believes thou art the same Lady Roxana that danced in the Turkish vest, but she is not certain." "Does she believe so?" says I; "if I had thought that, I would have put her out of her pain." "Believe so!" says the Quaker; "yes, and I began to think so too, and should have believed so still, if thou had'st not satisfied me to the contrary by thy taking no notice of it, and by what thou hast said since." "Should you have believed so?" said I warmly; "I am very sorry for that. Why, would you have taken me for an actress, or a French stage-player?" "No," says the good kind creature, "thou carriest it too far; as soon as thou madest thy reflections upon her, I knew it could not be; but who could think any other when she described the Turkish dress which thou hast here, with the head-tire and jewels, and when she named thy maid Amy too, and several other circ.u.mstances concurring? I should certainly have believed it," said she, "if thou hadst not contradicted it; but as soon as I heard thee speak, I concluded it was otherwise." "That was very kind," said I, "and I am obliged to you for doing me so much justice; it is more, it seems, than that young talking creature does." "Nay," says the Quaker, "indeed she does not do thee justice; for she as certainly believes it still as ever she did." "Does she?" said I. "Ay," says the Quaker; "and I warrant thee she'll make thee another visit about it." "Will she?" said I; "then I believe I shall downright affront her." "No, thou shalt not affront her," says she (full of her good-humour and temper), "I'll take that part off thy hands, for I'll affront her for thee, and not let her see thee." I thought that was a very kind offer, but was at a loss how she would be able to do it; and the thought of seeing her there again half distracted me, not knowing what temper she would come in, much less what manner to receive her in; but my fast friend and constant comforter, the Quaker, said she perceived the girl was impertinent, and that I had no inclination to converse with her, and she was resolved I should not be troubled with her. But I shall have occasion to say more of this presently, for this girl went farther yet than I thought she had.

It was now time, as I said before, to take measures with my husband, in order to put off my voyage; so I fell into talk with him one morning as he was dressing, and while I was in bed. I pretended I was very ill; and as I had but too easy a way to impose upon him, because he so absolutely believed everything I said, so I managed my discourse as that he should understand by it I was a-breeding, though I did not tell him so.

However, I brought it about so handsomely that, before he went out of the room, he came and sat down by my bedside, and began to talk very seriously to me upon the subject of my being so every day ill, and that, as he hoped I was with child, he would have me consider well of it, whether I had not best alter my thoughts of the voyage to Holland; for that being sea-sick, and which was worse, if a storm should happen, might be very dangerous to me. And after saying abundance of the kindest things that the kindest of husbands in the world could say, he concluded that it was his request to me, that I would not think any more of going till after all should be over; but that I would, on the contrary, prepare to lie-in where I was, and where I knew, as well as he, I could be very well provided, and very well a.s.sisted.

This was just what I wanted, for I had, as you have heard, a thousand good reasons why I should put off the voyage, especially with that creature in company; but I had a mind the putting it off should be at his motion, not my own; and he came into it of himself, just as I would have had it. This gave me an opportunity to hang back a little, and to seem as if I was unwilling. I told him I could not abide to put him to difficulties and perplexities in his business; that now he had hired the great cabin in the ship, and, perhaps, paid some of the money, and, it may be, taken freight for goods; and to make him break it all off again would be a needless charge to him, or, perhaps, a damage to the captain.

As to that, he said, it was not to be named, and he would not allow it to be any consideration at all; that he could easily pacify the captain of the ship by telling him the reason of it, and that if he did make him some satisfaction for the disappointment, it should not be much.

"But, my dear," says I, "you ha'n't heard me say I am with child, neither can I say so; and if it should not be so at last, then I shall have made a fine piece of work of it indeed; besides," says I, "the two ladies, the captain's wife and her sister, they depend upon our going over, and have made great preparations, and all in compliment to me; what must I say to them?"

"Well, my dear," says he, "if you should not be with child, though I hope you are, yet there is no harm done; the staying three or four months longer in England will be no damage to me, and we can go when we please, when we are sure you are not with child, or, when it appearing that you are with child, you shall be down and up again; and as for the captain's wife and sister, leave that part to me; I'll answer for it there shall be no quarrel raised upon that subject. I'll make your excuse to them by the captain himself, so all will be well enough there, I'll warrant you."

This was as much as I could desire, and thus it rested for awhile. I had indeed some anxious thoughts about this impertinent girl, but believed that putting off the voyage would have put an end to it all, so I began to be pretty easy; but I found myself mistaken, for I was brought to the point of destruction by her again, and that in the most unaccountable manner imaginable.

My husband, as he and I had agreed, meeting the captain of the ship, took the freedom to tell him that he was afraid he must disappoint him, for that something had fallen out which had obliged him to alter his measures, and that his family could not be ready to go time enough for him.

"I know the occasion, sir," says the captain; "I hear your lady has got a daughter more than she expected; I give you joy of it." "What do you mean by that?" says my spouse. "Nay, nothing," says the captain, "but what I hear the women tattle over the tea-table. I know nothing, but that you don't go the voyage upon it, which I am sorry for; but you know your own affairs," added the captain, "that's no business of mine."

"Well, but," says my husband, "I must make you some satisfaction for the disappointment," and so pulls out his money. "No, no," says the captain; and so they fell to straining their compliments one upon another; but, in short, my spouse gave him three or four guineas, and made him take it. And so the first discourse went off again, and they had no more of it.

But it did not go off so easily with me, for now, in a word, the clouds began to thicken about me, and I had alarms on every side. My husband told me what the captain had said, but very happily took it that the captain had brought a tale by halves, and having heard it one way, had told it another; and that neither could he understand the captain, neither did the captain understand himself, so he contented himself to tell me, he said, word for word, as the captain delivered it.

How I kept my husband from discovering my disorder you shall hear presently; but let it suffice to say just now, that if my husband did not understand the captain, nor the captain understand himself, yet I understood them both very well; and, to tell the truth, it was a worse shock than ever I had yet. Invention supplied me, indeed, with a sudden motion to avoid showing my surprise; for as my spouse and I was sitting by a little table near the fire, I reached out my hand, as if I had intended to take a spoon which lay on the other side, and threw one of the candles off of the table; and then s.n.a.t.c.hing it up, started up upon my feet, and stooped to the lap of my gown and took it in my hand. "Oh!"

says I, "my gown's spoiled; the candle has greased it prodigiously."

This furnished me with an excuse to my spouse to break off the discourse for the present, and call Amy down; and Amy not coming presently, I said to him, "My dear, I must run upstairs and put it off, and let Amy clean it a little." So my husband rose up too, and went into a closet where he kept his papers and books, and fetched a book out, and sat down by himself to read.

Glad I was that I had got away, and up I run to Amy, who, as it happened, was alone. "Oh, Amy!" says I, "we are all utterly undone." And with that I burst out a-crying, and could not speak a word for a great while.

I cannot help saying that some very good reflections offered themselves upon this head. It presently occurred, what a glorious testimony it is to the justice of Providence, and to the concern Providence has in guiding all the affairs of men (even the least as well as the greatest), that the most secret crimes are, by the most unforeseen accidents, brought to light and discovered.

Another reflection was, how just it is that sin and shame follow one another so constantly at the heels; that they are not like attendants only, but, like cause and consequence, necessarily connected one with another; that the crime going before, the scandal is certain to follow; and that 'tis not in the power of human nature to conceal the first, or avoid the last.

"What shall I do, Amy?" said I, as soon as I could speak, "and what will become of me?" And then I cried again so vehemently that I could say no more a great while. Amy was frighted almost out of her wits, but knew nothing what the matter was; but she begged to know, and persuaded me to compose myself, and not cry so. "Why, madam, if my master should come up now," says she, "he will see what a disorder you are in; he will know you have been crying, and then he will want to know the cause of it."

With that I broke out again. "Oh, he knows it already, Amy," says I, "he knows all! 'Tis all discovered, and we are undone!" Amy was thunderstruck now indeed. "Nay," says Amy, "if that be true, we are undone indeed; but that can never be; that's impossible, I'm sure."

"No, no," says I, "'tis far from impossible, for I tell you 'tis so."

And by this time, being a little recovered, I told her what discourse my husband and the captain had had together, and what the captain had said.

This put Amy into such a hurry that she cried, she raved, she swore and cursed like a mad thing; then she upbraided me that I would not let her kill the girl when she would have done it, and that it was all my own doing, and the like. Well, however, I was not for killing the girl yet.

I could not bear the thoughts of that neither.