Moll Flanders (17 page)

He smiled and, standing up, with great respect saluted me. He told me he could not but take it very kindly that I had so good an opinion of him; that he would not deceive me; that he would do anything in his power to serve me, and expect no salary; but that he could not by any means accept of a trust that might bring him to be suspected of self-interest, and that if I should die he might have disputes with my executors, which he should be very loath to encumber himself with.

I told him if those were all his objections, I would soon remove them and convince him that there was not the least room for any difficulty; for that, first, as for suspecting him, if ever, now was the time to suspect him, and not to put the trust into his hands; and whenever I did suspect him, he could but throw it up then and refuse to go on. Then, as to executors, I assured him I had no heirs nor any relations in England, and I would have neither heirs or executors but himself unless I should alter my condition, and then his trust and trouble should cease together, which, however, I had no prospect of yet; but I told him if I died as I was, it should be all his own, and he would deserve it by being so faithful to me, as I was satisfied he would be.

He changed his countenance at this discourse and asked me how I came to have so much goodwill for him, and looking very much pleased, said he might very lawfully wish he was single for my sake. I smiled and told him that as he was not, my offer could have no design upon him, and to wish was not to be allowed, ’twas criminal to his wife.

He told me I was wrong; “for,” says he, “as I said before, I have a wife and no wife, and ’twould be no sin to wish her hanged.” “I know nothing of your circumstances that way, sir,” said I; “but it cannot be innocent to wish your wife dead.” “I tell you,” says he again, “she is a wife and no wife; you don’t know what I am or what she is.”

“That’s true,” said I, “sir, I don’t know what you are; but I believe you to be an honest man, and that’s the cause of all my confidence in you.”

“Well, well,” says he, “and so I am; but I am something else too, madam; for,” says he, “to be plain with you, I am a cuckold and she is a whore.” He spoke it in a kind of jest, but it was with such an awkward smile that I perceived it stuck very close to him, and he looked dismally when he said it.

“That alters the case indeed, sir,” said I, “as to that part you were speaking of; but a cuckold, you know, may be an honest man; it does not alter that case at all. Besides, I think,” said I, “since your wife is so dishonest to you, you are too honest to her to own her for your wife; but that,” said I, “is what I have nothing to do with.” “Nay,” says he, “I do think to clear my hands of her; for, to be plain with you, madam,” added he, “I am no contented cuckold neither; on the other hand, I assure you it provokes me to the highest degree, but I can’t help myself; she that will be a whore, will be a whore.”

I waived the discourse and began to talk of my business; but I found he could not have done with it, so I let him alone, and he went on to tell me all the circumstances of his case, too long to relate here; particularly that having been out of England some time before he came to the post he was in, she had had two children in the meantime by an officer of the army; and that when he came to England and, upon her submission, took her again and maintained her very well, yet she run away from him with a linen-draper’s apprentice, robbed him of what she could come at, and continued to live from him still; “so that, madam,” says he, “she is a whore not by necessity, which is the common bait, but by inclination and for the sake of the vice.”

Well, I pitied him and wished him well rid of her, and still would have talked of my business, but it would not do. At last he looked steadily at me. “Look you, madam,” says he, “you came to ask advice of me, and I will serve you as faithfully as if you were my own sister; but I must turn the tables, since you oblige me to do it and are so friendly to me, and I think I must ask advice of you. Tell me, what must a poor abused fellow do with a whore? What can I do to do myself justice upon her?”

“Alas, sir,” says I, “’tis a case too nice for me to advise in, but it seems she has run away from you, so you are rid of her fairly; what can you desire more?” “Aye, she is gone indeed,” said he, “but I am not clear of her for all that.” “That’s true,” says I; “she may indeed run you into debt, but the law has furnished you with methods to prevent that also; you may cry her down, as they call it.”

“No, no,” says he, “that is not the case; I have taken care of all that; ’tis not that part that I speak of, but I would be rid of her that I might marry again.”

“Well, sir,” says I, “then you must divorce her; if you can prove what you say, you may certainly get that done, and then you are free.”

“That’s very tedious and expensive,” says he.

“Why,” says I, “if you can get any woman you like to take your word, I suppose your wife would not dispute the liberty with you that she takes herself.”

“Aye,” says he, “but ’twould be hard to bring an honest woman to do that; and for the other sort,” says he, “I have had enough of her to meddle with any more whores.”

It occurred to me presently: “I would have taken your word with all my heart if you had but asked me the question”; but that was to myself. To him I replied, “Why, you shut the door against any honest woman accepting you, for you condemn all that should venture upon you and conclude that a woman that takes you now can’t be honest.”

“Why,” says he, “I wish you would satisfy me that an honest woman would take me; I’d venture it.” And then turns short upon me: “Will you take me, madam?”

“That’s not a fair question,” says I, “after what you have said; however, lest you should think I wait only a recantation of it, I shall answer you plainly—no, not I; my business is of another kind with you, and I did not expect you would have turned my serious application to you, in my distracted case, into a comedy.”

“Why, madam,” says he, “my case is as distracted as yours can be, and I stand in as much need of advice as you do, for I think if I have not relief somewhere, I shall be mad myself, and I know not what course to take, I protest to you.”

“Why, sir,” says I, “’tis easier to give advice in your case than mine.” “Speak, then,” says he, “I beg of you, for now you encourage me.”

“Why,” says I, “if your case is so plain, you may be legally divorced, and then you may find honest women enough to ask the question of fairly; the sex is not so scarce that you can want a wife.”

“Well, then,” said he, “I am in earnest; I’ll take your advice; but shall I ask you one question seriously beforehand?”

“Any question,” said I, “but that you did before.”

“No, that answer will not do,” said he, “for, in short, that is the question I shall ask.”

“You may ask what questions you please, but you have my answer to that already,” said I; “besides, sir,” said I, “can you think so ill of me as that I would give any answer to such a question beforehand? Can any woman alive believe you in earnest or think you design anything but to banter her?”

“Well, well,” says he, “I do not banter you—I am in earnest; consider of it.”

“But, sir,” says I, a little gravely, “I came to you about my own business; I beg of you to let me know what you will advise me to do.”

“I will be prepared,” says he, “against you come again.”

“Nay,” says I, “you have forbid my coming any more.”

“Why so?” said he, and looked a little surprised.

“Because,” said I, “you can’t expect I should visit you on the account you talk of.”

“Well,” says he, “you shall promise to come again, however, and I will not say any more of it till I have the divorce. But I desire you’ll prepare to be better conditioned when that’s done, for you shall be the woman or I will not be divorced at all; I owe it to your unlooked-for kindness, if to nothing else, but I have other reasons too.”

He could not have said anything in the world that pleased me better; however, I knew that the way to secure him was to stand off while the thing was so remote, as it appeared to be, and that it was time enough to accept of it when he was able to perform it. So I said very respectfully to him it was time enough to consider of these things when he was in a condition to talk of them; in the meantime, I told him, I was going a great way from him, and he would find objects enough to please him better. We broke off here for the present, and he made me promise him to come again the next day for my own business, which after some pressing I did; though had he seen farther into me, I wanted no pressing on that account.

I came the next evening accordingly and brought my maid with me to let him see that I kept a maid. He would have had me let the maid have stayed, but I would not, but ordered her aloud to come for me again about nine o’clock. But he forbid that and told me he would see me safe home, which I was not very well pleased with, supposing he might do that to know where I lived and inquire into my character and circumstances. However, I ventured that, for all the people there knew of me was to my advantage, and all the character he had of me was that I was a woman of fortune and that I was a very modest, sober body; which, whether true or not in the main, yet you may see how necessary it is for all women who expect anything in the world to preserve the character of their virtue even when perhaps they may have sacrificed the thing itself.

I found, and was not a little pleased with it, that he had provided a supper for me. I found also he lived very handsomely and had a house very handsomely furnished, and which I was rejoiced at indeed, for I looked upon it as all my own.

We had now a second conference upon the subject-matter of the last. He laid his business very home indeed; he protested his affection to me, and indeed I had no room to doubt it; he declared that it began from the first moment I talked with him and long before I had mentioned leaving my effects with him. “’Tis no matter when it began,” thought I; “if it will but hold, ’twill be well enough.” He then told me how much the offer I had made of trusting him with my effects had engaged him. “So I intended it should,” thought I, “but then I thought you had been a single man too.” After we had supped I observed he pressed me very hard to drink two or three glasses of wine, which, however, I declined, but drank one glass or two. He then told me he had a proposal to make to me, which I should promise him I would not take ill if I should not grant it. I told him I hoped he would make no dishonourable proposal to me, especially in his own house, and that if it was such, I desired he would not mention it, that I might not be obliged to offer any resentment to him that did not become the respect I professed for him and the trust I had placed in him in coming to this house, and begged of him he would give me leave to go away, and accordingly began to put on my gloves and prepare to be gone, though at the same time I no more intended it than he intended to let me.

Well, he importuned me not to talk of going; he assured me he was very far from offering any such thing to me that was dishonourable, and if I thought so, he would choose to say no more of it.

That part I did not relish at all. I told him I was ready to hear anything that he had to say, depending that he would say nothing unworthy of himself or unfit for me to hear. Upon this, he told me his proposal was this: that I would marry him though he had not yet obtained the divorce from the whore his wife; and to satisfy me that he meant honourably, he would promise not to desire me to live with him or go to bed to him till the divorce was obtained. My heart said yes to this offer at first word, but it was necessary to play the hypocrite a little more with him; so I seemed to decline the motion with some warmth as unfair, told him that such a proposal could be of no signification but to entangle us both in great difficulties; for if he should not at last obtain the divorce, yet we could not dissolve the marriage, neither could we proceed in it; so that if he was disappointed in the divorce, I left him to consider what a condition we should both be in.

In short, I carried on the argument against this so far that I convinced him it was not a proposal that had any sense in it; then he went from it to another,
viz.
, that I would sign and seal a contract with him, conditioning to marry him as soon as the divorce was obtained and to be void if he could not get it.

I told him that was more rational than the other; but as this was the first time that ever I could imagine him weak enough to be in earnest, I did not use to say yes at first asking; I would consider of it. I played with this lover as an angler does with a trout: I found I had him fast on the hook, so I jested with his new proposal and put him off. I told him he knew little of me, and bade him inquire about me; I let him also go home with me to my lodging though I would not ask him to go in, for I told him it was not decent.

In short, I ventured to avoid signing a contract, and the reason why I did it was because the lady that had invited me to go with her into Lancashire insisted so positively upon it, and promised me such great fortunes and fine things there, that I was tempted to go and try. “Perhaps,” said I, “I may mend myself very much”; and then I made no scruple of quitting my honest citizen, whom I was not so much in love with as not to leave him for a richer.

In a word, I avoided a contract, but told him I would go into the north; that he would know where to write to me by the business I had entrusted him with; that I would give him a sufficient pledge of my respect for him, for I would leave almost all I had in the world in his hands; and I would thus far give him my word that as soon as he had sued out the divorce, if he would send me an account of it, I would come up to London and that then we would talk seriously of the matter.

It was a base design I went with, that I must confess, though I was invited thither with a design much worse, as the sequel will discover. Well, I went with my friend, as I called her, into Lancashire. All the way we went she caressed me with the utmost appearance of a sincere, undissembled affection; treated me, except my coach-hire, all the way; and her brother brought a gentleman’s coach to Warrington to receive us, and we were carried from thence to Liverpool with as much ceremony as I could desire.