Даниэль Дефо - Roxana

I had a double Design in this, viz. First , To get away my Spouse from seeing the Captain any-more; and secondly , To be out of the way myself, in case this impertinent Girl, who was now my Plague , shou’d offer to come again, as my Friend the QUAKER believ’d she wou’d ; and as indeed, happen’d within two or three Days afterwards.

Having thus secur’d my going away the next Day, I had nothing to do, but to furnish my faithful Agent, the QUAKER, with some Instructions what to say to this Tormentor , (for such she prov’d afterwards) and how to manage her, if she made any-more Visits than ordinary.

I had a great-mind to leave Amy behind too, as an Assistant, because she understood so perfectly well, what to advise upon any Emergence; and Amy importun’d me to do so; but I know not what secret Impulse prevail’d over my Thoughts, against it, I cou’d not do it, for fear the wicked Jade shou’d make her away, which my very Soul abhorr’d the Thoughts of; which however, Amy found Means to bring to pass afterwards; as I may in time relate more particularly .

It is true, I wanted as much to be deliver’d from her, as ever a Sick-Man did from a Third-Day Ague; [363] Third-Day Ague : tertian ague or fever, one that is accompanied by paroxysms every third (that is, alternate) day. and had she dropp’d into the Grave by any fair Way, as I may call it , I mean had she died by any ordinary Distemper, I shou’d have shed but very few Tears for her: But I was not arriv’d to such a Pitch of obtinate Wickedness, as to commit Murther, especially such, as to murther my own Child, or so much as to harbour a Thought so barbarous, in my Mind: But, as I said, Amy effected all afterwards, without my Knowledge, for which I gave her my hearty Curse, tho’ I cou’d do little more; for to have fall’n upon Amy , had been to have murther’d myself: But this Tragedy requires a longer Story than I have room for here: I return to my Journey .

My dear Friend, the QUAKER, was kind, and yet honest, and wou’d do any-thing that was just and upright, to serve me, but nothing wicked, or dishonourable; that she might be able to say boldly to the Creature, if she came, she did not know where I was gone, she desir’d I wou’d not let her know; and to make her Ignorance the more absolutely safe to herself, and likewise to me, I allow’d her to say, that she heard us talk of going to Newmarket , &c. She lik’d that Part, and I left all the rest to her, to act as she thought fit, only charg’d her, that if the Girl enter’d into the Story of the Pallmall , she shou’d not entertain much Talk about it; but let her understand, that we all thought she spoke of it a little too particularly; and that the Lady, meaning me , took it a little ill, to be so liken’d to a publick [364] publick : openly acknowledged. Mistress, or a Stage-Player, and the like , and so to bring her, if possible , to say more of it: However, tho’ I did not tell my Friend the QUAKER, how to write to me, or where I was, yet I left a seal’d Paper with her Maid to give her, in which I gave her a Direction how to write to Amy , and so in effect, to myself.

It was but a few Days after I was gone, but the impatient Girl came to my Lodgings, on Pretence to see how I did, and to hear if I intended to go the Voyage, and the like : My trusty Agent was at-home, and receiv’d her coldly at the Door; but told her , That the Lady, which she suppos’d she meant , was gone from her House .

This was a full stop to all she cou’d say for a good-while; but as she stood musing some time at the Door, considering what to begin a Talk upon, she perceiv’d my Friend the QUAKER, look’d a little uneasie, as if she wanted to go in, and shut the Door, which stung her to the quick; and the wary QUAKER had not so much as ask’d her to come in; for seeing her alone, she expected she wou’d be very Impertinent; and concluded, that I did not care how coldly she receiv’d her.

But she was not to be put off so: She said , If the Lady — was not to be spoke with, she desir’d to speak two or three Words with her, meaning my Friend, the QUAKER: Upon that, the QUAKER civilly, but coldly , ask’d her to walk in, which was what she wanted: Note , She did not carry her into her best Parlour, as formerly , but into a little outer-Room, where the Servants usually waited.

By the first of her Discourse she did not stick to insinuate, as if she believ’d I was in the House, but was unwilling to be seen; and press’d earnestly that she might speak but two Words with me; to which she added earnest Entreaties, and at last, Tears.

I am sorry, says my good Creature the QUAKER, thou hast so ill an Opinion of me, as to think I wou’d tell thee an Untruth, and say , that the Lady — was gone from my House, if she was not? I assure thee I do not use any such Method; nor does the Lady — desire any such kind of Service from me, as I know of: If she had been in the House, I shou’d have told thee so.

She said little to that , but said, It was Business of the utmost Importance, that she desir’d to speak with me about; and then cry’d again very much .

Thou seem’st to be sorely afflicted, says the QUAKER, I wish I cou’d give thee any Relief; but if nothing will comfort thee but seeing the Lady —, it is not in my Power.

I hope it is, says she again ; to be sure it is of great Consequence to me, so much, that I am undone without it.

Thou troublest me very much, to hear thee say so, says the QUAKER; but why then did’st thou not speak to her apart, when thou wast here before?

I had no Opportunity, says she , to speak to her alone, and I cou’d not do it in Company; if I cou’d have spoken but two Words to her alone, I wou’d have thrown myself at her Foot, and ask’d her Blessing.

I am surpriz’d at thee ; I do not understand thee, says the QUAKER.

O! says she , stand my Friend, if you have any Charity, or if you have any Compassion for the Miserable; for I am utterly undone!

Thou terrify’st me, says the QUAKER, with such passionate Expressions; for verily I cannot comprehend thee .

O! says she , She is my Mother; She is my Mother; and she does not own me.

Thy Mother! says the QUAKER, and began to be greatly mov’d indeed; I am astonish’d at thee ; what do’st thou mean?

I mean nothing but what I say, says she, I say again , She is my Mother! and will not own me; and with that she stopp’d, with a Flood of Tears .

Not own thee! says the QUAKER; and the tender, good Creature wept too; why, she says , she does not know thee , and never saw thee before.

No, says the Girl , I believe she does not know me, but I know her; and I know that she is my Mother.

It’s impossible! Thou talk’st Mystery, says the QUAKER; wilt thou explain thyself a little to me?

Yes, Yes, says she , I can explain it well enough; I am sure she is my Mother, and I have broke my Heart to search for her; and now to lose her again, when I was so sure I had found her, will break my Heart more effectually.

Well, but if she be thy Mother, says the QUAKER, How can it be, that she shou’d not know thee ?