LETTER XIII MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. LONDON, AUG. 21, MONDAY.
I believe I am bound to curse thee, Jack. Nevertheless I won't anticipate, but proceed to write thee a longer letter than thou hast had from me for some time past. So here goes.
That thou mightest have as little notice as possible of the time I was resolved to be in town, I set out in my Lord's chariot-and-six yesterday, as soon as I had dispatched my letter to thee, and arrived in town last night: for I knew I could have no dependence on thy friendship where Miss Harlowe's humour was concerned.
I had no other place so ready, and so was forced to go to my old lodgings, where also my wardrobe is; and there I poured out millions of curses upon the whole crew, and refused to see either Sally or Polly; and this not only for suffering the lady to escape, but for the villanous arrest, and for their detestable insolence to her at the officer's house.
I dressed myself in a never-worn suit, which I had intended for one of my wedding-suits; and liked myself so well, that I began to think, with thee, that my outside was the best of me:
I took a chair to Smith's, my heart bounding in almost audible thumps to my throat, with the assured expectations of seeing my beloved. I clasped my fingers, as I was danced along: I charged my eyes to languish and sparkle by turns: I talked to my knees, telling them how they must bend; and, in the language of a charming describer, acted my part in fancy, as well as spoke it to myself.
Tenderly kneeling, thus will I complain: Thus court her pity; and thus plead my pain: Thus sigh for fancy'd frowns, if frowns should rise; And thus meet favour in her soft'ning eyes.
In this manner entertained I myself till I arrived at Smith's; and there the fellows set down their gay burden. Off went their hats; Will. ready at hand in a new livery; up went the head; out rushed my honour; the woman behind the counter all in flutters, respect and fear giving due solemnity to her features, and her knees, I doubt not, knocking against the inside of her wainscot-fence.
Your servant, Madam--Will. let the fellows move to some distance, and wait.
You have a young lady lodges here; Miss Harlowe, Madam: Is she above?
Sir, Sir, and please your Honour: [the woman is struck with my figure, thought I:] Miss Harlowe, Sir! There is, indeed, such a young lady lodges here--But, but--
But, what, Madam?--I must see her.--One pair of stairs; is it not?-- Don't trouble yourself--I shall find her apartment. And was making towards the stairs.
Sir, Sir, the lady, the lady is not at home--she is abroad--she is in the country--
In the country! Not at home!--Impossible! You will not pass this story upon me, good woman. I must see her. I have business of life and death with her.
Indeed, Sir, the lady is not at home! Indeed, Sir, she is abroad!--
She then rung a bell: John, cried she, pray step down!--Indeed, Sir, the lady is not at home.
Down came John, the good man of the house, when I expected one of his journeymen, by her saucy familiarity.
My dear, said she, the gentleman will not believe Miss Harlowe is abroad.
John bowed to my fine clothes: Your servant, Sir,--indeed the lady is abroad. She went out of town this morning by six o'clock--into the country--by the doctor's advice.