The Vicar of Wakefield (23 page)

'Good heavens!' exclaimed the Baronet, 'how every new discovery
of his villainy alarms me. All his guilt is now too plain, and I
find his present prosecution was dictated by tyranny, cowardice and
revenge; at my request, Mr Gaoler, set this young officer, now your
prisoner, free, and trust to me for the consequences. I'll make it
my business to set the affair in a proper light to my friend the
magistrate who has committed him. But where is the unfortunate
young lady herself: let her appear to confront this wretch, I long
to know by what arts he has seduced her. Entreat her to come in.
Where is she?'

'Ah, Sir,' said I, 'that question stings me to the heart: I was
once indeed happy in a daughter, but her miseries—' Another
interruption here prevented me; for who should make her appearance
but Miss Arabella Wilmot, who was next day to have been married to
Mr Thornhill. Nothing could equal her surprize at seeing Sir
William and his nephew here before her; for her arrival was quite
accidental. It happened that she and the old gentleman her father
were passing through the town, on their way to her aunt's, who had
insisted that her nuptials with Mr Thornhill should be consummated
at her house; but stopping for refreshment, they put up at an inn
at the other end of the town. It was there from the window that the
young lady happened to observe one of my little boys playing in the
street, and instantly sending a footman to bring the child to her,
she learnt from him some account of our misfortunes; but was still
kept ignorant of young Mr Thornhill's being the cause. Though her
father made several remonstrances on the impropriety of going to a
prison to visit us, yet they were ineffectual; she desired the
child to conduct her, which he did, and it was thus she surprised
us at a juncture so unexpected.

Nor can I go on, without a reflection on those accidental
meetings, which, though they happen every day, seldom excite our
surprize but upon some extraordinary occasion. To what a fortuitous
concurrence do we not owe every pleasure and convenience of our
lives. How many seeming accidents must unite before we can be
cloathed or fed. The peasant must be disposed to labour, the shower
must fall, the wind fill the merchant's sail, or numbers must want
the usual supply.

We all continued silent for some moments, while my charming
pupil, which was the name I generally gave this young lady, united
in her looks compassion and astonishment, which gave new finishings
to her beauty. 'Indeed, my dear Mr Thornhill,' cried she to the
'Squire, who she supposed was come here to succour and not to
oppress us, 'I take it a little unkindly that you should come here
without me, or never inform me of the situation of a family so dear
to us both: you know I should take as much pleasure in contributing
to the relief of my reverend old master here, whom I shall ever
esteem, as you can. But I find that, like your uncle, you take a
pleasure in doing good in secret.'

'He find pleasure in doing good!' cried Sir William,
interrupting her. 'No, my dear, his pleasures are as base as he is.
You see in him, madam, as complete a villain as ever disgraced
humanity. A wretch, who after having deluded this poor man's
daughter, after plotting against the innocence of her sister, has
thrown the father into prison, and the eldest son into fetters,
because he had courage to face his betrayer. And give me leave,
madam, now to congratulate you upon an escape from the embraces of
such a monster.'

'O goodness,' cried the lovely girl, 'how have I been deceived!
Mr Thornhill informed me for certain that this gentleman's eldest
son, Captain Primrose, was gone off to America with his new married
lady.'

'My sweetest miss,' cried my wife, 'he has told you nothing but
falsehoods. My son George never left the kingdom, nor was married.
Tho' you have forsaken him, he has always loved you too well to
think of any body else; and I have heard him say he would die a
batchellor for your sake.' She then proceeded to expatiate upon the
sincerity of her son's passion, she set his duel with Mr Thornhill
in a proper light, from thence she made a rapid digression to the
'Squire's debaucheries, his pretended marriages, and ended with a
most insulting picture of his cowardice.

'Good heavens!' cried Miss Wilmot, 'how very near have I been to
the brink of ruin! But how great is my pleasure to have escaped it!
Ten thousand falsehoods has this gentleman told me! He had at last
art enough to persuade me that my promise to the only man I
esteemed was no longer binding, since he had been unfaithful. By
his falsehoods I was taught to detest one equally brave and
generous!'

But by this time my son was freed from the encumbrances of
justice as the person supposed to be wounded was detected to be an
impostor. Mr Jenkinson also, who had acted as his valet de chambre,
had dressed up his hair, and furnished him with whatever was
necessary to make a genteel appearance. He now therefore entered,
handsomely drest in his regimentals, and, without vanity, (for I am
above it) he appeared as handsome a fellow as ever wore a military
dress. As he entered, he made Miss Wilmot a modest and distant bow,
for he was not as yet acquainted with the change which the
eloquence of his mother had wrought in his favour. But no decorums
could restrain the impatience of his blushing mistress to be
forgiven. Her tears, her looks, all contributed to discover the
real sensations of her heart for having forgotten her former
promise and having suffered herself to be deluded by an impostor.
My son appeared amazed at her condescension, and could scarce
believe it real.—'Sure, madam,' cried he, 'this is but delusion! I
can never have merited this! To be, blest thus is to be too
happy.'—'No, Sir,' replied she, 'I have been deceived, basely
deceived, else nothing could have ever made me unjust to my
promise. You know my friendship, you have long known it; but forget
what I have done, and as you once had my warmest vows of constancy,
you shall now have them repeated; and be assured that if your
Arabella cannot be yours, she shall never be another's.'—'And no
other's you shall be,' cried Sir William, 'if I have any influence
with your father.'

This hint was sufficient for my son Moses, who immediately flew
to the inn where the old gentleman was, to inform him of every
circumstance that had happened. But in the mean time the 'Squire
perceiving that he was on every side undone, now finding that no
hopes were left from flattery or dissimulation, concluded that his
wisest way would be to turn and face his pursuers. Thus laying
aside all shame, he appeared the open hardy villain. 'I find then,'
cried he, 'that I am to expect no justice here; but I am resolved
it shall be done me. You shall know, Sir,' turning to Sir William,
'I am no longer a poor dependent upon your favours. I scorn them.
Nothing can keep Miss Wilmot's fortune from me, which, I thank her
father's assiduity, is pretty large. The articles, and a bond for
her fortune, are signed, and safe in my possession. It was her
fortune, not her person, that induced me to wish for this match,
and possessed of the one, let who will take the other.'

This was an alarming blow, Sir William was sensible of the
justice of his claims, for he had been instrumental in drawing up
the marriage articles himself. Miss Wilmot therefore perceiving
that her fortune was irretrievably lost, turning to my son, she
asked if the loss of fortune could lessen her value to him. 'Though
fortune,' said she, 'is out of my power, at least I have my hand to
give.'

'And that, madam,' cried her real lover, 'was indeed all that
you ever had to give; at least all that I ever thought worth the
acceptance. And now I protest, my Arabella, by all that's happy,
your want of fortune this moment encreases my pleasure, as it
serves to convince my sweet girl of my sincerity.'

Mr Wilmot now entering, he seemed not a little pleased at the
danger his daughter had just escaped, and readily consented to a
dissolution of the match. But finding that her fortune, which was
secured to Mr Thornhill by bond, would not be given up, nothing
could exceed his disappointment. He now saw that his money must all
go to enrich one who had no fortune of his own. He could bear his
being a rascal; but to want an equivalent to his daughter's fortune
was wormwood. He sate therefore for some minutes employed in the
most mortifying speculations, till Sir William attempted to lessen
his anxiety.—'I must confess, Sir' cried he, 'that your present
disappointment does not entirely displease me. Your immoderate
passion for wealth is now justly punished. But tho' the young lady
cannot be rich, she has still a competence sufficient to give
content. Here you see an honest young soldier, who is willing to
take her without fortune; they have long loved each other, and for
the friendship I bear his father, my interest shall not be wanting
in his promotion. Leave then that ambition which disappoints you,
and for once admit that happiness which courts your
acceptance.'

'Sir William,' replied the old gentleman, 'be assured I never
yet forced her inclinations, nor will I now. If she still continues
to love this young gentleman, let her have him with all my heart.
There is still, thank heaven, some fortune left, and your promise
will make it something more. Only let my old friend here (meaning
me) give me a promise of settling six thousand pounds upon my girl,
if ever he should come to his fortune, and I am ready this night to
be the first to join them together.'

As it now remained with me to make the young couple happy, I
readily gave a promise of making the settlement he required, which,
to one who had such little expectations as I, was no great favour.
We had now therefore the satisfaction of seeing them fly into each
other's arms in a transport. 'After all my misfortunes,' cried my
son George, 'to be thus rewarded! Sure this is more than I could
ever have presumed to hope for. To be possessed of all that's good,
and after such an interval of pain! My warmest wishes could never
rise so high!'—'Yes, my George,' returned his lovely bride, 'now
let the wretch take my fortune; since you are happy without it so
am I. O what an exchange have I made from the basest of men to the
dearest best!—Let him enjoy our fortune, I now can be happy even in
indigence.'—'And I promise you,' cried the 'Squire, with a
malicious grin, 'that I shall be very happy with what you
despise.'—'Hold, hold, Sir,' cried Jenkinson, 'there are two words
to that bargain. As for that lady's fortune, Sir, you shall never
touch a single stiver of it. Pray your honour,' continued he to Sir
William, 'can the 'Squire have this lady's fortune if he be married
to another?'—'How can you make such a simple demand,' replied the
Baronet, 'undoubtedly he cannot.'—'I am sorry for that,' cried
Jenkinson; 'for as this gentleman and I have been old fellow
spotters, I have a friendship for him. But I must declare, well as
I love him, that his contract is not worth a tobacco stopper, for
he is married already.'—'You lie, like a rascal,' returned the
'Squire, who seemed rouzed by this insult, 'I never was legally
married to any woman.'—'Indeed, begging your honour's pardon,'
replied the other, 'you were; and I hope you will shew a proper
return of friendship to your own honest Jenkinson, who brings you a
wife, and if the company restrains their curiosity a few minutes,
they shall see her.'—So saying he went off with his usual celerity,
and left us all unable to form any probable conjecture as to his
design.—'Ay let him go,' cried the 'Squire, 'whatever else I may
have done I defy him there. I am too old now to be frightened with
squibs.'

'I am surprised,' said the Baronet, 'what the fellow can intend
by this. Some low piece of humour I suppose!'—'Perhaps, Sir,'
replied I, 'he may have a more serious meaning. For when we reflect
on the various schemes this gentleman has laid to seduce innocence,
perhaps some one more artful than the rest has been found able to
deceive him. When we consider what numbers he has ruined, how many
parents now feel with anguish the infamy and the contamination
which he has brought into their families, it would not surprise me
if some one of them—Amazement! Do I see my lost daughter! Do I hold
her! It is, it is my life, my happiness. I thought thee lost, my
Olivia, yet still I hold thee—and still thou shalt live to bless
me.'—The warmest transports of the fondest lover were not greater
than mine when I saw him introduce my child, and held my daughter
in my arms, whose silence only spoke her raptures. 'And art thou
returned to me, my darling,' cried I, 'to be my comfort in
age!'—'That she is,' cried Jenkinson, 'and make much of her, for
she is your own honourable child, and as honest a woman as any in
the whole room, let the other be who she will. And as for you
'Squire, as sure as you stand there this young lady is your lawful
wedded wife. And to convince you that I speak nothing but truth,
here is the licence by which you were married together.'—So saying,
he put the licence into the Baronet's hands, who read it, and found
it perfect in every respect. 'And now, gentlemen,' continued he, I
find you are surprised at all this; but a few words will explain
the difficulty. That there 'Squire of renown, for whom I have a
great friendship, but that's between ourselves, as often employed
me in doing odd little things for him. Among the rest, he
commissioned me to procure him a false licence and a false priest,
in order to deceive this young lady. But as I was very much his
friend, what did I do but went and got a true licence and a true
priest, and married them both as fast as the cloth could make them.
Perhaps you'll think it was generosity that made me do all this.
But no. To my shame I confess it, my only design was to keep the
licence and let the 'Squire know that I could prove it upon him
whenever I thought proper, and so make him come down whenever I
wanted money.' A burst of pleasure now seemed to fill the whole
apartment; our joy reached even to the common room, where the
prisoners themselves sympathized,