The History of Miss Betsy ThoughtlessHaywood, Eliza Fowler
General
The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless
Haywood, Eliza Fowler
Abused wives -- Fiction; Bildungsromans; Didactic fiction; England -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction
To be therefore more fully confirmed how utterly unworthy she was of his
regard, than could be made by this anonymous accusation, he went in
person down to Denham; where, following the directions given him in the
letter, the cottage where Goody Bushman lived was presently pointed out
to him by the first person he enquired of. 'So far, at least,' said he
to himself, 'the letter-writer has told truth.' He then sent his
servants with his horses to wait his return at a publick-house in the
village, and walked towards the place he came in search of.
He found the honest countrywoman holding a child in her arms on one side
of the fire, two rosy boys were sitting opposite to her, with each a
great piece of bread and butter in his hand. At sight of a strange
gentleman she got off her seat; and, dropping a low curtsey, cried, 'Do
you please to want my husband, Sir?'--'No,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'my
business is with you, if you are Mrs. Bushman.'--'Goody Bushman, an't
please you, Sir,' replied she. And then, bidding the boys get farther
from the chimney, reached him the handsomest joint-stool her cottage
afforded, for him to sit down.
He told her that he had a kinswoman, who had some thoughts of putting a
child to nurse in the country; that she had been recommended: 'But,'
said he, 'can we have nothing to drink together? What sort of liquor
does this part of the world afford?'--'Alack, Sir,' replied she, 'you
fine gentlemen, mayhap, may like nothing but wine; and there is none to
be had any nearer than Uxbridge.'--'Nor cyder!' cried he. 'I am afraid
none good,' replied she; 'but there is pure good ale down the lane, if
your honour could drink that.'--'It is all one to me,' said Mr.
Trueworth, 'if you like it yourself.' Then turning to him who seemed the
eldest of the two boys, 'I suppose, my lad,' continued he, 'you can
procure a tankard of this same ale.'--'Yes, Sir,' cried his mother,
hastily--'Go to Philpot's, and bid them send a can of their best ale;
and, do you hear, desire my dame to draw it herself.'--Mr. Trueworth
then gave the boy some money, and he went on his errand, prudently
taking with him a large slice of bread that happened to lay upon the
dresser.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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