A Maggot - John Fowles (38 page)

Q. Who sired this bastard?

A. His Lordship's servant.

Q. You are certain?

A. I was used by no other in that month.

Q. What, you are prostitute, and slept with no other
man?

A. I had my courses, my flowers, then left the bagnio
before I was used again unless by him.

Q. Did not his Lordship have his pleasure of thee?

A. No.

Q. No, what no is this? Did he not hire you?

A. Not for such a use.

Q. Did not the Devil himself have advantage of you in
that Devonshire cavern? Why answer you not? Jones says he did, and
that you told him so.

A. I told him what he might believe.

Q. And not what truly passed there?

A. No.

Q. You lied to him?

A. Yes. In that.

Q. Why?

A. Because I wished to lead him from meddling
further. Because I would be what I am now become, an obedient
daughter and a true Christian. And most, the last.

Q. Had you no thought of his Lordship's family, who
are in despair of ever seeing him again?

A. I pity their pain, and their unknowing.

Q. Are you not its cause?

A. God is the cause.

Q. And doth He pardon those who most shamefully
neglect their Christian duty? Answer.

A. I answer, He pardons those who do not speak a
truth that none will believe.

Q. What none-will-believe is this?

A. What I am here to tell thee. It shall be seen,
whether thee theeself will believe.

Q. That it shall, mistress, that it shall, and Heaven
help thee if I do not. Which I will not, if you give me no better
than these artful-devious answers. Now, it is true you know nothing
of what is become of the begetter of that lump in thy womb - the man
Dick?

A. It is true.

Q. I have your word upon oath?

A. Yes.

Q. Then I'll tell you. He is dead.

A. Dead?

Q. Found hanged of his own hand, and not three miles
from that place where last you saw him.

A. I knew not.

Q. And have no more to say?

A. I pray our Lord Jesus forgive him his sins.

Q. Spare me your prayers. You say, you did not know?

A. When I saw him last, he lived.

Q. Jones has writ you no letter since you parted at
Bideford? Nor come hither?

A. No.

Q. Nor any other of your past world?

A. None but Claiborne.

Q. How is this, Claiborne? She swore upon oath she
knew not where you were.

A. Then she lied. She sent one Arkles Skinner, who is
called her lackey, but is her bully-man.

Q. Write Hercules. When came he here?

A. Toward the end of June.

Q. And lived-to his name? He would use force to have
you back?

A. Yes, but I cried out and my husband John came
running and struck him to the ground. And I had Brother Wardley, that
knows letters, to write Skinner's mistress how I had told

others all I knew, and if harm came to me, then worse
harm to her.

Q. And she has held her peace since?

A. Yes.

Q. Well, I may approve your husband's fist, if not
his choice of wife. Where works he now?

A. When he can with my uncle, like my father. They
make grates and backs, and set them in, and the mantels, which is my
father's part, who is joiner. They will do good work for

any. But few will hire them, for their religion.

Q. You are poor, then?

A. We have enough. Those among us who have give to
those who have not. The world's goods are to be shared by all who
believe, so say we; and do.

Q. Now, Mistress Lee, I'll have the part you played
last April, and not a scene omitted. When came his Lordship first to
you at Claiborne's?

A. Near the beginning of that month, I cannot say the
day.

Q. And you had seen him never before - no matter
where?

A. I had not. He was introduced by Lord B.........

Q. Knew you who he was?

A. Not then. But soon after.

Q. How?

A. Claiborne asked me of him. And when I had spoken,
she told me who he truly was.

Q. And what else?

A. That he was worth the plucking, and I must keep
him close.

Q. And how fared his Lordship? Liked he his sport in
your bed?

A. There was none.

Q. How none?

A. No sooner went we apart in my chamber and I would
put my arm around him, he took it away; and said, it was in vain.
That he had entered upon it only so as not to lose face before Lord
B........ Then that he would pay me well for my silence.

Q. What, would he not assay those arts and wiles you
were once so remarked for?

A. No.

Q. Were you not surprised?

A. The case is not so uncommon.

Q. Is it not?

A. No. Though few admit it so soon, and without
trial. And most as well would buy our silence if they could, as
they'd buy our boastings for them.

Q. Of their gallantry?

A. It was the custom, when they came down from us.
Which we fostered, for our purses. Though among ourselves the saying
was, Brag most, do least. And I think not only in that place.

Q. We need not thy bagnio wit.

A. More truth than wit.

Q. Enough. So, he would not, or could not. What
passed then?

A. His Lordship was civil, and spoke with me, saying
Lord B....... had said well of me. And asked of my wicked life of
sin, and how I liked what I must do.

Q. Seemed he at ease, or embarrassed in his manner?

A. Unused. I would have him lie beside me; he would
not, nor even sit. But then at last, he sat at the end of my bed and
told me something of himself. That he had never lain with a woman,
that he suffered greatly for the knowledge of it and the having to
hide it from his family and his friends, that he was much blamed for
refusing advantageous offers of marriage, for he was a younger son
and had no great expectations. I thought him more distressed than he
showed. He spake all with his face turned, as if in shame that he had
no more than one like me to confess it to.

Q. What said you to this?

A. I tried my best to comfort him, and said he was
young, I had known others in the same condition, who now had their
normal powers. And that we should try. But I could not move him to't.
And then of a sudden he stood away from the bed, and when I went to
draw him back, he said, Leave me, *no more, as he were angry and I
was grown importunate; as sudden again made his excuses, saying I was
not to blame, I did my best, that he was worse than marble not to
melt at my kisses, and suchlike. That if I would have patience with
him, he would like to make one more trial on another occasion, in two
days' time, for he believed himself on this first one too wrought by
his anticipations, not knowing what I should be like, nor the place;
but was reassured now, and conscious of my charms, so be it he could
not yet prove it. That is all.

Q. Another assignation was made?

A. Yes.

Q. And he gave you money?

A. He threw some guineas on my bed, as he left.

Q. Now, I desire to know this: in asking you of
yourself, and paying you compliments, was he out of the normal custom
of such libidinous encounters?

A. No.

Q. Was it not more usual for a gentleman to come, to
take his pleasure of you, then away?

A. There were some such; yet more, for pleasure of
our company. I heard many say, Claiborne's had the best conversation
in London. She would take none of us who could not speak as well for
ourselves out of bed as in it.

Q. You have known others speak and confide in you in
this manner?

A. In their different fashions. They might say to us
what they durst not say to their wives, God forgive them.

Q. Very well. He came again?

A. He came.

Q. And what passed?

A. The same as before, he would have none of me. But
now declared he would watch his servant do with me what he could not,
tho' he knew it was difficult to encompass, and he feared I might
refuse such an unnatural request. Yet he would pay me well, and
gladly.

Q. Did he not propose this at that first meeting?

A. No. I am sure. For that second time he made me go
to my window, that looked down upon the street, to see Dick that
stood there opposite, and waited.

Q. What said you?

A. At first that I would not, he might buy me for
himself, not for his man; that mistress Claiborne was strict to our
uses, she would never allow such a thing. At which he appeared much
set down, and disappointed of his hopes. On which we fell to talking,
and he told me he was advised to it by a learned doctor, and other
things, which I did truly believe to be only his excuses for what he
asked. Yet I doubted not he was in some distress, and had pity for
him, and would have him lie beside me; tho' he would not, and fell to
pressing me again, and told me of Dick, how they were like to twins,
even born upon the same day, whatever so different in their station
and outward.

Q. Was this not strange?

A. Yea, yet I believed him more there than in this
talk of doctors. And I will tell thee now, not half so strange as
what I later learnt of them; which was that they were two men as far
apart in most matters as any in this world, yet of one soul. What one
lacked, the other had, as it is with man and woman, tho' both were
men. As twin brothers, tho' they were none.

Q. On that I shall ask more, in good time. In short,
he won thee to his wish?

A. Not then, another time, he came yet again. I will
tell thee now what I said not to Jones. Whether thee believe me or
not, I do not care, 'tis truth. Thee may'st take me for a notorious
harlot, I will not deny it. So it was, may the Lord Jesus forgive me,
and a great sinner, my soul harder than flint. Yet it was not dead,
not quite dead, for my conscience told me I sinned and should not be
forgiven. Most of my sisters in that house were blind, they knew not
what they did; yet I was not in their case, I knew I was on the path
to hell and with no excuse save my own obstinacy in sin, that is
none. There is a badder case than they who sin for their own selfish
pleasure, it is we who sin in hatred of the sin itself. Not because
we would, but somehow must, as a slave must do his master's will,
tho' he hates both it and him. I tell thee this because I was in that
snare when first his Lordship came. I sinned the more brazenly
because at heart I would sin no more. The more modest I would be, the
more impudently I did. And I pray thee remember we women are brought
up to do men's will in this world. I know men will say it is Eve who
tempts them into the stews. But 'tis Adam who keeps them there.

Q. And Adam also who keeps most of'em pure. Be done
with this prating.

A. I take heart thee won't look me in my eyes, 'tis
sign thee knows I speak truth. It had become strong upon me that I
must change my life, now saw I his Lordship was my prison's key. For
when he came out with his scheme to take me away to the West where I
was born, I felt a great flutter come to flee where I was.

Q. You say, whatever might befall you meant not to
return to Claiborne's?

A. I do.

Q. And would mend your ways?

A. I will tell thee what I fain would not. To my
everlasting shame I had use, to please the more wicked, to play the
virtuous maid, that they might take the more pleasure in their
conquests. And for that I was given a Holy Bible, that I might
pretend the better; and that these men I served might show they
believed not in God, and did mock His Word. For at the end I would
hold it as if to forbid them; which they must tear aside to gain
their will. What little conscience that still sprang in me knew I did
do in that a most wicked abomination, tho' l could not stand against
Claiborne, her willing that I acted thus. Yet I began then, when I
was alone, to learn the letter of the Book that I so misused.

Q. What mean you by that?

A. Its letter, that I might read it; which did come
the more easy, that of some parts I had memory, that once I had heard
read or spoken. God pardon me, for years 'twas not so. And Jesus's
mercy was even then kind, for the more I read, the more the light
came upon me: that what I did was great sin, and I crucified Him
again in what I did. Still could I not bring myself to do what in my
growing harlotry I came the more to see I must. I stayed too fond of
worldly things; and would ever put away until the morrow. And thee
must know that this pressed ever more upon me, like a great boil or
sore place within my conscience, that must be lanced, or I should die
of