You’re a Doll, Daisy! Chapter Three — The Appearance of a Carpet Burn.
Tom was now sleeping, recovering, we must suppose. With what admirable chivalry had the dear sportsman excused his step-lover — as we might call her — any wearisome exertion in the time since we took our leave of their private interview. Daisy did so say that she loved a romantic man. The lady had been watching him sleep for a short while and presently took up her pen to resume the narrative she so diligently related to her brother Dapper:
‘I own that in my letters to you I have exhausted the subject of any interesting things past and find no pleasure in guessing at my future; so, the present shall have to suffice. Dear Tom — there is a display of the most frightful twitching and grimacing upon his face; he must be, I think, in the grips of some dream-state terror. Seeing it just now caused me to think of Freddy. How he did once suffer in that way. I wonder if still he does. He would not tell me, nor anybody, I suppose. He would say, “Where is the fashion in fear?” I think you were never so concerned with the threat of unmanning yourself at his age or at any age, my dear.’
‘If it never should require sharing him, I would recommend a Tom Finsbury to every woman in the world. I know I need not evangelise you. Forgive me, this is becoming very tiresome to write; I can have nothing else interesting to tell you at present; I shall leave off here for a while–’
‘I am returned and what a carry-on is performed before me now! All for a little carpet burn. To tell the absolute truth, I took my leave of this letter earlier because I had been clobbered by a gust of inclement and ill-timed passion. Looking at the felled Goliath reclined on my bed, I would have slung my shot at him a second time and I employed a coughing fit for the purpose of waking him, planning to present my proposition thereafter. “Odd’s life, Daisy! Is that really the time?” said he, before I could say a word myself. “Sure as a gun, we shall be late for supper! Gad… why did not you wake me sooner? I’m damned hungry! What!” And he began to slip back into his shirt like a ferret.’
‘To this, I exclaimed a very charming, “O — fie! Hang supper! How ungenerous to starve a girl in this way!” He laughed because I did. I am sure I meant to say it quite seriously. “Was ever a poor woman’s heart broken, by such a handsome tormentor, as mine? What a tedious relief are the mere moments we can steal away together!” Still, my dratted smile would persist though I had wanted to cry; thus, he smiled his reply also. “I must get dressed, Daisy. It really is quite chilly in here. And once my father is asleep, we’ll have the entire night.” I tried to make a face like I would cry, for I really felt like it. Tom saw my twitching face and professed with his generous West End swagger, “By Gad, don’t be brought to tears, Daisy. I’m quite aflame with desire and all that, but I am terribly hungry. I really am flagging so severely, I could barely hold a sparrow against the wall!”
‘Standing myself upon the bed, I clasped his beautiful, moustached face between my fingers and sighed, “Oh, Tom! My dear heart! Sure, we have still a few moments to spare, and I am in no want of power to please–” Regretfully interrupting this profession of my sincerest affection was a rapid succession of knocks at the door. I have noted to you before of Mrs Prudence’s habit of knocking while already entering my room, only though when Tom is in my bedroom; I do not doubt for a minute her virtues; sure, she means to terrify us towards redemption.’
‘Dear Tom’s modesty was precariously preserved by the great length of his shirt, and as he began reaching for his breeches, she scorned us both by saying, “Sure, Mr Finsbury, you need not fumble about with that embarrassed look upon your face; there is nothing of your person that could bring a blush to my cheeks. Though to be sure, I am surprised you, my lady, can hold such a serene face when caught with your hands sinful red. But then, I have always thought boldfaced whores wouldn’t know shame if it looked them in the eye — if you’ll forgive my saying so.” A charming little lecture. Indeed, my dear, give me a Mrs Prudence over a sycophantic slitherer any day!’
‘I asked the dear woman what had caused her to come into my room. “Content yourself, my lady, sure I did not break in upon you here so that I might be witness to your unnatural vices,” began she. “Vile slut and witch that you are, I can only but wonder what reasons you entertain for my breaking in with such little warning, not knowing what debauchery might greet my poor eyes. Sure, no servant is put upon as I am!” This, as you have seen, did not answer my question, which I repeated to her.’
“Sure, I came to warn you that Sir Charles is awake and making his way up the stairs.” How my Tom leapt across the room. There is no dark-closet in this apartment, and no amount of will could confine his great figure to the little wardrobe. Genius man, he would not be outwitted by this inconveniently designed room, and flung himself into an elbow chair and had me and Mrs Prudence heap upon him as many gowns, petticoats, shawls, and stockings as we could find.’
‘A moment later, burst through the door my husband. Before this, taking a pinch of cunning from my love, I had grabbed my chamber pot to have in view of the man as he entered. Mrs Prudence played her part exemplarily, “Pho, sir! It is a custom upheld by all gentlemen of good breeding to knock before entering the bed-chamber of his wife. Marry forbid you should have burst in upon us a moment later! Do you not see what your wife holds in her hand?” What a response this brought forth! — I really wish you had been here to hear it all, but I shall attempt — I hope not in vain — to convey things as they happened.’
‘Sir Charles was quick to revile her. “Female servants,” said he, “were so adept to growing pert with age that he would have the law prescribe every Rebecca, Fanny and Betsy thrown penniless to the street for a year’s humbling the day they turned thirty.” If the woman did not keep watch of her tongue, he would, as a Magistrate, find some way of conveying her tongue and her to be made an example of at Newgate! The wit finished with a phrase in Latin; I knew not what it meant. I shall ask Tom by and by. You once told me that only stupid men use words they hope others cannot understand, or perhaps that was George.’
‘I am so long accustomed to laughing at every joust the man makes; I do not know whether I laugh at his absurdity or mine anymore! “Fie, sir!” I fawned sweetly. “Fie?” replied he. “Did she say, fie, Mrs Prudence? Or was the word pie? Yes. Pie, sir! I am sure that is what the girl said. Pot-bellied little wench she is becoming!” He is really quite furious with me for every mouthful I eat lately. Imagine his fury when he will discover this belly is not all grains but grandchild!’
‘Tom, you know, who will bear every offence against himself, cannot even pretend to laugh at those flung my way, especially those by his father. I have tried a hundred times to tell him not to allow his blood to rise against these absurd jests — for that is all they are. Why enrage yourself with the follies of others when you could be laughing? Resentment rarely performs any great service to those who will hold it in their possession.’
‘But a hot head needs must be a romantic one, and I cannot help but love a romantic man, nor a man so wholly unpragmatic. Tom is a man carved from unbridled and untameable passion — I would not really change him for a world of riches. However, at that instant, I was forced to repress his spirit a little, for I saw he would stand up from the chair and challenge his father. Before the old justice noticed the motions of my gowns, I threw myself in a fit upon the elbow chair in which Tom sat.’
‘As I ran to the chair, it was not my hidden love who was discovered, but something upon my person I had yet no notion of. “Her back, Mrs Prudence! What is that mark on the little woman’s back?” He would have made me turn around. I insisted I was overcome with a fit of unrelenting dizziness and must be left to rest in my chair; I could feel my love raging beneath me. “Damn me, if I care for your fits! Get off that chair, woman!” roared Sir Charles. “No, I shall not, sir,” I replied, attempting to affect that pleasing face I mentioned to you a while ago. I did not know then what mark I was hiding upon my back, but in any case, I wanted to prevent Tom’s getting up.’
‘We went back and forth in much this way till Mrs Prudence chose her side. She has more opportunity to see the colour of his money than mine, I suppose. “Pho! Sir, will you allow your wife to disobey you so boldly? Sure, it is not my place to tell a husband how to hold the law in his own home. But I would warn my lady that I have seen women receive a hard belting for saying things far less provoking.” This did not though work upon my husband in the woman’s favour; he promised her much violence if she would threaten “his little woman” again.’
‘I have never once witnessed either able to withdraw honourably from a bullying game, and the two have now been exchanging the most amusing incivilities for quite some time. So, here I remain upon good Tom’s lap. You will see my hand has entirely wobbled across the page!’
‘You must notice I write in the present tense — I am well practised at making short work of writing, and there was pen and paper within reaching distance of this darling elbow chair. Delightfully, as every word intended for my husband’s ears must be shouted — and shout Mrs Prudence does — Tom and I have been at liberty to carry on our own conversation in the corner here.’
‘Making a little space for his eyes, I asked my love to spy for me what it was upon my back that had caused all this calamity. A carpet burn, Brother! Sure I heard a crack of tears break into Tom’s voice, “Good God, Daisy!” I heard him whisper. “Oh, what a cruelty it is to materially wound the woman you love. I cannot even look again at your back, Daisy. Damn me! Damn me, Daisy, and my rheumatic knees!” How this caused my heart to bleed! “Oh, my love,” said I softly, fumbling a little hand to grasp one of his gargantuan arms. I could have wept just then for loving him so.’
‘I want so desperately to tell him. Sure, the child is his. Save for some demonic intervention, it could only be his child. But yet, once he knows — Oh, once he knows! I think he may not be able to keep the happy secret as well as I have. You are the only person I have told. I hope this child will be an exact miniature of their perfect father. If even a fingernail is not the same, how disappointed shall I be! You must see my thoughts have shortened. I really am very hungry.’
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