remote at that time, as that he could not appear publicly.
She took me short, and told me that was none of her business;
all the ladies that came under her care were married women
to her. ‘Every woman,’ she says, ‘that is with child has a father
for it,’ and whether that father was a husband or no husband,
was no business of hers; her business was to assist me in my
present circumstances, whether I had a husband or no. ‘For,
madam,’ says she, ‘to have a husband that cannot appear, is
to have no husband in the sense of the case; and, therefore,
whether you are a wife or a mistress is all one to me.’
I found presently, that whether I was a whore or a wife, I was
to pass for a whore here, so I let that go. I told her it was
true, as she said, but that, however, if I must tell her my case,
I must tell it her as it was; so I related it to her as short as I
could, and I concluded it to her thus. ‘I trouble you with all
this, madam,’ said I, ‘not that, as you said before, it is much
to the purpose in your affair, but this is to the purpose, namely,
that I am not in any pain about being seen, or being public or
concealed, for ’tis perfectly indifferent to me; but my difficulty
is, that I have no acquaintance in this part of the nation.’
‘I understand you, madam’ says she; ‘you have no security to
bring to prevent the parish impertinences usual in such cases,
and perhaps,’ says she, ‘do not know very well how to dispose
of the child when it comes.’ ‘The last,’ says I, ‘is not so much
my concern as the first.’ ‘Well, madam,’ answered the midwife,
‘dare you put yourself into my hands? I live in such a place;
though I do not inquire after you, you may inquire after me.
My name is B—-; I live in such a street’–naming the street–‘
at the sign of the Cradle. My profession is a midwife, and I
have many ladies that come to my house to lie in. I have given
security to the parish in general terms to secure them from any
charge from whatsoever shall come into the world under my
roof. I have but one question to ask in the whole affair, madam,’
says she, ‘and if that be answered you shall be entirely easy for
all the rest.’
I presently understood what she meant, and told her, ‘Madam,
I believe I understand you. I thank God, though I want friends
in this part of the world, I do not want money, so far as may
be necessary, though I do not abound in that neither’: this I
added because I would not make her expect great things.
‘Well, madam,’ says she, ‘that is the thing indeed, without
which nothing can be done in these cases; and yet,’ says she,
‘you shall see that I will not impose upon you, or offer anything
that is unkind to you, and if you desire it, you shall know
everything beforehand, that you may suit yourself to the
occasion, and be neither costly or sparing as you see fit.’
I told her she seemed to be so perfectly sensible of my condition,
that I had nothing to ask of her but this, that as I had told her
that I had money sufficient, but not a great quantity, she would
order it so that I might be at as little superfluous charge as
possible.
She replied that she would bring in an account of the expenses
of it in two or three shapes, and like a bill of fare, I should
choose as I pleased; and I desired her to do so.
The next day she brought it, and the copy of her three bills
was a follows:–
1. For three months’ lodging in her house, including
my diet, at 10s. a week . . . . . .6#, 0s., 0d.
2. For a nurse for the month, and use of childbed
linen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1#, 10s., 0d.