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CECILIA
OR
Memoirs of an Heiress
by
FRANCES BURNEY
VOL. II.
Edited by R. Brimley Johnson
Illustrated by M. Cubitt Cooke
BOOK IV. _Continued_.
CHAPTER x.
A MURMURING.
Unable to relieve herself from this perplexity, Cecilia, to divert her
chagrin, again visited Miss Belfield. She had then the pleasure to
hear that her brother was much recovered, and had been able, the
preceding day, to take an airing, which he had borne so well that Mr
Rupil had charged him to use the same exercise every morning.
"And will he?" said Cecilia.
"No, madam, I am sadly afraid not," she answered, "for coach hire is
very expensive, and we are willing, now, to save all we can in order
to help fitting him out for going abroad."
Cecilia then earnestly entreated her to accept some assistance; but
she assured her she did not dare without the consent of her mother,
which, however, she undertook to obtain.
The next day, when Cecilia called to hear her success, Mrs Belfield,
who hitherto had kept out of sight, made her appearance. She found
her, alike in person, manners and conversation, a coarse and ordinary
woman, not more unlike her son in talents and acquired accomplishments,
than dissimilar to her daughter in softness and natural delicacy.
The moment Cecilia was seated, she began, without waiting for any
ceremony, or requiring any solicitation, abruptly to talk of her
affairs, and repiningly to relate her misfortunes.
"I find, madam," she said, "you have been so kind as to visit my
daughter Henny a great many times, but as I have no time for company,
I have always kept out of the way, having other things to do than sit
still to talk. I have had a sad time of it here, ma'am, with my poor
son's illness, having no conveniencies about me, and much ado to make
him mind me; for he's all for having his own way, poor dear soul, and
I'm sure I don't know who could contradict him, for it's what I never
had the heart to do. But then, ma'am, what is to come of it? You see
how bad things go! for though I have got a very good income, it won't
do for every thing. And if it was as much again, I should want to save
it all now. For here my poor son, you see, is reduced all in a minute,
as one may say, from being one of the first gentlemen in the town, to
a mere poor object, without a farthing in the world!"
"He is, however, I hope now much better in his health?" said Cecilia.
"Yes, madam, thank heaven, for if he was worse, those might tell of it
that would, for I'm sure I should never live to hear of it. He has
been the best son in the world, madam, and used [to] nothing but the
best company, for I spared neither pains nor cost to bring him up
genteely, and I believe there's not a nobleman in the land that looks
more the gentleman. However, there's come no good of it, for though
his acquaintances was all among the first quality, he never received
the value of a penny from the best of them. So I have no great need to
be proud. But I meant for the best, though I have often enough wished
I had not meddled in the matter, but left him to be brought up in the
shop, as his father was before him."
"His present plan, however," said Cecilia, "will I hope make you ample
amends both for your sufferings and your tenderness."
"What, madam, when he's going to leave me, and settle in foreign
parts? If you was a mother yourself, madam, you would not think that
such good amends."
"Settle?" said Cecilia. "No, he only goes for a year or two."
"That's more than I can say, madam, or any body else; and nobody knows
what may happen in that time. And how I shall keep myself up when he's
beyond seas, I am sure I don't know, for he has always been the pride
of my life, and every penny I saved for him, I thought to have been
paid in pounds."
"You will still have your daughter, and she seems so amiable, that I
am sure you can want no consolation she will not endeavour to give
you."
"But what is a daughter, madam, to such a son as mine? a son that I
thought to have seen living like a prince, and sending his own coach
for me to dine with him! And now he's going to be taken away from me,
and nobody knows if I shall live till he comes back. But I may thank
myself, for if I had but been content to see him brought up in the
shop--yet all the world would have cried shame upon it, for when he
was quite a child in arms, the people used all to say he was born to
be a gentleman, and would live to make many a fine lady's heart ache."
"If he can but make _your_ heart easy," said Cecilia, smiling,
"we will not grieve that the fine ladies should escape the prophecy."
"O, ma'am, I don't mean by that to say he has been over gay among the
ladies, for it's a thing I never heard of him; and I dare say if any
lady was to take a fancy to him, she'd find there was not a modester
young man in the world. But you must needs think what a hardship it is
to me to have him turn out so unlucky, after all I have done for him,
when I thought to have seen him at the top of the tree, as one may
say!"
"He will yet, I hope," said Cecilia, "make you rejoice in all your
kindness to him: his health is already returning, and his affairs wear
again a more prosperous aspect" "But do you suppose, ma'am, that
having him sent two or three hundred miles away from me; with some
young master to take care of, is the way to make up to me what I have
gone through for him? why I used to deny myself every thing in the
world, in order to save money to buy him smart cloaths, and let him go
to the Opera, and Ranelagh, and such sort of places, that he might
keep himself in fortune's way! and now you see the end of it! here he
is, in a little shabby room up two pairs of stairs, with not one of
the great folks coming near him, to see if he's so much as dead or
alive."
"I do not wonder," said Cecilia, "that you resent their shewing so
little gratitude for the pleasure and entertainment they have formerly
received from him but comfort yourself that it will at least secure
you from any similar disappointment, as Mr Belfield will, in future,
be guarded from forming such precarious expectations."
"But what good will that do me, ma'am, for all the money he has been
throwing after them all this while? do you think I would have scraped
it up for him, and gone without every thing in the world, to see it
all end in this manner? why he might as well have been brought up the
commonest journeyman, for any comfort I shall have of him at this
rate. And suppose he should be drowned in going beyond seas? what am I
to do then?"
"You must not," said Cecilia, "indulge such fears; I doubt not but
your son will return well, and return all that you wish."
"Nobody knows that, ma'am; and the only way to be certain is for him
not to go at all; and I'm surprised, ma'am, you can wish him to make
such a journey to nobody knows where, with nothing but a young master
that he must as good as teach his A. B. C. all the way they go!"
"Certainly," said Cecilia, amazed at this accusation, "I should not
wish him to go abroad, if any thing more eligible could be, done by
his remaining in England but as no prospect of that sort seems before
him, you must endeavour to reconcile yourself to parting with him."
"Yes, but how am I to do that, when I don't know if ever I shall see
him again? Who could have thought of his living so among the great
folks, and then coming to want! I'm sure I thought they'd have
provided for him like a son of their own, for he used to go about to
all the public places just as they did themselves. Day after day I
used to be counting for when he would come to tell me he'd got a place
at court, or something of that sort, for I never could tell what it
would be: and then the next news I heard, was that he was shut up in
this poor bit of place, with nobody troubling their heads about him!
however, I'll never be persuaded but he might have done better, if he
would but have spoke a good word for himself, or else have let me done
it for him: instead of which, he never would so much as let me see any
of his grand friends, though I would not have made the least scruple
in the world to have asked them for any thing he had a mind to."
Cecilia again endeavoured to give her comfort; but finding her only
satisfaction was to express her discontent, she arose to take leave.
But, turning first to Miss Belfield, contrived to make a private
enquiry whether she might repeat her offer of assistance. A downcast
and dejected look answering in the affirmative, she put into her hand
a ten pound bank note, and wishing them good morning, hurried out of
the room.
Miss Belfield was running after her, but stopt by her mother, who
called out, "What is it?--How much is it?--Let me look at it!"--And
then, following Cecilia herself, she thanked her aloud all the way
down stairs for her _genteelness_, assuring her she would not
fail making it known to her son.
Cecilia at this declaration turned back, and exhorted her by no means
to mention it; after which she got into her chair, and returned home;
pitying Miss Belfield for the unjust partiality shewn to her brother,
and excusing the proud shame he had manifested of his relations, from
the vulgarity and selfishness of her who was at the head of them.
Almost a fortnight had now elapsed since her explanation with young
Delvile, yet not once had he been in Portman-square, though in the
fortnight which had preceded, scarce a day had passed which had not
afforded him some pretence for calling there.
At length a note arrived from Mrs Delvile. It contained the most
flattering reproaches for her long absence, and a pressing invitation
that she would dine and spend the next day with her.
Cecilia, who had merely denied herself the pleasure of this visit from
an apprehension of seeming too desirous of keeping up the connection,
now, from the same sense of propriety, determined upon making it,
wishing equally to avoid all appearance of consciousness, either by
seeking or avoiding the intimacy of the family.
Not a little was her anxiety to know in what manner young Delvile
would receive her, whether he would be grave or gay, agitated, as
during their last conversation, or easy, as in the meetings which had
preceded it.
She found Mrs Delvile, however, alone; and, extremely kind to her, yet
much surprised, and half displeased, that she had so long been.
absent. Cecilia, though somewhat distressed what excuses to offer, was
happy to find herself so highly in favour, and not very reluctant to
promise more frequent visits in future.
They were then summoned to dinner; but still no young Delvile was
visible: they were joined only by his father, and she found that no
one else was expected.
Her astonishment now was greater than ever, and she could account by
no possible conjecture for a conduct so extraordinary. Hitherto,
whenever she had visited in St James's-square by appointment, the air
with which he had received her, constantly announced that he had
impatiently waited her arrival; he had given up other engagements to
stay with her, he had openly expressed his hopes that she would never
be long absent, and seemed to take a pleasure in her society to which
every other was inferior. And now, how striking the difference! he
forbore all visits at the house where she resided, he even flew from
his own when he knew she was approaching it!
Nor was this the only vexation of which this day was productive; Mr
Delvile, when the servants were withdrawn after dinner, expressed some
concern that he had been called from her during their last
conversation, and added that he would take the present opportunity to
talk with her upon some matters of importance.
He then began the usual parading prelude, which, upon all occasions,
he thought necessary, in order to enhance the value of his
interposition, remind her of her inferiority, and impress her with a
deeper sense of the honour which his guardianship conferred upon her
after which, he proceeded to make a formal enquiry whether she had
positively dismissed Sir Robert Floyer?
She assured him she had.
"I understood my Lord Ernolf," said he, "that you had totally
discouraged the addresses of his son?"
"Yes, Sir," answered Cecilia, "for I never mean to receive them."
"Have you, then, any other engagement?"
"No, Sir," cried she, colouring between shame and displeasure, "none
at all."
"This is a very extraordinary circumstance!" replied he: "the son of
an earl to be rejected by a young woman of no family, and yet no
reason assigned for it!"
This contemptuous speech so cruelly shocked Cecilia, that though he
continued to harangue her for a great part of the afternoon, she only
answered him when compelled by some question, and was so evidently
discomposed, that Mrs Delvile, who perceived her uneasiness with much
concern, redoubled her civilities and caresses, and used every method
in her power to oblige and enliven her.
Cecilia was not ungrateful for her care, and shewed her sense of it by
added respect and attention; but her mind was disturbed, and she
quitted the house as soon as she was able.
Mr Delvile's speech, from her previous knowledge of the extreme
haughtiness of his character, would not have occasioned her the
smallest emotion, had it merely related to him or to herself: but as
it concerned Lord Ernolf, she regarded it as also concerning his son,
and she found that, far from trying to promote the union Mr Monckton
had told her he had planned, he did not seem even to think of it, but,
on the contrary, proposed and seconded with all his interest another
alliance.
This, added to the behaviour of young Delvile, made her suspect that
some engagement was in agitation on his own part, and that while she
thought him so sedulous only to avoid her, he was simply occupied in
seeking another. This painful suggestion, which every thing seemed to
confirm, again overset all her schemes, and destroyed all her
visionary happiness. Yet how to reconcile it with what had passed at
their last meeting she knew not; she had then every reason to believe
that his heart was in her power, and that courage, or an opportunity
more seasonable, was all he wanted to make known his devotion to her;
why, then, shun if he loved her? why, if he loved her not, seem so
perturbed at the explanation of her independence?
A very little time, however, she hoped would unravel this mystery; in
two days, the entertainment which Mr Harrel had planned, to deceive
the world by an appearance of affluence to which he had lost all
title, was to take place; young Delvile, in common with every other
person who had ever been seen at the house, had early received an
invitation, which he had readily promised to accept some time before
the conversation that seemed the period of their acquaintance had
passed. Should he, after being so long engaged, fail to keep his
appointment, she could no longer have any doubt of the justice of her
conjecture; should he, on the contrary, again appear, from his
behaviour and his looks she might perhaps be able to gather why he had
so long been absent.
BOOK V.
CHAPTER i.
A ROUT.
The day at length arrived of which the evening and the entrance of
company were, for the first time, as eagerly wished by Cecilia as by
her dissipated host and hostess. No expence and no pains had been
spared to render this long projected entertainment splendid and
elegant; it was to begin with a concert, which was to be followed by a
ball, and succeeded by a supper.
Cecilia, though unusually anxious about her own affairs, was not so
engrossed by them as to behold with indifference a scene of such
unjustifiable extravagance; it contributed to render her thoughtful
and uneasy, and to deprive her of all mental power of participating in
the gaiety of the assembly. Mr Arnott was yet more deeply affected by
the mad folly of the scheme, and received from the whole evening no
other satisfaction than that which a look of sympathetic concern from
Cecilia occasionally afforded him.
Till nine o'clock no company appeared, except Sir Robert Floyer, who
stayed from dinner time, and Mr Morrice, who having received an
invitation for the evening, was so much delighted with the permission
to again enter the house, that he made use of it between six and
seven o'clock, and before the family had left the dining parlour. He
apologized with the utmost humility to Cecilia for the unfortunate
accident at the Pantheon; but as to her it had been productive of
nothing but pleasure, by exciting in young Delvile the most flattering
alarm for her safety, she found no great difficulty in according him
her pardon.
Among those who came in the first crowd was Mr Monckton, who, had he
been equally unconscious of sinister views, would in following his own
inclination, have been as early in his attendance as Mr Morrice; but
who, to obviate all suspicious remarks, conformed to the fashionable
tardiness of the times.
Cecilia's chief apprehension for the evening was that Sir Robert
Floyer would ask her to dance with him, which she could not refuse
without sitting still during the ball, nor accept, after the reports
she knew to be spread, without seeming to give a public sanction to
them. To Mr Monckton therefore, innocently considering him as a
married man and her old friend, she frankly told her distress, adding,
by way of excuse for the hint, that the partners were to be changed
every two dances.
Mr Monckton, though his principal study was carefully to avoid all
public gallantry or assiduity towards Cecilia, had not the forbearance
to resist this intimation, and therefore she had the pleasure of
telling Sir Robert, when he asked the honour of her hand for the two
first dances, that she was already engaged.
She then expected that he would immediately secure her for the two
following; but, to her great joy, he was so much piqued by the evident
pleasure with which she announced her engagement, that he proudly
walked away without adding another word.
Much satisfied with this arrangement, and not without hopes that, if
she was at liberty when he arrived, she might be applied to by young
Delvile, she now endeavoured to procure herself a place in the music
room.
This, with some difficulty, she effected; but though there was an
excellent concert, in which several capital performers played and
sung, she found it impossible to hear a note, as she chanced to be
seated just by Miss Leeson, and two other young ladies, who were
paying one another compliments upon their dress and their looks,
settling to dance in the same cotillon, guessing who would begin the
minuets, and wondering there were not more gentlemen. Yet, in the
midst of this unmeaning conversation, of which she remarked that Miss
Leeson bore the principal part, not one of them failed, from time to
time, to exclaim with great rapture _"What sweet music!--" "Oh. how
charming!" "Did you ever hear any thing so delightful?--"_
"Ah," said Cecilia to Mr Gosport, who now approached her, "but for
your explanatory observations, how much would the sudden loquacity of
this supercilious lady, whom I had imagined all but dumb, have
perplext me!"
"Those who are most silent to strangers," answered Mr Gosport,
"commonly talk most fluently to their intimates, for they are deeply
in arrears, and eager to pay off their debts. Miss Leeson now is in
her proper set, and therefore appears in her natural character: and
the poor girl's joy in being able to utter all the nothings she has
painfully hoarded while separated from her coterie, gives to her now
the wild transport of a bird just let loose from a cage. I rejoice to
see the little creature at liberty, for what can be so melancholy as a
forced appearance of thinking, where there are no materials for such
an occupation?"
Soon after, Miss Larolles, who was laughing immoderately, contrived to
crowd herself into their party, calling out to them, "O you have had
the greatest loss in the world! if you had but been in the next room
just now!--there's the drollest figure there you can conceive: enough
to frighten one to look at him." And presently she added "O Lord, if
you stoop a little this way, you may see him!"
Then followed a general tittering, accompanied with exclamations of
"Lord, what a fright!" "It's enough to kill one with laughing to look
at him!" "Did you ever see such a horrid creature in your life?" And
soon after, one of them screamed out "O Lord, see!--he's grinning at
Miss Beverley!"
Cecilia then turned her head towards the door, and there, to her own
as well as her neighbours' amazement, she perceived Mr Briggs! who, in
order to look about him at his ease, was standing upon a chair, from
which, having singled her out, he was regarding her with a facetious
smirk, which, when it caught her eye, was converted into a familiar
nod.
She returned his salutation, but was not much charmed to observe, that
presently descending from his exalted post, which had moved the wonder
and risibility of all the company, he made a motion to approach her;
for which purpose, regardless of either ladies or gentlemen in his
way, he sturdily pushed forward, with the same unconcerned hardiness
he would have forced himself through a crowd in the street; and taking
not the smallest notice of their frowns, supplications that he would
stand still, and exclamations of "Pray, Sir!"--"Lord, how
troublesome!" and "Sir, I do assure you here's no room!" he fairly and
adroitly elbowed them from him till he reached her seat: and then,
with a waggish grin, he looked round, to show he had got the better,
and to see whom he had discomposed.
When he had enjoyed this triumph, he turned to Cecilia, and chucking
her under the chin, said "Well, my little duck, how goes it? got to
you at last; squeezed my way; would not be nicked; warrant I'll mob
with the best of them! Look here! all in a heat!--hot as the dog
days."
And then, to the utter consternation of the company, he took off his
wig to wipe his head! which occasioned such universal horror, that all
who were near the door escaped into other, apartments, while those who
were too much enclosed, for flight, with one accord turned away their
heads.
Captain Aresby, being applied to by some of the ladies to remonstrate
upon this unexampled behaviour, advanced to him, and said, "I am quite
_abime_, Sir, to incommode you, but the commands of the ladies
are insuperable. Give me leave, Sir, to entreat that you would put on
your wig."
"My wig?" cried he, "ay, ay, shall in a moment, only want to wipe my
head first."
"I am quite _assomme_, Sir," returned the Captain, "to disturb
you, but I must really hint you don't comprehend me: the ladies are
extremely inconvenienced by these sort of sights, and we make it a
principle they should never be _accablees_ with them."
"Anan!" cried Mr Briggs, staring.
"I say, Sir," replied the Captain, "the ladies are quite _au
desespoir_ that you will not cover your head."
"What for?" cried he, "what's the matter with my head? ne'er a man
here got a better! very good stuff in it: won't change it with ne'er a
one of you!"
And then, half unconscious of the offence he had given, and half angry
at the rebuke he had received, he leisurely compleated his design, and
again put on his wig, settling it to his face with as much composure
as if he had performed the operation in his own dressing-room.
The Captain, having gained his point, walked away, making, however,
various grimaces of disgust, and whispering from side to side "he's
the most petrifying fellow I ever was _obsede_ by!"
Mr Briggs then, with much derision, and sundry distortions of
countenance, listened to an Italian song; after which, he bustled back
to the outer apartment, in search of Cecilia, who, ashamed of seeming
a party in the disturbance he had excited, had taken the opportunity
of his dispute with the Captain, to run into the next room; where,
however, he presently found her, while she was giving an account to Mr
Gosport of her connection with him, to which Morrice, ever curious and
eager to know what was going forward, was also listening.
"Ah, little chick!" cried he, "got to you again! soon out jostle those
jemmy sparks! But where's the supper? see nothing of the supper! Time
to go to bed,--suppose there is none; all a take in; nothing but a
little piping."
"Supper, Sir?" cried Cecilia; "the Concert is not over yet. Was supper
mentioned in your card of invitation?"
"Ay, to be sure, should not have come else. Don't visit often; always
costs money. Wish I had not come now; wore a hole in my shoe; hardly a
crack in it before."
"Why you did not walk, Sir?"
Did, did; why not? Might as well have stayed away though; daubed my
best coat, like to have spoilt it."
"So much the better for the taylors, Sir," said Morrice, pertly, "for
then you must have another."
"Another! what for? ha'n't had this seven years; just as good as new."
"I hope," said Cecilia, "you had not another fall?"
"Worse, worse; like to have lost my bundle."
"What bundle, Sir?"
"Best coat and waistcoat; brought 'em in my handkerchief, purpose to
save them. When will Master Harrel do as much?"
"But had you no apprehensions, Sir," said Mr Gosport drily, "that the
handkerchief would be the sooner worn out for having a knot tied in
it?"
"Took care of that, tied it slack. Met an unlucky boy; little dog gave
it a pluck; knot slipt; coat and waistcoat popt out."
"But what became of the boy, Sir?" cried Morrice, "I hope he got off?"
"Could not run for laughing; caught him in a minute; gave him
something to laugh for; drubbed him soundly."
"O poor fellow!" cried Morrice with a loud hallow, "I am really sorry
for him. But pray, Sir, what became of your best coat and waistcoat
while you gave him this drubbing? did you leave them in the dirt?"
"No, Mr Nincompoop," answered Briggs angrily, "I put them on a stall."
"That was a perilous expedient, Sir," said Mr Gosport, "and I should
fear might be attended with ill consequences, for the owner of the
stall would be apt to expect some little _douceur_. How did you
manage, Sir?"
"Bought a halfpenny worth of apples. Serve for supper to-morrow
night."
"But how, Sir, did you get your cloaths dried, or cleaned?"
"Went to an alehouse; cost me half a pint."
"And pray, Sir," cried Morrice, "where, at last, did you make your
toilette?"
"Sha'n't tell, sha'n't tell; ask no more questions. What signifies
where a man slips on a coat and waist-coat?"
"Why, Sir, this will prove an expensive expedition to you," said Mr
Gosport, very gravely; "Have you cast up what it may cost you?"
"More than it's worth, more than it's worth", answered he pettishly
"ha'n't laid out so much in pleasure these five years."
"Ha! ha!" cried Morrice, hallowing aloud, "why it can't be more than
sixpence in all!"
"Sixpence?" repeated he scornfully, "if you don't know the value of
sixpence, you'll never be worth fivepence three farthings. How do
think got rich, hay?--by wearing fine coats, and frizzling my pate?
No, no; Master Harrel for that! ask him if he'll cast an account with
me!--never knew a man worth a penny with such a coat as that on."
Morrice again laughed, and again Mr Briggs reproved him; and Cecilia,
taking advantage of the squabble, stole back to the music-room. Here,
in a few minutes, Mrs Panton, a lady who frequently visited at the
house, approached Cecilia, followed by a gentleman, whom she had never
before seen, but who was so evidently charmed with her, that he had
looked at no other object since his entrance into the house. Mrs
Panton, presenting him to her by the name of Mr Marriot, told her he
had begged her intercession for the honour of her hand in the two
first dances: and the moment she answered that she was already
engaged, the same request was made for the two following. Cecilia had
then no excuse, and was therefore obliged to accept him.
The hope she had entertained in the early part of the evening, was
already almost wholly extinguished; Delvile appeared not! though her
eye watched the entrance of every new visitor, and her vexation made
her believe that he alone, of all the town, was absent.
When the Concert was over, the company joined promiscuously for chat
and refreshments before the ball; and Mr Gosport advanced to Cecilia,
to relate a ridiculous dispute which had just passed between Mr Briggs
and Morrice.
"You, Mr Gosport," said Cecilia, "who seem to make the _minutiae_
of absurd characters your study, can explain to me, perhaps, why Mr
Briggs seems to have as much pleasure in proclaiming his meanness, as
in boasting his wealth?"
"Because," answered Mr Gosport, "he knows them, in his own affairs, to
be so nearly allied, that but for practising the one, he had never
possessed the other; ignorant, therefore, of all discrimination,--
except, indeed, of pounds, shillings and pence!--he supposes them
necessarily inseparable, because with him they were united. What you,
however, call meanness, he thinks wisdom, and recollects, therefore,
not with shame but with triumph, the various little arts and
subterfuges by which his coffers have been filled."
Here Lord Ernolf, concluding Cecilia still disengaged from seeing her
only discourse with Mr Gosport and Mr Monckton, one of discourse was
old enough to be her father, and the other was a _married man_,
advanced, and presenting to her Lord Derford, his son, a youth not yet
of age, solicited for him the honour of her hand as his partner.
Cecilia, having a double excuse, easily declined this proposal; Lord
Ernolf, however, was too earnest to be repulsed, and told her he
should again try his interest when her two present engagements were
fulfilled. Hopeless, now, of young Delvile, she heard this intimation
with indifference; and was accompanying Mr Monckton into the ballroom,
when Miss Larolles, flying towards her with an air of infinite eagerness,
caught her hand, and said in a whisper "pray let me wish you joy!"
"Certainly!" said Cecilia, "but pray let me ask you of what?"
"O Lord, now," answered she, "I am sure you know what I mean; but you
must know I have a prodigious monstrous great favour to beg of you:
now pray don't refuse me; I assure you if you do, I shall be so
mortified you've no notion."
"Well, what is it?"
"Nothing but to let me be one of your bride maids. I assure you I
shall take it as the greatest favour in the world."
"My bride maid!" cried Cecilia; "but do you not think the bridegroom
himself will be rather offended to find a bridesmaid appointed, before
he is even thought of?"
"O pray, now," cried she, "don't be ill-natured, for if you are,
you've no idea how I shall be disappointed. Only conceive what
happened to me three weeks ago! you must know I was invited to Miss
Clinton's wedding, and so I made up a new dress on purpose, in a very
particular sort of shape, quite of my own invention, and it had the
sweetest effect you can conceive; well, and when the time came, do you
know her mother happened to die! Never any thing was so excessive
unlucky, for now she won't be married this half year, and my dress
will be quite old and yellow; for it's all white, and the most
beautiful thing you ever saw in your life."
"Upon my word you are very obliging!" cried Cecilia laughing; "and
pray do you make interest regularly round with all your female
acquaintance to be married upon this occasion, or am I the only one
you think this distress will work upon?"
"Now how excessive teazing!" cried Miss Larolles, "when you know so
well what I mean, and when all the town knows as well as myself."
Cecilia then seriously enquired whether she had really any meaning at
all.
"Lord yes," answered she, "you know I mean about Sir Robert Floyer:
for I'm told you've quite refused Lord Derford."
"And are you also told that I have accepted Sir Robert Floyer?"
"O dear yes!--the jewels are bought, and the equipages are built; it's
quite a settled thing, I know very well."
Cecilia then very gravely began an attempt to undeceive her; but the
dancing beginning also at the same time, she stayed not to hear her,
hurrying, with a beating heart, to the place of action. Mr Monckton
and his fair partner then followed, mutually exclaiming against Mr
Harrel's impenetrable conduct; of which Cecilia, however, in a short
time ceased wholly to think, for as soon as the first cotillon was
over, she perceived young Delvile just walking into the room.
Surprise, pleasure and confusion assailed her all at once; she had
entirely given up her expectation of seeing him, and an absence so
determined had led her to conclude he had pursuits which ought to make
her join in wishing it lengthened; but now he appeared, that
conclusion, with the fears that gave rise to it, vanished; and she
regretted nothing but the unfortunate succession of engagements which
would prevent her dancing with him at all, and probably keep off all
conversation with him till supper time.
She soon, however, perceived a change in his air and behaviour that
extremely astonished her: he looked grave and thoughtful, saluted her
at a distance, shewed no sign of any intention to approach her,
regarded the dancing and dancers as a public spectacle in which he had
no chance of personal interest, and seemed wholly altered, not merely
with respect to her, but to himself, as his former eagerness for her
society was not more abated than [his] former general gaiety.
She had no time, however, for comments, as she was presently called to
the second cotillon; but the confused and unpleasant ideas which,
without waiting for time or reflection, crowded upon her imagination
on observing his behaviour, were not more depressing to herself, than
obvious to her partner; Mr Monckton by the change in her countenance
first perceived the entrance of young Delvile, and by her apparent
emotion and uneasiness, readily penetrated into the state of her
mind; he was confirmed that her affections were engaged; he saw, too,
that she was doubtful with what return.
The grief with which he made the first discovery, was somewhat
lessened by the hopes he conceived from, the second; yet the evening
was to him as painful as to Cecilia, since he now knew that whatever
prosperity' might ultimately attend his address and assiduity, her
heart was not her own to bestow; and that even were he sure of young
Delvile's indifference, and actually at liberty to make proposals for
himself, the time of being first in her esteem was at an end, and the
long-earned good opinion which he had hoped would have ripened into
affection, might now be wholly undermined by the sudden impression of
a lively stranger, without trouble to himself, and perhaps without
pleasure!
Reflections such as these wholly embittered the delight he had
promised himself from dancing with her, and took from him all power to
combat the anxiety with which she was seized; when the second
cotillon, therefore, was over, instead of following her to a seat, or
taking the privilege of his present situation to converse with her,
the jealousy rising in his breast robbed him of all satisfaction, and
gave to him no other desire than to judge its justice by watching her
motions at a distance.
Mean while Cecilia, inattentive whether he accompanied or quitted her
proceeded to the first vacant seat. Young Delvile was standing near
it, and, in a short time, but rather as if he could not avoid than as
if he wished it, he came to enquire how she did.
The simplest question, in the then situation of her mind, was
sufficient to confuse her, and though she answered, she hardly knew
what he had asked. A minute's recollection, however, restored an
apparent composure, and she talked to him of Mrs Delvile, with her
usual partial regard for that lady, and with an earnest endeavour to
seem unconscious of any alteration in his behaviour.
Yet, to him, even this trifling and general conversation was evidently
painful, and he looked relieved by the approach of Sir Robert Floyer,
who soon after joined them.
At this time a young lady who was sitting by Cecilia, called to a
servant who was passing, for a glass of lemonade: Cecilia desired he
would bring her one also; but Delvile, not sorry to break off the
discourse, said he would himself be her cup-bearer, and for that
purpose went away.
A moment after, the servant returned with some lemonade to Cecilia's
neighbour, and Sir Robert, taking a glass from him, brought it to
Cecilia at the very instant young Delvile came with another.
"I think I am before hand with you, Sir," said the insolent Baronet.
"No, Sir," answered young Delvile, "I think we were both in together:
Miss Beverley, however, is steward of the race, and we must submit to
her decision."
"Well, madam," cried Sir Robert, "here we stand, waiting your
pleasure. Which is to be the happy man!"
"Each, I hope," answered Cecilia, with admirable presence of mind,
"since I expect no less than that you will both do me the honour of
drinking my health."
This little contrivance, which saved her alike from shewing favour or
giving offence, could not but be applauded by both parties: and while
they obeyed her orders, she took a third glass herself from the
servant.
While this was passing, Mr Briggs, again perceiving her, stumpt
hastily towards her, calling out "Ah ha! my duck! what's that? got
something nice? Come here, my lad, taste it myself."
He then took a glass, but having only put it to his mouth, made a wry
face, and returned it, saying "Bad! bad! poor punch indeed!--not a
drop of rum in it!
"So much the better, Sir," cried Morrice, who diverted himself by
following him, "for then you see the master of the house spares in
something, and you said he spared in nothing."
"Don't spare in fools!" returned Mr Briggs, "keeps them in plenty."
"No, Sir, nor in any out of the way characters," answered Morrice.
"So much the worse," cried Briggs, "so much the worse! Eat him out of
house and home; won't leave him a rag to his back nor a penny in his
pocket. Never mind 'em, my little duck; mind none of your guardians
but me: t'other two a'n't worth a rush."
Cecilia, somewhat ashamed of this speech, looked towards young
Delvile, in whom it occasioned the first smile she had seen that
evening.
"Been looking about for you!" continued Briggs, nodding sagaciously;
"believe I've found one will do. Guess what I mean;--L100,0000--hay?--
what say to that? any thing better at the west end of the town?"
"L100,000!" cried Morrice, "and pray, Sir, who may this be?"
"Not you, Mr jackanapes! sure of that. A'n't quite positive he'll have
you, neither. Think he will, though."
"Pray; Sir, what age is he?" cried the never daunted Morrice.
"Why about--let's see--don't know, never heard,--what signifies?"
"But, Sir, he's an old man, I suppose, by being so rich?"
"Old? no, no such thing; about my own standing."
"What, Sir, and do you propose him for an husband to Miss Beverley?"
"Why not? know ever a one warmer? think Master Harrel will get her a
better? or t'other old Don, in the grand square?"
"If you please, Sir," cried Cecilia hastily, "we will talk of this
matter another time."
"No, pray," cried young Delvile, who could not forbear laughing, "let
it be discussed now."
"Hate 'em," continued Mr Briggs, "hate 'em both! one spending more
than he's worth, cheated and over-reached by fools, running into gaol
to please a parcel of knaves; t'other counting nothing but uncles and
grandfathers, dealing out fine names instead of cash, casting up more
cousins than guineas--"
Again Cecilia endeavoured to silence him, but, only chucking her under
the chin, he went on, "Ay, ay, my little duck, never mind 'em; one of
'em i'n't worth a penny, and t'other has nothing in his pockets but
lists of the defunct. What good will come of that? would not give
twopence a dozen for 'em! A poor set of grandees, with nothing but a
tie-wig for their portions!"
Cecilia, unable to bear this harangue in the presence of young
Delvile, who, however, laughed it off with a very good grace, arose
with an intention to retreat, which being perceived by Sir Robert
Floyer, who had attended to this dialogue with haughty contempt, he
came forward, and said, "now then, madam, may I have the honour of
your hand?"
"No, Sir," answered Cecilia, "I am engaged."
"Engaged again?" cried he, with the air of a man who thought himself
much injured.
"Glad of it, glad of it!" said Mr Briggs; "served very right! have
nothing to say to him, my chick!"
"Why not, Sir?" cried Sir Robert, with an imperious look.
"Sha'n't have her, sha'n't have her! can tell you that; won't consent;
know you of old." "And what do you know of me, pray Sir?"
"No good, no good; nothing to say to you; found fault with my nose!
ha'n't forgot it."
At this moment Mr Marriot came to claim his partner, who, very willing
to quit this scene of wrangling and vulgarity, immediately attended
him. Miss Larolles, again flying up to her, said "O my dear, we are
all expiring to know who that creature is! I never saw such a horrid
fright in my life!"
Cecilia was beginning to satisfy her, but some more young ladies
coming up to join in the request, she endeavoured to pass on; "O but,"
cried Miss Larolles, detaining her, "do pray stop, for I've something
to tell you that's so monstrous you've no idea. Do you know Mr Meadows
has not danced at all! and he's been standing with Mr Sawyer, and
looking on all the time, and whispering and laughing so you've no
notion. However, I assure you, I'm excessive glad he did not ask me,
for all I have been sitting still all this time, for I had a great
deal rather sit still, I assure you: only I'm sorry I put on this
dress, for any thing would have done just to look on in that stupid
manner."
Here Mr Meadows sauntered towards them; and all the young ladies began
playing with their fans, and turning their heads another way, to
disguise the expectations his approach awakened; and Miss Larolles, in
a hasty whisper to Cecilia, cried, "Pray don't take any notice of what
I said, for if he should happen to ask me, I can't well refuse him,
you know, for if I do, he'll be so excessive affronted you can't
think."
Mr Meadows then, mixing in the little group, began, with sundry
grimaces, to exclaim "how intolerably hot it is! there's no such thing
as breathing. How can anybody think of dancing! I am amazed Mr Harrel
has not a ventilator in this room. Don't you think it would be a great
improvement?"
This speech, though particularly addressed to no one, received
immediately an assenting answer from all the young ladies.
Then, turning to Miss Larolles, "Don't you dance?" he said.
"Me?" cried she, embarrassed, "yes, I believe so,--really I don't
know,--I a'n't quite determined."
"O, do dance!" cried he, stretching himself and yawning, "it always
gives me spirits to see you."
Then, turning suddenly to Cecilia, without any previous ceremony of
renewing his acquaintance, either by speaking or bowing, he abruptly
said "Do you love dancing, ma'am?"
"Yes, Sir, extremely well."
"I'm very glad to hear it. You have one thing, then, to soften
existence."
"Do you dislike it yourself?"
"What dancing? Oh dreadful! how it was ever adopted in a civilized
country I cannot find out; 'tis certainly a Barbarian exercise, and of
savage origin. Don't you think so, Miss Larolles?"
"Lord no," cried Miss Larolles, "I assure you I like it better than
any thing; I know nothing so delightful, I declare I dare say I could
not live without it; I should be so stupid you can't conceive."
"Why I remember," said Mr Marriot, "when Mr Meadows was always dancing
himself. Have you forgot, Sir, when you used to wish the night would
last for ever, that you might dance without ceasing?"
Mr Meadows, who was now intently surveying a painting that was over
the chimney-piece, seemed of to hear this question, but presently
called out "I am amazed Mr Harrel can suffer such a picture as this to
be in his house. I hate a portrait, 'tis so wearisome looking at a
thing that is doing nothing!"
"Do you like historical pictures, Sir, any better?"
"O no, I detest them! views of battles, murders, and death! Shocking!
shocking!--I shrink from them with horror!"
"Perhaps you are fond of landscapes?"
"By no means! Green trees and fat cows! what do they tell one? I hate
every thing that is insipid."
"Your toleration, then," said Cecilia, "will not be very extensive."
"No," said he, yawning, "one can tolerate nothing! one's patience is
wholly exhausted by the total tediousness of every thing one sees, and
every body one talks with. Don't you find it so, ma'am?"
"_Sometimes_!" said Cecilia, rather archly.
"You are right, ma'am, extremely right; one does not know what in the
world to do with one's self. At home, one is killed with meditation,
abroad, one is overpowered by ceremony; no possibility of finding ease
or comfort. You never go into public, I think, ma'am?"
"Why not to be much _marked_, I find!" said Cecilia, laughing.
"O, I beg your pardon! I believe I saw you one evening at Almack's: I
really beg your pardon, but I had quite forgot it."
"Lord, Mr Meadows," said Miss Larolles, "don't you know you are
meaning the Pantheon? only conceive how you forget things!"
"The Pantheon, was it? I never know one of those places from another.
I heartily wish they were all abolished; I hate public places. 'Tis
terrible to be under the same roof with a set of people who would care
nothing if they saw one expiring!"
"You are, at least, then, fond of the society of your friends?"
"O no! to be worn out by seeing always the same faces!--one is sick to
death of friends; nothing makes one so melancholy."
Cecilia now went to join the dancers, and Mr Meadows, turning to Miss
Larolles, said, "Pray don't let me keep you from dancing; I am afraid
you'll lose your place."
"No," cried she, bridling, "I sha'n't dance at all."
"How cruel!" cried he, yawning, "when you know how it exhilarates me
to see you! Don't you think this room is very close? I must go and try
another atmosphere,--But I hope you will relent, and dance?"
And then, stretching his arms as if half asleep, he sauntered into the
next room, where he flung himself upon a sofa till the ball was over.
The new partner of Cecilia, who was a wealthy, but very simple young
man, used his utmost efforts to entertain and oblige her, and,
flattered by the warmth of his own desire, he fancied that he
succeeded; though, in a state of such suspence and anxiety, a man of
brighter talents had failed.
At the end of the two dances, Lord Ernolf again attempted to engage
her for his son, but she now excused herself from dancing any more,
and sat quietly as a spectatress till the rest of the company gave
over. Mr Marriot, however, would not quit her, and she was compelled
to support with him a trifling conversation, which, though irksome to
herself, to him, who had not _seen her in her happier hour_, was
delightful.
She expected every instant to be again joined by young Delvile, but
the expectation was disappointed; he came not; she concluded he was in
another apartment; the company was summoned to supper, she then
thought it impossible to miss him; but, after waiting and looking for
him in vain, she found he had already left the house.
The rest of the evening she scarce knew what passed, for she attended
to nothing; Mr Monckton might watch, and Mr Briggs might exhort her,
Sir Robert might display his insolence, or Mr Marriot his gallantry,--
all was equally indifferent, and equally unheeded; and before half
the company left the house, she retired to her own room.
She spent the night in the utmost disturbance; the occurrences of the
evening with respect to young Delvile she looked upon as decisive: if
his absence had chagrined her, his presence had still more shocked
her, since, while she was left to conjecture, though she had fears she
had hopes, and though all she saw was gloomy, all she expected was
pleasant; but they had now met, and those expectations proved
fallacious. She knew not, indeed, how to account for the strangeness
of his conduct; but in seeing it was strange, she was convinced it was
unfavourable: he had evidently avoided her while it was in his power,
and when, at last, he was obliged to meet her, he was formal, distant,
and reserved.
The more she recollected and dwelt upon the difference of his
behaviour in their preceding meeting, the more angry as well as amazed
she became at the change, and though she still concluded the pursuit
of some other object occasioned it, she could find no excuse for his
fickleness if that pursuit was recent, nor for his caprice if it was
anterior.
CHAPTER ii.
A BROAD HINT.
The next day Cecilia, to drive Delvile a little from her thoughts,
which she now no longer wished him to occupy, again made a visit to
Miss Belfield, whose society afforded her more consolation than any
other she could procure.
She found her employed in packing up, and preparing to remove to
another lodging, for her brother, she said, was so much better, that
he did not think it right to continue in so disgraceful a situation.
She talked with her accustomed openness of her affairs, and the
interest which Cecilia involuntarily took in them, contributed to
lessen her vexation in thinking of her own. "The generous friend of my
brother," said she, "who, though but a new acquaintance to him, has
courted him in all his sorrows, when every body else forsook him, has
brought him at last into a better way of thinking. He says there is a
gentleman whose son is soon going abroad, who he is almost sure will
like my brother vastly, and in another week, he is to be introduced to
him. And so, if my mother can but reconcile herself to parting with
him, perhaps we may all do well again."
"Your mother," said Cecilia, "when he is gone, will better know the
value of the blessing she has left in her daughter."
"O no, madam, no; she is wrapt up in him, and cares nothing for all
the world besides. It was always so, and we have all of us been used
to it. But we have had a sad scene since you were so kind as to come
last; for when she told him what you had done, he was almost out of
his senses with anger that we had acquainted you with his distress,
and he said it was publishing his misery, and undoing whatever his
friend or himself could do, for it was making him ashamed to appear in
the world, even when his affairs might be better. But I told him again
and again that you had as much sweetness as goodness, and instead of
hurting his reputation, would do him nothing but credit."
"I am sorry," said Cecilia, "Mrs Belfield mentioned the circumstance
at all; it would have been better, for many reasons, that he should
not have heard of it."
"She hoped it would please him," answered Miss Belfield, "however, he
made us both promise we would take no such step in future, for he said
we were not reduced to so much indigence, whatever he was: and that as
to our accepting money from other people, that we might save up our
own for him, it would be answering no purpose, for he should think
himself a monster to make use of it."
"And what said your mother?"
"Why she gave him a great many promises that she would never vex him
about it again; and indeed, much as I know we are obliged to you,
madam, and gratefully as I am sure I would lay down my life to serve
you, I am very glad in this case that my brother has found it out. For
though I so much wish him to do something for himself, and not to be
so proud, and live in a manner he has no right to do, I think, for all
that, that it is a great disgrace to my' poor father's honest memory,
to have us turn beggars after his death, when he left us all so well
provided for, if we had but known how to be satisfied."
"There is a natural rectitude in your heart," said Cecilia, "that the
ablest casuists could not mend."
She then enquired whither they were removing, and Miss Belfield told
her to Portland Street, Oxford Road, where they were to have two
apartments up two pair of stairs, and the use of a very good parlour,
in which her brother might see his friends. "And this," added she, "is
a luxury for which nobody can blame him, because if he has not the
appearance of a decent home, no gentleman will employ him."
The Padington house, she said, was already let, and her mother was
determined not to hire another, but still to live as penuriously as
possible, in order, notwithstanding his remonstrances, to save all she
could of her income for her son.
Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs Belfield,
who very familiarly said she came to tell Cecilia they were _all in
the wrong box_ in letting her son know of the L10 bank note, "for,"
continued she, "he has a pride that would grace a duke, and he thinks
nothing of his hardships, so long as nobody knows of them. So another
time we must manage things better, and when we do him any good, not
let him know a word of the matter. We'll settle it all among
ourselves, and one day or other he'll be glad enough to thank us."
Cecilia, who saw Miss Belfield colour with shame at the freedom of
this hint, now arose to depart: but Mrs Belfield begged her not to go
so soon, and pressed her with such urgency to again sit down, that she
was obliged to comply.
She then began a warm commendation of her son, lavishly praising all
his good qualities, and exalting even his defects, concluding with
saying "But, ma'am, for all he's such a complete gentleman, and for
all he's made so much of, he was so diffident, I could not get him to
call and thank you for the present you made him, though, when he went
his last airing, I almost knelt to him to do it. But, with all his
merit, he wants as much encouragement as a lady, for I can tell you it
is not a little will do for him."
Cecilia, amazed at this extraordinary speech, looked from the mother
to the daughter in order to discover its meaning, which, however, was
soon rendered plainer by what followed.
"But pray now, ma'am, don't think him the more ungrateful for his
shyness, for young ladies so high in the world as you are, must go
pretty good lengths before a young man will get courage to speak to
them. And though I have told my son over and over that the ladies
never like a man the worse for being a little bold, he's so much down
in the mouth that it has no effect upon him. But it all comes of his
being brought up at the university, for that makes him think he knows
better than I can tell him. And so, to be sure, he does. However, for
all that, it is a hard thing upon a mother to find all she says goes
just for nothing. But I hope you'll excuse him, ma'am, for it's
nothing in the world but his over-modesty."
Cecilia now stared with a look of so much astonishment and
displeasure, that Mrs Belfield, suspecting she had gone rather too
far, added "I beg you won't take what I've said amiss, ma'am, for we
mothers of families are more used to speak out than maiden ladies. And
I should not have said so much, but only I was afraid you would
misconstrue my son's backwardness, and so that he might be flung out
of your favour at last, and all for nothing but having too much
respect for you."
"O dear mother!" cried Miss Belfield, whose face was the colour of
scarlet, "pray!"--
"What's the matter now?" cried Mrs Belfield; "you are as shy as your
brother; and if we are all to be so, when are we to come to an
understanding?"
"Not immediately, I believe indeed," said Cecilia, rising, "but that
we may not plunge deeper in our mistakes, I will for the present take
my leave."
"No, ma'am," cried Mrs Belfield, stopping her, "pray don't go yet, for
I've got a great many things I want to talk to you about. In the first
place, ma'am, pray what is your opinion of this scheme for sending my
son abroad into foreign parts? I don't know what you may think of it,
but as to me, it half drives me out of my senses to have him taken
away from me at last in that unnatural manner. And I'm sure, ma'am, if
you would only put in a word against it, I dare say he would give it
up without a demur."
"Me?" cried Cecilia, disengaging herself from her hold, "No, madam,
you must apply to those friends who better understand his affairs, and
who would have a deeper interest in detaining him."
"Lack a day!" cried Mrs Belfield, with scarcely smothered vexation,
"how hard it is to make these grand young ladies come to reason! As to
my son's other friends, what good will it do for him to mind what they
say? who can expect him to give up his journey, without knowing what
amends he shall get for it?"
"You must settle this matter with him at your leisure," said Cecilia,
"I cannot now stay another moment."
Mrs Belfield, again finding she had been too precipitate, tried to
draw back, saying "Pray, ma'am, don't let what I have mentioned go
against my son in your good opinion, for he knows no more of it than
the furthest person in the world, as my daughter can testify for as to
shyness, he's just as shy as a lady himself; so what good he ever got
at the University, as to the matter of making his fortune, it's what I
never could discover. However, I dare say he knows best; though when
all comes to all, if I was to speak my mind, I think he's made but a
poor hand of it."
Cecilia, who only through compassion to the blushing Henrietta forbore
repressing this forwardness more seriously, merely answered Mrs
Belfield by wishing her good morning: but, while she was taking a
kinder leave of her timid daughter, the mother added "As to the
present, ma'am, you was so kind to make us, Henny can witness for me
every penny of it shall go to my son."
"I rather meant it," said Cecilia, "for your daughter; but if it is of
use to any body, my purpose is sufficiently answered."
Mrs Belfield again pressed her to sit down, but she would not again
listen to her, coldly saying "I am sorry you troubled Mr Belfield with
any mention of what passed between his sister and me, but should you
speak of it again, I beg you will explain to him that he had no
concern in that little transaction, which belonged wholly to
ourselves."
She then hastened down stairs, followed, however, by Mrs Belfield,
making awkward excuses for what she had said, intermixed with frequent
hints that she knew all the time she was in the right.
This little incident, which convinced Cecilia Mrs Belfield was firmly
persuaded she was in love with her son, gave her much uneasiness; she
feared the son himself might entertain the same notion, and thought it
most probable the daughter also had imbibed it, though but for the
forward vulgarity of the sanguine mother, their opinions might long
have remained concealed. Her benevolence towards them, notwithstanding
its purity, must now therefore cease to be exerted: nor could she even
visit Miss Belfield, since prudence, and a regard for her own
character, seemed immediately to prohibit all commerce with the
family.
"And thus difficult," cried she, "is the blameless use of riches,
though: all who want them, think nothing so easy as their disposal!
This family I have so much wished to serve, I may at last only have
injured, since the disappointment of their higher expectations, may
render all smaller benefits contemptible. And thus this unfortunate
misconstruction of my good offices, robs them of a useful assistant,
and deprives me at the same time of an amiable companion."
As soon as she returned home, she had a letter put into her hand which
came from Mr Marriot, whose servant had twice called for an answer in
the short time she had been absent.
This letter contained a most passionate avowal of the impression she
had made on his heart the preceding evening, and an angry complaint
that Mr Harrel had refused to hear his proposals. He entreated her
permission to wait upon her for only five minutes, and concluded with
the most fervent professions of respect and admiration.
The precipitancy of this declaration served merely to confirm the
opinion she had already conceived of the weakness of his
understanding: but the obstinacy of Mr Harrel irritated and distressed
her, though weary of expostulating with so hopeless a subject, whom
neither reason nor gratitude could turn from his own purposes, she was
obliged to submit to his management, and was well content, in the
present instance, to affirm his decree. She therefore wrote a concise
answer to her new admirer, in the usual form of civil rejection.
CHAPTER iii.
AN ACCOMMODATION.
Cecilia was informed the next morning that a young woman begged to
speak with her, and upon sending for her up stairs, she saw, to her
great surprise, Miss Belfield.
She came in fear and trembling, sent, she said, by her mother, to
entreat her pardon for what had passed the preceding day; "But I know,
madam," she added, "you cannot pardon it, and therefore all that I
mean to do is to clear my brother from any share in what was said, for
indeed he has too much sense to harbour any such presumption; and to
thank you with a most grateful heart for all the goodness you have
shewn us."
And then, modestly courtsying, she would have returned home; but
Cecilia, much touched by her gentleness, took her hand, and kindly
reviving her by assurances of esteem, entreated that she would
lengthen her stay.
"How good is this, madam," said she, "after having so much reason to
think so ill of me and of all of us I tried all in my power to
undeceive my mother, or at least to keep her quiet; but she was so
much persuaded she was right, that she never would listen to me, and
always said, did I suppose it was for _me_ you condescended to
come so often?"
"Yes," answered Cecilia, "most undoubtedly; had I not known you,
however well I might have wished your brother, I should certainly not
have visited at his house. But I am very happy to hear the mistake had
spread no further."
"No indeed, madam, I never once thought of it; and as to my brother,
when my mother only hinted it to him, he was quite angry. But though I
don't mean to vindicate what has happened, you will not, I hope, be
displeased if I say my mother is much more pardonable than she seems
to be, for the same mistake she made with you, she would have been as
apt to have made with a princess; it was not, therefore, from any want
of respect, but merely from thinking my brother might marry as high as
he pleased, and believing no lady would refuse him, if he would but
have the courage to speak."
Cecilia assured her she would think no more of the error, but told her
that to avoid its renewal, she must decline calling upon her again
till her brother was gone. She begged therefore to see her in Portman-
square whenever she had leisure, repeatedly assuring her of her good
opinion and regard, and of the pleasure with which she should seize
every opportunity of skewing them.
Delighted by a reception so kind, Miss Belfield remained with her all
the morning; and when at last she was obliged to leave her, she was
but too happy in being solicited to repeat her visit.
She suffered one day only to elapse before she skewed her readiness to
accept the friendship that was offered her; and Cecilia, much pleased
by this eagerness, redoubled her efforts to oblige and to serve her.
From this time, hardly a day passed in which she did not call in
Postman-square, where nothing in her reception was omitted that could
contribute to her contentment. Cecilia was glad to employ her mind in
any way that related not to Delvile, whom she now earnestly
endeavoured to think of no more, denying herself even the pleasure of
talking of him with Miss Belfield, by the name of _her brother's
noble friend_.
During this time she devised various methods, all too delicate to give
even the shadow of offence, for making both useful and ornamental
presents to her new favourite, with whom she grew daily more
satisfied, and to whom she purposed hereafter offering a residence in
her own house.
The trial of intimacy, so difficult to the ablest to stand, and from
which even the most' faultless are so rarely acquitted, Miss Belfield
sustained with honour. Cecilia found her artless, ingenuous, and
affectionate; her understanding was good, though no pains had been
taken to improve it; her disposition though ardent was soft, and her
mind seemed informed by intuitive integrity.
She communicated to Cecilia all the affairs of her family, disguising
from her neither distress nor meanness, and seeking to palliate
nothing but the grosser parts of the character of her mother. She
seemed equally ready to make known to her even the most chosen secrets
of her own bosom, for that such she had was evident, from a frequent
appearance of absence and uneasiness which she took but little trouble
to conceal. Cecilia, however, trusted not herself, in the present
critical situation of her own mind, with any enquiries that might lead
to a subject she was conscious she ought not to dwell upon: a short
time, she hoped, would totally remove her suspence; but as she had
much less reason to expect good than evil, she made it her immediate
study to prepare for the worst, and therefore carefully avoided all
discourse that by nourishing her tenderness, might weaken her
resolution.
While thus, in friendly conversation and virtuous forbearance, passed
gravely, but not unhappily, the time of Cecilia, the rest of the house
was very differently employed: feasting, revelling, amusements of all
sorts were pursued with more eagerness than ever, and the alarm which
so lately threatened their destruction, seemed now merely to heighten
the avidity with which they were sought. Yet never was the disunion of
happiness and diversion more striking and obvious; Mr Harrel, in spite
of his natural levity, was seized from time to time with fits of
horror that embittered his gayest moments, and cast a cloud upon all
his enjoyments. Always an enemy to solitude, he now found it wholly
insupportable, and ran into company of any sort, less from a hope of
finding entertainment, than from a dread of spending half an hour by
himself.
Cecilia, who saw that his rapacity for pleasure encreased with his
uneasiness, once more ventured to speak with his lady upon the subject
of reformation; counselling her to take advantage of his present
apparent discontent, which showed at least some sensibility of his
situation, in order to point out to him the necessity of an immediate
inspection into his affairs, which, with a total change in his way of
life, was her only chance for snatching him from the dismal
despondency into which he was sinking.
Mrs Harrel declared herself unequal to following this advice, and said
that her whole study was to find Mr Harrel amusement, for he was grown
so ill-humoured and petulant she quite feared being alone with him.
The house therefore now was more crowded than ever, and nothing but
dissipation was thought of. Among those who upon this plan were
courted to it, the foremost was Mr Morrice, who, from a peculiar
talent of uniting servility of conduct with gaiety of speech, made
himself at once so agreeable and useful in the family, that in a short
time they fancied it impossible to live without him. And Morrice,
though his first view in obtaining admittance had been the cultivation
of his acquaintance with Cecilia, was perfectly satisfied with the
turn that matters had taken, since his utmost vanity had never led him
to entertain any matrimonial hopes with her, and he thought his
fortune as likely to profit from the civility of her friends as of
herself. For Morrice, however flighty, and wild, had always at heart
the study of his own interest; and though from a giddy forwardness of
disposition he often gave offence, his meaning and his serious
attention was not the less directed to the advancement of his own
affairs: he formed no connection from which he hoped not some benefit,
and he considered the acquaintance and friendship of his superiors in
no other light than that of procuring him sooner or later
recommendations to new clients.
Sir Robert Floyer also was more frequent than ever in his visits, and
Mr Harrel, notwithstanding the remonstrances of Cecilia, contrived
every possible opportunity of giving him access to her. Mrs Harrel
herself, though hitherto neutral, now pleaded his cause with
earnestness; and Mr Arnott, who had been her former refuge from this
persecution, grew so serious and so tender in his devoirs, that unable
any longer to doubt the sentiments she had inspired, she was compelled
even with him to be guarded and distant.
She now with daily concern looked back to the sacrifice she had made
to the worthless and ungrateful Mr Harrel, and was sometimes tempted
to immediately chuse another guardian, and leave his house for ever:
yet the delicacy of her disposition was averse to any step that might
publicly expose him, and her early regard for his wife would not
suffer her to put it in execution.
These circumstances contributed strongly to encrease her intimacy with
Miss Belfield; she now never saw Mrs Delvile, whom alone she preferred
to her, and from the troublesome assiduity of Sir Robert, scarce ever
met Mr Monckton but in his presence: she found, therefore, no resource
against teazing and vexation, but what was afforded her by the
conversation of the amiable Henrietta.
CHAPTER iv.
A DETECTION.
A fortnight had now elapsed in which Cecilia had had no sort of
communication with the Delviles, whom equally from pride and from
prudence she forbore to seek for herself, when one morning, while she
was sitting with Miss Belfield, her maid told her that young Mr
Delvile was in the drawing-room, and begged the honour of seeing her
for a few moments.
Cecilia, though she started and changed colour with surprize at this
message, was unconscious she did either, from the yet greater surprise
she received by the behaviour of Miss Belfield, who hastily arising,
exclaimed "Good God, Mr Delvile!--do you know Mr Delvile, madam?--does
Mr Delvile visit at this house?"
"Sometimes; not often," answered Cecilia; "but why?"
"I don't know,--nothing, madam,--I only asked by accident, I believe,
--but it's very--it's extremely--I did not know"--and colouring
violently, she again sat down.
An apprehension the most painful now took possession of Cecilia, and
absorbed in thought, she continued for some minutes silent and
immoveable.
From this state she was awakened by her maid, who asked if she chose
to have her gloves.
Cecilia, taking them from her without speaking, left the room, and not
daring to stop for enquiry or consideration, hastened down stairs; but
when she entered the apartment where young Delvile was waiting for
her, all utterance seemed denied her, and she courtsied without saying
a word.
Struck with the look and uncommon manner of her entrance, he became in
a moment as much disturbed as herself, pouring forth a thousand
unnecessary and embarrassed apologies for his visit, and so totally
forgetting even the reason why he made it, that he had taken his leave
and was departing before he recollected it. He then turned back,
forcing a laugh at his own absence of mind, and told her he had only
called to acquaint her, that the commands with which she had honoured
him were now obeyed, and, he hoped, to her satisfaction.
Cecilia, who knew not she had ever given him any, waited his further
explanation; and he then informed her he had that very morning
introduced Mr Belfield to the Earl of Vannelt, who had already heard
him very advantageously spoken of by some gentlemen to whom he had
been known at the University, and who was so much pleased with him
upon this first interview, that he meant, after a few enquiries, which
could not but turn out to his credit, to commit his eldest son to his
trust in making the tour of Europe.
Cecilia thanked him for her share in the trouble he had taken in this
transaction; and then asked if Mrs Delvile continued well.
"Yes," answered he, with a smile half reproachful, "as well as one who
having ever hoped your favour, can easily be after finding that hope
disappointed. But much as she has taught her son, there is one lesson
she might perhaps learn from him;--to fly, not seek, those dangerous
indulgences of which the deprivation is the loss of peace!"
He then bowed, and made his exit.
This unexpected reproof, and the yet more unexpected compliment that
accompanied it, in both which _more seemed meant than met the
ear_, encreased the perturbation into which Cecilia had already
been thrown. It occurred to her that under the sanction of his
mother's name, he had taken an opportunity of making an apology for
his own conduct; yet why avoiding her society, if to that he alluded,
should be _flying a dangerous indulgence_, she could not understand,
since he had so little reason to fear any repulse in continuing to seek it.
Sorry, however, for the abrupt manner in which she had left Miss
Belfield, she lost not a moment in hastening back to her; but when she
came into the room, she found her employed in looking out of the
window, her eye following some object with such earnestness of
attention, that she perceived not her return.
Cecilia, who could not doubt the motive of her curiosity, had no great
difficulty in forbearing to offer her any interruption. She drew her
head back in a few minutes, and casting it upwards, with her hands
clasped, softly whispered, "Heaven ever shield and bless him! and O
may he never feel such pain as I do!"
She then again looked out, but soon drawing herself in, said, in the
same soft accents, "Oh why art thou gone! sweetest and noblest of men!
why might I not see thee longer, when, under heaven, there is no other
blessing I wish for!"
A sigh which at these words escaped Cecilia made her start and turn
towards the door; the deepest blushes overspread the cheeks of both as
their eyes met each other, and while Miss Belfield trembled in every
limb at the discovery she had made, Cecilia herself was hardly able to
stand.
A painful and most embarrassed silence succeeded, which was only
broken by Miss Belfield's bursting into tears.
Cecilia, extremely moved, forgot for a moment her own interest in what
was passing, and tenderly approaching, embraced her with the utmost
kindness: but still she spoke not, fearing to make an enquiry, from
dreading to hear any explanation.
Miss Belfield, soothed by her softness, clung about her, and hiding
her face in her arms, sobbed out, "Ah madam! who ought to be unhappy
if befriended by you! if I could help it, I would love nobody else in
almost the whole world. But you must let me leave you now, and
to-morrow I will tell you every thing."
Cecilia, who had no wish for making any opposition, embraced her
again, and suffered her quietly to depart.
Her own mind was now in a state of the utmost confusion. The rectitude
of her heart and the soundness of her judgment had hitherto guarded
her both from error and blame, and, except during her recent suspence,
had preserved her tranquility inviolate: but her commerce with the
world had been small and confined, and her actions had had little
reference but to herself. The case was now altered; and she was
suddenly in a conjuncture of all others the most delicate, that of
accidentally discovering a rival in a favourite friend.
The fondness she had conceived for Miss Belfield, and the sincerity of
her intentions as well as promises to serve her, made the detection of
this secret peculiarly cruel: she had lately felt no pleasure but in
her society, and looked forward to much future comfort from the
continuance of her regard, and from their constantly living together:
but now this was no longer even to be desired, since the utter
annihilation of the wishes of both, by young Delvile's being disposed
of to a third person, could alone render eligible their dwelling under
the same roof.
Her pity, however, for Miss Belfield was almost wholly unallayed by
jealousy; she harboured not any suspicion that she was loved by young
Delvile, whose aspiring spirit led her infinitely more to fear some
higher rival, than to believe he bestowed even a thought upon the poor
Henrietta: but still she wished with the utmost ardour to know the
length of their acquaintance, how often they had met, when they had
conversed, what notice he had taken of her, and how so dangerous a
preference had invaded her heart.
But though this curiosity was both natural and powerful, her principal
concern was the arrangement of her own conduct: the next day Miss
Belfield was to tell her every thing by a voluntary promise; but she
doubted if she had any right to accept such a confidence. Miss
Belfield, she was sure, knew not she was interested in the tale, since
she had not even imagined that Delvile was known to her. She might
hope, therefore, not only for advice but assistance, and fancy that
while she reposed her secret in the bosom of a friend, she secured
herself her best offices and best wishes for ever.
Would she obtain them? no; the most romantic generosity would revolt
from such a demand, for however precarious was her own chance with
young Delvile, Miss Belfield she was sure could not have any: neither
her birth nor education fitted her for his rank in life, and even were
both unexceptionable, the smallness of her fortune, as Mr Monckton had
instructed her, would be an obstacle insurmountable.
Would it not be a kind of treachery to gather from her every thing,
yet aid her in nothing? to take advantage of her unsuspicious openness
in order to learn all that related to one whom she yet hoped would
belong ultimately to herself, and gratify an interested curiosity at
the expence of a candour not more simple than amiable? "No," cried
Cecilia, "arts that I could never forgive, I never will practice; this
sweet, but unhappy girl shall tell me nothing: betrayed already by the
tenderness of her own heart, she shall at least suffer no further from
any duplicity in mine. If, indeed, Mr Delvile, as I suspect, is
engaged elsewhere, I will make this gentle Henrietta the object of my
future solicitude: the sympathy of our situations will not then divide
but unite us, and I will take her to my bosom, hear all her sorrows,
and calm her troubled spirit by participating in her sensibility. But
if, on the contrary, this mystery ends more happily for myself, if Mr
Delvile has now no other engagement, and hereafter clears his conduct
to my satisfaction, I will not be accessory to loading her future
recollection with the shame of a confidence she then cannot but
repent, nor with an injury to her delicacy that may wound it for
ever."
She determined, therefore, carefully to avoid the subject for the
present, since she could offer no advice for which she might not,
hereafter, be suspected of selfish motives; but yet, from a real
regard to the tender-hearted girl, to give all the tacit
discouragement that was in her power, to a passion which she firmly
believed would be productive of nothing but misery.
Once, from the frankness natural to her disposition, she thought not
merely of receiving but returning her confidence: her better judgment,
however, soon led her from so hazardous a plan, which could only have
exposed them both to a romantic humiliation, by which, in the end,
their mutual expectations might prove sources of mutual distrust.
When Miss Belfield, therefore, the next morning, her air unusually
timid, and her whole face covered with blushes, made her visit,
Cecilia, not seeming to notice her confusion, told her she was very
sorry she was obliged to go out herself, and contrived, under various
pretences, to keep her maid in the room. Miss Belfield, supposing this
to be accidental, rejoiced in her imaginary reprieve, and soon
recovered her usual chearfulness: and Cecilia, who really meant to
call upon Mrs Delvile, borrowed Mrs Harrel's carriage, and set down
her artless young friend at her new lodgings in Portland-street,
before she proceeded to St James's-square, talking the whole time
upon matters of utter indifference.
CHAPTER v.
A SARCASM.
The reproach which Cecilia had received from young Delvile in the name
of his mother, determined her upon making this visit; for though, in
her present uncertainty, she wished only to see that family when
sought by themselves, she was yet desirous to avoid all appearance of
singularity, lest any suspicions should be raised of her sentiments.
Mrs Delvile received her with a cold civility that chilled and
afflicted her: she found her seriously offended by her long absence,
and now for the first time perceived that haughtiness of character
which hitherto she had thought only given to her by the calumny of
envy; for though her displeasure was undisguised, she deigned not to
make any reproaches, evidently shewing that her disappointment in the
loss of her society, was embittered by a proud regret for the kindness
she believed she had thrown away. But though she scrupulously forbore
the smallest complaint, she failed not from time to time to cast out
reflections upon fickleness and caprice the most satirical and
pointed.
Cecilia, who could not possibly avow the motives of her behaviour,
ventured not to offer any apology for her apparent negligence; but,
hitherto accustomed to the most distinguished kindness, a change to so
much bitterness shocked and overpowered her, and she sat almost wholly
silent, and hardly able to look up.
Lady Honoria Pemberton, a daughter of the Duke of Derwent, now came
into the room, and afforded her some relief by the sprightliness of
her conversation. This young lady, who was a relation of the Delviles,
and of a character the most airy and unthinking, ran on during her
whole visit in a vein of fashionable scandal, with a levity that the
censures of Mrs Delvile, though by no means spared, had no power to
[controul]: and, after having completely ransacked the topics of the
day, she turned suddenly to Cecilia, with whom during her residence in
St James's-square she had made some acquaintance, and said, "So I
hear, Miss Beverley, that after half the town has given you to Sir
Robert Floyer, and the other half to my Lord Derford, you intend,
without regarding one side or the other, to disappoint them both, and
give yourself to Mr Marriot."
"Me? no, indeed," answered Cecilia, "your ladyship has been much
misinformed."
"I hope so," said Mrs Delvile, "for Mr Marriot, by all I ever heard of
him, seems to have but one recommendation, and that the last Miss
Beverley ought to value, a good estate."
Cecilia, secretly delighted by a speech which she could not resist
flattering herself had reference to her son, now a little revived, and
endeavoured to bear some part in the conversation.
"Everybody one meets," cried Lady Honoria, "disposes of Miss Beverley
to some new person; yet the common opinion is that Sir Robert Floyer
will be the man. But upon my word, for my own part, I cannot
conjecture how she will manage among them, for Mr Marriot declares
he's determined he won't be refused, and Sir Robert vows that he'll
never give her up. So we none of us know how it will end; but I am
vastly glad she keeps them so long in suspence."
"If there is any suspence," said Cecilia, "I am at least sure it must
be wilful. But why should your ladyship rejoice in it?"
"O, because it helps to torment them, and keeps something going
forward. Besides, we are all looking in the news-papers every day, to
see when they'll fight another duel for you."
"Another?" cried Cecilia; "indeed they have never yet fought any for
me."
"O, I beg your pardon," answered her ladyship, "Sir Robert, you know,
fought one for you in the beginning of the winter, with that Irish
fortune-hunter who affronted you at the Opera."
"Irish fortune-hunter?" repeated Cecilia, "how strangely has that
quarrel been misrepresented! In the first place, I never was affronted
at the Opera at all, and in the second, if your Ladyship means Mr
Belfield, I question if he ever was in Ireland in his life."
"Well," cried Lady Honoria, "he might come from Scotland, for aught I
know, but somewhere he certainly came from; and they tell me he is
wounded terribly, and Sir Robert has had all his things packed up this
month, that in case he should die, he may go abroad in a moment."
"And pray where, Lady Honoria," cried Mrs Delvile, "do you contrive to
pick up all this rattle?"
"O, I don't know; everybody tells me something, so I put it all
together as well as I can. But I could acquaint you with a stranger
piece of news than any you have heard yet."
"And what is that?"
"O, if I let you know it, you'll tell your son."
"No indeed," said Mrs Delvile laughing, "I shall probably forget it
myself."
She then made some further difficulty, and Cecilia, uncertain if she
was meant to be a party in the communication, strolled to a window;
where, however, as Lady Honoria did not lower her voice, she heard her
say "Why you must know I am told he keeps a mistress somewhere in
Oxford-Road. They say she's mighty pretty; I should like vastly to see
her."
The consternation of Cecilia at this intelligence would certainly have
betrayed all she so much wished to conceal, had not her fortunate
removal to the window guarded her from observation. She kept her post,
fearing to look round, but was much pleased when Mrs Delvile, with
great indignation answered "I am sorry, Lady Honoria, you can find any
amusement in listening to such idle scandal, which those who tell will
never respect you for hearing. In times less daring in slander, the
character of Mortimer would have proved to him a shield from all
injurious aspersions; yet who shall wonder he could not escape, and
who shall contemn the inventors of calumny, if Lady Honoria Pemberton
condescends to be entertained with it?"
"Dear Mrs Delvile," cried Lady Honoria, giddily, "you take me too
seriously."
"And dear Lady Honoria," said Mrs Delvile, "I would it were possible
to make you take yourself seriously; for could you once see with
clearness and precision how much you lower your own dignity, while you
stoop to depreciate that of others, the very subjects that now make
your diversion, would then, far more properly, move your resentment."
"Ay but, dear madam," cried Lady Honoria, "if that were the case, I
should be quite perfect, and then you and I should never quarrel, and
I don't know what we should do for conversation."
And with these words, hastily shaking hands with her, she took leave.
"Such conversation," said Mrs Delvile when she was gone, "as results
from the mixture of fruitless admonition with incorrigible levity,
would be indeed _more honoured in the breach than the observance_.
But levity is so much the fashionable characteristic of the present age,
that a gay young girl who, like Lady Honoria Pemberton, rules the friends
by whom she ought to be ruled, had little chance of escaping it."
"She seems so open, however, to reproof," said Cecilia, "that I should
hope in a short time she may also be open to conviction."
"No," answered Mrs Delvile, "I have no hope of her at all. I once took
much pains with her; but I soon found that the easiness with which she
hears of her faults, is only another effect of the levity with which
she commits them. But if the young are never tired of erring in
conduct, neither are the older in erring in judgment; the fallibility
of _mine_ I have indeed very lately experienced."
Cecilia, who strongly felt the poignancy of this sarcasm, and whose
constant and unaffected value of Mrs Delvile by no means deserved it,
was again silenced, and again most cruelly depressed: nor could she
secretly forbear repining that at the very moment she found herself
threatened with a necessity of foregoing the society of her new
favourite, Miss Belfield, the woman in the whole world whom she most
wished to have for her friend, from an unhappy mistake was ready to
relinquish her. Grieved to be thus fallen in her esteem, and shocked
that she could offer no justification, after a short and thoughtful
pause, she gravely arose to take leave.
Mrs Delvile then told her that if she had any business to transact
with Mr Delvile, she advised her to acquaint him with it soon, as the
whole family left town in a few days.
This was a new and severe blow to Cecilia, who sorrowfully repeated
"In a few days, madam?"
"Yes," answered Mrs Delvile, "I hope you intend to be much concerned?"
"Ah madam!" cried Cecilia, who could no longer preserve her quietness,
"if you knew but half the respect I bear you, but half the sincerity
with which I value and revere you, all protestations would be useless,
for all accusations would be over!"
Mrs Delvile, at once surprised and softened by the warmth of this
declaration, instantly took her hand, and said "They shall now, and
for ever be over, if it pains you to hear them. I concluded that what
I said would be a matter of indifference to you, or all my displeasure
would immediately have been satisfied, when once I had intimated that
your absence had excited it."
"That I have excited it at all," answered Cecilia, "gives me indeed
the severest uneasiness; but believe me, madam, however unfortunately
appearances maybe against me, I have always had the highest sense of
the kindness with which you have honoured me, and never has there been
the smallest abatement in the veneration, gratitude, and affection I
have inviolably borne you."
"You see, then," said Mrs Delvile with a smile, that where reproof
takes any effect, it is not received: with that easiness you were just
now admiring: on the contrary, where a concession is made without
pain, it is also made without meaning, for it is not in human nature
to project any amendment without a secret repugnance. That here,
however, you should differ from Lady Honoria Pemberton, who can
wonder, when you are superior to all comparison with her in every
thing?"
"Will you then," said Cecilia, "accept my apology, and forgive me?"
"I will do more," said Mrs Delvile laughing, "I will forgive you
_without_ an apology; for the truth is I have heard none! But
come," continued she, perceiving Cecilia much abashed by this
comment, "I will enquire no more about the matter; I am glad to
receive my young friend again, and even half ashamed, deserving as she
is, to say _how_ glad!"
She then embraced her affectionately, and owned she had been more
mortified by her fancied desertion than she had been willing to own
even to herself, repeatedly assuring her that for many years she had
not made any acquaintance she so much wished to cultivate, nor enjoyed
any society from which she had derived so much pleasure.
Cecilia, whose eyes glistened with modest joy, while her heart beat
quick with revived expectation, in listening to an effusion of praise
so infinitely grateful to her, found little difficulty in returning
her friendly professions, and, in a few minutes, was not merely
reconciled, but more firmly united with her than ever.
Mrs Delvile insisted upon keeping her to dinner, and Cecilia, but too
happy in her earnestness, readily agreed to send Mrs Harrel an excuse.
Neither of the Mr Delviles spent the day at home, and nothing,
therefore, disturbed or interrupted those glowing and delightful
sensations which spring from a cordial renewal of friendship and
kindness. The report, indeed, of Lady Honoria Pemberton gave her some
uneasiness, yet the flighty character of that lady, and Mrs Delvile's
reply to it, soon made her drive it from her mind.
She returned home early in the evening, as other company was expected,
and she had not changed her dress since the morning; but she first
made a promise to see Mrs Delvile some part of every day during the
short time that she meant to remain in town.
CHAPTER vi.
A SURMISE.
The next morning opened with another scene; Mrs Harrel ran into
Cecilia's room before breakfast, and acquainted her that Mr Harrel had
not been at home all night.
The consternation with which she heard this account she instantly
endeavoured to dissipate, in order to soften the apprehension with
which it was communicated: Mrs Harrel, however, was extremely uneasy,
and sent all the town over to make enquiries, but without receiving
any intelligence.
Cecilia, unwilling to leave her in a state of such alarm, wrote an
excuse to Mrs Delvile, that she might continue with her till some
information was procured. A subject also of such immediate concern,
was sufficient apology for avoiding any particular conversation with
Miss Belfield, who called, as usual, about noon, and whose susceptible
heart was much affected by the evident disturbance in which she found
Cecilia.
The whole day passed, and no news arrived: but, greatly to her
astonishment, Mrs Harrel in the evening prepared for going to an
assembly! yet declaring at the, same time it was extremely
disagreeable to her, only she was afraid, if she stayed away, every
body would suppose something was the matter.
Who then at last, thought Cecilia, are half so much the slaves of the
world as the gay and the dissipated? Those who work for hire, have at
least their hours of rest, those who labour for subsistence are at
liberty when subsistence is procured; but those who toil to please the
vain and the idle, undertake a task which can never be finished,
however scrupulously all private peace, and all internal comfort, may
be sacrificed in reality to the folly of saving appearances!
Losing, however, the motive for which she had given up her own
engagement, she now sent for her chair, in order to spend an hour or
two with Mrs Delvile. The servants, as they conducted her up stairs,
said they would call their lady; and in entering the drawing-room she
saw, reading and alone, young Delvile.
He seemed much surprised, but received her with the utmost respect,
apologizing for the absence of his mother, whom he said had understood
she was not to see her till the next day, and had left him to write
letters now, that she might then be at liberty.
Cecilia in return made excuses for her seeming inconsistency; after
which, for some time, all conversation dropt.
The silence was at length broken by young Delvile's saying "Mr
Belfield's merit has not been thrown away upon Lord Vannelt; he has
heard an excellent character of him from all his former acquaintance,
and is now fitting up an apartment for him in his own house till his
son begins his tour."
Cecilia said she was very happy in hearing such intelligence; and then
again they were both silent.
"You have seen," said young Delvile, after this second pause, "Mr
Belfield's sister?"
Cecilia, not without changing colour, answered "Yes, Sir."
"She is very amiable," he continued, "too amiable, indeed, for her
situation, since her relations, her brother alone excepted, are all
utterly unworthy of her."
He stopt; but Cecilia made no answer, and he presently added "Perhaps
you do not think her amiable?--you may have seen more of her, and
know something to her disadvantage?"
"O no!" cried Cecilia, with a forced alacrity, "but only I was
thinking that--did you say you knew all her relations?"
"No," he answered, "but when I have been with Mr Belfield, some of
them have called upon him."
Again they were both silent; and then Cecilia, ashamed of her apparent
backwardness to give praise, compelled herself to say, "Miss Belfield
is indeed a very sweet girl, and I wish--" she stopt, not well knowing
herself what she meant to add.
"I have been greatly pleased," said he, after waiting some time to
hear if she would finish her speech, "by being informed of your
goodness to her, and I think she seems equally to require and to
deserve it. I doubt not you will extend it to her when she is deprived
of her brother, for then will be the time that by doing her most
service, it will reflect on yourself most honour."
Cecilia, confounded by this recommendation, faintly answered
"Certainly,--whatever is in my power,--I shall be very glad--"
And just then Mrs Delvile made her appearance, and during the mutual
apologies that followed, her son left the room. Cecilia, glad of any
pretence to leave it also, insisted upon giving no interruption to Mrs
Delvile's letter writing, and having promised to spend all the next
day with her, hurried back to her chair.
The reflections that followed her thither were by no means the most
soothing: she began now to apprehend that the pity she had bestowed
upon Miss Belfield, Miss Belfield in a short time might bestow upon
her: at any other time, his recommendation would merely have served to
confirm her opinion of his benevolence, but in her present state of
anxiety and uncertainty, every thing gave birth to conjecture, and had
power to alarm her. He had behaved to her of late with the strangest
coldness and distance,--his praise of Henrietta had been ready and
animated,--Henrietta she knew adored him, and she knew not with what
reason,--but an involuntary suspicion arose in her mind, that the
partiality she had herself once excited, was now transferred to that
little dreaded, but not less dangerous rival.
Yet, if such was the case, what was to become either of the pride or
the interest of his family? Would his relations ever pardon an
alliance stimulated neither by rank nor riches? would Mr Delvile, who
hardly ever spoke but to the high-born, without seeming to think his
dignity somewhat injured, deign to receive for a daughter-in-law the
child of a citizen and tradesman? would Mrs Delvile herself, little
less elevated in her notions, though infinitely softer in her manners,
ever condescend to acknowledge her? Cecilia's own birth and
connections, superior as they were to those of Miss Belfield, were
even openly disdained by Mr Delvile, and all her expectations of being
received into his family were founded upon the largeness of her
fortune, in favour of which the brevity of her genealogy might perhaps
pass unnoticed. But what was the chance of Miss Belfield, who neither
had ancestors to boast, nor wealth to allure?
This thought, however, awakened all the generosity of her soul; "If,"
cried she, "the advantages I possess are merely those of riches, how
little should I be flattered by any appearance of preference! and how
ill can I judge with what sincerity it may be offered! happier in that
case is the lowly Henrietta, who to poverty may attribute neglect, but
who can only be sought and caressed from motives of purest regard. She
loves Mr Delvile, loves him with the most artless affection;--perhaps,
too, he loves her in return,--why else his solicitude to know my
opinion of her, and why so sudden his alarm when he thought it
unfavourable? Perhaps he means to marry her, and to sacrifice to her
innocence and her attractions all plans of ambition, and all views of
aggrandizement:--thrice happy Henrietta, if such is thy prospect of
felicity! to have inspired a passion so disinterested, may humble the
most insolent of thy superiors, and teach even the wealthiest to envy
thee!"
CHAPTER vii.
A BOLD STROKE.
When Cecilia returned home, she heard with much concern that no
tidings of Mr Harrel had yet been obtained. His lady, who did not stay
out late, was now very seriously frightened, and entreated Cecilia to
sit up with her till some news could be procured: she sent also for
her brother, and they all three, in trembling expectation of what was
to ensue, passed the whole night in watching.
At six o'clock in the morning, Mr Arnott besought his sister and
Cecilia to take some rest, promising to go out himself to every place
where Mr Harrel was known to resort, and not to return without
bringing some account of him.
Mrs Harrel, whose feelings were not very acute, finding the
persuasions of her brother were seconded by her own fatigue, consented
to follow his advice, and desired him to begin his search immediately.
A few moments after he was gone, while Mrs Harrel and Cecilia were
upon the stairs, they were startled by a violent knocking at the door:
Cecilia, prepared for some calamity, hurried her friend back to the
drawing-room, and then flying out of it again to enquire who entered,
saw to her equal surprize and relief, Mr Harrel himself.
She ran back with the welcome information, and he instantly followed
her: Mrs Harrel eagerly told him of her fright, and Cecilia expressed
her pleasure at his return: but the satisfaction of neither was of
long duration.
He came into the room with a look of fierceness the most terrifying,
his hat on, and his arms folded. He made no answer to what they said,
but pushed back the door with his foot, and flung himself upon a sofa.
Cecilia would now have withdrawn, but Mrs Harrel caught her hand to
prevent her. They continued some minutes in this situation, and then
Mr Harrel, suddenly rising, called-out "Have you any thing to pack
up?"
"Pack up?" repeated Mrs Harrel, "Lord bless me, for what?"
"I am going abroad," he answered; "I shall set off to-morrow."
"Abroad?" cried she, bursting into tears, "I am sure I hope not!"
"Hope nothing!" returned he, in a voice of rage; and then, with a
dreadful oath, he ordered her to leave him and pack up.
Mrs Harrel, wholly unused to such treatment, was frightened into
violent hysterics; of which, however, he took no notice, but swearing
at her for _a fool who had been the cause of his ruin_, he left
the room.
Cecilia, though she instantly rang the bell, and hastened to her
assistance, was so much shocked by this unexpected brutality, that she
scarcely knew how to act, or what to order. Mrs Harrel, however, soon
recovered, and Cecilia accompanied her to her own apartment, where she
stayed, and endeavoured to sooth her till Mr Arnott returned.
The terrible state in which Mr Harrel had at last come home was
immediately communicated to him, and his sister entreated him to use
all his influence that the scheme for going abroad might be deferred,
at least, if not wholly given up.
Fearfully he went on the embassy, but speedily, and with a look wholly
dismayed, he returned. Mr Harrel, he said, told him that he had
contracted a larger debt of honour than he had any means to raise, and
as he could not appear till it was paid, he was obliged to quit the
kingdom without delay.
"Oh brother!" cried Mrs Harrel, "and can you suffer us to go?"
"Alas, my dear sister," answered he, "what can I do to prevent it? and
who, if I too am ruined, will in future help you?"
Mrs Harrel then wept bitterly, nor could the gentle Mr Arnott,
forbear, while he tried to comfort her, mixing his own tears with
those of his beloved sister; but Cecilia, whose reason was stronger,
and whose justice was offended, felt other sensations: and leaving Mrs
Harrel to the care of her brother, whose tenderness she infinitely
compassionated, she retreated into her own room. Not, however, to
rest; the dreadful situation of the family made her forget she wanted
it, but to deliberate upon what course she ought herself to pursue.
She determined without any hesitation against accompanying them in
their flight, as the irreparable injury she was convinced she had
already done her fortune, was more than sufficient to satisfy the most
romantic ideas of friendship and humanity: but her own place of abode
must now immediately be changed, and her choice rested only between Mr
Delvile and Mr Briggs.
Important as were the obstacles which opposed her residence at Mr
Delvile's, all that belonged to inclination and to happiness
encouraged it: while with respect to Mr Briggs, though the objections
were lighter, there was not a single allurement. Yet whenever the
suspicion recurred to her that Miss Belfield was beloved by young
Delvile, she resolved at all events to avoid him; but when better
hopes intervened, and represented that his enquiries were probably
accidental, the wish of being finally acquainted with his sentiments,
made nothing so desirable as an intercourse more frequent.
Such still was her irresolution, when she received a message from Mr
Arnott to entreat the honour of seeing her. She immediately went down
stairs, and found him in the utmost distress, "O Miss Beverley," he
cried, "what can I do for my sister! what can I possibly devise to
relieve her affliction!"
"Indeed I know not!" said Cecilia, "but the utter impracticability of
preparing her for this blow, obviously as it has long been impending,
makes it now fall so heavily I wish much to assist her,--but a debt so
unjustifiably contracted--"
"O madam," interrupted he, "imagine not I sent to you with so
treacherous a view as to involve you in our misery; far too unworthily
has your generosity already been abused. I only wish to consult with
you what I can do for my sister."
Cecilia, after some little consideration, proposed that Mrs Harrel
should still be left in England, and under their joint care.
"Alas!" cried he, "I have already made that proposal, but Mr Harrel
will not go without her, though his whole behaviour is so totally
altered, that I fear to trust her with him."
"Who is there, then, that has more weight with him?" said Cecilia,
"shall we send for Sir Robert Floyer to second our request?"
To this Mr Arnott assented, forgetting in his apprehension of losing
his sister, the pain he should suffer from the interference of his
rival.
The Baronet presently arrived, and Cecilia, not chusing to apply to
him herself, left him with Mr Arnott, and waited for intelligence in
the library.
In about an hour after, Mrs Harrel ran into the room, her tears dried
up, and out of breath with joy, and called out "My dearest friend, my
fate is now all in your hands, and I am sure you will not refuse to
make me happy."
"What is it I can do for you?" cried Cecilia, dreading some
impracticable proposal; "ask me not, I beseech you, what I cannot
perform!"
"No, no," answered she, "What I ask requires nothing but good nature;
Sir Robert Floyer has been begging Mr Harrel to leave me behind, and
he has promised to comply, upon condition you will hasten your
marriage, and take me into your own house."
"My marriage!" cried the astonished Cecilia.
Here they were joined by Mr Harrel himself, who repeated the same
offer.
"You both amaze and shock me!" cried Cecilia, "what is it you mean,
and why do you talk to me so wildly?"
"Miss Beverley," cried Mr Harrel, "it is high time now to give up this
reserve, and trifle no longer with a gentleman so unexceptionable as
Sir Robert Floyer. The whole town has long acknowledged him as your
husband, and you are every where regarded as his bride, a little
frankness, therefore, in accepting him, will not only bind him to you
for ever, but do credit to the generosity of your character."
At that moment Sir Robert himself burst into the room, and seizing one
of her hands, while both of them were uplifted in mute amazement, he
pressed it to his lips, poured forth a volley of such compliments as
he had never before prevailed with himself to utter, and confidently
entreated her to complete his long-attended happiness without the
cruelty of further delay.
Cecilia, almost petrified by the excess of her surprise, at an attack
so violent, so bold, and apparently so sanguine, was for some time
scarce able to speak or to defend herself; but when Sir Robert,
presuming on her silence, said she had made him the happiest of men,
she indignantly drew back her hand, and with a look of displeasure
that required little explanation, would have walked out of the room:
when Mr Harrel, in a tone of bitterness and disappointment, called out
"Is this lady-like tyranny then never to end?" And Sir Robert,
impatiently following her, said "And is my suspense to endure for
ever? After so many months' attendance--"
"This, indeed, is something too much," said Cecilia, turning back,
"You have been kept, Sir, in no suspense; the whole tenor of my
conduct has uniformly declared the same disapprobation I at present
avow, and which my letter, at least, must have put beyond all doubt."
"Harrel," exclaimed Sir Robert, "did not you tell me--"
"Pho, Pho," cried Harrel, "what signifies calling upon me? I never saw
in Miss Beverley any disapprobation beyond what it is customary for
young ladies of a sentimental turn to shew; and every body knows that
where a gentleman is allowed to pay his devoirs for any length of
time, no lady intends to use him very severely."
"And can you, Mr Harrel," said Cecilia, "after such conversations as
have passed between us, persevere in this wilful misapprehension? But
it is vain to debate where all reasoning is disregarded, or to make
any protestations where even rejection is received as a favour."
And then, with an air of disdain, she insisted upon passing them, and
went to her own room.
Mrs Harrel, however, still followed, and clinging round her, still
supplicated her pity and compliance.
"What infatuation is this!" cried Cecilia, "is it possible that you,
too, can suppose I ever mean to accept Sir Robert?"
"To be sure I do," answered she, "for Mr Harrel has told me a thousand
times, that however you played the prude, you would be his at last."
Cecilia, though doubly irritated against Mr Harrel, was now appeased
with his lady, whose mistake, however ill-founded, offered an excuse
for her behaviour: but she assured her in the strongest terms that her
repugnance to the Baronet was unalterable, yet told her she might
claim from her every good office that was not wholly unreasonable.
These were words of slender comfort to Mrs Harrel, who well knew that
her wishes and reason had but little affinity, and she soon,
therefore, left the room.
Cecilia then resolved to go instantly to Mrs Delvile, acquaint her
with the necessity of her removal, and make her decision whither,
according to the manner in which her intelligence should be received.
She sent, therefore, to order a chair, and was already in the hall,
when she was stopt by the entrance of Mr Monckton, who, addressing her
with a look of haste and earnestness, said, "I will not ask whither
you are going so early, or upon what errand, for I must beg a moment's
audience, be your business what it may."
Cecilia then accompanied him to the deserted breakfast room, which
none but the servants had this morning entered, and there, grasping
her hand, he said, "Miss Beverley, you must fly this house directly!
it is the region of disorder and licentiousness, and unfit to contain
you."
She assured him she was that moment preparing to quit it, but begged
he would explain himself.
"I have taken care," he answered, "for some time past, to be well
informed of all the proceedings of Mr Harrel; and the intelligence I
procured this morning is of the most alarming nature. I find he spent
the night before the last entirely at a gaming table, where,
intoxicated by a run of good luck, he passed the whole of the next day
in rioting with his profligate intimates, and last night, returning
again to his favourite amusement, he not only lost all he had gained,
but much more than he could pay. Doubt not, therefore, but you will be
called upon to assist him: he still considers you as his resource in
times of danger, and while he knows you are under his roof, he will
always believe himself secure."
"Every thing indeed conspires," said Cecilia, more shocked than
surprised at this account, "to make it necessary I should quit his
house: yet I do not think he has at present any further expectations
from me, as he came into the room this morning not merely without
speaking to me, but behaved with a brutality to Mrs Harrel that he
must be certain would give me disgust. It shewed me, indeed, a new
part of his character, for ill as I have long thought of him, I did
not suspect he could be guilty of such unmanly cruelty."
"The character of a gamester," said Mr Monckton, "depends solely upon
his luck; his disposition varies with every throw of the dice, and he
is airy, gay and good humoured, or sour, morose and savage, neither
from nature nor from principle, but wholly by the caprice of chance."
Cecilia then related to him the scene in which she had just been
engaged with Sir Robert Floyer.
"This," cried he, "is a _manoeuvre_ I have been some time
expecting: but Mr Harrel, though artful and selfish, is by no means
deep. The plan he had formed would have succeeded with some women, and
he therefore concluded it would with all. So many of your sex have
been subdued by perseverance, and so many have been conquered by
boldness, that he supposed when he united two such powerful besiegers
in the person of a Baronet, he should vanquish all obstacles. By
assuring you that the world thought the marriage already settled, he
hoped to surprise you into believing there was no help for it, and by
the suddenness and vehemence of the attack, to frighten and hurry you
into compliance. His own wife, he knew, might have been managed thus
with ease, and so, probably, might his sister, and his mother, and his
cousin, for in love matters, or what are so called, women in general
are, readily duped. He discerned not the superiority of your
understanding to tricks so shallow and impertinent, nor the firmness
of your mind in maintaining its own independence. No doubt but he was
amply to have been rewarded for his assistance, and probably had you
this morning been propitious, the Baronet in return was to have
cleared him from his present difficulty."
"Even in my own mind," said Cecilia, "I can no longer defend him, for
he could never have been so eager to promote the interest of Sir
Robert, in the present terrible situation of his own affairs, had he
not been stimulated by some secret motives. His schemes and his
artifices, however, will now be utterly lost upon me, since your
warning and advice, aided by my own suffering experience of the
inutility of all I can do for him, will effectually guard me from all
his future attempts."
"Rest no security upon yourself," said Mr Monckton, "since you have no
knowledge of the many tricks and inventions by which you may yet be
plundered. Perhaps he may beg permission to reside in your house in
Suffolk, or desire an annuity for his wife, or chuse to receive your
first rents when you come of age; and whatever he may fix upon, his
dagger and his bowl will not fail to procure him. A heart so liberal
as yours can only be guarded by flight. You were going, you said, when
I came,--and whither?"
"To--to St James's-square," answered she, with a deep blush.
"Indeed!--is young Delvile, then, going abroad?"
"Abroad?--no,--I believe not."
"Nay, I only imagined it from your chusing to reside in his house."
"I do not chuse it," cried Cecilia, with quickness, "but is not any
thing preferable to dwelling with Mr Briggs?"
"Certainly," said Mr Monckton coolly, "nor should I have supposed he
had any chance with you, had I not hitherto observed that your
convenience has always been sacrificed to your sense of propriety."
Cecilia, touched by praise so full of censure, and earnest to
vindicate her delicacy, after an internal struggle, which Mr Monckton
was too subtle to interrupt, protested she would go instantly to Mr
Briggs, and see if it were possible to be settled in his house, before
she made any attempt to fix herself elsewhere.
"And when?" said Mr Monckton.
"I don't know," answered she, with some hesitation, "perhaps this
afternoon."
"Why not this morning?"
"I can go out no where this morning; I must stay with Mrs Harrel."
"You thought otherwise when I came, you were then content to leave
her."
Cecilia's alacrity, however, for changing her abode, was now at an
end, and she would fain have been left quietly to re-consider her
plans: but Mr Monckton urged so strongly the danger of her lengthened
stay in the house of so designing a man as Mr Harrel, that he
prevailed with her to quit it without delay, and had himself the
satisfaction of handing her to her chair.
CHAPTER viii.
A MISER'S MANSION.
Mr Briggs was at home, and Cecilia instantly and briefly informed him
that it was inconvenient for her to live any longer at Mr Harrel's,
and that if she could be accommodated at his house, she should be glad
to reside with him during the rest of her minority.
"Shall, shall," cried he, extremely pleased, "take you with all my
heart. Warrant Master Harrel's made a good penny of you. Not a bit the
better for dressing so fine; many a rogue in a gold lace hat."
Cecilia begged to know what apartments he could spare for her.
"Take you up stairs," cried he, "shew you a place for a queen."
He then led her up stairs, and took her to a room entirely dark, and
so close for want of air that she could hardly breathe in it. She
retreated to the landing-place till he had opened the shutters, and
then saw an apartment the most forlorn she had ever beheld, containing
no other furniture than a ragged stuff bed, two worn-out rush-bottomed
chairs, an old wooden box, and a bit of broken glass which was
fastened to the wall by two bent nails.
"See here, my little chick," cried he, "everything ready! and a box
for your gimcracks into the bargain."
"You don't mean this place for me, Sir!" cried Cecilia, staring.
"Do, do;" cried he, "a deal nicer by and by. Only wants a little
furbishing: soon put to rights. Never sweep a room out of use; only
wears out brooms for nothing."
"But, Sir, can I not have an apartment on the first floor?"
"No, no, something else to do with it; belongs to the club; secrets in
all things! Make this do well enough. Come again next week; wear quite
a new face. Nothing wanting but a table; pick you up one at a
broker's."
"But I am obliged, Sir, to leave Mr Harrel's house directly."
"Well, well, make shift without a table at first; no great matter if
you ha'n't one at all, nothing particular to do with it. Want another
blanket, though. Know where to get one; a very good broker hard by.
Understand how to deal with him! A close dog, but warm."
"I have also two servants, Sir," said Cecilia.
"Won't have 'em! Sha'n't come! Eat me out of house and home."
"Whatever they eat, Sir," answered she, "will be wholly at my expence,
as will everything else that belongs to them."
"Better get rid of them: hate servants; all a pack of rogues: think of
nothing but stuffing and guzzling."
Then opening another door, "See here," he cried, "my own room just by;
snug as a church!"
Cecilia, following him into it, lost a great part of her surprise at
the praise he had lavished upon that which he destined for herself, by
perceiving that his own was yet more scantily furnished, having
nothing in it but a miserable bed without any curtains, and a large
chest, which, while it contained his clothes, sufficed both for table
and chair.
"What are doing here?" cried he angrily, to a maid who was making the
bed, "can't you take more care? beat 'out all the feathers, see! two
on the ground; nothing but waste and extravagance! never mind how soon
a man's ruined. Come to want, you slut, see that, come to want!"
"I can never want more than I do here," said the girl, "so that's one
comfort."
Cecilia now began to repent she had made known the purport of her
visit, for she found it would be utterly impossible to accommodate
either her mind or her person to a residence such as was here to be
obtained and she only wished Mr Monckton had been present, that he
might himself be convinced of the impracticability of his scheme. Her
whole business, therefore, now, was to retract her offer, and escape
from the house.
"I see, Sir," said she, when he turned from his servant, "that I
cannot be received here without inconvenience, and therefore I will
make some new arrangement in my plan."
"No, no," cried he, "like to have you, 'tis but fair, all in our turn;
won't be chorused; Master Harrel's had his share. Sorry could not get
you that sweetheart! would not bite; soon find out another; never
fret."
"But there are so many things with which I cannot possibly dispense,"
said Cecilia, "that I am certain my removing hither would occasion you
far more trouble than you at present foresee."
"No, no; get all in order soon: go about myself; know how to bid;
understand trap; always go shabby; no making a bargain in a good coat.
Look sharp at the goods; say they won't do; come away; send somebody
else for 'em. Never go twice myself; nothing got cheap if one seems to
have a hankering."
"But I am sure it is not possible," said Cecilia, hurrying down
stairs, "that my room, and one for each of my servants, should be
ready in time."
"Yes, yes," cried he, following her, "ready in a trice. Make a little
shift at first; double the blanket till we get another; lie with the
maid a night or two; never stand for a trifle."
And, when she was seated in her chair, the whole time disclaiming her
intention of returning, he only pinched her cheek with a facetious
smirk, and said, "By, by, little duck; come again soon. Warrant I'll
have the room ready. Sha'n't half know it again; make it as smart as a
carrot."
And then she left the house; fully satisfied that no one could blame
her refusing to inhabit it, and much less chagrined than she was
willing to suppose herself, in finding she had now no resource but in
the Delviles.
Yet, in her serious reflections, she could not but think herself
strangely unfortunate that the guardian with whom alone it seemed
proper for her to reside, should by parsimony, vulgarity, and
meanness, render riches contemptible, prosperity unavailing, and
economy odious: and that the choice of her uncle should thus unhappily
have fallen upon the lowest and most wretched of misers, in a city
abounding with opulence, hospitality, and splendour, and of which the
principal inhabitants, long eminent for their wealth and their
probity, were now almost universally rising in elegance and
liberality.
CHAPTER ix.
A DECLARATION.
Cecilia's next progress, therefore, was to St James's-square, whither
she went in the utmost anxiety, from her uncertainty of the reception
with which her proposal would meet.
The servants informed her that Mr and Mrs Delvile were at breakfast,
and that the Duke of Derwent and his two daughters were with them.
Before such witnesses to relate the reasons of her leaving the
Harmless was impossible; and from such a party to send for Mrs
Delvile, would, by her stately guardian, be deemed an indecorum
unpardonable. She was obliged, therefore, to return to Portman-square,
in order to open her cause in a letter to Mrs Delvile.
Mr Arnott, flying instantly to meet her, called out O madam, what
alarm has your absence occasioned! My sister believed she should see
you no more, Mr Harrel feared a premature discovery of his purposed
retreat, and we have all been under the cruellest apprehensions lest
you meant not to come back."
"I am sorry I spoke not with you before I went out," said Cecilia,
accompanying him to the library, "but I thought you were all too much
occupied to miss me. I have been, indeed, preparing for a removal, but
I meant not to leave your sister without bidding her adieu, nor,
indeed, to quit any part of the family with so little ceremony. Is Mr
Harrel still firm to his last plan?"
"I fear so! I have tried what is possible to dissuade him, and my poor
sister has wept without ceasing. Indeed, if she will take no
consolation, I believe I shall do what she pleases, for I cannot bear
the sight of her in such distress."
"You are too generous, and too good!" said Cecilia, "and I know not
how, while flying from danger myself, to forbear counselling you to
avoid it also."
"Ah madam!" cried he, "the greatest danger for _me_ is what I
have now no power to run from!"
Cecilia, though she could not but understand him, felt not the less
his friend for knowing him the humblest of her admirers; and as she
saw the threatening ruin to which his too great tenderness exposed
him, she kindly said "Mr Arnott, I will speak, to you without reserve.
It is not difficult to see that the destruction which awaits Mr
Harrel, is ready also to ensnare his brother-in-law: but let not that
blindness to the future which we have so often lamented for him,
hereafter be lamented for yourself. Till his present connections are
broken, and his way of living is changed, nothing can be done for him,
and whatever you were to advance, would merely be sunk at the gaming
table. Reserve, therefore, your liberality till it may indeed be of
service to him, for believe me, at present, his mind is as much
injured as his fortune."
"And is it possible, madam," said Mr Arnott, in an accent of surprize
and delight, "that you can deign to be interested in what may become
of me! and that my sharing or escaping the ruin of this house is not
wholly indifferent to you?"
"Certainly not," answered Cecilia; "as the brother of my earliest
friend, I can never be insensible to your welfare."
"Ah madam!" cried he, "as her brother!--Oh that there were any other
tie!--"
"Think a little," said Cecilia, preparing to quit the room, "of what I
have mentioned, and, for your sister's sake, be firm now, if you would
be kind hereafter."
"I will be any and every thing," cried he, "that Miss Beverley will
command."
Cecilia, fearful of any misinterpretation, then came back, and gravely
said, "No, Sir, be ruled only by your own judgment: or, should my
advice have any weight with you, remember it is given from the most
disinterested motives, and with no other view than that of securing
your power to be of service to your sister."
"For that sister's sake, then, have the goodness to hear my situation,
and honour me with further directions."
"You will make me fear to speak," said Cecilia, "if you give so much
consequence to my opinion. I have seen, however, nothing in your
conduct I have ever wished changed, except too little attention to
your own interest and affairs."
"Ah!" cried he, "with what rapture should I hear those words, could I
but imagine--"
"Come, come," said Cecilia, smiling, "no digression! You called me
back to talk of your sister; if you change your subject, perhaps you
may lose your auditor."
"I would not, madam, for the world encroach upon your goodness; the
favour I have found has indeed always exceeded my expectations, as it
has always surpassed my desert: yet has it never blinded me to my own
unworthiness. Do not, then, fear to indulge me with your conversation;
I shall draw from it no inference but of pity, and though pity from
Miss Beverley is the sweetest balm to my heart, it shall never seduce
me to the encouragement of higher hopes."
Cecilia had long had reason to expect such a declaration, yet she
heard it with unaffected concern, and looking at him with the utmost
gentleness, said "Mr Arnott, your regard does me honour, and, were it
somewhat more rational, would give me pleasure; take, then, from it
what is more than I wish or merit, and, while you preserve the rest,
be assured it will be faithfully returned."
"Your rejection is so mild," cried he, "that I, who had no hope of
acceptance, find relief in having at last told my sufferings. Could I
but continue to see you every day, and to be blest with your
conversation, I think I should be happy, and I am sure I should be
grateful."
"You are already," answered she, shaking her head, and moving towards
the door, "infringing the conditions upon which our friendship is to
be founded."
"Do not go, madam," he cried, "till I have done what you have just
promised to permit, acquainted you with my situation, and been
honoured with your advice. I must own to you, then, that L5000, which
I had in the stocks, as well as a considerable sum in a banker's
hands, I have parted with, as I now find for ever but I have no heart
for refusal, nor would my sister at this moment be thus distressed,
but that I have nothing more to give without I cut down my trees, or
sell some farm, since all I was worth, except my landed property, is
already gone. What, therefore, I can now do to save Mr Harrel from
this desperate expedition I know not."
"I am sorry," said Cecilia, "to speak with severity of one so nearly
connected with you, yet, suffer me to ask, why should he be saved from
it at all? and what is there he can at present do better? Has not he
long been threatened with every evil that is now arrived? have we not
both warned him, and have not the clamours of his creditors assailed
him? yet what has been the consequence? he has not submitted to the
smallest change in his way of life, he has not denied himself a single
indulgence, nor spared any expence, nor thought of any reformation.
Luxury has followed luxury, and he has only grown fonder of
extravagance, as extravagance has become more dangerous. Till the
present storm, therefore, blows over, leave him to his fate, and when
a calm succeeds, I will myself, for the sake of Priscilla, aid you to
save what is possible of the wreck."
"All you say, madam, is as wise as it is good, and now I am acquainted
with your opinion, I will wholly new model myself upon it, and grow as
steady against all attacks as hitherto I have been yielding."
Cecilia was then retiring; but again detaining her, he Said "You
spoke, madam, of a removal, and indeed it is high time you should quit
this scene: yet I hope you intend not to go till to-morrow, as Mr
Harrel has declared your leaving him sooner will be his destruction."
"Heaven forbid," said Cecilia, "for I mean to be gone with all the
speed in my power."
"Mr Harrel," answered he, "did not explain himself; but I believe he
apprehends your deserting his house at this critical time, will raise
a suspicion of his own design of going abroad, and make his creditors
interfere to prevent him."
"To what a wretched state," cried Cecilia, "has he reduced himself! I
will not, however, be the voluntary instrument of his disgrace; and if
you think my stay is so material to his security, I will continue here
till to-morrow morning."
Mr Arnott almost wept his thanks for this concession, and Cecilia,
happy in making it to him instead of Mr Harrel, then went to her own
room, and wrote the following letter to Mrs Delvile.
_To the Hon. Mrs Delvile, St James's-square_.
PORTMAN SQUARE, _June_ 12.
DEAR MADAM,--I am willing to hope you have been rather surprised that
I have not sooner availed myself of the permission with which you
yesterday honoured me of spending this whole day with you, but,
unfortunately for myself, I am prevented waiting upon you even for any
part of it. Do not, however, think me now ungrateful if I stay away,
nor to-morrow impertinent, if I venture to enquire whether that
apartment which you had once the goodness to appropriate to my use,
may then again be spared for me! The accidents which have prompted
this strange request will, I trust, be sufficient apology for the
liberty I take in making it, when I have the honour to see you, and
acquaint you what they are.--I am, with the utmost respect, Dear
Madam, your most obedient humble servant,
CECILIA BEVERLEY.
She would not have been thus concise, had not the caution of Mr Arnott
made her fear, in the present perilous situation of affairs, to trust
the secret of Mr Harrel to paper.
The following answer was returned her from Mrs Delvile:--
_To Miss Beverley, Portman-square_.
The accidents you mention are not, I hope, of a very serious nature,
since I shall find difficulty insurmountable in trying to lament them,
if they are productive of a lengthened visit from my dear Miss
Beverley to her Faithful humble servant,
AUGUSTA DELVILE.
Cecilia, charmed with this note, could now no longer forbear looking
forward to brighter prospects, flattering herself that once under the
roof of Mrs Delvile, she must necessarily be happy, let the
engagements or behaviour of her son be what they might.
CHAPTER x.
A GAMESTER'S CONSCIENCE.
From this soothing prospect, Cecilia was presently disturbed by Mrs
Harrel's maid, who came to entreat she would hasten to her lady, whom
she feared was going into fits.
Cecilia flew to her immediately, and found her in the most violent
affliction. She used every kind effort in her power to quiet and
console her, but it was not without the utmost difficulty she could
sob out the cause of this fresh sorrow, which indeed was not trifling.
Mr Harrel, she said, had told her he could not possibly raise money
even for his travelling expences, without risking a discovery of his
project, and being seized by his creditors: he had therefore charged
her, _through her brother or her friend_, to procure for him
L3000, as less would not suffice to maintain them while abroad, and he
knew no method by which he could have any remittances without danger.
And, when she hesitated in her compliance, he furiously accused her of
having brought on all this distress by her negligence and want of
management, and declared that if she did not get the money, she would
only be served as she merited by starving in a foreign gaol, which he
swore would be the fate of them both.
The horror and indignation with which Cecilia heard this account were
unspeakable. She saw evidently that she was again to be played upon by
terror and distress, and the cautions and opinions of Mr Monckton no
longer appeared overstrained; _one year's income_ was already
demanded, the annuity and the country house might next be required:
she rejoiced, however, that thus wisely forewarned, she was not liable
to surprise, and she determined, be their entreaties or
representations what they might, to be immovably steady in her purpose
of leaving them the next morning.
Yet she could not but grieve at suffering the whole burthen of this
clamorous imposition to fall upon the soft-hearted Mr Arnott, whose
inability to resist solicitation made him so unequal to sustaining its
weight: but when Mrs Harrel was again able to go on with her account,
she heard, to her infinite surprise, that all application to her
brother had proved fruitless. "He will not hear me," continued Mrs
Harrel, "and he never was deaf to me before! so now I have lost my
only and last resource, my brother himself gives me up, and there is
no one else upon earth who will assist me!"
"With pleasure, with readiness, with joy," cried Cecilia, "should you
find assistance from me, were it to you alone it were given; but to
supply fuel for the very fire that is consuming you--no, no, my whole
heart is hardened against gaming and gamesters, and neither now nor
ever will I suffer any consideration to soften me in their favour."
Mrs Harrel only answered by tears and lamentations; and Cecilia, whose
justice shut not out compassion, having now declared her purposed
firmness, again attempted to sooth her, entreating her not to give way
to such immoderate grief, since better prospects might arise from the
very gloom now before her, and a short time spent in solitude and
oeconomy, might enable her to return to her native land with recovered
happiness.
"No, I shall never return!" cried she, weeping, "I shall die, I shall
break my heart before I have been banished a month! Oh Miss Beverley,
how happy are you! able to stay where you please,--rich,--rolling in
wealth which you do not want,--of which had we but _one_ year's
income only, all this misery would be over, and we might stay in our
dear, dear, country!"
Cecilia, struck by a hint that so nearly bordered upon reproach, and
offended by seeing the impossibility of ever doing enough, while
anything remained to be done, forbore not without difficulty enquiring
what next was expected from her, and whether any part of her fortune
might be guarded, without giving room for some censure! but the deep
affliction of Mrs Harrel soon removed her resentment, and scarcely
thinking her, while in a state of such wretchedness, answerable for
what she said, after a little recollection, she mildly replied "As
affluence is all comparative, you may at present think I have more
than my share: but the time is only this moment past, when your own
situation seemed as subject to the envy of others as mine may be now.
My future destiny is yet undetermined, and the occasion I may have for
my fortune is unknown to myself; but whether I possess it in peace or
in turbulence, whether it proves to me a blessing or an injury, so
long as I can call it my own, I shall always remember with alacrity
the claim upon that and upon me which early friendship has so justly
given Mrs Harrel. Yet permit me, at the same time, to add, that I do
not hold myself so entirely independent as you may probably suppose
me. I have not, it is true, any Relations to call me to account, but
respect for their memory supplies the place of their authority, and I
cannot, in the distribution of the fortune which has devolved to me,
forbear sometimes considering how they would have wished it should be
spent, and always remembering that what was acquired by industry and
labour, should never be dissipated in idleness and vanity. Forgive me
for thus speaking to the point; you will not find me less friendly to
yourself, for this frankness with respect to your situation."
Tears were again the only answer of Mrs Harrel; yet Cecilia, who
pitied the weakness of her mind, stayed by her with the most patient
kindness till the servants announced dinner. She then declared she
would not go down stairs: but Cecilia so strongly represented the
danger of awakening suspicion in the servants, that she at last
prevailed with her to make her appearance.
Mr Harrel was already in the parlour, and enquiring for Mr Arnott, but
was told by the servants he had sent word he had another engagement.
Sir Robert Floyer also kept away, and, for the first time since her
arrival in town, Cecilia dined with no other company than the master
and mistress of the house.
Mrs Harrel could eat nothing; Cecilia, merely to avoid creating
surprise in the servants, forbore following her example; but Mr Harrel
eat much as usual, talked all dinner-time, was extremely civil to
Cecilia, and discovered not by his manners the least alteration in his
affairs.
When the servants were gone, he desired his wife to step for a moment
with him into the library. They soon returned, and then Mr Harrel,
after walking in a disordered manner about the room, rang the bell,
and ordered his hat and cane, and as he took them, said "If this
fails--" and, stopping short, without speaking to his wife, or even
bowing to Cecilia, he hastily went out of the house.
Mrs Harrel told Cecilia that he had merely called her to know the
event of her two petitions, and had heard her double failure in total
silence. Whither he was now gone it was not easy to conjecture, nor
what was the new resource which he still seemed to think worth trying;
but the manner of his quitting the house, and the threat implied by
_if this fails_, contributed not to lessen the grief of Mrs
Harrel, and gave to Cecilia herself the utmost alarm.
They continued together till tea-time, the servants having been
ordered to admit no company. Mr Harrel himself then returned, and
returned, to the amazement of Cecilia, accompanied by Mr Marriot.
He presented that young man to both the ladies as a gentleman whose
acquaintance and friendship he was very desirous to cultivate. Mrs
Harrel, too much absorbed in her own affairs to care about any other,
saw his entrance with a momentary surprise, and then thought of it no
more: but it was not so with Cecilia, whose better understanding led
her to deeper reflection.
Even the visits of Mr Marriot but a few weeks since Mr Harrel had
prohibited, yet he now introduced him into his house with particular
distinction; he came back too himself in admirable spirits, enlivened
in his countenance, and restored to his good humour. A change so
extraordinary both in conduct and disposition convinced her that some
change no less extra-ordinary of circumstance must previously have
happened: what that might be it was not possible for her to divine,
but the lessons she had received from Mr Monckton led her to
suspicions of the darkest kind.
Every part of his behaviour served still further to confirm them; he
was civil even to excess to Mr Marriot; he gave orders aloud not to be
at home to Sir Robert Floyer; he made his court to Cecilia with
unusual assiduity, and he took every method in his power to procure
opportunity to her admirer of addressing and approaching her.
The young man, who seemed _enamoured even to madness_, could
scarce refrain not merely from prostration to the object of his
passion, but to Mr Harrel himself for permitting him to see her.
Cecilia, who not without some concern perceived a fondness so
fruitless, and who knew not by what arts or with what views Mr Harrel
might think proper to encourage it, determined to take all the means
that were in her own power towards giving it immediate control. She
behaved, therefore, with the utmost reserve, and the moment tea was
over, though earnestly entreated to remain with them, she retired to
her own room, without making any other apology than coldly saying she
could not stay.
In about an hour Mrs Harrel ran up stairs to her.
"Oh Miss Beverley," she cried, "a little respite is now granted me! Mr
Harrel says he shall stay another day; he says, too, one single
thousand pound would now make him a new man."
Cecilia returned no answer; she conjectured some new deceit was in
agitation to raise money, and she feared Mr Marriot was the next dupe
to be played upon. Mrs Harrel, therefore, with a look of the utmost
disappointment, left her, saying she would send for her brother, and
once more try if he had yet any remaining regard for her.
Cecilia rested quiet till eleven o'clock, when she was summoned to
supper: she found Mr Marriot still the only guest, and that Mr Arnott
made not his appearance.
She now resolved to publish her resolution of going the next morning
to St James's-square. As soon, therefore, as the servants withdrew,
she enquired of Mr Harrel if he had any commands with Mr or Mrs
Delvile, as she should see them the next morning, and purposed to
spend some time with them.
Mr Harrel, with a look of much alarm, asked if she meant the whole
day.
Many days, she answered, and probably some months.
Mrs Harrel exclaimed her surprise aloud, and Mr Harrel looked aghast:
while his new young friend cast upon him a glance of reproach and
resentment, which fully convinced Cecilia he imagined he had procured
himself a title to an easiness of intercourse and frequency of meeting
which this intelligence destroyed. Cecilia, thinking after all that
had passed, no other ceremony on her part was necessary but that of
simply speaking her intention, then arose and returned to her own
room.
She acquainted her maid that she was going to make a visit to Mrs
Delvile, and gave her directions about packing up her clothes, and
sending for a man in the morning to take care of her books.
This employment was soon interrupted by the entrance of Mrs Harrel,
who desiring to speak with her alone, when the maid was gone, said "O
Miss Beverley, can you indeed be so barbarous as to leave me?"
"I entreat you, Mrs Harrel," answered Cecilia, "to save both yourself
and me any further discussions. I have delayed this removal very long,
and I can now delay it no longer."
Mrs Harrel then flung herself upon a chair in the bitterest sorrow,
declaring she was utterly undone; that Mr Harrel had declared he could
not stay even an hour in England if she was not in his house; that he
had already had a violent quarrel with Mr Marriot upon the subject;
and that her brother, though she had sent him the most earnest
entreaties, would not come near her.
Cecilia, tired of vain attempts to offer comfort, now urged the
warmest expostulations against her opposition, strongly representing
the real necessity of her going abroad, and the unpardonable weakness
of wishing to continue such a life as she now led, adding debt to
debt, and hoarding distress upon distress.
Mrs Harrel then, though rather from compulsion than conviction,
declared she would agree to go, if she had not a dread of ill usage;
but Mr Harrel, she said, had behaved to her with the utmost brutality,
calling her the cause of his ruin, and threatening that if she
procured not this thousand pound before the ensuing evening, she
should be treated as she deserved for her extravagance and folly.
"Does he think, then," said Cecilia with the utmost indignation, "that
I am to be frightened through your fears into what compliances he
pleases?"
"O no," cried Mrs Harrel, "no; his expectations are all from my
brother. He surely thought that when I supplicated and pleaded to him,
he would do what I wished, for so he always did formerly, and so once
again I am sure he would do now, could I but make him come to me, and
tell him how I am used, and tell him that if Mr Harrel takes me abroad
in this humour, I verily think in his rage he will half murder me."
Cecilia, who well knew she was herself the real cause of Mr Arnott's
resistance, now felt her resolution waver, internally reproaching
herself with the sufferings of his sister; alarmed, however, for her
own constancy, she earnestly besought Mrs Harrel to go and compose
herself for the night, and promised to deliberate what could be done
for her before morning.
Mrs Harrel complied; but scarce was her own rest more broken than that
of Cecilia, who, though extremely fatigued with a whole night's
watching, was so perturbed in her mind she could not close her eyes.
Mrs Harrel was her earliest, and had once been her dearest friend; she
had deprived her by her own advice of her customary refuge in her
brother; to refuse, therefore, assistance to her seemed cruelty,
though to deny it to Mr Harrel was justice: she endeavoured,
therefore, to make a compromise between her judgment and compassion,
by resolving that though she would grant nothing further to Mr Harrel
while he remained in London, she would contribute from time to time
both to his necessities and comfort, when once he was established
elsewhere upon some plan of prudence and economy.
CHAPTER xi.
A PERSECUTION.
The next morning by five o'clock Mrs Harrel came into Cecilia's room
to know the result of her deliberation; and Cecilia, with that
graceful readiness which accompanied all her kind offices, instantly
assured her the thousand pound should be her own, if she would consent
to seek some quiet retreat, and receive it in small sums, of fifty or
one hundred pounds at a time, which should be carefully transmitted,
and which, by being delivered to herself, might secure better
treatment from Mr Harrel, and be a motive to revive his care and
affection.
She flew, much delighted, with this proposal to her husband; but
presently, and with a dejected look, returning, said Mr Harrel
protested he could not possibly set out without first receiving the
money. "I shall go myself, therefore," said she, "to my brother after
breakfast, for he will not, I see, unkind as he is grown, come to me;
and if I do not succeed with him, I believe I shall never come back!"
To this Cecilia, offended and disappointed, answered "I am sorry for
Mr Arnott, but for myself I have done!"
Mrs Harrel then left her, and she arose to make immediate preparations
for her removal to St James's-square, whither, with all the speed in
her power, she sent her books, her trunks, and all that belonged to
her.
When she was summoned down stairs, she found, for the first time, Mr
Harrel breakfasting at the same table with his wife: they seemed
mutually out of humour and comfortless, nothing hardly was spoken, and
little was swallowed: Mr Harrel, however, was civil, but his wife was
totally silent, and Cecilia the whole time was planning how to take
her leave.
When the tea things were removed, Mr Harrel said, "You have not, I
hope, Miss Beverley, quite determined upon this strange scheme?"
"Indeed I have, Sir," she answered, "and already I have sent my
clothes."
At this information he seemed thunderstruck; but, after somewhat
recovering, said with much bitterness, "Well, madam, at least may I
request you will stay here till the evening?"
"No, Sir," answered she coolly, "I am going instantly."
"And will you not," said he, with yet greater asperity, "amuse
yourself first with seeing bailiffs take possession of my house, and
your friend Priscilla follow me to jail?"
"Good God, Mr Harrel!" exclaimed Cecilia, with uplifted hands, "is
this a question, is this behaviour I have merited!"
"O no!" cried he with quickness, "should I once think that way--" then
rising and striking his forehead, he walked about the room.
Mrs Harrel arose too, and weeping violently went away.
"Will you at least," said Cecilia, when she was gone, "till your
affairs are settled, leave Priscilla with me? When I go into my own
house, she shall accompany me, and mean time Mr Arnott's I am sure
will gladly be open to her."
"No, no," answered he, "she deserves no such indulgence; she has not
any reason to complain, she has been as negligent, as profuse, as
expensive as myself; she ha practised neither oeconomy nor self-denial,
she has neither thought of me nor my affairs, nor is she now afflicted at
any thing but the loss of that affluence she has done her best towards
diminishing.
"All recrimination," said Cecilia, "were vain, or what might not Mrs
Harrel urge in return! but let us not enlarge upon so ungrateful a
subject, the wisest and the happiest scheme now were mutually and
kindly to console each other."
"Consolation and kindness," cried he, with abruptness, "are out of the
question. I have ordered a post chaise to be here at night, and if
till then you will stay, I will promise to release you without further
petition if not, eternal destruction be my portion if I _live_ to
see the scene which your removal will occasion!"
"My removal." cried Cecilia, shuddering, "good heaven, and how can my
removal be of such dreadful consequence?"
"Ask me not," cried he, fiercely, "questions or reasons now; the
crisis is at hand, and you will soon, happen what may, know all: mean
time what I have said is a fact, and immutable: and you must hasten my
end, or give me a chance for avoiding it, as you think fit. I scarce
care at this instant which way you decide remember, however, all I ask
of you is to defer your departure; what else I have to hope is from Mr
Arnott."
He then left the room.
Cecilia now was again a coward! In vain she called to her support the
advice, the prophesies, the cautions of Mr Monckton, in vain she
recollected the impositions she had already seen practised, for
neither the warnings of her counsellor, nor the lessons of her own
experience, were proofs against the terrors which threats so desperate
inspired: and though more than once she determined to fly at all
events from a tyranny he had so little right to usurp, the mere
remembrance of the words _if you stay not till night I will not
live_, robbed her of all courage; and however long she had prepared
herself for this very attack, when the moment arrived, its power over
her mind was too strong for resistance.
While this conflict between fear and resolution was still undecided,
her servant brought her the following letter from Mr Arnott.
_To Miss Beverley, Portman-square.
June 13th, 1779_.
MADAM,--Determined to obey those commands which you had the goodness
to honour me with, I have absented myself from town till Mr Harrel is
settled; for though I am as sensible of your wisdom as of your beauty,
I find myself too weak to bear the distress of my unhappy sister, and
therefore I run from the sight, nor shall any letter or message follow
me, unless it comes from Miss Beverley herself, lest she should in
future refuse the only favour I dare presume to solicit, that of
sometimes deigning to honour with her directions, the most humble and
devoted of her servants,
J. ARNOTT.
In the midst of her apprehensions for herself and her own interest,
Cecilia could not forbear rejoicing that Mr Arnott, at least, had
escaped the present storm: yet she was certain it would fall the more
heavily upon herself; and dreaded the sight of Mrs Harrel after the
shock which this flight would occasion.
Her expectations were but too quickly fulfilled: Mrs Harrel in a short
time after rushed wildly into the room, calling out "My brother is
gone! he has left me for ever! Oh save me, Miss Beverley, save me from
abuse and insult!" And she wept with so much violence she could utter
nothing more.
Cecilia, quite tortured by this persecution, faintly asked what she
could do for her?
"Send," cried she, "to my brother, and beseech him not to abandon me!
send to him, and conjure him to advance this thousand pound!--the
chaise is already ordered,--Mr Harrel is fixed upon going,--yet he
says without that money we must both starve in a strange land,--O send
to my cruel brother! he has left word that nothing must follow him
that does not come from you."
"For the world, then," cried Cecilia, "would I not baffle his
discretion! indeed you must submit to your fate, indeed Mrs Harrel you
must endeavour to bear it better."
Mrs Harrel, shedding a flood of tears, declared she would try to
follow her advice, but again besought her in the utmost agony to send
after her brother, protesting she did not think even her life would be
safe in making so long a journey with Mr Harrel in his present state
of mind: his character, she said, was totally changed, his gaiety,
good humour, and sprightliness were turned into roughness and
moroseness, and, since his great losses at play, he was grown so
fierce and furious, that to oppose him even in a trifle, rendered him
quite outrageous in passion.
Cecilia, though truly concerned, and almost melted, yet refused to
interfere with Mr Arnott, and even thought it but justice to
acknowledge she had advised his retreat.
"And can you have been so cruel?" cried Mrs Harrel, with still
encreasing violence of sorrow, "to rob me of my only friend, to
deprive me of my Brother's affection, at the very time I am forced out
of the kingdom, with a husband who is ready to murder me, and who says
he hates the sight of me, and all because I cannot get him this fatal,
fatal money!--O Miss Beverley, how could I have thought to have had
such an office from you?"
Cecilia was beginning a justification, when a message came from Mr
Harrel, desiring to see his wife immediately.
Mrs Harrel, in great terror, cast herself at Cecilia's feet, and
clinging to her knees, called out "I dare not go to him! I dare not go
to him! he wants to know my success, and when he hears my brother is
run away, I am sure he will kill me!--Oh Miss Beverley, how could you
send him away? how could you be so inhuman as to leave me to the rage
of Mr Harrel?"
Cecilia, distressed and trembling herself, conjured her to rise and be
consoled; but Mrs Harrel, weak and frightened, could only weep and
supplicate: "I don't ask you," she cried, "to give the money yourself,
but only to send for my brother, that he may protect me, and beg Mr
Harrel not to treat me so cruelly,--consider but what a long, long
journey I am going to make! consider how often you used to say you
would love me for ever! consider you have robbed me of the tenderest
brother in the world!--Oh Miss Beverley, send for him back, or be a
sister to me yourself, and let not your poor Priscilla leave her
native land without help or pity!"
Cecilia, wholly overcome, now knelt too, and embracing her with tears,
said "Oh Priscilla, plead and reproach no more! what you wish shall be
yours,--I will send for your brother,--I will do what you please!"
"Now you are my friend indeed!" cried Mrs Harrel, "let me but
_see_ my brother, and his heart will yield to my distress, and he
will soften Mr Harrel by giving his unhappy sister this parting
bounty."
Cecilia then took a pen in her hand to write to Mr Arnott; but struck
almost in the same moment with a notion of treachery in calling him
from a retreat which her own counsel made him seek, professedly to
expose him to a supplication which from his present situation might
lead him to ruin, she hastily flung it from her, and exclaimed "No,
excellent Mr Arnott, I will not so unworthily betray you!"
"And can you, Miss Beverley, can you at last," cried Mrs Harrel, "be
so barbarous as to retract?"
"No, my poor Priscilla," answered Cecilia, "I cannot so cruelly
disappoint you; my pity shall however make no sufferer but myself,--I
cannot send for Mr Arnott,--from me you must have the money, and may
it answer the purpose for which it is given, and restore to you the
tenderness of your husband, and the peace of your own heart!"
Priscilla, scarce waiting to thank her, flew with this intelligence to
Mr Harrel; who with the same impetuosity, scarce waiting to say he was
glad of it, ran himself to bring the Jew from whom the money was to be
procured. Every thing was soon settled, Cecilia had no time for
retracting, and repentance they had not the delicacy to regard: again,
therefore, she signed her name for paying the principal and interest
of another 1000_l_. within ten days after she was of age: and
having taken the money, she accompanied Mr and Mrs Harrel into another
room. Presenting it then with an affecting solemnity to Mrs Harrel,
"accept, Priscilla," she cried, "this irrefragable mark of the
sincerity of my friendship: but suffer me at the same time to tell
you, it is the last to so considerable an amount I ever mean to offer;
receive it, therefore, with kindness, but use it with discretion."
She then embraced her, and eager now to avoid acknowledgment, as
before she had been to escape importunities, she left them together.
The soothing recompense of succouring benevolence, followed not this
gift, nor made amends for this loss: perplexity and uneasiness, regret
and resentment, accompanied the donation, and rested upon her mind;
she feared she had done wrong; she was certain Mr Monckton would blame
her; he knew not the persecution she suffered, nor would he make any
allowance for the threats which alarmed, or the intreaties which
melted her.
Far other had been her feelings at the generosity she exerted for the
Hills; no doubts then tormented her, and no repentance embittered her
beneficence. Their worth was without suspicion, and their misfortunes
were not of their own seeking; the post in which they had been
stationed they had never deserted, and the poverty into which they had
sunk was accidental and unavoidable.
But here, every evil had been wantonly incurred by vanity and
licentiousness, and shamelessly followed by injustice and fraud: the
disturbance of her mind only increased by reflection, for when the
rights of the creditors with their injuries occurred to her, she
enquired of herself by what title or equity, she had so liberally
assisted Mr Harrel in eluding their claims, and flying the punishment
which the law would inflict.
Startled by this consideration, she most severely reproached herself
for a compliance of which she had so lightly weighed the consequences,
and thought with the utmost dismay, that while she had flattered
herself she was merely indulging the dictates of humanity, she might
perhaps be accused by the world as an abettor of guile and injustice.
"And yet," she continued, "whom can I essentially have injured but
myself? would his creditors have been benefitted by my refusal? had I
braved the execution of his dreadful threat, and quitted his house
before I was wrought upon to assist him, would his suicide have
lessened their losses, or secured their demands? even if he had no
intention but to intimidate me, who will be wronged by my enabling him
to go abroad, or who would be better paid were he seized and confined?
All that remains of his shattered fortune may still be claimed, though
I have saved him from a lingering imprisonment, desperate for himself
and his wife, and useless for those he has plundered."
And thus, now soothed by the purity of her intentions, and now uneasy
from the rectitude of her principles, she alternately rejoiced and
repined at what she had done.
At dinner Mr Harrel was all civility and good humour. He warmly
thanked Cecilia for the kindness she had shewn him, and gaily added,
"You should be absolved from all the mischief you may do for a
twelvemonth to come, in reward for the preservation from mischief
which you have this day effected."
"The preservation," said Cecilia, "will I hope be for many days. But
tell me, sir, exactly, at what time I may acquaint Mrs Delvile I shall
wait upon her?"
"Perhaps," he answered, "by eight o'clock; perhaps by nine; you will
not mind half an hour?"
"Certainly not;" she answered, unwilling by disputing about a trifle
to diminish his satisfaction in her assistance. She wrote, therefore,
another note to Mrs Delvile, desiring she would not expect her till
near ten o'clock, and promising to account and apologize for these
seeming caprices when she had the honour of seeing her.
The rest of the afternoon she spent wholly in exhorting Mrs Harrel to
shew more fortitude, and conjuring her to study nothing while abroad
but oeconomy, prudence and housewifery: a lesson how hard for the
thoughtless and negligent Priscilla! she heard the advice with
repugnance, and only answered it with helpless complaints that she
knew not how to spend less money than she had always done.
After tea, Mr Harrel, still in high spirits, went out, entreating
Cecilia to stay with Priscilla till his return, which he promised
should be early.
Nine o'clock, however, came, and he did not appear; Cecilia then grew
anxious to keep her appointment with Mrs Delvile; but ten o'clock also
came, and still Mr Harrel was absent.
She then determined to wait no longer, and rang her bell for her
servant and chair: but when Mrs Harrel desired to be informed the
moment that Mr Harrel returned, the man said he had been come home
more than half an hour.
Much surprised, she enquired where he was.
"In his own room, madam, and gave orders not to be disturbed."
Cecilia, who was not much pleased at this account, was easily
persuaded to stay a few minutes longer; and, fearing some new evil,
she was going to send him a message, by way of knowing how he was
employed, when he came himself into the room.
"Well, ladies," he cried in a hurrying manner, "who is for Vauxhall?"
"Vauxhall!" repeated Mrs Harrel, while Cecilia, staring, perceived in
his face a look of perturbation that extremely alarmed her.
"Come, come," he cried, "we have no time to lose. A hackney coach will
serve us; we won't wait for our own."
"Have you then given up going abroad?" said Mrs Harrel.
"No, no; where can we go from half so well? let us live while we live!
I have ordered a chaise to be in waiting there. Come, let's be gone."
"First," said Cecilia, "let me wish you both good night."
"Will you not go with me?" cried Mrs Harrel, "how can I go to Vauxhall
alone?"
"You are not alone," answered she; "but if I go, how am I to return?"
"She shall return with you," cried Mr Harrel, "if you desire it; you
shall return together."
Mrs Harrel, starting up in rapture, called out "Oh Mr Harrel, will you
indeed leave me in England?"
"Yes," answered he reproachfully, "if you will make a better friend
than you have made a wife, and if Miss Beverley is content to take
charge of you."
"What can all this mean?" exclaimed Cecilia, "is it possible you can
be serious? Are you really going yourself, and will you suffer Mrs
Harrel to remain?"
"I am," he answered, "and I will."
Then ringing the bell, he ordered a hackney coach.
Mrs Harrel was scarce able to breathe for extacy, nor Cecilia for
amazement: while Mr Harrel, attending to neither of them, walked for
some time silently about the room.
"But how," cried Cecilia at last, "can I possibly go? Mrs Delvile must
already be astonished at my delay, and if I disappoint her again she
will hardly receive me."
"O make not any difficulties," cried Mrs Harrel in an agony; "if Mr
Harrel will let me stay, sure you will not be so cruel as to oppose
him?"
"But why," said Cecilia, "should either of us go to Vauxhall? surely
that is no place for a parting so melancholy."
A servant then came in, and said the hackney coach was at the door.
Mr Harrel, starting at the sound, called out, "come, what do we wait
for? if we go not immediately, we may be prevented."
Cecilia then again wished them good night, protesting she could fail
Mrs Delvile no longer.
Mrs Harrel, half wild at this refusal, conjured her in the most
frantic manner, to give way, exclaiming, "Oh cruel! cruel! to deny me
this last request! I will kneel to you day and night," sinking upon
the ground before her, "and I will serve you as the humblest of your
slaves, if you will but be kind in this last instance, and save me
from banishment and misery!"
"Oh rise, Mrs Harrel," cried Cecilia, ashamed of her prostration, and
shocked by her vehemence, "rise and let me rest!--it is painful to me
to refuse, but to comply for ever in defiance of my judgment--Oh Mrs
Harrel, I know no longer what is kind or what is cruel, nor have I
known for some time past right from wrong, nor good from evil!"
"Come," cried Mr Harrel impetuously, "I wait not another minute!"
"Leave her then with me!" said Cecilia, "I will perform my promise, Mr
Arnott will I am sure hold his to be sacred, she shall now go with
him, she shall hereafter come to me,--leave her but behind, and depend
upon our care."
"No, no," cried he, with quickness, "I must take care of her myself. I
shall not carry her abroad with me, but the only legacy I can leave
her, is a warning which I hope she will remember for ever. _You_,
however, need not go."
"What," cried Mrs Harrel, "leave me at Vauxhall, and yet leave me
alone?"
"What of that?" cried he with fierceness, "do you not desire to be
left? have you any regard for me? or for any thing upon earth but
yourself! cease these vain clamours, and come, I insist upon it, this
moment."
And then, with a violent oath, he declared he would be detained no
longer, and approached in great rage to seize her; Mrs Harrel shrieked
aloud, and the terrified Cecilia exclaimed, "If indeed you are to part
to-night, part not thus dreadfully!--rise, Mrs Harrel, and comply!--be
reconciled, be kind to her, Mr Harrel!--and I will go with her myself,
--we will all go together!"
"And why," cried Mr Harrel, more gently yet with the utmost emotion,
"why should _you_ go!--_you_ want no warning! _you_ need no terror!
--better far had you fly us, and my wife when I am set out may find you."
Mrs Harrel, however, suffered her not to recede; and Cecilia, though
half distracted by the scenes of horror and perplexity in which she
was perpetually engaged, ordered her servant to acquaint Mrs Delvile
she was again compelled to defer waiting upon her.
Mr Harrel then hurried them both into the coach, which he directed to
Vauxhall.
"Pray write to me when you are landed," said Mrs Harrel, who now
released from her personal apprehensions, began to feel some for her
husband.
He made not any answer. She then asked to what part of France he meant
to go: but still he did not reply: and when she urged him by a third
question, he told her in a rage to torment him no more.
During the rest of the ride not another word was Said; Mrs Harrel
wept, her husband guarded a gloomy silence, and Cecilia most
unpleasantly passed her time between anxious suspicions of some new
scheme, and a terrified wonder in what all these transactions would
terminate.
CHAPTER xii.
A MAN OF BUSINESS.
When they entered Vauxhall, Mr Harrel endeavoured to dismiss his
moroseness, and affecting his usual gaiety, struggled to recover his
spirits; but the effort was vain, he could neither talk nor look like
himself, and though from time to time he resumed his air of wonted
levity, he could not support it, but drooped and hung his head in
evident despondency.
He made them take several turns in the midst of the company, and
walked so fast that they could hardly keep pace with him, as if he
hoped by exercise to restore his vivacity; but every attempt failed,
he sunk and grew sadder, and muttering between his teeth "this is not
to be borne!" he hastily called to a waiter to bring him a bottle of
champagne.
Of this he drank glass after glass, notwithstanding Cecilia, as Mrs
Harrel had not courage to speak, entreated him to forbear. He seemed,
however, not to hear her; but when he had drunk what he thought
necessary to revive him, he conveyed them into an unfrequented part of
the garden, and as soon as they were out of sight of all but a few
stragglers, he suddenly stopt, and, in great agitation, said, "my
chaise will soon be ready, and I shall take of you a long farewell!--
all my affairs are unpropitious to my speedy return:--the wine is now
mounting into my head, and perhaps I may not be able to say much by
and by. I fear I have been cruel to you, Priscilla, and I begin to
wish I had spared you this parting scene; yet let it not be banished
your remembrance, but think of it when you are tempted to such mad
folly as has ruined us."
Mrs Harrel wept too much to make any answer; and turning from her to
Cecilia, "Oh Madam," he cried, "to _you_, indeed, I dare not
speak! I have used you most unworthily, but I pay for it all! I ask
you not to pity or forgive me, I know it is impossible you should do
either."
"No," cried the softened Cecilia, "it is not impossible, I do both at
this moment, and I hope--"
"Do not hope," interrupted he, "be not so angelic, for I cannot bear
it! benevolence like yours should have fallen into worthier hands. But
come, let us return to the company. My head grows giddy, but my heart
is still heavy; I must make them more fit companions for each other."
He would then have hurried them back; but Cecilia, endeavouring to
stop him, said "You do not mean, I hope, to call for more wine?"
"Why not?" cried he, with affected spirit, "what, shall we not be
merry before we part? Yes, we will all be merry, for if we are not,
how shall we part at all?--Oh not without a struggle!--" Then,
stopping, he paused a moment, and casting off the mask of levity, said
in accents the most solemn "I commit this packet to _you_,"
giving a sealed parcel to Cecilia; "had I written it later, its
contents had been kinder to my wife, for now the hour of separation
approaches, ill will and resentment subside. Poor Priscilla!--I am
sorry--but you will succour her, I am sure you will,--Oh had I known
you myself before this infatuation--bright pattern of all goodness!--
but I was devoted,--a ruined wretch before ever you entered my house;
unworthy to be saved, unworthy that virtues such as yours should dwell
under the same roof with me! But come,--come now, or my resolution
will waver, and I shall not go at last."
"But what is this packet?" cried Cecilia, "and why do you give it to
me?"
"No matter, no matter, you will know by and by;--the chaise waits, and
I must gather courage to be gone."
He then pressed forward, answering neither to remonstrance nor
intreaty from his frightened companions.
The moment they returned to the covered walk, they were met by Mr
Marriot; Mr Harrel, starting, endeavoured to pass him; but when he
approached, and said "you have sent, Sir, no answer to my letter!" he
stopt, and in a tone of forced politeness, said, "No, Sir, but I shall
answer it to-morrow, and to-night I hope you will do me the honour of
supping with me."
Mr Marriot, looking openly at Cecilia as his inducement, though
evidently regarding himself as an injured man, hesitated a moment, yet
accepted the invitation.
"To supper?" cried Mrs Harrel, "what here?"
"To supper?" repeated Cecilia, "and how are we to get home?"
"Think not of that these two hours," answered he; "come, let us look
for a box."
Cecilia then grew quite urgent with him to give up a scheme which must
keep them so late, and Mrs Harrel repeatedly exclaimed "Indeed people
will think it very odd to see us here without any party:" but he
heeded them not, and perceiving at some distance Mr Morrice, he called
out to him to find them a box; for the evening was very pleasant, and
the gardens were so much crowded that no accommodation was unseized.
"Sir," cried Morrice, with his usual readiness, "I'll get you one if I
turn out ten old Aldermen sucking custards."
Just after he was gone, a fat, sleek, vulgar-looking man, dressed in a
bright purple coat, with a deep red waistcoat, and a wig bulging far
from his head with small round curls, while his plump face and person
announced plenty and good living, and an air of defiance spoke the
fullness of his purse, strutted boldly up to Mr Harrel, and accosting
him in a manner that shewed some diffidence of his reception, but none
of his right, said "Sir your humble servant." And made a bow first to
him, and then to the ladies.
"Sir yours," replied Mr Harrel scornfully, and without touching his
hat he walked quickly on.
His fat acquaintance, who seemed but little disposed to be offended
with impunity, instantly replaced his hat on his head, and with a look
that implied _I'll fit you for this!_ put his hands to his sides,
and following him, said "Sir, I must make bold to beg the favour of
exchanging a few words with you."
"Ay, Sir," answered Mr Harrel, "come to me to-morrow, and you shall
exchange as many as you please."
"Nothing like the time present, Sir," answered the man; "as for
to-morrow, I believe it intends to come no more; for I have heard of it
any time these three years. I mean no reflections, Sir, but let every
man have his right. That's what I say, and that's my notion of things."
Mr Harrel, with a violent execration, asked what he meant by dunning
him at such a place as Vauxhall?
"One place, Sir," he replied, "is as good as another place; for so as
what one does is good, 'tis no matter for where it may be. A _man of
business_ never wants a counter if he can meet with a joint-stool.
For my part, I'm all for a clear conscience, and no bills without
receipts to them."
"And if you were all for broken bones," cried Mr Harrel, angrily, "I
would oblige you with them without delay."
"Sir," cried the man, equally provoked, "this is talking quite out of
character, for as to broken bones, there's ne'er a person in all
England, gentle nor simple, can say he's a right to break mine, for
I'm not a person of that sort, but a man of as good property as
another man; and there's ne'er a customer I have in the world that's
more his own man than myself."
"Lord bless me, Mr Hobson," cried Mrs Harrel, "don't follow us in this
manner! If we meet any of our acquaintance they'll think us half
crazy."
"Ma'am," answered Mr Hobson, again taking off his hat, "if I'm treated
with proper respect, no man will behave more generous than myself; but
if I'm affronted, all I can say is, it may go harder with some folks
than they think for."
Here a little mean-looking man, very thin, and almost bent double with
perpetual cringing, came up to Mr Hobson, and pulling him by the
sleeve, whispered, yet loud enough to be heard, "It's surprizeable to
me, Mr Hobson, you can behave so out of the way! For my part, perhaps
I've as much my due as another person, but I dares to say I shall have
it when it's convenient, and I'd scorn for to mislest a gentleman when
he's taking his pleasure."
"Lord bless me," cried Mrs Harrel, "what shall we do now? here's all
Mr Harrel's creditors coming upon us!"
"Do?" cried Mr Harrel, re-assuming an air of gaiety, "why give them
all a supper, to be sure. Come, gentlemen, will you favour me with
your company to supper?"
"Sir," answered Mr Hobson, somewhat softened by this unexpected
invitation, "I've supped this hour and more, and had my glass too, for
I'm as willing to spend my money as another man; only what I say is
this, I don't chuse to be cheated, for that's losing one's substance,
and getting no credit; however, as to drinking another glass, or such
a matter as that, I'll do it with all the pleasure in life."
"And as to me," said the other man, whose name was Simkins, and whose
head almost touched the ground by the profoundness of his reverence,
"I can't upon no account think of taking the liberty; but if I may
just stand without, I'll make bold to go so far as just for to drink
my humble duty to the ladies in a cup of cyder."
"Are you mad, Mr Harrel, are you mad!" cried his wife, "to think of
asking such people as these to supper? what will every body say?
suppose any of our acquaintance should see us? I am sure I shall die
with shame."
"Mad!" repeated he, "no, not mad but merry. O ho, Mr Morrice, why have
you been so long? what have you done for us?"
"Why Sir," answered Morrice, returning with a look somewhat less
elated than he had set out, "the gardens are so full, there is not a
box to be had: but I hope we shall get one for all that; for I
observed one of the best boxes in the garden, just to the right there,
with nobody in it but that gentleman who made me spill the tea-pot at
the Pantheon. So I made an apology, and told him the case; but he only
said _humph?_ and _hay?_ so then I told it all over again, but
he served me just the same, for he never seems to hear what one says
till one's just done, and then he begins to recollect one's speaking to
him; however, though I repeated it all over and over again, I could get
nothing from him but just that _humph?_ and _hay?_ but he is so
remarkably absent, that I dare say if we all go and sit down round him,
he won't know a word of the matter."
"Won't he?" cried Mr Harrel, "have at him, then!"
And he followed Mr Morrice, though Cecilia, who now half suspected
that all was to end in a mere idle frolic, warmly joined her
remonstrances to those of Mrs Harrel, which were made with the utmost,
but with fruitless earnestness.
Mr Meadows, who was seated in the middle of the box, was lolloping
upon the table with his customary ease, and picking his teeth with his
usual inattention to all about him. The intrusion, however, of so
large a party, seemed to threaten his insensibility with unavoidable
disturbance; though imagining they meant but to look in at the box,
and pass on, he made not at their first approach any alteration in his
attitude or employment.
"See, ladies," cried the officious Morrice, "I told you there was
room; and I am sure this gentleman will be very happy to make way for
you, if it's only out of good-nature to the waiters, as he is neither
eating nor drinking, nor doing any thing at all. So if you two ladies
will go in at that side, Mr Harrel and that other gentleman," pointing
to Mr Marriot, "may go to the other, and then I'll sit by the ladies
here, and those other two gentlemen--"
Here Mr Meadows, raising himself from his reclining posture, and
staring Morrice in the face, gravely said, "What's all this, Sir!"
Morrice, who expected to have arranged the whole party without a
question, and who understood so little of modish airs as to suspect
neither affectation nor trick in the absence of mind and indolence of
manners which he observed in Mr Meadows, was utterly amazed by this
interrogatory, and staring himself in return, said, "Sir, you seemed
so thoughtful--I did not think--I did not suppose you would have taken
any notice of just a person or two coming into the box."
"Did not you, Sir?" said Mr Meadows very coldly, "why then now you do,
perhaps you'll be so obliging as to let me have my own box to myself."
And then again he returned to his favourite position.
"Certainly, Sir," said Morrice, bowing; "I am sure I did not mean to
disturb you: for you seemed so lost in thought, that I'm sure I did
not much believe you would have seen us."
"Why Sir," said Mr Hobson, strutting forward, "if I may speak my
opinion, I should think, as you happen to be quite alone, a little
agreeable company would be no such bad thing. At least that's my
notion."
"And if I might take the liberty," said the smooth tongued Mr Simkins,
"for to put in a word, I should think the best way would be, if the
gentleman has no peticklar objection, for me just to stand somewhere
hereabouts, and so, when he's had what he's a mind to, be ready for to
pop in at one side, as he comes out at the t'other; for if one does
not look pretty 'cute such a full night as this, a box is whipt away
before one knows where one is."
"No, no, no," cried Mrs Harrel impatiently, "let us neither sup in
this box nor in any other; let us go away entirely."
"Indeed we must! indeed we ought!" cried Cecilia; "it is utterly
improper we should stay; pray let us be gone immediately."
Mr Harrel paid not the least regard to these requests; but Mr Meadows,
who could no longer seem unconscious of what passed, did himself so
much violence as to arise, and ask if the ladies would be seated.
"I said so!" cried Morrice triumphantly, "I was sure there was no
gentleman but would be happy to accommodate two such ladies!"
The ladies, however, far from happy in being so accommodated, again
tried their utmost influence in persuading Mr Harrel to give up this
scheme; but he would not hear them, he insisted upon their going into
the box, and, extending the privilege which Mr Meadows had given, he
invited without ceremony the whole party to follow.
Mr Meadows, though he seemed to think this a very extraordinary
encroachment, had already made such an effort from his general languor
in the repulse he had given to Morrice, that he could exert himself no
further; but after looking around him with mingled vacancy and
contempt, he again seated himself, and suffered Morrice to do the
honours without more opposition. Morrice, but too happy in the
office, placed Cecilia next to Mr Meadows, and would have made Mr
Marriot her other neighbour, but she insisted upon not being parted
from Mrs Harrel, and therefore, as he chose to sit also by that lady
himself, Mr Marriot was obliged to follow Mr Harrel to the other side
of the box: Mr Hobson, without further invitation, placed himself
comfortably in one of the corners, and Mr Simkins, who stood modestly
for some time in another, finding the further encouragement for which
be waited was not likely to arrive, dropt quietly into his seat
without it.
Supper was now ordered, and while it was preparing Mr Harrel sat
totally silent; but Mr Meadows thought proper to force himself to talk
with Cecilia, though she could well have dispensed with such an
exertion of his politeness.
"Do you like this place, ma'am?"
"Indeed I hardly know,--I never was here before."
"No wonder! the only surprise is that any body can come to it at all.
To see a set of people walking after nothing! strolling about without
view or object! 'tis strange! don't you think so, ma'am?"
"Yes,--I believe so," said Cecilia, scarce hearing him.
"O it gives me the vapours, the horrors," cried he, "to see what poor
creatures we all are! taking pleasure even from the privation of it!
forcing ourselves into exercise and toil, when we might at least have
the indulgence of sitting still and reposing!"
"Lord, Sir," cried Morrice, "don't you like walking?"
"Walking?" cried he, "I know nothing so humiliating: to see a rational
being in such mechanical motion! with no knowledge upon what
principles he proceeds, but plodding on, one foot before another,
without even any consciousness which is first, or how either--"
"Sir," interrupted Mr Hobson, "I hope you won't take it amiss if I
make bold to tell my opinion, for my way is this, let every man speak
his maxim! But what I say as to this matter, is this, if a man must
always be stopping to consider what foot he is standing upon, he had
need have little to do, being the right does as well as the left, and
the left as well as the right. And that, Sir, I think is a fair
argument."
Mr Meadows deigned no other answer to this speech than a look of
contempt.
"I fancy, Sir," said Morrice, "you are fond of riding, for all your
good horsemen like nothing else."
"Riding!" exclaimed Mr Meadows, "Oh barbarous! Wrestling and boxing
are polite arts to it! trusting to the discretion of an animal less
intellectual than ourselves! a sudden spring may break all our limbs,
a stumble may fracture our sculls! And what is the inducement? to get
melted with heat, killed with fatigue, and covered with dust!
miserable infatuation!--Do you love riding, ma'am?"
"Yes, very well, Sir."
"I am glad to hear it," cried he, with a vacant smile; "you are quite
right; I am entirely of your opinion."
Mr Simkins now, with a look of much perplexity, yet rising and bowing,
said "I don't mean, Sir, to be so rude as to put in my oar, but if I
did not take you wrong, I'm sure just now I thought you seemed for to
make no great 'count of riding, and yet now, all of the sudden, one
would think you was a speaking up for it!"
"Why, Sir," cried Morrice, "if you neither like riding nor walking,
you can have no pleasure at all but only in sitting."
"Sitting!" repeated Mr Meadows, with a yawn, "O worse and worse! it
dispirits me to death! it robs me of all fire and life! it weakens
circulation, and destroys elasticity."
"Pray then, Sir," said Morrice, "do you like any better to stand?"
"To stand? O intolerable! the most unmeaning thing in the world! one
had better be made a mummy!"
"Why then, pray Sir," said Mr Hobson, "let me ask the favour of you to
tell us what it is you _do_ like?"
Mr Meadows, though he stared him full in the face, began picking his
teeth without making any answer.
"You see, Mr Hobson," said Mr Simkins, "the gentleman has no mind for
to tell you; but if I may take the liberty just to put in, I think if
he neither likes walking, nor riding, nor sitting, nor standing, I
take it he likes nothing."
"Well, Sir," said Morrice, "but here comes supper, and I hope you will
like that. Pray Sir, may I help you to a bit of this ham?"
Mr Meadows, not seeming to hear him, suddenly, and with an air of
extreme weariness, arose, and without speaking to anybody, abruptly
made his way out of the box.
Mr Harrel now, starting from the gloomy reverie into which he had
sunk, undertook to do the honours of the table, insisting with much
violence upon helping every body, calling for more provisions, and
struggling to appear in high spirits and good humour.
In a few minutes Captain Aresby, who was passing by the box, stopt to
make his compliments to Mrs Harrel and Cecilia.
"What a concourse!" he cried, casting up his eyes with an expression
of half-dying fatigue, "are you not _accable_? for my part, I
hardly respire. I have really hardly ever had the honour of being so
_obsede_ before."
"We can make very good room, Sir," said Morrice, "if you chuse to come
in."
"Yes," said Mr Simkins, obsequiously standing up, I am sure the
gentleman will be very welcome to take my place, for I did not mean
for to sit down, only just to look agreeable."
"By no means, Sir," answered the Captain: "I shall be quite _au
desespoir_ if I derange any body."
"Sir," said Mr Hobson, "I don't offer you my place, because I take it
for granted if you had a mind to come in, you would not stand upon
ceremony; for what I say is, let every man speak his mind, and then we
shall all know how to conduct ourselves. That's my way, and let any
man tell me a better!"
The Captain, after looking at him with a surprise not wholly unmixt
with horror, turned from him without making any answer, and said to
Cecilia, "And how long, ma'am, have you tried this petrifying place?"
"An hour,--two hours, I believe," she answered.
"Really? and nobody here! _assez de monde_, but nobody here! a
blank _partout_!"
"Sir," said Mr Simkins, getting out of the box that he might bow with
more facility, "I humbly crave pardon for the liberty, but if I
understood right, you said something of a blank? pray, Sir, if I may
be so free, has there been any thing of the nature of a lottery, or a
raffle, in the garden? or the like of that?"
"Sir!" said the Captain, regarding him from head to foot, "I am quite
_assomme_ that I cannot comprehend your allusion."
"Sir, I ask pardon," said the man, bowing still lower, "I only thought
if in case it should not be above half a crown, or such a matter as
that, I might perhaps stretch a point once in a way."
The Captain, more and more amazed, stared at him again, but not
thinking it necessary to take any further notice of him, he enquired
of Cecilia if she meant to stay late.
"I hope not," she replied, "I have already stayed later than I wished
to do."
"Really!" said he, with an unmeaning smile, "Well, that is as horrid a
thing as I have the _malheur_ to know. For my part, I make it a
principle not to stay long in these semi-barbarous places, for after a
certain time, they bore me to that degree I am quite _abime_. I
shall, however, do _mon possible_ to have the honour of seeing
you again."
And then, with a smile of yet greater insipidity, he protested he was
_reduced to despair_ in leaving her, and walked on.
"Pray, ma'am, if I may be so bold," said Mr Hobson, "what countryman
may that gentleman be?"
"An Englishman, I suppose, Sir," said Cecilia.
"An Englishman, ma'am!" said Mr Hobson, "why I could not understand
one word in ten that came out of his mouth."
"Why indeed," said Mr Simkins, "he has a mighty peticklar way of
speaking, for I'm sure I thought I could have sworn he said something
of a blank, or to that amount, but I could make nothing of it when I
come to ask him about it."
"Let every man speak to be understood," cried Mr Hobson, "that's my
notion of things: for as to all those fine words that nobody can make
out, I hold them to be of no use. Suppose a man was to talk in that
manner when he's doing business, what would be the upshot? who'd
understand what he meant? Well, that's the proof; what i'n't fit for
business, i'n't of no value: that's my way of judging, and that's what
I go upon."
"He said some other things," rejoined Mr Simkins, "that I could not
make out very clear, only I had no mind to ask any more questions, for
fear of his answering me something I should not understand: but as
well as I could make it out, I thought I heard him say there was
nobody here! what he could mean by that, I can't pretend for to guess,
for I'm sure the garden is so stock full, that if there was to come
many more, I don't know where they could cram 'em."
"I took notice of it at the time," said Mr Hobson, "for it i'n't many
things are lost upon me; and, to tell you the truth, I thought he had
been making pretty free with his bottle, by his seeing no better."
"Bottle!" cried Mr Harrel, "a most excellent hint, Mr Hobson! come!
let us all make free with the bottle!"
He then called for more wine, and insisted that every body should
pledge him. Mr Marriot and Mr Morrice made not any objection, and Mr
Hobson and Mr Simkins consented with much delight.
Mr Harrel now grew extremely unruly, the wine he had already drunk
being thus powerfully aided; and his next project was to make his wife
and Cecilia follow his example. Cecilia, more incensed than ever to
see no preparation made for his departure, and all possible pains
taken to unfit him for setting out, refused him with equal firmness
and displeasure, and lamented, with the bitterest self-reproaches, the
consent which had been forced from her to be present at a scene of
such disorder: but Mrs Harrel would have opposed him in vain, had not
his attention been called off to another object. This was Sir Robert
Floyer, who perceiving the party at some distance, no sooner observed
Mr Marriot in such company, than advancing to the box with an air of
rage and defiance, he told Mr Harrel he had something to say to him.
"Ay," cried Harrel, "say to me? and so have I to say to you! Come
amongst us and be merry! Here, make room, make way! Sit close, my
friends!"
Sir Robert, who now saw he was in no situation to be reasoned with,
stood for a moment silent; and then, looking round the box, and
observing Messrs Hobson and Simkins, he exclaimed aloud "Why what
queer party have you got into? who the d---l have you picked up here?"
Mr Hobson, who, to the importance of lately acquired wealth, now added
the courage of newly drunk Champagne, stoutly kept his ground, without
seeming at all conscious he was included in this interrogation; but Mr
Simkins, who had still his way to make in the world, and whose
habitual servility would have resisted a larger draught, was easily
intimidated; he again, therefore stood up, and with the most cringing
respect offered the Baronet his place: who, taking neither of the
offer nor offerer the smallest notice, still stood opposite to Mr
Harrel, waiting for some explanation.
Mr Harrel, however, who now grew really incapable of giving any, only
repeated his invitation that he would make one among them.
"One among you?" cried he, angrily, and pointing to Mr Hobson, "why
you don't fancy I'll sit down with a bricklayer?"
"A bricklayer?" said Mr Harrel, "ay, sure, and a hosier too; sit down,
Mr Simkins, keep your place, man!"
Mr Simkins most thankfully bowed; but Mr Hobson, who could no longer
avoid feeling the personality of this reflection, boldly answered,
"Sir, you may sit down with a worse man any day in the week! I have
done nothing I'm ashamed of, and no man can say to me why did you so?
I don't tell you, Sir, what I'm worth; no one has a right to ask; I
only say three times five is fifteen! that's all."
"Why what the d----l, you impudent fellow," cried the haughty Baronet,
"you don't presume to mutter, do you?"
"Sir," answered Mr Hobson, very hotly, "I sha'n't put up with abuse
from no man! I've got a fair character in the world, and wherewithal
to live by my own liking. And what I have is my own, and all I say is,
let every one say the same, for that's the way to fear no man, and
face the d----l."
"What do you mean by that, fellow?" cried Sir Robert.
"Fellow, Sir! this is talking no how. Do you think a man of substance,
that's got above the world, is to be treated like a little scrubby
apprentice? Let every man have his own, that's always my way of
thinking; and this I can say for myself, I have as good a right to
shew my head where I please as ever a member of parliament in all
England: and I wish every body here could say as much."
Sir Robert, fury starting into his eyes, was beginning an answer; but
Mrs Harrel with terror, and Cecilia with dignity, calling upon them
both to forbear, the Baronet desired Morrice to relinquish his place
to him, and seating himself next to Mrs Harrel, gave over the contest.
Meanwhile Mr Simkins, hoping to ingratiate himself with the company,
advanced to Mr Hobson, already cooled by finding himself unanswered,
and reproachfully said "Mr Hobson, if I may make so free, I must needs
be bold to say I am quite ashamed of you! a person of your standing
and credit for to talk so disrespectful! as if a gentleman had not a
right to take a little pleasure, because he just happens to owe you a
little matters of money: fie, fie, Mr Hobson! I did not expect you to
behave so despiseable!"
"Despiseable!" answered Mr Hobson, "I'd scorn as much to do anything
despiseable as yourself, or any thing misbecoming of a gentleman; and
as to coming to such a place as this may be, why I have no objection
to it. All I stand to is this, let every man have his due; for as to
taking a little pleasure, here I am, as one may say, doing the same
myself; but where's the harm of that? who's a right to call a man to
account that's clear of the world? Not that I mean to boast, nor
nothing like it, but, as I said before; five times five is fifteen;
[Footnote: I hardly know whether the authoress has here forgotten her
arithmetic, or intentionally suffered Mr Hobson to forget his, from
the effects of champagne.--Ed.]--that's my calculation."
Mr Harrel, who, during this debate, had still continued drinking,
regardless of all opposition from his wife and Cecilia, now grew more
and more turbulent: he insisted that Mr Simkins should return to his
seat, ordered him another bumper of champagne, and saying he had not
half company enough to raise his spirits, desired Morrice to go and
invite more.
Morrice, always ready to promote a frolic, most chearfully consented;
but when Cecilia, in a low voice, supplicated him to bring no one
back, with still more readiness he made signs that he understood and
would obey her.
Mr Harrel then began to sing, and in so noisy and riotous a manner,
that nobody approached the box without stopping to stare at him; and
those who were new to such scenes, not contented with merely looking
in, stationed themselves at some distance before it, to observe what
was passing, and to contemplate with envy and admiration an appearance
of mirth and enjoyment which they attributed to happiness and
pleasure! Mrs Harrel, shocked to be seen in such mixed company, grew
every instant more restless and miserable; and Cecilia, half
distracted to think how they were to get home, had passed all her time
in making secret vows that if once again she was delivered from Mr
Harrel she would never see him more.
Sir Robert Floyer perceiving their mutual uneasiness, proposed to
escort them home himself; and Cecilia, notwithstanding her aversion to
him, was listening to the scheme, when Mr Marriot, who had been
evidently provoked and disconcerted since the junction of the Baronet,
suspecting what was passing, offered his services also, and in a tone
of voice that did not promise a very quiet acquiescence in a refusal.
Cecilia, who, too easily, in their looks, saw all the eagerness of
rivalry, now dreaded the consequence of her decision, and therefore
declined the assistance of either: but her distress was unspeakable,
as there was not one person in the party to whose care she could
commit herself, though the behaviour of Mr Harrel, which every moment
grew more disorderly, rendered the necessity of quitting him urgent
and uncontroulable.
When Morrice returned, stopping in the midst of his loud and violent
singing, he vehemently demanded what company he had brought him?
"None at all, sir," answered Morrice, looking significantly at
Cecilia; "I have really been so unlucky as not to meet with any body
who had a mind to come."
"Why then," answered he, starting up, "I will seek some for myself."
"O no, pray, Mr Harrel, bring nobody else," cried his wife. "Hear us
in pity," cried Cecilia, "and distress us no further."
"Distress you?" cried he, with quickness, "what shall I not bring you
those pretty girls? Yes, one more glass, and I will teach you to
welcome them."
And he poured out another bumper.
"This is so insupportable!" cried Cecilia, rising, "[that] I can
remain here no longer."
"This is cruel indeed," cried Mrs. Harrel, bursting into tears; "did
you only bring me here to insult me?"
"No!" cried he, suddenly embracing her, "by this parting kiss!" then
wildly jumping upon his seat, he leapt over the table, and was out of
sight in an instant.
Amazement seized all who remained; Mrs Harrel and Cecilia, indeed,
doubted not but he was actually gone to the chaise he had ordered; but
the manner of his departure affrighted them, and his preceding
behaviour had made them cease to expect it: Mrs Harrel, leaning upon
Cecilia, continued to weep, while she, confounded and alarmed, scarce
knew whether she should stay and console her, or fly after Mr Harrel,
whom she feared had incapacitated himself from finding his chaise, by
the very method he had taken to gather courage for seeking it.
This, however, was but the apprehension of a moment; another and a far
more horrible one drove it from her imagination: for scarcely had Mr
Harrel quitted the box and their sight, before their ears were
suddenly struck with the report of a pistol.
Mrs Harrel gave a loud scream, which was involuntarily echoed by,
Cecilia: everybody arose, some with officious zeal to serve the
ladies, and others to hasten to the spot whence the dreadful sound
proceeded.
Sir Robert Floyer again offered his services in conducting them home;
but they could listen to no such proposal: Cecilia, with difficulty
refrained from rushing out herself to discover what was passing; but
her dread of being followed by Mrs Harrel prevented her; they both,
therefore, waited, expecting every instant some intelligence, as all
but the Baronet and Mr Marriot were now gone to seek it.
Nobody, however, returned; and their terrors encreased every moment:
Mrs Harrel wanted to run out herself, but Cecilia, conjuring her to
keep still, begged Mr Marriot to bring them some account. Mr Marriot,
like the messengers who had preceded him, came not back: an instant
seemed an age, and Sir Robert Floyer was also entreated to procure
information.
Mrs Harrel and Cecilia were now left to themselves, and their horror
was too great for speech or motion: they stood close to each other,
listening to every sound and receiving every possible addition to
their alarm, by the general confusion which they observed in the
gardens, in which, though both gentlemen and waiters were running to
and fro, not a creature was walking, and all amusement seemed
forgotten.
From this dreadful state they were at length removed, though not
relieved, by the sight of a waiter, who, as he was passing shewed
himself almost covered with blood! Mrs Harrel vehemently called after
him, demanding whence it came? "From the gentleman, ma'am," answered
he in haste, "that has shot himself," and then ran on.
Mrs Harrel uttered a piercing scream, and sunk on the ground; for
Cecilia, shuddering with horror, lost all her own strength, and could
no longer lend her any support.
So great at this time was the general confusion of the place, that for
some minutes their particular distress was unknown, and their
situation unnoticed; till at length an elderly gentleman came up to
the box, and humanely offered his assistance.
Cecilia, pointing to her unfortunate friend, who had not fallen into a
fainting fit, but merely from weakness and terror, accepted his help
in raising her. She was lifted up, however, without the smallest
effort on her own part, and was only kept upon her seat by being held
there by the stranger, for Cecilia, whose whole frame was shaking,
tried in vain to sustain her.
This gentleman, from the violence of their distress, began now to
suspect its motive, and addressing himself to Cecilia, said, "I am
afraid, madam, this unfortunate gentleman was some Relation to you?"
Neither of them spoke, but their silence was sufficiently expressive.
"It is pity, madam," he continued, "that some friend can't order him
out of the crowd, and have him kept quiet till a surgeon can be
brought."
"A surgeon!" exclaimed Cecilia, recovering from one surprize by the
effect of another; "is it then possible he may be saved?"
And without waiting to have her question answered, she ran out of the
box herself, flying wildly about the garden, and calling for help as
she flew, till she found the house by the entrance; and then, going up
to the bar, "Is a surgeon sent for?" she exclaimed, "let a surgeon be
fetched instantly!" "A surgeon, ma'am," she was answered, "is not the
gentleman dead?" "No, no, no!" she cried; "he must be brought in; let
some careful people go and bring him in." Nor would she quit the bar,
till two or three waiters were called, and received her orders. And
then, eager to see them executed herself, she ran, fearless of being
alone, and without thought of being lost, towards the fatal spot
whither the crowd guided her. She could not, indeed, have been more
secure from insult or molestation if surrounded by twenty guards; for
the scene of desperation and horror which many had witnessed, and of
which all had heard the signal, engrossed the universal attention, and
took, even from the most idle and licentious, all spirit for gallantry
and amusement.
Here, while making vain attempts to penetrate through the multitude,
that she might see and herself judge the actual situation of Mr
Harrel, and give, if yet there was room for hope, such orders as would
best conduce to his safety and recovery, she was met by Mr Marriot,
who entreated her not to press forward to a sight which he had found
too shocking for himself, and insisted upon protecting her through the
crowd.
"If he is alive," cried she, refusing his aid, "and if there is any
chance he may be saved, no sight shall be too shocking to deter me
from seeing him properly attended."
"All attendance," answered he, "will be in vain: he is not indeed, yet
dead, but his recovery is impossible. There is a surgeon with him
already; one who happened to be in the gardens, and he told me himself
that the wound was inevitably mortal."
Cecilia, though greatly disappointed, still determined to make way to
him, that she might herself enquire if, in his last moments, there was
any thing he wished to communicate, or desired to have done: but, as
she struggled to proceed, she was next met and stopt by Sir Robert
Floyer, who, forcing her back, acquainted her that all was over!
The shock with which she received this account, though unmixed with
any tenderness of regret, and resulting merely from general humanity,
was yet so violent as almost to overpower her. Mr Harrel, indeed, had
forfeited all right to her esteem, and the unfeeling selfishness of
his whole behaviour had long provoked her resentment and excited her
disgust; yet a catastrophe so dreadful, and from which she had herself
made such efforts to rescue him, filled her with so much horror, that,
turning extremely sick, she was obliged to be supported to the nearest
box, and stop there for hartshorn and water.
A few minutes, however, sufficed to divest her of all care for
herself, in the concern with which she recollected the situation of
Mrs Harrel; she hastened, therefore, back to her, attended by the
Baronet and Mr Marriot, and found her still leaning upon the stranger,
and weeping aloud.
The fatal news had already reached her; and though all affection
between Mr Harrel and herself had mutually subsided from the first two
or three months of their marriage, a conclusion so horrible to all
connection between them could not be heard without sorrow and
distress. Her temper, too, naturally soft, retained not resentment,
and Mr Harrel, now separated from her for ever, was only remembered as
the Mr Harrel who first won her heart.
Neither pains nor tenderness were spared on the part of Cecilia to
console her; who finding her utterly incapable either of acting or
directing for herself, and knowing her at all times to be extremely
helpless, now summoned to her own aid all the strength of mind she
possessed, and determined upon this melancholy occasion, both to think
and act for her widowed friend to the utmost stretch of her abilities
and power.
As soon, therefore, as the first effusions of her grief were over, she
prevailed with her to go to the house, where she was humanely offered
the use of a quiet room till she should be better able to set off for
town. Cecilia, having seen her thus safely lodged, begged Mr Marriot
to stay with her, and then, accompanied by the Baronet, returned
herself to the bar, and desiring the footman who had attended them to
be called, sent him instantly to his late master, and proceeded next
with great presence of mind, to inquire further into the particulars
of what had passed, and to consult upon what was immediately to be
done with the deceased: for she thought it neither decent nor right to
leave to chance or to strangers the last duties which could be paid
him.
He had lingered, she found, about a quarter of an hour, but in a
condition too dreadful for description, quite speechless, and, by all
that could be judged, out of his senses; yet so distorted with pain,
and wounded so desperately beyond any power of relief, that the
surgeon, who every instant expected his death, said it would not be
merely useless but inhuman, to remove him till he had breathed his
last. He died, therefore, in the arms of this gentleman and a waiter.
"A waiter!" cried Cecilia, reproachfully looking at Sir Robert, "and
was there no friend who for the few poor moments that remained had
patience to support him?"
"Where would be the good," said Sir Robert, "of supporting a man in
his last agonies?"
This unfeeling speech she attempted not to answer, but, suffering
neither her dislike to him, nor her scruples for herself, to interfere
with the present occasion, she desired to have his advice what was now
best to be done.
Undertaker's men must immediately, he said, be sent for, to remove the
body.
She then gave orders for that purpose, which were instantly executed.
Whither the body was to go was the next question: Cecilia wished the
removal to be directly to the townhouse, but Sir Robert told her it
must be carried to the nearest undertaker's, and kept there till it
could be conveyed to town in a coffin.
For this, also, in the name of Mrs Harrel, she gave directions. And
then addressing herself to Sir Robert, "You will now Sir, I hope," she
said, "return to the fatal spot, and watch by your late unfortunate
friend till the proper people arrive to take charge of him?"
"And what good will that do?" cried he; "had I not better watch by
you?"
"It will do good," answered she, with some severity, "to decency and
to humanity; and surely you cannot refuse to see who is with him, and
in what situation he lies, and whether he has met, from the strangers
with whom he was left, the tenderness and care which his friends ought
to have paid him."
"Will you promise, then," he answered, "not to go away till I come
back? for I have no great ambition to sacrifice the living for the
dead."
"I will promise nothing, Sir," said she, shocked at his callous
insensibility; "but if you refuse this last poor office, I must apply
elsewhere; and firmly I believe there is no other I can ask who will a
moment hesitate in complying."
She then went back to Mrs Harrel, leaving, however, an impression upon
the mind of Sir Robert, that made him no longer dare dispute her
commands.
Her next solicitude was how they should return to town; they had no
equipage of their own, and the only servant who came with them was
employed in performing the last duties for his deceased master. Her
first intention was to order a hackney coach, but the deplorable state
of Mrs Harrel made it almost impossible she could take the sole care
of her, and the lateness of the night, and their distance from home,
gave her a dread invincible to going so far without some guard or
assistant. Mr Marriot earnestly desired to have the honour of
conveying them to Portman-square in his own carriage, and
notwithstanding there were many objections to such a proposal, the
humanity of his behaviour upon the present occasion, and the evident
veneration which accompanied his passion, joined to her encreasing
aversion to the Baronet, from whom she could not endure to receive the
smallest obligation, determined her, after much perplexity and
hesitation, to accept his offer.
She begged him, therefore, to immediately order his coach, and, happy
to obey her, he went out with that design; but, instantly coming back,
told her, in a low voice, that they must wait some time longer, as the
Undertaker's people were then entering the garden, and if they stayed
not till the removal had taken place, Mrs Harrel might be shocked with
the sight of some of the men, or perhaps even meet the dead body.
Cecilia, thanking him for this considerate precaution, readily agreed
to defer setting out; devoting, mean time, all her attention to Mrs
Harrel, whose sorrow, though violent, forbad not consolation. But
before the garden was cleared, and the carriage ordered, Sir Robert
returned; saying to Cecilia, with an air of parading obedience which
seemed to claim some applause, "Miss Beverley, your commands have been
executed."
Cecilia made not any answer, and he presently added, "Whenever you
chuse to go I will order up my coach."
"_My_ coach, Sir," said Mr Marriot, "will be ordered when the
ladies are ready, and I hope to have the honour myself of conducting
them to town."
"No, Sir," cried the Baronet, "that can never be; my long acquaintance
with Mrs Harrel gives me a prior right to attend her, and I can by no
means suffer any other person to rob me of it."
"I have nothing," said Mr Marriot, "to say to that, Sir, but Miss
Beverley herself has done me the honour to consent to make use of my
carriage."
"Miss Beverley, I think," said Sir Robert, extremely piqued, "can
never have sent me out of the way in order to execute her own
commands, merely to deprive me of the pleasure of attending her and
Mrs Harrel home."
Cecilia, somewhat alarmed, now sought to lessen the favour of her
decision, though she adhered to it without wavering.
"My intention," said she, "was not to confer, but to receive an
obligation; and I had hoped, while Mr. Marriot assisted us, Sir Robert
would be far more humanely employed in taking charge of what we cannot
superintend, and yet are infinitely more anxious should not be
neglected."
"That," said Sir Robert, "is all done; and I hope, therefore, after
sending me upon such an errand, you don't mean to refuse me the
pleasure of seeing you to town?"
"Sir Robert," said Cecilia, greatly displeased, "I cannot argue with
you now; I have already settled my plan, and I am not at leisure to
re-consider it."
Sir Robert bit his lips for a moment in angry silence; but not
enduring to lose the victory to a young rival he despised, he
presently said, "If I must talk no more about it to you, madam, I must
at least beg leave to talk of it to this gentleman, and take the
liberty to represent to him--"
Cecilia now, dreading how his speech might be answered, prevented its
being finished, and with an air of the most spirited dignity, said,
"Is it possible, sir, that at a time such as this, you should not be
wholly indifferent to a matter so frivolous? little indeed will be the
pleasure which our society can afford! your dispute however, has given
it some importance, and therefore Mr Marriot must accept my thanks for
his civility, and excuse me for retracting my consent."
Supplications and remonstrances were, however, still poured upon her
from both, and the danger, the impossibility that two ladies could go
to town alone, in a hackney coach, and without even a servant, at near
four o'clock in the morning, they mutually urged, vehemently
entreating that she would run no such hazard.
Cecilia was far other than insensible to these representations: the
danger, indeed, appeared to her so formidable, that her inclination
the whole time opposed her refusal; yet her repugnance to giving way
to the overbearing Baronet, and her fear of his resentment if she
listened to Mr Marriot, forced her to be steady, since she saw that
her preference would prove the signal of a quarrel.
Inattentive, therefore, to their joint persecution, she again
deliberated by what possible method she could get home in safety; but
unable to devise any, she at last resolved to make enquiries of the
people in the bar, who had been extremely humane and civil, whether
they could assist or counsel her. She therefore desired the two
gentlemen to take care of Mrs Harrel, to which neither dared dissent,
as both could not refuse, and hastily arising, went out of the room:
but great indeed was her surprize when, as she was walking up to the
bar, she was addressed by young Delvile!
Approaching her with that air of gravity and distance which of late he
had assumed in her presence, he was beginning some speech about his
mother; but the instant the sound of his voice reached Cecilia, she
joyfully clasped her hands, and eagerly exclaimed, "Mr Delvile!--O now
we are safe!--this is fortunate indeed!"
"Safe, Madam," cried he astonished, "yes I hope so!--has any thing
endangered your safety?"
"O no matter for danger," cried she, "we will now trust ourselves with
you, and I am sure you will protect us."
"Protect you!" repeated he again, and with warmth, "yes, while I
live!--but what is the matter?--why are you so pale?--are you ill?--
are you frightened?--what is the matter?"
And losing all coldness and reserve, with the utmost earnestness he
begged her to explain herself.
"Do you not know," cried she, "what has happened? Can you be here and
not have heard it?"
"Heard what?" cried he, "I am but this moment arrived: my mother grew
uneasy that she did not see you, she sent to your house, and was told
that you were not returned from Vauxhall; some other circumstances
also alarmed her, and therefore, late as it was, I came hither myself.
The instant I entered this place, I saw you here. This is all my
history; tell me now yours. Where is your party? where are Mr and Mrs
Harrel?--Why are you alone?"
"O ask not!" cried she, "I cannot tell you!--take us but under your
care, and you will soon know all."
She then hurried from him, and returning to Mrs Harrel, said she had
now a conveyance at once safe and proper, and begged her to rise and
come away.
The gentlemen, however, rose first, each of them declaring he would
himself attend them.
"No," said Cecilia, steadily, "that trouble will now be superfluous:
Mrs Delvile herself has sent for me, and her son is now waiting till
we join him."
Amazement and disappointment at this intelligence were visible in the
faces of them both: Cecilia waited not a single question, but finding
she was unable to support Mrs Harrel, who rather suffered herself to
be carried than led, she entrusted her between them, and ran forward
to enquire of Delvile if his carriage was ready.
She found him with a look of horror that told the tale he had been
hearing, listening to one of the waiters: the moment she appeared, he
flew to her, and with the utmost emotion exclaimed, "Amiable Miss
Beverley! what a dreadful scene have you witnessed! what a cruel task
have you nobly performed! such spirit with such softness! so much
presence of mind with such feeling!--but you are all excellence!
human nature can rise no higher! I believe indeed you are its most
perfect ornament!"
Praise such as this, so unexpected, and delivered with such energy,
Cecilia heard not without pleasure, even at a moment when her whole
mind was occupied by matters foreign to its peculiar interests. She
made, however, her enquiry about the carriage, and he told her that he
had come in a hackney coach, which was waiting for him at the door.
Mrs Harrel was now brought in, and little was the recompense her
assistants received for their aid, when they saw Cecilia so
contentedly engaged with young Delvile, whose eyes were rivetted on
her face, with an expression of the most lively admiration: each,
however, then quitted the other, and hastened to the fair mourner; no
time was now lost, Mrs Harrel was supported to the coach, Cecilia
followed her, and Delvile, jumping in after them, ordered the man to
drive to Portman-square.
Sir Robert and Mr Marriot, confounded though enraged, saw their
departure in passive silence: the right of attendance they had so
tenaciously denied to each other, here admitted not of dispute:
Delvile upon this occasion, appeared as the representative of his
father, and his authority seemed the authority of a guardian. Their
only consolation was that neither had yielded to the other, and all
spirit of altercation or revenge was sunk in their mutual
mortification. At the petition of the waiters, from sullen but proud
emulation, they paid the expences of the night, and then throwing
themselves into their carriages, returned to their respective houses.
CHAPTER xiii.
A SOLUTION.
During the ride to town, not merely Cecilia, but Delvile himself
attended wholly to Mrs Harrel, whose grief as it became less violent,
was more easy to be soothed.
The distress of this eventful night was however not yet over; when
they came to Portman-square, Delvile eagerly called to the coachman
not to drive up to the house, and anxiously begged Cecilia and Mrs
Harrel to sit still, while he went out himself to make some enquiries.
They were surprised at the request, yet immediately consented; but
before he had quitted them, Davison, who was watching their return,
came up to them with information that an execution was then in the
house.
Fresh misery was now opened for Mrs Harrel, and fresh horror and
perplexity for Cecilia: she had no longer, however, the whole weight
either of thought or of conduct upon herself: Delvile in her cares
took the most animated interest, and beseeching her to wait a moment
and appease her friend, he went himself into the house to learn the
state of the affair.
He returned in a few minutes, and seemed in no haste to communicate
what he had heard, but entreated them both to go immediately to St
James's-square.
Cecilia felt extremely fearful of offending his father by the
introduction of Mrs Harrel: yet she had nothing better to propose, and
therefore, after a short and distressed argument, she complied.
Delvile then told her that the alarm of his mother, at which he had
already hinted, proceeded from a rumour of this very misfortune, to
which, though they knew not whether they might give credit, was owing
the anxiety which at so late an hour, had induced him to go to
Vauxhall in search of her. They gained admittance without any
disturbance, as the servant of young Delvile had been ordered to sit
up for his master. Cecilia much disliked thus taking possession of the
house in the night-time, though Delvile, solicitous to relieve her,
desired she would not waste a thought upon the subject, and making his
servant shew her the room which had been prepared for her reception,
he begged her to compose her spirits, and to comfort her friend, and
promised to acquaint his father and mother when they arose with what
had happened, that she might be saved all pain from surprise or
curiosity when they met.
This service she thankfully accepted, for she dreaded, after the
liberty she had taken, to encounter the pride of Mr Delvile without
some previous apology, and she feared still more to see his lady
without the same preparation, as her frequent breach of appointment.
might reasonably have offended her, and as her displeasure would
affect her more deeply.
It was now near six o'clock, yet the hours seemed as long as they were
melancholy till the family arose. They settled to remain quiet till
some message was sent to them, but before any arrived, Mrs Harrel, who
was seated upon the bed, wearied by fatigue and sorrow, cried herself
to sleep like a child.
Cecilia rejoiced in seeing this reprieve from affliction, though her
keener sensations unfitted her from partaking of it; much indeed was
the uneasiness which kept her awake; the care of Mrs Harrel seemed to
devolve upon herself, the reception she might meet from the Delviles
was uncertain, and the horrible adventures of the night, refused for a
moment to quit her remembrance.
At ten o'clock, a message was brought from Mrs Delvile, to know
whether they were ready for breakfast. Mrs Harrel was still asleep,
but Cecilia carried her own answer by hastening down stairs.
In her way she was met by young Delvile, whose air upon first
approaching her spoke him again prepared to address her with the most
distant gravity: but almost the moment he looked at her, he forgot
his purpose; her paleness, the heaviness of her eyes, and the fatigue
of long watching betrayed by her whole face, again, surprised him into
all the tenderness of anxiety, and he enquired after her health not as
a compliment of civility, but as a question in which his whole heart
was most deeply interested.
Cecilia thanked him for his attention to her friend the night before,
and then proceeded to his mother.
Mrs Delvile, coming forward to meet her, removed at once all her fears
of displeasure, and banished all necessity of apology, by instantly
embracing her, and warmly exclaiming "Charming Miss Beverley! how
shall I ever tell you half the admiration with which I have heard of
your conduct! The exertion of so much fortitude at a juncture when a
weaker mind would have been overpowered by terror, and a heart less
under the dominion of well-regulated principles, would have sought
only its own relief by flying from distress and confusion, shews such
_propriety of mind_ as can only result from the union of good
sense with virtue. You are indeed a noble creature! I thought so from
the moment I beheld you; I shall think so, I hope, to the last that I
live!"
Cecilia, penetrated with joy and gratitude, felt in that instant the
amplest recompense for all that she had suffered, and for all that she
had lost. Such praise from Mrs Delvile was alone sufficient to make
her happy; but when she considered whence it sprung, and that the
circumstances with which she was so much struck, must have been
related to her by her son, her delight was augmented to an emotion the
most pleasing she could experience, from seeing how high she was held
in the esteem of those who were highest in her own.
Mrs Delvile then, with the utmost cordiality, began to talk of her
affairs, saving her the pain of proposing the change of habitation
that now seemed unavoidable, by an immediate invitation to her house,
which she made with as much delicacy as if Mr Harrel's had still been
open to her, and choice, not necessity, had directed her removal. The
whole family, she told her, went into the country in two days, and she
hoped that a new scene, with quietness and early hours, would restore
both the bloom and sprightliness which her late cares and restlessness
had injured. And though she very seriously lamented the rash action of
Mr Harrel, she much rejoiced in the acquisition which her own house
and happiness would receive from her society.
She next discussed the situation of her widowed friend, and Cecilia
produced the packet which had been entrusted to her by her late
husband. Mrs Delvile advised her to open it in the presence of Mr
Arnott, and begged her to send for any other of her friends she might
wish to see or consult, and to claim freely from herself whatever
advice or assistance she could bestow.
And then, without waiting for Mr Delvile, she suffered her to swallow
a hasty breakfast, and return to Mrs Harrel, whom she had desired the
servants to attend, as she concluded that in her present situation she
would not chuse to make her appearance.
Cecilia, lightened now from all her cares, more pleased than ever with
Mrs Delvile, and enchanted that at last she was settled under her
roof, went back with as much ability as inclination to give comfort to
Mrs Harrel. She found her but just awaking, and scarce yet conscious
where she was, or why not in her own house.
As her powers of recollection returned, she was soothed with the
softest compassion by Cecilia, who in pursuance of Mrs Delvile's
advice, sent her servant in search of Mr Arnott, and in consequence of
her permission, wrote a note of invitation to Mr Monckton.
Mr Arnott, who was already in town, soon arrived: his own man, whom he
had left to watch the motions of Mr Harrel, having early in the
morning rode to the place of his retreat, with the melancholy tidings
of the suicide and execution.
Cecilia instantly went down stairs to him. The meeting was extremely
painful to them both. Mr Arnott severely blamed himself for his
flight, believing it had hastened the fatal blow, which some further
sacrifices might perhaps have eluded: and Cecilia half repented the
advice she had given him, though the failure of her own efforts proved
the situation of Mr Harrel too desperate for remedy.
He then made the tenderest enquiries about his sister, and entreated
her to communicate to him the minutest particulars of the dreadful
transaction: after which, she produced the packet, but neither of them
had the courage to break the seal; and concluding the contents would
be no less than his last will, they determined some third person
should be present when they opened it. Cecilia wished much for Mr
Monckton, but as his being immediately found was uncertain, and the
packet might consist of orders which ought not to be delayed, she
proposed, for the sake of expedition, to call in Mr Delvile.
Mr Arnott readily agreed, and she sent to beg a moment's audience with
that gentleman.
She was desired to walk into the breakfast-room, where he was sitting
with his lady and his son.
Not such was now her reception as when she entered that apartment
before; Mr Delvile looked displeased and out of humour, and, making
her a stiff bow, while his son brought her a chair, coldly said, "If
you are hurried, Miss Beverley, I will attend you directly; if not, I
will finish my breakfast, as I shall have but little time the rest of
the morning, from the concourse of people upon business, who will
crowd upon me till dinner, most of whom will be extremely distressed
if I leave town without contriving to see them."
"There is not the least occasion, Sir," answered Cecilia, "that I
should trouble you to quit the room I merely came to beg you would
have the goodness to be present while Mr Arnott opens a small packet
which was last night put into my hands by Mr Harrel."
"And has Mr Arnott," answered he, somewhat sternly, "thought proper to
send me such a request?"
"No, Sir," said Cecilia, "the request is mine; and if, as I now fear,
it is impertinent, I must entreat you to forget it."
"As far as relates merely to yourself," returned Mr Delvile, "it is
another matter; but certainly Mr Arnott can have no possible claim
upon my time or attention; and I think it rather extraordinary, that a
young man with whom I have no sort of connection or commerce, and
whose very name is almost unknown to me, should suppose a person in my
style of life so little occupied as to be wholly at his command."
"He had no such idea, Sir," said Cecilia, greatly disconcerted; "the
honour of your presence is merely solicited by myself, and simply from
the apprehension that some directions may be contained in the papers
which, perhaps, ought immediately to be executed."
"I am not, I repeat," said Mr Delvile, more mildly, "displeased at
your part of this transaction; your want of experience and knowledge
of the world makes you not at all aware of the consequences which may
follow my compliance: the papers you speak of may perhaps be of great
importance, and hereafter the first witness to their being read may be
publickly called upon. You know not the trouble such an affair may
occasion, but Mr Arnott ought to be better informed."
Cecilia, making another apology for the error which she had committed,
was in no small confusion, quitting the room; but Mr Delvile,
perfectly appeased by seeing her distress, stopt her, to say, with
much graciousness, "For your sake, Miss Beverley, I am sorry I cannot
act in this business; but you see how I am situated! overpowered with
affairs of my own, and people who can do nothing without my orders.
Besides, should there hereafter be any investigation into the matter,
my name might, perhaps, be mentioned, and it would be superfluous to
say how ill I should think it used by being brought into such
company."
Cecilia then left the rooms secretly vowing that no possible exigence
should in future tempt her to apply for assistance to Mr Delvile,
which, however ostentatiously offered, was constantly withheld when
claimed.
She was beginning to communicate to Mr Arnott her ill success, when
young Delvile, with an air of eagerness, followed her into the room.
"Pardon me," he cried, "for this intrusion,--but, tell me, is it
impossible that in this affair I can represent my father? may not the
office you meant for him, devolve upon me? remember how near we are to
each other, and honour me for once with supposing us the same!"
Ah who, or what, thought Cecilia, can be so different? She thanked
him, with much sweetness, for his offer, but declined accepting it,
saying "I will not, now I know the inconveniencies of my request, be
so selfish as even to suffer it should be granted."
"You must not deny me," cried he; "where is the packet? why should you
lose a moment?"
"Rather ask," answered she, "why I should permit _you_ to lose a
moment in a matter that does not concern you? and to risk, perhaps,
the loss of many moments hereafter, from a too incautious politeness."
"And what can I risk," cried he, "half so precious as your smallest
satisfaction? do you suppose I can flatter myself with a possibility
of contributing to it, and yet have the resolution to refuse myself so
much pleasure? no, no, the heroic times are over, and self-denial is
no longer in fashion!"
"You are very good," said Cecilia; "but indeed after what has passed--"
"No matter for what has passed," interrupted he, "we are now to think
of what is to come. I know you too well to doubt your impatience in
the execution of a commission which circumstances have rendered
sacred; and should any thing either be done or omitted contrary to the
directions in your packet, will you not be apt, blameless as you are,
to disturb yourself with a thousand fears that you took not proper
methods for the discharge of your trust?"
There was something in this earnestness so like his former behaviour,
and so far removed from his late reserve, that Cecilia, who perceived
it with a pleasure she could hardly disguise, now opposed him no
longer, but took up the packet, and broke the seal.
And then, to her no small amazement, instead of the expected will, she
found a roll of enormous bills, and a collection of letters from
various creditors, threatening the utmost severity of the law if their
demands were longer unanswered.
Upon a slip of paper which held these together, was written, in Mr
Harrel's hand, _To be all paid to-night with a_ BULLET.
Next appeared two letters of another sort; the first of which was from
Sir Robert Floyer, and in these words:
Sir,--As all prospects are now over of the alliance, I hope you will
excuse my reminding you of the affair at Brookes's of last Christmas.
I have the honour to be, Sir, yours
R. FLOYER.
The other was from Mr Marriot.
Sir,--Though I should think L2000 nothing for the smallest hope, I
must take the liberty to say I think it a great deal for only ten
minutes: you can't have forgot, Sir, the terms of our agreement, but
as I find you cannot keep to them, I must beg to be off also on my
side, and I am persuaded you are too much a man of honour to take
advantage of my over-eagerness in parting with my money without better
security. I am, Sir, your most humble servant,
A. Marriot.
What a scene of fraud, double-dealing, and iniquity was here laid
open! Cecilia, who at first meant to read every thing aloud, found the
attempt utterly vain, for so much was she shocked, that she could
hardly read on to herself.
Last of all appeared a paper in Mr Harrel's own hand-writing,
containing these words.
For Mrs Harrel, Miss Beverley, and Mr Arnott.
I can struggle no longer, the last blow must now be struck! another
day robs me of my house and my liberty, and blasts me by the fatal
discovery of my double attempts.
This is what I have wished; wholly to be freed, or ruined past all
resource, and driven to the long-projected remedy.
A burthen has my existence been these two years, gay as I have
appeared; not a night have I gone to bed, but heated and inflamed from
a gaming table; not a morning have I awaked, but to be soured with a
dun!
I would not lead such a life again, if the slave who works hardest at
the oar would change with me.
Had I a son, I would bequeath him a plough; I should then leave him
happier than my parents left me.
Idleness has been my destruction; the want of something to do led me
into all evil.
A good wife perhaps might have saved me,--mine, I thank her! tried
not. Disengaged from me and my affairs, her own pleasures and
amusements have occupied her solely. Dreadful will be the catastrophe
she will see to-night; let her bring it home, and live better!
If any pity is felt for me, it will be where I have least deserved it!
Mr Arnott--Miss Beverley! it will come from you!
To bring myself to this final resolution, hard, I confess, have been
my conflicts: it is not that I have feared death, no, I have long
wished it, for shame and dread have embittered my days; but something
there is within me that causes a deeper horror, that asks my
preparation for another world! that demands my authority for quitting
this!--what may hereafter--O terrible!--Pray for me, generous Miss
Beverley!--kind, gentle Mr Arnott, pray for me!--
Wretch as Mr Harrel appeared, without religion, principle, or honour,
this incoherent letter, evidently written in the desperate moment of
determined suicide, very much affected both Cecilia and Mr Arnott, and
in spite either of abhorrence or resentment, they mutually shed tears
over the address to themselves.
Delvile, to whom 'every part of the affair was new, could only
consider these papers as so many specimens of guilt and infamy; he
read them, therefore, with astonishment and detestation, and openly
congratulated Cecilia upon having escaped the double snares that were
spread for her.
While this was passing, Mr Monckton arrived; who felt but little
satisfaction from beholding the lady of his heart in confidential
discourse with two of his rivals, one of whom had long attacked her by
the dangerous flattery of perseverance, and the other, without any
attack, had an influence yet more powerful.
Delvile, having performed the office for which he came, concluded,
upon the entrance of Mr Monckton, that Cecilia had nothing further to
wish from him; for her long acquaintance with that gentleman, his
being a _married man_, and her neighbour in the country, were
circumstances well known to him: he merely, therefore, enquired if she
would honour him with any commands, and upon her assuring him she had
none, he quietly withdrew.
This was no little relief to Mr Monckton, into whose hands Cecilia
then put the fatal packet: and while he was reading it, at the desire
of Mr Arnott, she went up stairs to prepare Mrs Harrel for his
admission.
Mrs Harrel, unused to solitude, and as eager for company when unhappy
to console, as when easy to divert her, consented to receive him with
pleasure: they both wept at the meeting, and Cecilia, after some words
of general comfort, left them together.
She had then a very long and circumstantial conversation with Mr
Monckton, who explained whatever had appeared dark in the writings
left by Mr Harrel, and who came to her before he saw them, with full
knowledge of what they contained.
Mr Harrel had contracted with Sir Robert Floyer a large debt of honour
before the arrival in town of Cecilia; and having no power to
discharge it, he promised that the prize he expected in his ward
should fall to his share, upon condition that the debt was cancelled.
Nothing was thought more easy than to arrange this business, for the
Baronet was always to be in her way, and the report of the intended
alliance was to keep off all other pretenders. Several times, however,
her coldness made him think the matter hopeless; and when he received
her letter, he would have given up the whole affair: but Mr Harrel,
well knowing his inability to satisfy the claims that would follow
such a defection, constantly persuaded him the reserve was affected,
and that his own pride and want of assiduity occasioned all her
discouragement.
But while thus, by amusing the Baronet with false hopes, he kept off
his demands, those of others were not less clamorous: his debts
increased, his power of paying them diminished; he grew sour and
desperate, and in one night lost L3000 beyond what he could produce,
or offer any security for.
This, as he said, _was what he wished_; and now he was, for the
present, to extricate himself by doubling stakes and winning, or to
force himself into suicide by doubling such a loss. For though, with
tolerable ease, he could forget accounts innumerable with his
tradesmen, one neglected _debt of honour_ rendered his existence
insupportable!
For this last great effort, his difficulty was to raise the L3000
already due, without which the proposal could not be made: and,
after various artifices and attempts, he at length contrived a meeting
with Mr Marriot, intreated him to lend him L2000 for only two days,
and offered his warmest services in his favour with Cecilia.
The rash and impassioned young man, deceived by his accounts into
believing that his ward was wholly at his disposal, readily advanced
the money, without any other condition than that of leave to visit
freely at his house, to the exclusion of Sir Robert Floyer. "The other
L1000," continued Mr Monckton, "I know not how he obtained, but he
certainly had three. You, I hope, were not so unguarded--"
"Ah, Mr Monckton," said Cecilia, "blame me not too severely! the
attacks that were made,--the necessity of otherwise betraying the
worthy and half ruined Mr. Arnott--"
"Oh fie," cried he, "to suffer your understanding to be lulled asleep,
because the weak-minded Mr Arnott's could not be kept awake! I
thought, after such cautions from me, and such experience of your own,
you could not again have been thus duped."
"I thought so too," answered she, "but yet when the trial came on,--
indeed you know not how I was persecuted."
"Yet you see," returned he, "the utter inutility of the attempt; you
see, and I told you beforehand, that nothing could save him."
"True; but had I been firmer in refusal, I might not so well have
known it; I might then have upbraided myself with supposing that my
compliance would have rescued him."
"You have indeed," cried Mr Monckton, "fallen into most worthless
hands, and the Dean was much to blame for naming so lightly a guardian
to a fortune such as yours."
"Pardon me," cried Cecilia, "he never entrusted him with my fortune,
he committed it wholly to Mr Briggs."
"But if he knew not the various subterfuges by which such a caution
might be baffled, he ought to have taken advice of those who were
better informed. Mr Briggs, too! what a wretch! mean, low, vulgar,
sordid!--the whole city of London, I believe, could not produce such
another! how unaccountable to make you the ward of a man whose house
you cannot enter without disgust!"
"His house," cried Cecilia, "my uncle never wished me to enter; he
believed, and he was right, that my fortune would be safe in his
hands; but for myself, he concluded I should always reside at Mr
Harrel's." "But does not the city at this time," said Mr Monckton,
"abound in families where, while your fortune was in security, you
might yourself have lived with propriety? Nothing requires
circumspection so minute as the choice of a guardian to a girl of
large fortune, and in general one thing only is attended to, an
appearance of property. Morals, integrity, character, are either not
thought of, or investigated so superficially, that the enquiry were as
well wholly omitted." He then continued his relation.
Mr Harrel hastened with his L3000 to the gaming table; one
throw of the dice settled the business, he lost, and ought immediately
to have doubled the sum. That, however, was never more likely to be in
his power; he knew it; he knew, too, the joint claims of Cecilia's
deceived admirers, and that his house was again threatened with
executions from various quarters:--he went home, loaded his pistols,
and took the methods already related to work himself into courage for
the deed.
The means by which Mr Monckton had procured these particulars were
many and various, and not all such as he could avow: since in the
course of his researches, he had tampered with servants and waiters,
and scrupled at no methods that led but to discovery.
Nor did his intelligence stop here; he had often, he said, wondered at
the patience of Mr Harrel's creditors, but now even that was cleared
up by a fresh proof of infamy: he had been himself at the house in
Portmansquare, where he was informed that Mr Harrel had kept them
quiet, by repeated assurances that his ward, in a short time, meant to
lend him money for discharging them all.
Cecilia saw now but too clearly the reason her stay in his house was
so important to him; and wondered less at his vehemence upon that
subject, though she detested it more.
"Oh how little," cried she, "are the gay and the dissipated to be
known upon a short acquaintance! expensive, indeed, and thoughtless
and luxurious he appeared to me immediately; but fraudulent, base,
designing, capable of every pernicious art of treachery and
duplicity,--such, indeed, I expected not to find him, his very
flightiness and levity seemed incompatible with such hypocrisy."
"His flightiness," said Mr Monckton, "proceeded not from gaiety of
heart, it was merely the effect of effort; and his spirits were as
mechanical as his taste for diversion. He had not strong parts, nor
were his vices the result of his passions; had oeconomy been as much
in fashion as extravagance, he would have been equally eager to
practice it; he was a mere time-server, he struggled but to be
_something_, and having neither talents nor sentiment to know
_what_, he looked around him for any pursuit, and seeing distinction
was more easily attained in the road to ruin than in any other, he
gallopped along it, thoughtless of being thrown when he came to
the bottom, and sufficiently gratified in shewing his horsemanship
by the way."
And now, all that he had either to hear or to communicate upon this
subject being told, he enquired, with a face strongly expressive of
his disapprobation, why he found her at Mr Delvile's, and what had
become of her resolution to avoid his house?
Cecilia, who, in the hurry of her mind and her affairs, had wholly
forgotten that such a resolution had been taken, blushed at the
question, and could not, at first, recollect what had urged her to
break it: but when he proceeded to mention Mr Briggs, she was no
longer distressed; she gave a circumstantial account of her visit to
him, related the mean misery in which he lived, and told him the
impracticability of her residing in such a house.
Mr Monckton could now in decency make no further opposition, however
painful and reluctant was his acquiescence: yet before he quitted her,
he gave himself the consolation of considerably obliging her, and
softened his chagrin by the sweetness of her acknowledgments.
He enquired how much money in all she had now taken up of the Jew; and
hearing it was L9050, he represented to her the additional loss she
must suffer by paying an exorbitant interest for so large a sum, and
the almost certainty with which she might be assured of very gross
imposition: he expatiated, also, upon the injury which her character
might receive in the world, were it known that she used such methods
to procure money, since the circumstances which had been her
inducement would probably either be unnoticed or misrepresented: and
when he had awakened in her much uneasiness and regret upon this
subject, he offered to pay the Jew without delay, clear her wholly
from his power, and quietly receive the money when she came of age
from herself.
A proposal so truly friendly made her look upon the regard of Mr
Monckton in a higher and nobler point of view than her utmost esteem
and reverence had hitherto placed it: yet she declined at first
accepting the offer, from an apprehension it might occasion him
inconvenience; but when he assured her he had a yet larger sum lying
at present useless in a Banker's hands, and promised to receive the
same interest for his money he should be paid from the funds, she
joyfully listened to him; and it was settled that they should send for
the Jew, take his discharge, and utterly dismiss him.
Mr Monckton, however, fearful of appearing too officious in her
affairs, wished not to have his part in the transaction published, and
advised Cecilia not to reveal the matter to the Delviles. But great as
was his [ascendancy] over her mind, her aversion to mystery and
hypocrisy were still greater; she would not, therefore, give him this
promise, though her own desire to wait some seasonable opportunity for
disclosing it, made her consent that their meeting with the Jew should
be at the house of Mrs Roberts in Fetter-lane, at twelve o'clock the
next morning; where she might also see Mrs Hill and her children
before she left town.
They now parted, Cecilia charmed more than ever with her friend, whose
kindness, as she suspected not his motives, seemed to spring from the
most disinterested generosity.
That, however, was the smallest feature in the character of Mr
Monckton, who was entirely a man of the world, shrewd, penetrating,
attentive to his interest, and watchful of every advantage to improve
it. In the service he now did Cecilia, he was gratified by giving her
pleasure, but that was by no means his only gratification; he still
hoped her fortune would one day be his own, he was glad to transact
any business with her, and happy in making her owe to him an
obligation: but his principal inducement was yet stronger: he saw with
much alarm the facility of her liberality; and he feared while she
continued in correspondence with the Jew, that the easiness with which
she could raise money would be a motive with her to continue the
practice whenever she was softened by distress, or subdued by
entreaty: but he hoped, by totally concluding the negociation, the
temptation would be removed: and that the hazard and inconvenience of
renewing it, would strengthen her aversion to such an expedient, till,
between difficulties and disuse, that dangerous resource would be
thought of no more.
Cecilia then returned to Mrs Harrel, whom she found as she had left,
weeping in the arms of her brother. They consulted upon what was best
to be done, and agreed that she ought instantly to leave town; for
which purpose a chaise was ordered directly. They settled also that Mr
Arnott, when he had conveyed her to his country house, which was in
Suffolk, should hasten back to superintend the funeral, and see if
anything could be saved from the creditors for his sister.
Yet this plan, till Cecilia was summoned to dinner, they had not the
resolution to put in practice. They were then obliged to be gone, and
their parting was very melancholy. Mrs Harrel wept immoderately, and
Mr Arnott felt a concern too tender for avowal, though too sincere for
concealment. Cecilia, however glad to change her situation, was
extremely depressed by their sorrow, and entreated to have frequent
accounts of their proceedings, warmly repeating her offers of service,
and protestations of faithful regard.
She accompanied them to the chaise, and then went to the dining
parlour, where she found Mr and Mrs Delvile, but saw nothing more of
their son the whole day.
The next morning after breakfast, Mrs Delvile set out upon some leave-
taking visits, and Cecilia went in a chair to Fetter-lane: here,
already waiting for her, she met the punctual Mr Monckton, and the
disappointed Jew, who most unwillingly was paid off, and relinquished
his bonds; and who found in the severe and crafty Mr Monckton, another
sort of man to deal with than the necessitous and heedless Mr Harrel.
As soon as he was dismissed, other bonds were drawn and signed, the
old ones were destroyed; and Cecilia, to her infinite satisfaction,
had no creditor but Mr Monckton. Her bookseller, indeed, was still
unpaid, but her debt with him was public, and gave her not any
uneasiness.
She now, with the warmest expressions of gratitude, took leave of Mr
Monckton, who suffered the most painful struggles in repressing the
various apprehensions to which the parting, and her establishment at
the Delviles gave rise.
She then enquired briefly into the affairs of Mrs Hill, and having
heard a satisfactory account of them, returned to St James's-square.
BOOK VI
CHAPTER i.
A DEBATE.
It was still early, and Mrs Delvile was not expected till late.
Cecilia, therefore, determined to make a visit to Miss Belfield, to
whom she had been denied during the late disorders at Mr Harrel's, and
whom she could not endure to mortify by quitting town without seeing,
since whatever were her doubts about Delvile, of her she had none.
To Portland-street, therefore, she ordered her chair, deliberating as
she went whether it were better to adhere to the reserve she had
hitherto maintained, or to satisfy her perplexity at once by an
investigation into the truth. And still were these scruples undecided,
when, looking in at the windows as she passed them to the door of the
house, she perceived Miss Belfield standing in the parlour with a
letter in her hand, which she was fervently pressing to her lips.
Struck by this sight, a thousand painful conjectures occurred to her,
all representing that the letter was from Delvile, and all explaining
to his dishonour the mystery of his late conduct. And far were her
suspicions from diminishing, when, upon being shown into the parlour,
Miss Belfield, trembling with her eagerness to hide it, hastily forced
the letter into her pocket.
Cecilia, surprised, dismayed, alarmed, stopt involuntarily at the
door; but Miss Belfield, having secured what was so evidently precious
to her, advanced, though not without blushing, and taking her hand,
said "How good this is of you, madam, to come to me! when I did not
know where to find you, and when I was almost afraid I should have
found you no more!"
She then told her, that the first news she had heard the preceding
morning, was the violent death of Mr Harrel, which had been related to
her, with all its circumstances, by the landlord of their lodgings,
who was himself one of his principal creditors, and had immediately
been at Portman-square to put in his claims: where he had learnt that
all the family had quitted the house, which was entirely occupied by
bailiffs. "And I was so sorry," she continued, "that you should meet
with any hardships, and not know where to go, and have another home to
seek, when I am sure the commonest beggar would never want an
habitation, if you had one in your power to give him!--But how sad and
melancholy you look! I am afraid this bad action of Mr Harrel has made
you quite unhappy? Ah madam! you are too good for this guilty world!
your own compassion and benevolence will not suffer you to rest in
it!"
Cecilia, touched by this tender mistake of her present uneasiness,
embraced her, and with much kindness, answered, "No, sweet Henrietta!
it is _you_ who are good, who are innocent, who are guileless!--
_you_, too, I hope are happy!"
"And are not you, madam?" cried Henrietta, fondly returning her
caress. "Oh if you are not, who will ever deserve to be! I think I
should rather be unhappy myself, than see you so; at least I am sure I
ought, for the whole world may be the better for your welfare, and as
to me,--who would care what became of me!"
"Ah Henrietta!" cried Cecilia, "do you speak sincerely? do you indeed
think yourself so little valued?"
"Why I don't say," answered she, "but that I hope there are some who
think a little kindly of me, for if I had not that hope, I should wish
to break my heart and die! but what is that to the love and reverence
so many have for you?"
"Suppose," said Cecilia, with a forced smile, "I should put your love
and reverence to the proof? do you think they would stand it?"
"O yes, indeed I do! and I have wished a thousand and a thousand times
that I could but shew you my affection, and let you see that I did not
love you because you were a great lady, and high in the world, and
full of power to do me service, but because you were so good and so
kind, so gentle to the unfortunate, and so sweet to every body!"
"Hold, hold," cried Cecilia, "and let me try if indeed, fairly and
truly, you will answer what I mean to ask."
"O yes," cried she warmly, "if it is the dearest secret I have in the
world! there is nothing I will not tell you; I will open my whole
heart to you, and I shall be proud to think you will let me trust you,
for I am sure if you did not care a little for me, you would not take
such a trouble."
"You are indeed a sweet creature!" said Cecilia, hesitating whether or
not to take advantage of her frankness, "and every time I see you, I
love you better. For the world would I not injure you,--and perhaps
your confidence--I know not, indeed, if it is fair or right to exact
it--" she stopt, extremely perplext, and while Henrietta waited her
further enquiries, they were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs
Belfield.
"Sure, Child," cried she, to her daughter, "you might have let me know
before now who was here, when you knew so well how much I wished an
opportunity to see the young lady myself: but here you come down upon
pretence to see your brother, and then stay away all the morning,
doing nobody knows what." Then, turning to Cecilia, "Ma'am," she
continued, "I have been in the greatest concern in the world for the
little accident that happened when I saw you before; for to be sure I
thought, and indeed nobody will persuade me to the contrary, that it
was rather an odd thing for such a young lady as you to come so often
after Henny, without so much as thinking of any other reason;
especially when, to be sure, there's no more comparison between her
and my son, than between anything in the world; however, if it is so,
it is so, and I mean to say no more about it, and to be sure he's as
contented to think so as if he was as mere an insignificant animal as
could be."
"This matter, madam," said Cecilia, "has so long been settled, that I
am sorry you should trouble yourself to think of it again."
"O, ma'am, I only mention it by the way of making the proper apology,
for as to taking any other notice of it, I have quite left it off;
though to be sure what I think I think; but as to my son, he has so
got the upper hand of me, that it all goes for nothing, and I might
just as well sing to him. Not that I mean to find fault with him
neither; so pray, ma'am, don't let what I say be to his prejudice, for
I believe all the time, there's nobody like him, neither at this end
of the town nor the other; for as to the other, he has more the look
of a lord, by half, than of a shopman, and the reason's plain, for
that's the sort of company he's always kept, as I daresay a lady such
as you must have seen long ago. But for all that, there's some little
matters that we mothers fancy we can see into as well as our children;
however, if they don't think so, why it answers no purpose to dispute;
for as to a better son, to be sure there never was one, and that, as I
always say, is the best sign I know for making a good husband."
During this discourse, Henrietta was in the utmost confusion, dreading
lest the grossness of her mother should again send off Cecilia in
anger: but Cecilia, who perceived her uneasiness, and who was more
charmed with her character than ever, from the simplicity of her
sincerity, determined to save her that pain, by quietly hearing her
harangue, and then quietly departing: though she was much provoked to
find from the complaining hints every instant thrown out, that Mrs
Belfield was still internally convinced her son's obstinate
bashfulness was the only obstacle to his chusing whom he pleased: and
that though she no longer dared speak her opinion with openness, she
was fully persuaded Cecilia was at his service.
"And for that reason," continued Mrs Belfield, "to be sure any lady
that knew her own true advantage, could do nothing better than to take
the recommendation of a mother, who must naturally know more of her
own children's disposition than can be expected from a stranger: and
as to such a son as mine, perhaps there a'n't two such in the world,
for he's had a gentleman's education, and turn him which way he will,
he'll see never a handsomer person than his own; though, poor dear
love, he was always of the thinnest. But the misfortunes he's had to
struggle with would make nobody fatter."
Here she was interrupted, and Cecilia not a little surprised, by the
entrance of Mr Hobson and Mr Simkins.
"Ladies," cried Mr Hobson, whom she soon found was Mrs Belfield's
landlord: "I would not go up stairs without just stopping to let you
know a little how the world goes."
Then perceiving and recollecting Cecilia, he exclaimed "I am proud to
see you again, ma'am,--Miss, I believe I should say, for I take it you
are too young a lady to be entered into matrimony yet."
"Matrimony?" cried Mr Simkins, "no, to be sure, Mr Hobson, how can you
be so out of the way? the young lady looks more like to a Miss from a
boarding-school, if I might take the liberty for to say so."
"Ay, more's the pity," cried Mrs Belfield, "for as to young ladies
waiting and waiting, I don't see the great good of it; especially if a
proper match offers; for as to a good husband, I think no lady should
be above accepting him, if he's modest and well-behaved, and has been
brought up with a genteel education."
"Why as to that, ma'am," said Mr Simkins, "it's another guess matter,
for as to the lady's having a proper spouse, if I may be so free, I
think as it's no bad thing."
Cecilia now, taking Henrietta's hand, was wishing her good morning;
but hearing Mr Hobson say he was just come from Portman-square, her
curiosity was excited, and she stayed a little longer.
"Sad work, ma'am," said he; "who'd have thought Mr Harrel asked us all
to supper for the mere purpose of such a thing as that! just to serve
for a blind, as one may say. But when a man's conscience is foul, what
I say is it's ten to one but he makes away with himself. Let every man
keep clear of the world, that's my notion, and then he will be in no
such hurry to get out of it."
"Why indeed, ma'am," said Mr Simkins, advancing with many bows to
Cecilia, "humbly craving pardon for the liberty, I can't pretend for
to say I think Mr Harrel did quite the honourable thing by us; for as
to his making us drink all that champagne, and the like, it was a
sheer take in, so that if I was to speak my mind, I can't say as I
esteem it much of a favour."
"Well," said Mrs Belfield, "nothing's to me so surprising as a
person's being his own executioner, for as to me, if I was to die for
it fifty times, I don't think I could do it."
"So here," resumed Mr Hobson, "we're all defrauded of our dues!
nobody's able to get his own, let him have worked for it ever so hard.
Sad doings in the square, Miss! all at sixes and sevens; for my part I
came off from Vauxhall as soon as the thing had happened, hoping to
get the start of the others, or else I should have been proud to wait
upon you, ladies, with the particulars: but a man of business never
stands upon ceremony, for when money's at stake, that's out of the
question. However, I was too late, for the house was seized before
ever I could get nigh it."
"I hope, ma'am, if I may be so free," said Mr Simkins, again
profoundly bowing, "that you and the other lady did not take it much
amiss my not coming back to you, for it was not out of no disrespect,
but only I got so squeezed in by the ladies and gentlemen that was
looking on, that I could not make my, way out, do what I could. But by
what I see, I must needs say if one's never in such genteel company,
people are always rather of the rudest when one's in a crowd, for if
one begs and prays never so, there's no making 'em conformable."
"Pray," said Cecilia, "is it likely any thing will remain for Mrs
Harrel?"
"Remain, ma'am?" repeated Mr Hobson, "Yes, a matter of a hundred bills
without a receipt to 'em! To be sure, ma'am, I don't want to affront
you, that was his intimate acquaintance, more especially as you've
done nothing disrespectful by me, which is more than I can say for Mrs
Harrel, who seemed downright ashamed of me, and of Mr Simkins too,
though all things considered, it would have been as well for her not
to have been quite so high. But of that in its proper season!"
"Fie, Mr Hobson fie," cried the supple Mr Simkins, "how can you be so
hard? for my share, I must needs own I think the poor lady's to be
pitied; for it must have been but a melancholy sight to her, to see
her spouse cut off so in the flower of his youth, as one may say: and
you ought to scorn to take exceptions at a lady's proudness when she's
in so much trouble. To be sure, I can't say myself as she was over-
complaisant to make us welcome; but I hope I am above being so
unpitiful as for to owe her a grudge for it now she's so down in the
mouth."
"Let everybody be civil!" cried Mr Hobson, "that's my notion; and then
I shall be as much above being unpitiful as anybody else."
"Mrs Harrel," said Cecilia, "was then too unhappy, and is now, surely,
too unfortunate, to make it possible any resentment should be
harboured against her."
"You speak, ma'am, like a lady of sense," returned Mr Hobson, "and,
indeed, that's the character I hear of you; but for all that, ma'am,
every body's willing to stand up for their own friends, for which
reason, ma'am, to be sure you'll be making the best of it, both for
the Relict, and the late gentleman himself; but, ma'am, if I was to
make bold to speak my mind in a fair manner, what I should say would
be this: a man here to go shooting himself with all his debts unpaid,
is a mere piece of scandal, ma'am! I beg pardon, but what I say is,
the truth's the truth, and I can't call it by no other nomination."
Cecilia now, finding she had not any chance of pacifying him, rang for
her servant and chair.
Mr Simkins then, affecting to lower his voice, said reproachfully to
his friend "Indeed, Mr Hobson, to speak ingenusly, I must needs say I
don't think it over and above pelite in you to be so hard upon the
young lady's acquaintance that was, now he's defunct. To be sure I
can't pretend for to deny but he behaved rather comical; for not
paying of nobody, nor so much as making one a little compliment, or
the like, though he made no bones of taking all one's goods, and
always chused to have the prime of every thing, why it's what I can't
pretend to stand up for. But that's neither here nor there, for if he
had behaved as bad again, poor Miss could not tell how to help it; and
I dares to say she had no more hand in it than nobody at all."
"No, to be sure," cried Mrs Belfield, "what should she have to do with
it? Do you suppose a young lady of her fortune would want to take
advantage of a person in trade? I am sure it would be both a shame and
a sin if she did, for if she has not money enough, I wonder who has.
And for my part, I think when a young lady has such a fine fortune as
that, the only thing she has to do, is to be thinking of making a good
use of it, by dividing it, as one may say, with a good husband. For as
to keeping it all for herself, I dare say she's a lady of too much
generosity; and as to only marrying somebody that's got as much of his
own, why it is not half so much a favour: and if the young lady would
take my advice, she'd marry for love, for as to lucre, she's enough in
all conscience."
"As to all that," said Mr Hobson, "it makes no alteration in my
argument; I am speaking to the purpose, and not for the matter of
complaisance: and therefore I'm bold to say Mr Harrel's action had
nothing of the gentleman in it. A man has a right to his own life,
you'll tell me; but what of that? that's no argument at all, for it
does not give him a bit the more right to my property; and a man's
running in debt, and spending other people's substances, for no reason
in the world but just because he can blow out his own brains when he's
done,--though it's a thing neither lawful nor religious to do,--why
it's acting quite out of character, and a great hardship to trade into
the bargain."
"I heartily wish it had been otherwise," said Cecilia; "but I still
hope, if any thing can be done for Mrs Harrel, you will not object to
such a proposal."
"Ma'am, as I said before," returned Mr Hobson, "I see you're a lady of
sense, and for that I honour you: but as to any thing being done, it's
what I call a distinct thing. What's mine is mine, and what's another
man's is his; that's my way of arguing; but then if he takes what's
mine, where's the law to hinder my taking what's his? This is what I
call talking to the purpose. Now as to a man's cutting his throat, or
the like of that, for blowing out his own brains may be called the
self-same thing, what are his creditors the better for that? nothing
at all, but so much the worse it's a false notion to respect it, for
there's no respect in it; it's contrary to law, and a prejudice
against religion."
"I agree entirely in your opinion," said Cecilia, "but still Mrs
Harrel"--
"I know your argument, ma'am," interrupted Mr Hobson; "Mrs Harrel
i'n't the worse for her husband's being shot through the head, because
she was no accessory to the same, and for that reason, it's a hardship
she should lose all her substance; this, ma'am, is what I say,
speaking to your side of the argument. But now, ma'am, please to take
notice what I argue upon the reply; what have we creditors to do with
a man's family? Suppose I am a cabinet-maker? When I send in my
chairs, do I ask who is to sit upon them? No; it's all one to me
whether it's the gentleman's progeny or his friends, I must be paid
for the chairs the same, use them who may. That's the law, ma'am, and
no man need be ashamed to abide by it."
The truth of this speech palliating its sententious absurdity, made
Cecilia give up her faint attempt to soften him; and her chair being
ready, she arose to take leave.
"Lack-a-day, ma'am," cried Mrs Belfield, "I hope you won't go yet, for
I expect my son home soon, and I've a heap of things to talk to you
about besides, only Mr Hobson having so much to say stopt my mouth.
But I should take it as a great favour, ma'am, if you would come some
afternoon and drink a dish of tea with me, for then we should have
time to say all our say. And I'm sure, ma'am, if you would only let
one of your footmen just take a run to let me know when you'd come, my
son would be very proud to give you the meeting; and the servants
can't have much else to do at your house, for where there's such a
heap of 'em, they commonly think of nothing all day long but standing
and gaping at one another."
"I am going out of town to-morrow," said Cecilia, "and therefore
cannot have the pleasure of calling upon Miss Belfield again."
She then slightly courtsied, and left the room.
The gentle Henrietta, her eyes swimming in tears, followed her to her
chair; but she followed her not alone, Mrs Belfield also attended,
repining very loudly at the unlucky absence of her son: and the
cringing Mr Simkins, creeping after her and bowing, said in a low
voice, "I humbly crave pardon, ma'am, for the liberty, but I hope you
won't think as I have any share in Mr Hobson's behaving so rude, for I
must needs say, I don't think it over genteel in no shape." And Mr
Hobson himself, bent upon having one more sentence heard, called out,
even after she was seated in her chair, "All I say, ma'am, is this:
let every man be honest; that's what I argue, and that's my notion of
things."
Cecilia still reached home before Mrs Delvile; but most uneasy were
her sensations, and most unquiet was her heart: the letter she had
seen in the hands of Henrietta seemed to corroborate all her former
suspicions, since if it came not from one infinitely dear to her she
would not have shewn such fondness for it, and if that one was not
dear to her in secret, she would not have concealed it.
Where then was the hope that any but Delvile could have written it? in
_secret_ she could not cherish _two_, and that Delvile was cherished
most fondly, the artlessness of her character unfitted her for disguising.
And why should he write to her? what was his pretence? That he loved
her she could now less than ever believe, since his late conduct to
herself, though perplexing and inconsistent, evinced at least a
partiality incompatible with a passion for another. What then, could
she infer, but that he had seduced her affections, and ruined her
peace, for the idle and cruel gratification of temporary vanity?
"And if such," cried she, "is the depravity of this accomplished
hypocrite, if such is the littleness of soul that a manner so noble
disguises, shall he next, urged, perhaps, rather by prudence than
preference, make _me_ the object of his pursuit, and the food of
his vain-glory? And shall _I_, warned and instructed as I am, be
as easy a prey and as wretched a dupe? No, I will be better satisfied
with his conduct, before I venture to trust him, and since I am richer
than Henrietta and less likely to be deserted, when won, I will be
more on my guard to know why I am addressed, and vindicate the rights
of innocence, if I find she has been thus deluded, by forgetting his
talents in his treachery, and renouncing him for ever!"
Such were the reflections and surmises that dampt all the long-sought
pleasure of her change of residence, and made her habitation in St
James's-square no happier than it had been at Mr Harrel's!
She dined again with only Mr and Mrs Delvile, and did not see their
son all day; which, in her present uncertainty what to think of him,
was an absence she scarcely regretted.
When the servants retired, Mr Delvile told her that he had that
morning received two visits upon her account, both from admirers, who
each pretended to having had leave to wait upon her from Mr Harrel.
He then named Sir Robert Floyer and Mr Marriot.
"I believe, indeed," said Cecilia, "that neither of them were treated
perfectly well; to me, however, their own behaviour has by no means
been strictly honourable. I have always, when referred to, been very
explicit; and what other methods they were pleased to take, I cannot
wonder should fail."
"I told them," said Mr Delvile, "that, since you were now under my
roof, I could not refuse to receive their proposals, especially as
there would be no impropriety in your alliance with either of them but
I told them, at the same time, that I could by no means think of
pressing their suit, as that was an office which, however well it
might do for Mr Harrel, would be totally improper and unbecoming for
me."
"Certainly;" said Cecilia, "and permit me, Sir, to entreat that,
should they again apply to you, they may be wholly discouraged from
repeating their visits, and assured that far from having trifled with
them hitherto, the resolutions. I have declared will never be varied."
"I am happy," said Mrs Delvile, "to see so much spirit and discernment
where arts of all sorts will be practised to ensnare and delude.
Fortune and independence were never so securely lodged as in Miss
Beverley, and I doubt not but her choice, whenever it is decided, will
reflect as much honour upon her heart, as her difficulty in making it
does upon her understanding."
Mr Delvile then enquired whether she had fixed upon any person to
choose as a guardian in the place of Mr Harrel. No, she said, nor
should she, unless it were absolutely necessary.
"I believe, indeed," said Mrs Delvile, "your affairs will not much
miss him! Since I have heard of the excess of his extravagance, I have
extremely rejoiced in the uncommon prudence and sagacity of his fair
ward, who, in such dangerous hands, with less penetration and sound
sense, might have been drawn into a thousand difficulties, and perhaps
defrauded of half her fortune."
Cecilia received but little joy from this most unseasonable
compliment, which, with many of the same sort that were frequently,
though accidentally made, intimidated her from the confession she had
planned and finding nothing but censure was likely to follow the
discovery, she at length determined to give it up wholly, unless any
connection should take place which might render necessary its avowal.
Yet something she could not but murmur, that an action so detrimental
to her own interest, and which, at the time, appeared indispensable to
her benevolence, should now be considered as a mark of such folly and
imprudence that she did not dare own it.
CHAPTER ii.
A RAILING.
The next morning the family purposed setting off as soon as breakfast
was over: young Delvile, however, waited not so long; the fineness of
the weather tempted him, he said, to travel on horse-back, and
therefore he had risen very early, and was already gone. Cecilia could
not but wonder, yet did not repine.
Just as breakfast was over, and Mr and Mrs Delvile and Cecilia were
preparing to depart, to their no little surprise, the door was opened,
and, out of breath with haste and with heat, in stumpt Mr Briggs!
"So," cried he to Cecilia, "what's all this? hay?--where are you
going?--a coach at the door! horses to every wheel! Servants fine as
lords! what's in the wind now? think to chouse me out of my
belongings?"
"I thought, Sir," said Cecilia, who instantly understood him, though
Mr and Mrs Delvile stared at him in utter astonishment, "I had
explained before I left you that I should not return."
"Didn't, didn't!" answered he, angrily; "waited for you three days,
dressed a breast o' mutton o' purpose; got in a lobster, and two
crabs; all spoilt by keeping; stink already; weather quite muggy,
forced to souse 'em in vinegar; one expense brings on another; never
begin the like agen."
"I am very sorry, indeed," said Cecilia, much disconcerted, "if there
has been any mistake through my neglect; but I had hoped I was
understood, and I have been so much occupied--"
"Ay, ay," interrupted he, "fine work! rare doings! a merry
Vauxhalling, with pistols at all your noddles! thought as much!
thought he'd tip the perch; saw he wasn't stanch; knew he'd go by his
company,--a set of jackanapes! all blacklegs! nobody warm among 'em:
fellows with a month's good living upon their backs, and not sixpence
for the hangman in their pockets!"
Mrs Delvile now, with a look of arch congratulation at Cecilia as the
object of this agreeable visit, finding it not likely to be
immediately concluded, returned to her chair: but Mr Delvile, leaning
sternly upon his cane, moved not from the spot where he stood at his
entrance, but surveyed him from head to foot, with the most astonished
contempt at his undaunted vulgarity.
"Well I'd all your cash myself; seized that, else!--run out the
constable for you, next, and made you blow out your brains for
company. Mind what I say, never give your mind to a gold lace hat!
many a one wears it don't know five farthings from twopence. A good
man always wears a bob wig; make that your rule. Ever see Master
Harrel wear such a thing? No, I'll warrant! better if he had; kept his
head on his own shoulders. And now, pray, how does he cut up? what has
he left behind him? a _twey_-case, I suppose, and a bit of a hat
won't go on a man's head!"
Cecilia, perceiving, with great confusion, that Mr Delvile, though
evidently provoked by this intrusion, would not deign to speak, that
Mr Briggs might be regarded as belonging wholly to herself, hastily
said "I will not, Sir, as your time is precious, detain you here, but,
as soon as it is in my power, I will wait upon you in the city."
Mr Briggs, however, without listening to her, thought proper to
continue his harangue.
"Invited me once to his house; sent me a card, half of it printed like
a book! t'other half a scrawl could not read; pretended to give a
supper; all a mere bam; went without my dinner, and got nothing to
eat; all glass and shew: victuals painted all manner of colours;
lighted up like a pastry-cook on twelfth-day; wanted something solid,
and got a great lump of sweetmeat; found it as cold as a stone, all
froze in my mouth like ice; made me jump again, and brought the tears
in my eyes; forced to spit it out; believe it was nothing but a snowball,
just set up for show, and covered over with a little sugar. Pretty way
to spend money! Stuffing, and piping, and hopping! never could rest
till every farthing was gone; nothing left but his own fool's pate, and
even that he could not hold together."
"At present, Sir," said Cecilia, "we are all going out of town; the
carriage is waiting at the door, and therefore--"
"No such thing," cried he; "Sha'n't go; come for you myself; take you
to my own house. Got every thing ready, been to the broker's, bought a
nice blanket, hardly a brack in it. Pick up a table soon; one in my
eye."
"I am sorry you have so totally mistaken me, Sir; for I am now going
into the country with Mr and Mrs Delvile."
"Won't consent, won't consent! what will you go there for? hear of
nothing but dead dukes; as well visit an old tomb."
Here Mr Delvile, who felt himself insulted in a manner he could least
support, after looking at him very disdainfully, turned to Cecilia,
and said "Miss Beverley, if this person wishes for a longer conference
with you, I am sorry you did not appoint a more seasonable hour for
your interview." "Ay, ay," cried the impenetrable Mr Briggs; "want to
hurry her off! see that! But 't won't do; a'n't to be nicked; chuse to
come in for my thirds; won't be gulled, sha'n't have more than your
share."
"Sir!" cried Mr Delvile, with a look meant to be nothing less than
petrific.
"What!" cried he, with an arch leer; "all above it, hay? warrant your
Spanish Don never thinks of such a thing! don't believe 'em my duck!
great cry and little wool; no more of the ready than other folks; mere
puff and go one."
"This is language, Sir," said Mr Delvile, "so utterly
incomprehensible, that I presume you do not even intend it should be
understood: otherwise, I should very little scruple to inform you,
that no man of the name of Delvile brooks the smallest insinuation of
dishonour."
"Don't he?" returned Mr Briggs, with a grin; "why how will he help it?
will the old grandees jump up out of their graves to frighten us?"
"What old grandees, Sir? to whom are you pleased to allude?"
"Why all them old grandfathers and aunts you brag of; a set of poor
souls you won't let rest in their coffins; mere clay and dirt! fine
things to be proud of! a parcel of old mouldy rubbish quite departed
this life! raking up bones and dust, nobody knows for what! ought to
be ashamed; who cares for dead carcases? nothing but [carrion]. My
little Tom's worth forty of 'em!"
"I can so ill make out, Miss Beverley," said the astonished Mr
Delvile, "what this person is pleased to dive at, that I cannot
pretend to enter into any sort of conversation with him; you will
therefore be so good as to let me know when he has finished his
discourse, and you are at leisure to set off."
And then, with a very stately air, he was quitting the room; but was
soon stopt, upon Mr Briggs calling out "Ay, ay, Don Duke, poke in the
old charnel houses by yourself, none of your defunct for me! didn't
care if they were all hung in a string. Who's the better for 'em?'
"Pray, Sir," cried Mr Delvile, turning round, "to whom were you
pleased to address that speech?"
"To one Don Puffendorff," replied Mr Briggs; "know ever such a person,
hay?"
"Don who? Sir!" said Mr Delvile, stalking nearer to him, "I must
trouble you to say that name over again."
"Suppose don't chuse it? how then?"
"I am to blame," said Mr Delvile, scornfully waving his hand with a
repulsive motion, "to suffer myself to be irritated so unworthily; and
I am sorry, in my own house, to be compelled to hint that the sooner I
have it to myself, the better I shall be contented with it."
"Ay, ay, want to get me off; want to have her to yourself! won't be so
soon choused; who's the better man? hay? which do you think is
warmest? and all got by myself; obliged to never a grandee for a
penny; what do you say to that? will you cast an account with me?"
"Very extraordinary this!" cried Mr Delvile; "the most extraordinary
circumstance of the kind I ever met with! a person to enter my house
in order to talk in this incomprehensible manner! a person, too, I
hardly know by sight!"
"Never mind, old Don," cried Briggs, with a facetious nod, "Know me
better another time!"
"Old who, Sir!--what!"
"Come to a fair reckoning," continued Mr Briggs; "suppose you were in
my case, and had never a farthing but of your own getting; where would
you be then? What would become of your fine coach and horses? you
might stump your feet off before you'd ever get into one. Where would
be all this fine crockery work for your breakfast? you might pop your
head under a pump, or drink out of your own paw; what would you do for
that fine jemmy tye? Where would you get a gold head to your stick?--
You might dig long enough in them cold vaults before any of your old
grandfathers would pop out to give you one."
Mr Delvile, feeling more enraged than he thought suited his dignity,
restrained himself from making any further answer, but going up to the
bell, rang it with great violence.
"And as to ringing a bell," continued Mr Briggs, "you'd never know
what it was in your life, unless could make interest to be a dust-man."
"A dust-man!"--repeated Mr Delvile, unable to command his silence
longer, "I protest"--and biting his lips, he stopt short.
"Ay, love it, don't you? suits your taste; why not one dust as well as
another? Dust in a cart good as dust of a charnel-house; don't smell
half so bad."
A servant now entering, Mr Delvile called out "Is everything ready?"
"Yes, Sir."
He then begged Mrs Delvile to go into the coach, and telling Cecilia
to follow when at leisure, left the room.
"I will come immediately, Sir," said Cecilia; "Mr Briggs, I am sorry
to leave you, and much concerned you have had this trouble; but I can
detain Mr Delvile no longer."
And then away she ran, notwithstanding he repeatedly charged her to
stay. He followed them, however, to the coach, with bitter revilings
that every body was to make more of his ward than himself, and with
the most virulent complaints of his losses from the blanket, the
breast of mutton, the crabs and the lobster!
Nothing, however, more was said to him; Cecilia, as if she had not
heard him, only bowed her head, and the coach driving off, they soon
lost sight of him.
This incident by no means rendered the journey pleasant, or Mr Delvile
gracious: his own dignity, that constant object of his thoughts and
his cares, had received a wound from this attack which he had not the
sense to despise; and the vulgarity and impudence of Mr Briggs, which
ought to have made his familiarity and boldness equally contemptible
and ridiculous, served only with a man whose pride out-ran his
understanding, to render them doubly mortifying and stinging. He could
talk, therefore, of nothing the whole way that they went, but the
extreme impropriety of which the Dean of had been guilty, in exposing
him to scenes and situations so much beneath his rank, by leaguing him
with a person so coarse and disgraceful.
They slept one night upon the road, and arrived the next day at
Delvile Castle.
CHAPTER iii.
AN ANTIQUE MANSION.
Delvile Castle was situated in a large and woody park, and surrounded
by a moat. A drawbridge which fronted the entrance was every night, by
order of Mr Delvile, with the same care as if still necessary for the
preservation of the family, regularly drawn up. Some fortifications
still remained entire, and vestiges were every where to be traced of
more; no taste was shown in the disposition of the grounds, no
openings were contrived through the wood for distant views or
beautiful objects: the mansion-house was ancient, large and
magnificent, but constructed with as little attention to convenience
and comfort, as to airiness and elegance; it was dark, heavy and
monastic, equally in want of repair and of improvement. The grandeur
of its former inhabitants was every where visible, but the decay into
which it was falling rendered such remains mere objects for meditation
and melancholy; while the evident struggle to support some appearance
of its ancient dignity, made the dwelling and all in its vicinity wear
an aspect of constraint and austerity. Festivity, joy and pleasure,
seemed foreign to the purposes of its construction; silence, solemnity
and contemplation were adapted to it only.
Mrs Delvile, however, took all possible care to make the apartments
and situation of Cecilia commodious and pleasant, and to banish by her
kindness and animation the gloom and formality which her mansion
inspired. Nor were her efforts ungratefully received; Cecilia, charmed
by every mark of attention from a woman she so highly admired,
returned her solicitude by encreasing affection, and repaid all her
care by the revival of her spirits. She was happy, indeed, to have
quitted the disorderly house of Mr Harrel, where terror, so
continually awakened, was only to be lulled by the grossest
imposition; and though her mind, depressed by what was passed, and in
suspence with what was to come, was by no means in a state for
uninterrupted enjoyment, yet to find herself placed, at last, without
effort or impropriety, in the very mansion she had so long considered
as her road to happiness, rendered her, notwithstanding her remaining
sources of inquietude, more contented than she had yet felt herself
since her departure from Suffolk.
Even the imperious Mr Delvile was more supportable here than in
London: secure in his own castle, he looked around him with a pride of
power and of possession which softened while it swelled him. His
superiority was undisputed, his will was without controul. He was not,
as in the great capital of the kingdom, surrounded by competitors; no
rivalry disturbed his peace, no equality mortified his greatness; all
he saw were either vassals of his power, or guests bending to his
pleasure; he abated therefore, considerably, the stern gloom of his
haughtiness, and soothed his proud mind by the courtesy of
condescension.
Little, however, was the opportunity Cecilia found, for evincing that
spirit and forbearance she had planned in relation to Delvile; he
breakfasted by himself every morning, rode or walked out alone till
driven home by the heat of the day, and spent the rest of his time
till dinner in his own study. When he then appeared, his conversation
was always general, and his attention not more engaged by Cecilia than
by his mother. Left by them with his father, sometimes he appeared
again at tea-time, but more commonly he rode or strolled out to some
neighbouring family, and it was always uncertain whether he was again
seen before dinner the next day.
By this conduct, reserve on her part was rendered totally unnecessary;
she could give no discouragement where she met with no assiduity; she
had no occasion to fly where she was never pursued.
Strange, however, she thought such behaviour, and utterly impossible
to be the effect of accident; his desire to avoid her seemed
scrupulous and pointed, and however to the world it might wear the
appearance of chance, to her watchful anxiety a thousand circumstances
marked it for design. She found that his friends at home had never
seen so little of him, complaints were continually made of his
frequent absences, and much surprise was expressed at his new manner
of life, and what might be the occupations which so strangely
engrossed his time.
Had her heart not interfered in this matter, she might now have been
perfectly at rest, since she was spared the renunciation she had
projected, and since, without either mental exertion or personal
trouble, the affair seemed totally dropt, and Delvile, far from
manifesting any design of conquest, shunned all occasions of
gallantry, and sedulously avoided even common conversation with her.
If he saw her preparing to walk out in an evening, he was certain to
stay at home; if his mother was with her, and invited him to join
them, he was sure to be ready with some other engagement; and if by
accident he met her in the park, he merely stopt to speak of the
weather, bowed, and hurried on.
How to reconcile a coldness so extraordinary with a fervour so
animated as that which he had lately shewn, was indeed not easy;
sometimes she fancied he had entangled not only the poor Henrietta but
himself, at other times she believed him merely capricious; but that
he studied to avoid her she was convinced invariably, and such a
conviction was alone sufficient to determine her upon forwarding his
purpose. And, when her first surprise was over, and first chagrin
abated, her own pride came to her aid, and she resolved to use every
method in her power to conquer a partiality so un gratefully bestowed.
She rejoiced that in no instance she had ever betrayed it, and she saw
that his own behaviour prevented all suspicion of it in the family.
Yet, in the midst of her mortification and displeasure, she found some
consolation in seeing that those mercenary views of which she had once
been led to accuse him, were farthest from his thoughts, and that
whatever was the state of his mind, she had no artifice to apprehend,
nor design to guard against. All therefore that remained was to
imitate his example, be civil and formal, shun all interviews that
were not public, and decline all discourse but what good breeding
occasionally made necessary.
By these means their meetings became more rare than ever, and of
shorter duration, for if one by any accident was detained, the other
retired; till, by their mutual diligence, they soon only saw each
other at dinner: and though neither of them knew the motives or the
intentions of the other, the best concerted agreement could not more
effectually have separated them.
This task to Cecilia was at first extremely painful; but time and
constancy of mind soon lessened its difficulty. She amused herself
with walking and reading, she commissioned Mr Monckton to send her a
Piano Forte of Merlin's, she was fond of fine work, and she found in
the conversation of Mrs Delvile a never-failing resource against
languor and sadness. Leaving therefore to himself her mysterious son,
she wisely resolved to find other employment for her thoughts, than
conjectures with which she could not be satisfied, and doubts that
might never be explained.
Very few families visited at the castle, and fewer still had their
visits returned. The arrogance of Mr Delvile had offended all the
neighbouring gentry, who could easily be better entertained than by
receiving instructions of their own inferiority, which however readily
they might allow, was by no means so pleasant a subject as to
recompense them for hearing no other. And if Mr Delvile was shunned
through hatred, his lady no less was avoided through fear; high-
spirited and fastidious, she was easily wearied and disgusted, she
bore neither with frailty nor folly--those two principal ingredients
in human nature! She required, to obtain her favour, the union of
virtue and abilities with elegance, which meeting but rarely, she was
rarely disposed to be pleased; and disdaining to conceal either
contempt or aversion, she inspired in return nothing but dread or
resentment; making thus, by a want of that lenity which is the _milk
of human kindness_, and the bond of society, enemies the most
numerous and illiberal by those very talents which, more _meekly
borne_, would have rendered her not merely admired, but adored!
In proportion, however, as she was thus at war with the world in
general, the chosen few who were honoured with her favour, she loved
with a zeal all her own; her heart, liberal, open, and but too
daringly sincere, was fervent in affection, and enthusiastic in
admiration; the friends who were dear to her, she was devoted to
serve, she magnified their virtues till she thought them of an higher
race of beings, she inflamed her generosity with ideas of what she
owed to them, till her life seemed too small a sacrifice to be refused
for their service.
Such was the love which already she felt for Cecilia; her countenance
had struck, her manners had charmed her, her understanding was
displayed by the quick intelligence of her eyes, and every action and
every notion spoke her mind the seat of elegance. In secret she
sometimes regretted that she was not higher born, but that regret
always vanished when she saw and conversed with her.
Her own youth had been passed in all the severity of affliction: she
had been married to Mr Delvile by her relations, without any
consultation of her heart or her will. Her strong mind disdained
useless complaints, yet her discontent, however private, was deep.
Ardent in her disposition, and naturally violent in her passions, her
feelings were extremely acute, and to curb them by reason and
principle had been the chief and hard study of her life. The effort
had calmed, though it had not made her happy. To love Mr Delvile she
felt was impossible; proud without merit, and imperious without
capacity, she saw with bitterness the inferiority of his faculties,
and she found in his temper no qualities to endear or attract: yet she
respected his birth and his family, of which her own was a branch, and
whatever was her misery from the connection, she steadily behaved to
him with the strictest propriety.
Her son, however, when she was blessed with his presence, had a power
over her mind that mitigated all her sorrows, and almost lulled even
her wishes to sleep: she rather idolised than loved him, yet her
fondness flowed not from relationship, but from his worth and his
character, his talents and his disposition. She saw in him, indeed,
all her own virtues and excellencies, with a toleration for the
imperfections of others to which she was wholly a stranger. Whatever
was great or good she expected him to perform; occasion alone she
thought wanting to manifest him the first of human beings.
Nor here was Mr Delvile himself less sanguine in his hopes: his son
was not only the first object of his affection, but the chief idol of
his pride, and he did not merely cherish but reverence him as his
successor, the only support of his ancient name and family, without
whose life and health the whole race would be extinct. He consulted
him in all his affairs, never mentioned him but with distinction, and
expected the whole world to bow down before him.
Delvile in his behaviour to his father imitated the conduct of his
mother, who opposed him in nothing when his pleasure was made known,
but who forbore to enquire into his opinion except in cases of
necessity. Their minds, indeed, were totally dissimilar; and Delvile
well knew that if he submitted to his directions, he must demand such
respect as the world would refuse with indignation, and scarcely speak
to a man whose genealogy was not known to him.
But though duty and gratitude were the only ties that bound him to his
father, he loved his mother not merely with filial affection, but with
the purest esteem and highest reverence; he knew, too, that while
without him her existence would be a burthen, her tenderness was no
effusion of weak partiality, but founded on the strongest assurances
of his worth; and however to maternal indulgence its origin might be
owing, the rectitude of his own conduct could alone save it from
diminution.
Such was the house in which Cecilia was now settled, and with which
she lived almost to the exclusion of the sight of any other; for
though she had now been three weeks at the castle, she had only at
church seen any family but the Delviles.
Nor did any thing in the course of that time occur to her, but the
reception of a melancholy letter from Mrs Harrel, filled with
complaints of her retirement and misery; and another, from Mr Arnott,
with an account of the funeral, the difficulties he had had to
encounter with the creditors, who had even seized the dead body, and
the numerous expences in which he had been involved, by petitions he
could not withstand, from the meaner and more clamorous of those whom
his late brother-in-law had left unpaid. He concluded with a pathetic
prayer for her happiness, and a declaration that his own was lost for
ever, since now he was even deprived of her sight. Cecilia wrote an
affectionate answer to Mrs Harrel, promising, when fully at liberty,
that she would herself fetch her to her own house in Suffolk: but she
could only send her compliments to Mr Arnott, though her compassion
urged a kinder message; as she feared even a shadow of encouragement
to so serious, yet hopeless a passion.
CHAPTER iv.
A RATTLE.
At this time, the house was much enlivened by a visit from Lady
Honoria Pemberton, who came to spend a month with Mrs Delvile.
Cecilia had now but little leisure, for Lady Honoria would hardly rest
a moment away from her; she insisted upon walking with her, sitting
with her, working with her, and singing with her; whatever she did,
she chose to do also; wherever she went, she was bent upon
accompanying her; and Mrs Delvile, who wished her well, though she had
no patience with her foibles, encouraged this intimacy from the hope
it might do her service.
It was not, however, that Lady Honoria had conceived any regard for
Cecilia; on the contrary, had she been told she should see her no
more, she would have heard it with the same composure as if she had
been told she should meet with her daily: she had no motive for
pursuing her but that she had nothing else to do, and no fondness for
her society but, what resulted from aversion to solitude.
Lady Honoria had received a fashionable education, in which her
proficiency had been equal to what fashion made requisite; she sung a
little; played the harpsichord a little, painted a little, worked a
little, and danced a great deal. She had quick parts and high spirits,
though her mind was uncultivated, and she was totally void of judgment
or discretion: she was careless of giving offence, and indifferent to
all that was thought of her; the delight of her life was to create
wonder by her rattle, and whether that wonder was to her advantage or
discredit, she did not for a moment trouble herself to consider.
A character of so much levity with so little heart had no great chance
of raising esteem or regard in Cecilia, who at almost any other period
of her life would have been wearied of her importunate attendance; but
at present, the unsettled state of her own mind made her glad to give
it any employment, and the sprightliness of Lady Honoria served
therefore to amuse her. Yet she could not forbear being hurt by
finding that the behaviour of Delvile was so exactly the same to them
both, that any common observer would with difficulty have pronounced
which he preferred.
One morning about a week after her ladyship's arrival at the castle,
she came running into Cecilia's room, saying she had very good news
for her.
"A charming opening!" cried Cecilia, "pray tell it me."
"Why my Lord Derford is coming!"
"O what a melancholy dearth of incident," cried Cecilia, "if this is
your best intelligence!"
"Why it's better than nothing: better than going to sleep over a
family party; and I vow I have sometimes such difficulty to keep
awake, that I am frightened to death lest I should be taken with a
sudden nap, and affront them all. Now pray speak the truth without
squeamishness, don't you find it very terrible?"
"No, I find nothing very terrible with Mrs Delvile."
"O, I like Mrs Delvile, too, of all things, for I believe she's the
cleverest woman in the world; but then I know she does not like me, so
there's no being very fond of her. Besides, really, if I admired her
as much again, I should be, dreadfully tired of seeing nothing else.
She never stirs out, you know, and has no company at home, which is an
extremely tiresome plan, for it only serves to make us all doubly sick
of one another: though you must know it's one great reason why my
father likes I should come; for he has some very old-fashioned
notions, though I take a great deal of pains to make him get the
better of them. But I am always excessively rejoiced when the visit
has been paid, for I am obliged to come every year. I don't mean
_now_, indeed, because your being here makes it vastly more
tolerable."
"You do me much honour," cried Cecilia, laughing.
"But really, when my Lord Derford comes, it can't possibly be quite so
bad, for at least there will be something else to look at; and you
must know my eyes tire extremely of always seeing the same objects.
And we can ask him, too, for a little news, and that will put Mrs
Delvile in a passion, which will help to give us a little spirit:
though I know we shall not get the smallest intelligence from him, for
he knows nothing in the world that's going forward. And, indeed,
that's no great matter, for if he did, he would not know how to tell
it, he's so excessively silly. However, I shall ask him all sort of
things, for the less he can answer, the more it will plague him; and I
like to plague a fool amazingly, because he can never plague one
again.--Though really I ought to beg your pardon, for he is one of
your admirers."
"Oh pray make no stranger of me! you have my free consent to say
whatever you please of him."
"I assure you, then, I like my old Lord Ernolf the best of the two,
for he has a thousand times more sense than his son, and upon my word
I don't think he is much uglier. But I wonder vastly you would not
marry him, for all that, for you might have done exactly what you
pleased with him, which, altogether, would have been no inconvenient
circumstance."
"When I want a pupil," answered Cecilia, "I shall think that an
admirable recommendation: but were I to marry, I would rather find a
tutor, of the two."
"I am sure I should not," cried Lady Honoria, carelessly, "for one has
enough to do with tutors before hand, and the best thing I know of
marrying is to get rid of them. I fancy you think so too, only it's a
pretty speech to make. Oh how my sister Euphrasia would adore you!--
Pray are you always as grave as you are now?"
"No,--yes,--indeed I hardly know."
"I fancy it's this dismal place that hurts your spirits. I remember
when I saw you in St James's-square I thought you very lively. But
really these thick walls are enough to inspire the vapours if one
never had them before."
"I don't think they have had a very bad effect upon your ladyship!"
"O yes they have; if Euphrasia was here she would hardly know me. And
the extreme want of taste and entertainment in all the family is quite
melancholy: for even if by chance one has the good fortune to hear any
intelligence, Mrs Delvile will hardly let it be repeated, for fear it
should happen to be untrue, as if that could possibly signify! I am
sure I had as lieve the things were false as not, for they tell as
well one way as the other, if she would but have patience to hear
them. But she's extremely severe, you know, as almost all those very
clever women are; so that she keeps a kind of restraint upon me
whether I will or no. However, that's nothing compared to her _caro
sposo_, for he is utterly insufferable; so solemn, and so dull! so
stately and so tiresome! Mortimer, too, gets worse and worse; O 'tis a
sad tribe! I dare say he will soon grow quite as horrible as his
father. Don't you think so?"
"Why indeed,--no,--I don't think there's much resemblance," said
Cecilia, with some hesitation.
"He is the most altered creature," continued her ladyship, "I ever saw
in my life. Once I thought him the most agreeable young man in the
world: but if you observe, that's all over now, and he is getting just
as stupid and dismal as the rest of them. I wish you had been here
last summer; I assure you, you would quite have fallen in love with
him."
"Should I?" said Cecilia, with a conscious smile.
"Yes, for he was quite delightful; all spirit and gaiety, but now, if
it was not for you, I really think I should pretend to lose my way,
and instead of going over that old draw-bridge, throw myself into the
moat. I wish Euphrasia was here. It's just the right place for her.
She'll fancy herself in a monastery as soon as she comes, and nothing
will make her half so happy, for she is always wishing to be a Nun,
poor little simpleton.
"Is there any chance that Lady Euphrasia may come?"
"O no, she can't at present, because it would not be proper: but I
mean if ever she is married to Mortimer."
"Married to him!" repeated Cecilia, in the utmost consternation.
"I believe, my dear," cried Lady Honoria, looking at her very archly,
"you intend to be married to him yourself?"
"Me? no, indeed!"
"You look very guilty, though," cried she laughing, "and indeed when
you came hither, every body said that the whole affair was arranged."
"For shame, Lady Honoria!" said Cecilia, again changing colour, "I am
sure this must be your own fancy,--invention,--"
"No, I assure you; I heard it at several places; and every body said
how charmingly your fortune would build up all these old
fortifications: but some people said they knew Mr Harrel had sold you
to Mr Marriot, and that if you married Mortimer, there would be a lawsuit
that would take away half your estate; and others said you had promised
your hand to Sir Robert Floyer, and repented when you heard of his
mortgages, and he gave it out every where that he would fight any man
that pretended to you; and then again some said that you were all the
time privately married to Mr Arnott, but did not dare own it, because he
was so afraid of fighting with Sir Robert."
"O Lady Honoria!" cried Cecilia, half laughing, "what wild inventions
are these! and all I hope, your own?"
"No, indeed, they were current over the whole town. But don't take any
notice of what I told you about Euphrasia, for perhaps, it may never
happen."
"Perhaps," said Cecilia, reviving by believing it all fiction, "it has
never been in agitation?"
"O yes; it is negociating at this very moment, I believe, among the
higher powers; only Mr Delvile does not yet know whether Euphrasia has
fortune enough for what he wants."
Ah, thought Cecilia, how do I rejoice that my independent situation
exempts me from being disposed of for life, by thus being set up to
sale!
"They thought of me, once, for Mortimer," continued Lady Honoria, "but
I'm vastly glad that's over, for I never should have survived being
shut up in this place; it's much fitter for Euphrasia. To tell you the
truth, I believe they could not make out money enough; but Euphrasia
has a fortune of her own, besides what we shall have together, for
Grandmama left her every thing that was in her own power."
"Is Lady Euphrasia your elder sister?"
"O no, poor little thing, she's two years younger. Grandmama brought
her up, and` she has seen nothing at all of the world, for she has
never been presented yet, so she is not _come out_, you know: but
she's to come out next year. However, she once saw Mortimer, but she
did not like him at all."
"Not like him!" cried Cecilia, greatly surprised.
"No, she thought him too gay,--Oh dear, I wish she could see him now!
I am sure I hope she would find him sad enough! she is the most formal
little grave thing you ever beheld: she'll preach to you sometimes for
half an hour together. Grandmama taught her nothing in the world but
to say her prayers, so that almost every other word you say, she
thinks is quite wicked."
The conversation was now interrupted by their separating to dress for
dinner. It left Cecilia in much perplexity; she knew not what wholly
to credit, or wholly to disbelieve; but her chief concern arose from
the unfortunate change of countenance which Lady Honoria had been so
quick in observing.
The next time she was alone with Mrs Delvile, "Miss Beverley," she
said, "has your little rattling tormentor acquainted you who is
coming?"
"Lord Derford, do you mean, ma'am?"
"Yes, with his father; shall you dislike to see them?"
"Not if, as I hope, they come merely to wait upon you and Mr Delvile."
"Mr Delvile and myself," answered she smiling, "will certainly have
the honour of _receiving_ them."
"Lord Ernolf," said Cecilia, "can never suppose his visit will make
any change in me; I have been very explicit with him, and he seemed
equally rational and well bred in forbearing any importunity upon the
subject."
"It has however been much believed in town," said Mrs Delvile, "that
you were strangely shackled by Mr Harrel, and therefore his lordship
may probably hope that a change in your situation may be followed by a
change in his favour."
"I shall be sorry if he does," said Cecilia, "for he will then find
himself much deceived."
"You are right, very right," cried Mrs Delvile, "to be difficult in
your choice, and to take time for looking around you before you make
any. I have forborn all questions upon this subject, lest you should
find any reluctance in answering them; but I am now too deeply
interested in your welfare to be contented in total ignorance of your
designs: will you, then, suffer me to make a few enquiries?"
Cecilia gave a ready, but blushing assent.
"Tell me, then, of the many admirers who have graced your train, which
there is you have distinguished with any intention of future
preference?"
"Not one, madam!"
"And, out of so many, is there not one that, hereafter, you mean to
distinguish?"
"Ah madam!" cried Cecilia, shaking her head, "many as they may seem, I
have little reason to be proud of them; there is one only who, had my
fortune been smaller, would, I believe, ever have thought of me, and
there is one only, who, were it now diminished, would ever think of me
more."
"This sincerity," cried Mrs Delvile, "is just what I expected from
you. There is, then, _one_?"
"I believe there is,--and the worthy Mr Arnott is the man; I am much
indeed deceived, if his partiality for me is not truly disinterested,
and I almost wish"--
"What, my love?"
"That I could return it more gratefully!"
"And do you not?"
"No!--I cannot! I esteem him, I have the truest regard for his
character, and were I now by any fatal necessity, compelled to belong
to any one of those who have been pleased to address me, I should not
hesitate a moment in shewing him my gratitude; but yet, for some time
at least, such a proof of it would render me very miserable."
"You may perhaps think so now," returned Mrs Delvile; "but with
sentiments so strongly in his favour, you will probably be led
hereafter to pity--and accept him."
"No, indeed, madam; I pretend not, I own, to open my whole heart to
you;--I know not that you would have patience, for so uninteresting a
detail; but though there are some things I venture not to mention,
there is nothing, believe me, in which I will deceive you."
"I _do_ believe you," cried Mrs Delvile, embracing her; "and the
more readily because, not merely among your avowed admirers, but among
the whole race of men, I scarce know one to whom I should think you
worthily consigned!"
Ah! thought Cecilia, that scarce! who may it mean to except?
"To shew you," she continued, "that I will deserve your confidence in
future, I will refrain from distressing you by any further questions
at present: you will not, I think, act materially without consulting
me, and for your thoughts--it were tyranny, not friendship, to
investigate them more narrowly."
Cecilia's gratitude for this delicacy, would instantly have induced
her to tell every secret of her soul, had she not apprehended such a
confession would have seemed soliciting her interest and assistance,
in the only affair in which she would have disdained even to receive
them.
She thanked her, therefore, for her kindness, and the conversation was
dropt; she much wished to have known whether these enquiries sprung
simply from friendly curiosity, or whether she was desirous from any
nearer motive to be satisfied with respect to her freedom or
engagements. This, however, she had no method of discovering, and was
therefore compelled to wait quietly till time should make it clear.
CHAPTER v.
A STORM.
One evening about this time, which was the latter end of July, Lady
Honoria and Cecilia deferred walking out till very late, and then
found it so pleasant, that they had strolled into the Park two miles
from the house, when they were met by young Delvile; who, however,
only reminded them how far they had to return, and walked on.
"He grows quite intolerable!" cried Lady Honoria, when he was gone;
"it's really a melancholy thing to see a young man behave so like an
old Monk. I dare say in another week he won't take off his hat to us;
and, in about a fortnight, I suppose he'll shut himself up in one of
those little round towers, and shave his head, and live upon roots,
and howl if any body comes near him. I really half wonder he does not
think it too dissipated to let Fidel run after him so. A thousand to
one but he shoots him some day for giving a sudden bark when he's in
one of these gloomy fits. Something, however, must certainly be the
matter with him. Perhaps he is in love."
"Can nothing be the matter with him but that?" cried Cecilia.
"Nay, I don't know; but I am sure if he is, his Mistress has not much
occasion to be jealous of you or me, for never, I think, were two poor
Damsels so neglected!"
The utmost art of malice could not have furnished speech more truly
mortifying to Cecilia than this thoughtless and accidental sally of
Lady Honoria's: particularly, however, upon her guard, from the
raillery she had already endured, she answered, with apparent
indifference, "he is meditating, perhaps, upon Lady Euphrasia."
"O no," cried Lady Honoria, "for he did not take any notice of her
when he saw her; I am sure if he marries her, it will only be because
he cannot help it."
"Poor Lady Euphrasia!"
"O no, not at all; he'll make her two or three fine speeches, and then
she'll be perfectly contented especially if he looks as dismally at
her as he does at us! and that probably he will do the more readily
for not liking to look at her at all. But she's such a romantic little
thing, she'll never suspect him."
Here they were somewhat alarmed by a sudden darkness in the air, which
was presently succeeded by a thunder storm; they instantly turned
back, and began running home, when a violent shower of rain obliged
them to take shelter under a large tree; where in two minutes they
were joined by Delvile, who came to offer his assistance in hurrying
them home; and finding the thunder and lightning continue, begged them
to move on, in defiance of the rain, as their present situation
exposed them to more danger than a wet hat and cloak, which might be
changed in a moment.
Cecilia readily assented; but Lady Honoria, extremely frightened,
protested she would not stir till the storm was over. It was in vain
he represented her mistake in supposing herself in a place of
security; she clung to the tree, screamed at every flash of lightning,
and all her gay spirits were lost in her apprehensions.
Delvile then earnestly proposed to Cecilia conducting her home by
herself, and returning again to Lady Honoria; but she thought it wrong
to quit her companion, and hardly right to accept his assistance
separately. They waited, therefore, some time all together; but the
storm increasing with great violence, the thunder growing louder, and
the lightning becoming stronger, Delvile grew impatient even to anger
at Lady Honoria's resistance, and warmly expostulated upon its folly
and danger. But the present was no season for lessons in philosophy;
prejudices she had never been taught to surmount made her think
herself in a place of safety, and she was now too much terrified to
give argument fair play.
Finding her thus impracticable, Delvile eagerly said to Cecilia, "Come
then, Miss Beverley, let us wait no longer; I will see you home, and
then return to Lady Honoria."
"By no means," cried she, "my life is not more precious than either of
yours, and therefore it may run the same risk."
"It is more precious," cried he with vehemence, "than the air I
breathe!" and seizing her hand, he drew it under his arm, and, without
waiting her consent, almost forced her away with him, saying as they
ran, "How could a thousand Lady Honoria's recompense the world for the
loss of one Miss Beverley? we may, indeed, find many thousand such as
Lady Honoria, but such as Miss Beverley--where shall we ever find
another?"
Cecilia, surprised, yet gratified, could not speak, for the speed with
which they ran almost took away her breath; and before they were near
home, slackening her pace, and panting, she confessed her strength was
exhausted, and that she could go so fast no further.
"Let us then stop and rest," cried he; "but why will you not lean upon
me? surely this is no time for scruples, and for idle and unnecessary
scruples, Miss Beverley can never find a time."
Cecilia then, urged equally by shame at his speech and by weakness
from fatigue, leant upon his arm but she soon repented her
condescension; for Delvile, with an emotion he seemed to find wholly
irrepressible, passionately exclaimed "sweet lovely burthen! O why not
thus for ever!"
The strength of Cecilia was now instantly restored, and she hastily
withdrew from his hold; he suffered her to disengage herself, but said
in a faultering voice, "pardon me, Cecilia!--Madam!--Miss Beverley, I
mean!--"
Cecilia, without making any answer, walked on by herself, as quick a
pace as she was able; and Delvile, not venturing to oppose her,
silently followed.
They had gone but a few steps, before there came a violent shower of
hail; and the wind, which was very high, being immediately in their
faces, Cecilia was so pelted and incommoded, that she was frequently
obliged to stop, in defiance of her utmost efforts to force herself
forward. Delvile then approaching her, proposed that she should again
stand under a tree, as the thunder and lightning for the present
seemed over, and wait there till the fury of the hail was past: and
Cecilia, though never before so little disposed to oblige him, was so
much distressed by the violence of the wind and hail, that she was
forced to comply.
Every instant now seemed an age; yet neither hail nor wind abated:
mean time they were both silent, and both, though with different
feelings, equally comfortless.
Delvile, however, who took care to place himself on the side whence
the wind blew hardest, perceived, in spite of his endeavours to save
her, some hail-stones lodged upon her thin summer cloak: he then took
off his own hat, and, though he ventured not to let it touch her, held
it in such a manner as to shelter her better.
Cecilia now could no longer be either silent or unmoved, but turning
to him with much emotion, said, "Why will you do this, Mr Delvile?"
"What would I _not_ do," answered he, "to obtain forgiveness from
Miss Beverley?"
"Well, well,--pray put on your hat."
"Do you command it?"
"No, certainly!--but I wish it."
"Ah!" cried he, instantly putting it on, "whose are the commands that
would have half the weight with your wishes?"
And then, after another pause, he added, "do you forgive me?"
Cecilia, ashamed of the cause of their dissension, and softened by the
seriousness of his manner, answered very readily, "yes, yes,--why will
you make me remember such nonsense?"
"All sweetness," cried he warmly, and snatching her hand, "is Miss
Beverley!--O that I had power--that it were not utterly impossible--
that the cruelty of my situation--"
"I find," cried she, greatly agitated, and forcibly drawing away her
hand, "you will teach me, for another time, the folly of fearing bad
weather!"
And she hurried from beneath the tree; and Delvile perceiving one of
the servants approach with an umbrella, went forward to take it from
him, and directed him to hasten instantly to Lady Honoria.
Then returning to Cecilia, he would have held it over her head, but
with an air of displeasure, she took it into her own hand.
"Will you not let me carry it for you?" he cried.
"No, Sir, there is not any occasion."
They then proceeded silently on.
The storm was now soon over; but it grew very dark, and as they had
quitted the path while they ran, in order to get home by a shorter
cut, the walk was so bad from the height of the grass, and the
unevenness of the ground, that Cecilia had the utmost difficulty to
make her way; yet she resolutely refused any assistance from Delvile,
who walked anxiously by her side, and seemed equally fearful upon his
own account and upon hers, to trust himself with being importunate.
At length they came to a place which Cecilia in vain tried to pass;
Delvile then grew more urgent to help her; firm, however, in declining
all aid, she preferred going a considerable way round to another part
of the park which led to the house. Delvile, angry as well as
mortified, proposed to assist her no more, but followed without saying
a word.
Cecilia, though she felt not all the resentment she displayed, still
thought it necessary to support it, as she was much provoked with the
perpetual inconsistency of his behaviour, and deemed it wholly
improper to suffer, without discouragement, occasional sallies of
tenderness from one who, in his general conduct, behaved with the most
scrupulous reserve.
They now arrived at the castle; but entering by a back way, came to a
small and narrow passage which obstructed the entrance of the
umbrella: Delvile once more, and almost involuntarily, offered to help
her; but, letting down the spring, she coldly said she had no further
use for it.
He then went forward to open a small gate which led by another long
passage into the hall: but hearing the servants advance, he held it
for an instant in his hand, while, in a tone of voice the most
dejected, he said "I am grieved to find you thus offended; but were it
possible you could know half the wretchedness of my heart, the
generosity of your own would make you regret this severity!" and then,
opening the gate, he bowed, and went another way.
Cecilia was now in the midst of servants; but so much shocked and
astonished by the unexpected speech of Delvile, which instantly
changed all her anger into sorrow, that she scarce knew what they said
to her, nor what she replied; though they all with one voice enquired
what was become of Lady Honoria, and which way they should run to seek
her.
Mrs Delvile then came also, and she was obliged to recollect herself.
She immediately proposed her going to bed, and drinking white wine
whey to prevent taking cold: cold, indeed, she feared not; yet she
agreed to the proposal, for she was confounded and dismayed by what
had passed, and utterly unable to hold any conversation.
Her perplexity and distress were, however, all attributed to fatigue
and fright; and Mrs Delvile, having assisted in hurrying her to bed,
went to perform the same office for Lady Honoria, who arrived at that
time.
Left at length by herself, she revolved in her mind the adventure of
the evening, and the whole behaviour of Delvile since first she was
acquainted with him. That he loved her with tenderness, with fondness
loved her, seemed no longer to admit of any doubt, for however distant
and cold he appeared, when acting with circumspection and design, the
moment he was off his guard from surprise, terror, accident of any
sort, the moment that he was betrayed into acting from nature and
inclination, he was constantly certain to discover a regard the most
animated and flattering.
This regard, however, was not more evident than his desire to conceal
and to conquer it: he seemed to dread even her sight, and to have
imposed upon himself the most rigid forbearance of all conversation or
intercourse with her.
Whence could this arise? what strange and unfathomable cause could
render necessary a conduct so mysterious? he knew not, indeed, that
she herself wished it changed, but he could not be ignorant that his
chance with almost any woman would at least be worth trying.
Was the obstacle which thus discouraged him the condition imposed by
her uncle's will of giving her own name to the man she married? this
she herself thought was an unpleasant circumstance, but yet so common
for an heiress, that it could hardly out-weigh the many advantages of
such a connection.
Henrietta again occurred to her; the letter she had seen in her hands
was still unexplained: yet her entire conviction that Henrietta was
not loved by him, joined to a certainty that affection alone could
ever make him think of her, lessened upon this subject her suspicions
every moment.
Lady Euphrasia Pemberton, at last, rested most upon her mind, and she
thought it probable some actual treaty was negociating with the Duke
of Derwent.
Mrs Delvile she had every reason to believe was her friend, though she
was scrupulously delicate in avoiding either raillery or observation
upon the subject of her son, whom she rarely mentioned, and never but
upon occasions in which Cecilia could have no possible interest.
The Father, therefore, notwithstanding all Mr Monckton had represented
to the contrary, appeared to be the real obstacle; his pride might
readily object to her birth, which though not contemptible, was merely
decent, and which, if traced beyond her grandfather, lost all title
even to that epithet.
"If this, however," she cried, "is at last his situation, how much
have I been to blame in censuring his conduct! for while to me he has
appeared capricious, he has, in fact, acted wholly from necessity: if
his father insists upon his forming another connection, has he not
been honourable, prudent and just, in flying an object that made him
think of disobedience, and endeavouring to keep her ignorant of a
partiality it is his duty to curb?"
All, therefore, that remained for her to do or to resolve, was to
guard her own secret with more assiduous care than ever, and since she
found that their union was by himself thought impossible, to keep from
his knowledge that the regret was not all his own.
CHAPTER vi.
A MYSTERY.
For two days, in consequence of violent colds caught during the storm,
Lady Honoria Pemberton and Cecilia were confined to their rooms.
Cecilia, glad by solitude and reflection to compose her spirits and
settle her plan of conduct, would willingly have still prolonged her
retirement, but the abatement of her cold affording her no pretence,
she was obliged on the third day to make her appearance.
Lady Honoria, though less recovered, as she had been more a sufferer,
was impatient of any restraint, and would take no denial to quitting
her room at the same time; at dinner, therefore, all the family met at
usual.
Mr Delvile, with his accustomed solemnity of civility, made various
enquiries and congratulations upon their danger and their security,
carefully in both, addressing himself first to Lady Honoria, and then
with more stateliness in his kindness, to Cecilia. His lady, who had
frequently visited them both, had nothing new to hear.
Delvile did not come in till they were all seated, when, hastily
saying he was glad to see both the ladies so well again, he instantly
employed himself in carving, with the agitation of a man who feared
trusting himself to sit idle.
Little, however, as he said, Cecilia was much struck by the melancholy
tone of his voice, and the moment she raised her eyes, she observed
that his countenance was equally sad.
"Mortimer," cried Mr Delvile, "I am sure you are not well: I cannot
imagine why you will not have some advice."
"Were I to send for a physician, Sir," cried Delvile, with affected
chearfulness, "he would find it much more difficult to imagine what
advice to give me."
"Permit me however, Mr Mortimer," cried Lady Honoria, "to return you
my humble thanks for the honour of your assistance in the thunder
storm! I am afraid you made yourself ill by attending _me_!"
"Your ladyship," returned Delvile, colouring very high, yet pretending
to laugh; "made so great a coward of me, that I ran away from shame at
my own inferiority of courage."
"Were you, then, with Lady Honoria during the storm?" cried Mrs
Delvile.
"No, Madam!" cried Lady Honoria very quick; "but he was so good as to
_leave_ me during the storm."
"Mortimer," said Mr Delvile, "is this possible?"
"O Lady Honoria was such a Heroine," answered Delvile, "that she
wholly disdained receiving any assistance; her valour was so much more
undaunted than mine, that she ventured to brave the lightning under an
oak tree!"
"Now, dear Mrs Delvile," exclaimed Lady Honoria, "think what a
simpleton he would have made of me! he wanted to persuade me that in
the open air I should be less exposed to danger than under the shelter
of a thick tree!"
"Lady Honoria," replied Mrs Delvile, with a sarcastic smile, "the next
tale of scandal you oblige me to hear, I will insist for your
punishment that you shall read one of Mr Newbury's little books! there
are twenty of them that will explain this matter to you, and such
reading will at least employ your time as usefully as such tales!"
"Well, ma'am," said Lady Honoria, "I don't know whether you are
laughing at me or not, but really I concluded Mr Mortimer only chose
to amuse himself in a _tete-a-tete_ with Miss Beverley."
"He was not with Miss Beverley," cried Mrs Delvile with quickness;
"she was alone,--I saw her myself the moment she came in."
"Yes, ma'am,--but not then,-he was gone;"--said Cecilia, endeavouring,
but not very successfully, to speak with composure.
"I had the honour," cried Delvile, making, with equal success, the
same attempt, "to wait upon Miss Beverley to the little gate; and I
was then returning to Lady Honoria when I met her ladyship just coming
in."
"Very extraordinary, Mortimer," said Mr Delvile, staring, "to attend
Lady Honoria the last!"
"Don't be angry in earnest, Sir," cried Lady Honoria, gaily, "for I
did not mean to turn tell-tale."
Here the subject was dropt: greatly to the joy both of Delvile and
Cecilia, who mutually exerted themselves in talking upon what next was
started, in order to prevent its being recurred to again.
That fear, however, over, Delvile said little more; sadness hung
heavily on his mind; he was absent, disturbed, uneasy; yet he
endeavoured no longer to avoid Cecilia; on the contrary, when she
arose to quit the room, he looked evidently disappointed.
The ladies' colds kept them at home all the evening, and Delvile, for
the first time since their arrival at the castle, joined them at tea:
nor when it was over, did he as usual retire; he loitered, pretended
to be caught by a new pamphlet, and looked as anxiously eager to speak
with Cecilia, as he had hitherto appeared to shun her.
With new emotion and fresh distress Cecilia perceived this change;
what he might have to say she could not conjecture, but all that
foreran his communication convinced her it was nothing she could wish;
and much as she had desired some explanation of his designs, when the
long-expected moment seemed arriving, prognostications the most cruel
of the event, repressed her impatience, and deadened her curiosity.
She earnestly lamented her unfortunate residence in his house, where
the adoration of every inhabitant, from his father to the lowest
servant, had impressed her with the strongest belief of his general
worthiness, and greatly, though imperceptibly, encreased her regard
for him, since she had now not a doubt remaining but that some cruel,
some fatal obstacle, prohibited their union.
To collect fortitude to hear it with composure, was now her whole
study; but though, when alone, she thought any discovery preferable to
suspence, all her courage failed her when Delvile appeared, and if she
could not detain Lady Honoria, she involuntarily followed her.
Thus passed four or five days; during which the health of Delvile
seemed to suffer with his mind, and though be refused to acknowledge
he was ill, it was evident to every body that he was far from well.
Mr Delvile frequently urged him to consent to have some advice; but he
always revived, though with forced and transitory spirits, at the
mention of a physician, and the proposal ended in nothing.
Mrs Delvile, too, at length grew alarmed; her enquiries were more
penetrating and pointed, but they were not more successful; every
attack of this sort was followed by immediate gaiety, which, however
constrained, served, for the time, to change the subject. Mrs Delvile,
however, was not soon to be deceived; she watched her son incessantly,
and seemed to feel an inquietude scarce less than his own.
Cecilia's distress was now augmented every moment, and the difficulty
to conceal it grew every hour more painful; she felt herself the cause
of the dejection of the son, and that thought made her feel guilty in
the presence of the mother; the explanation she expected threatened
her with new misery, and the courage to endure it she tried in vain to
acquire; her heart was most cruelly oppressed, apprehension and
suspence never left it for an instant; rest abandoned her at night,
and chearfulness by day.
At this time the two lords, Ernolf and Derford, arrived; and Cecilia,
who at first had lamented their design, now rejoiced in their
presence, since they divided the attention of Mrs Delvile, which she
began to fear was not wholly directed to her son, and since they saved
her from having the whole force of Lady Honoria's high spirits and gay
rattle to herself.
Their immediate observations upon the ill looks of Delvile, startled
both Cecilia and the mother even more than their own fears, which they
had hoped were rather the result of apprehension than of reason.
Cecilia now severely reproached herself with having deferred the
conference he was evidently seeking, not doubting but she had
contributed to his indisposition by denying him the relief he might
expect from concluding the affair.
Melancholy as was this idea, it was yet a motive to overpower her
reluctance, and determine her no longer to shun what it seemed
necessary to endure.
Deep reasoners, however, when they are also nice casuists, frequently
resolve with a tardiness which renders their resolutions of no effect:
this was the case with Cecilia; the same morning that she came down
stairs prepared to meet with firmness the blow which she believed
awaited her, Delvile, who, since the arrival of the two lords, had
always appeared at the general breakfast, acknowledged in answer to
his mother's earnest enquiries, that he had a cold and head-ache: and
had he, at the same time, acknowledged a pleurisy and fever, the alarm
instantly spread in the family could not have been greater; Mr
Delvile, furiously ringing the bell, ordered a man and horse to go
that moment to Dr Lyster, the physician to the family, and not to
return without him if he was himself alive; and Mrs Delvile, not less
distressed, though more quiet, fixed her eyes upon her son, with an
expression of anxiety that shewed her whole happiness was bound in his
recovery.
Delvile endeavoured to laugh away their fears, assuring them he should
be well the next day, and representing in ridiculous terms the
perplexity of Dr Lyster to contrive some prescription for him.
Cecilia's behaviour, guided by prudence and modesty, was steady and
composed; she believed his illness and his uneasiness were the same,
and she hoped the resolution she had taken would bring relief to them
both while the terrors of Mr and Mrs Delvile seemed so greatly beyond
the occasion, that her own were rather lessened than increased by
them.
Dr Lyster soon arrived; he was a humane and excellent physician, and a
man of sound judgment.
Delvile, gaily, shaking hands with him, said "I believe, Dr Lyster,
you little expected to meet a patient, who, were he as skilful, would
be as able to do business as yourself."
"What, with such a hand as this?" cried the Doctor; "come, come, you
must not teach me my own profession. When I attend a patient, I come
to tell how he is myself, not to be told."
"He is, then ill!" cried Mrs Delvile; "oh Mortimer, why have you thus
deceived us!"
"What is his disorder?" cried Mr Delvile; "let us call in more help;
who shall we send for, doctor?"
And again he rang the bell.
"What now?" said Dr Lyster, coolly; "must a man be dying if he is not
in perfect health? we want nobody else; I hope I can prescribe: for a
cold without demanding a consultation?"
"But are you sure it is merely a cold?" cried Mr Delvile; "may not
some dreadful malady"--
"Pray, Sir, have patience," interrupted the doctor; "Mr Mortimer and I
will have some discourse together presently; mean time, let us all sit
down, and behave like Christians: I never talk of my art before
company. 'Tis hard you won't let me be a gentleman at large for two
minutes!"
Lady Honoria and Cecilia would then have risen, but neither Dr Lyster
nor Delvile would permit them to go; and a conversation tolerably
lively took place, after which, the party in general separating, the
doctor accompanied Delvile to his own apartment.
Cecilia then went up stairs, where she most impatiently waited some
intelligence: none, however, arriving, in about half an hour she
returned to the parlour; she found it empty, but was soon joined by
Lady Honoria and Lord Ernolf.
Lady Honoria, happy in having something going forward, and not much
concerning herself whether it were good or evil, was as eager to
communicate what she had gathered, as Cecilia was to hear it.
"Well, my dear," she cried, "so I don't find at last but that all this
prodigious illness will be laid to your account."
"To my account?" cried Cecilia, "how is that possible?"
"Why this tender chicken caught cold in the storm last week, and not
being put to bed by its mama, and nursed with white-wine whey, the
poor thing has got a fever."
"He is a fine young man," said Lord Ernolf; "I should be sorry any
harm happened to him."
"He _was_ a fine young man, my lord," cried Lady Honoria, "but he
is grown intolerably stupid lately; however, it's all the fault of his
father and mother. Was ever any thing half so ridiculous as their
behaviour this morning? it was with the utmost difficulty I forbore
laughing in their faces: and really, I believe if I was to meet with
such an unfortunate accident with Mr Delvile, it would turn him to
marble at once! indeed he is little better now, but such an affront as
that would never let him move from the spot where he received it."
"I forgive him, however," returned Lord Ernolf, "for his anxiety about
his son, since he is the last of so ancient a family."
"That is his great misfortune, my lord," answered Lady Honoria,
"because it is the very reason they make such a puppet of him. If
there were but a few more little masters to dandle and fondle, I'll
answer for it this precious Mortimer would soon be left to himself:
and then, really, I believe he would be a good tolerable sort of young
man. Don't you think he would, Miss Beverley?"
"O yes!" said Cecilia, "I believe--I think so!"
"Nay, nay, I did not ask if you thought him tolerable _now_, so
no need to be frightened."
Here they were interrupted by the entrance of Dr Lyster.
"Well, Sir," cried Lady Honoria, "and when am I to go into mourning
for my cousin Mortimer?"
"Why very soon," answered he, "unless you take better care of him. He
has confessed to me that after being out in the storm last Wednesday,
he sat in his wet cloaths all the evening."
"Dear," cried Lady Honoria, "and what would that do to him? I have no
notion of a man's always wanting a cambric handkerchief about his
throat."
"Perhaps your ladyship had rather make him apply it to his eyes?"
cried the doctor: "however, sitting inactive in wet cloaths would
destroy a stouter man than Mr Delvile; but he _forgot_ it, he
says! which of you two young ladies could not have given as good
reason?"
"Your most obedient," said Lady Honoria and why should not a lady give
as good a reason as a gentleman?"
"I don't know," answered he, drily, "but from want of practice, I
believe."
"O worse and worse!" cried Lady Honoria; you shall never be my
physician; if I was to be attended by you, you'd make me sick instead
of well."
"All the better," answered he, "for then I must have the honour of
attending you till I made you well instead of sick." And with a good-
humoured smile, he left them; and Lord Derford, at the same time,
coming into the room, Cecilia contrived to stroll out into the park.
The account to which she had been listening redoubled her uneasiness;
she was conscious that whatever was the indisposition of Delvile, and
whether it was mental or bodily, she was herself its occasion: through
her he had been negligent, she had rendered him forgetful, and in
consulting her own fears in preference to his peace, she had avoided
an explanation, though he had vigilantly sought one. _She knew
not_, he told her, _half the wretchedness of his heart_.--
Alas! thought she, he little conjectures the state of mine!
Lady Honoria suffered her not to be long alone; in about half an hour
she ran after her, gaily calling out, "O Miss Beverley, you have lost
the delightfullest diversion in the world! I have just had the most
ridiculous scene with my Lord Derford that you ever heard in your
life! I asked him what put it in his head to be in love with you,--and
he had the simplicity to answer, quite seriously, his father!"
"He was very right," said Cecilia, "if the desire of uniting two
estates is to be denominated being in love; for that, most certainly,
was put into his head by his father."
"O but you have not heard half. I told him, then, that, as a friend,
in confidence I must acquaint him, I believed you intended to marry
Mortimer--"
"Good heaven, Lady Honoria!"
"O, you shall hear the reason; because, as I assured him, it was
proper he should immediately call him to account."
"Are you mad, Lady Honoria?"
"For you know, said I, Miss Beverley has had one duel fought for her
already, and a lady who has once had that compliment paid her, always
expects it from every new admirer; and I really believe your not
observing that form is the true cause of her coldness to you."
"Is it possible you can have talked so wildly?"
"Yes, and what is much better, he believed every word I said!"
"Much better?--No, indeed, it is much worse! and if, in fact, he is so
uncommonly weak, I shall really be but little indebted to your
ladyship for giving him such notions."
"O I would not but have done it for the world! for I never laughed so
immoderately in my life. He began assuring me he was not afraid, for
he said he had practised fencing more than any thing: so I made him
promise to send a challenge to Mortimer as soon as he is well enough
to come down again: for Dr Lyster has ordered him to keep his room."
Cecilia, smothering her concern for this last piece of intelligence by
pretending to feel it merely for the former, expostulated with Lady
Honoria upon so mischievous a frolic, and earnestly entreated her to
go back and contradict it all.
"No, no, not for the world!" cried she; "he has not the least spirit,
and I dare say he would not fight to save the whole nation from
destruction; but I'll make him believe that it's necessary, in order
to give him something to think of, for really his poor head is so
vacant, that I am sure if one might but play upon it with sticks, it
would sound just like a drum."
Cecilia, finding it vain to combat with her fantasies, was at length
obliged to submit.
The rest of the day she passed very unpleasantly; Delvile appeared
not; his father was restless and disturbed, and his mother, though
attentive to her guests, and, for their sakes rallying her spirits,
was visibly ill disposed to think or to talk but of her son.
One diversion, however, Cecilia found for herself; Delvile had a
favourite spaniel, which, when he walked followed him, and when he
rode, ran by his horse; this dog, who was not admitted into the house,
she now took under her own care; and spent almost the whole day out of
doors, chiefly for the satisfaction of making him her companion.
The next morning, when Dr Lyster came again, she kept in the way, in
order to hear his opinion; and was sitting with Lady Honoria in the
parlour, when he entered it to write a prescription.
Mrs Delvile, in a few moments, followed him, and with a face and voice
of the tenderest maternal apprehensions, said "Doctor, one thing
entrust me with immediately; I can neither bear imposition nor
suspense;--you know what I would say!--tell me if I have any thing to
fear, that my preparations may be adequate!"
"Nothing, I believe, in the world."
"You believe!" repeated Mrs Delvile, starting; "Oh doctor!"
"Why you would not have me say I am _certain_, would you? these
are no times for Popery and infallibility; however, I assure you I
think him perfectly safe. He has done a foolish and idle trick, but no
man is wise always. We must get rid of his fever, and then if his cold
remains, with any cough, he may make a little excursion to Bristol."
"To Bristol! nay then,--I understand you too well!"
"No, no, you don't understand me at all; I don't send him to Bristol
because he is in a bad way, but merely because I mean to put him in a
good one."
"Let him, then, go immediately; why should he increase the danger by
waiting a moment? I will order--"
"Hold, hold! I know what to order myself! 'Tis a strange thing people
will always teach me my own duty! why should I make a man travel such
weather as this in a fever? do you think I want to confine him in a
mad-house, or be confined in one myself?"
"Certainly you know best--but still if there is any danger--"
"No, no, there is not! only we don't chuse there should be any. And
how will he entertain himself better than by going to Bristol? I send
him merely on a jaunt of pleasure; and I am sure he will be safer
there than shut up in a house with two such young ladies as these."
And then he made off. Mrs Delvile, too anxious for conversation, left
the room, and Cecilia, too conscious for silence, forced herself into
discourse with Lady Honoria.
Three days she passed in this uncertainty what she had to expect;
blaming those fears which had deferred an explanation, and tormented
by Lady Honoria, whose raillery and levity now grew very unseasonable.
Fidel, the favourite spaniel, was almost her only consolation, and she
pleased herself not inconsiderably by making a friend of the faithful
animal.
CHAPTER vii.
AN ANECDOTE.
On the fourth day the house wore a better aspect; Delvile's fever was
gone, and Dr Lyster permitted him to leave his room: a cough, however,
remained, and his journey to Bristol was settled to take place in
three days. Cecilia, knowing he was now expected down stairs, hastened
out of the parlour the moment she had finished her breakfast; for
affected by his illness, and hurt at the approaching separation, she
dreaded the first meeting, and wished to fortify her mind for bearing
it with propriety.
In a very few minutes, Lady Honoria, running after her, entreated that
she would come down; "for Mortimer," she cried, "is in the parlour,
and the poor child is made so much of by its papa and mama, that I
wish they don't half kill him by their ridiculous fondness. It is
amazing to me he is so patient with them, for if they teized me half
as much, I should be ready to jump up and shake them. But I wish you
would come down, for I assure you it's a comical scene."
"Your ladyship is soon diverted! but what is there so comical in the
anxiety of parents for an only son?"
"Lord, they don't care a straw for him all the time! it's merely that
he may live to keep up this old castle, which I hope in my heart he
will pull down the moment they are dead! But do pray come; it will
really give you spirits to see them all. The father keeps ringing the
bell to order half a hundred pair of boots for him, and all the
greatcoats in the county; and the mother sits and looks as if a hearse
and mourning coach were already coming over the drawbridge: but the
most diverting object among them is my Lord Derford! O, it is really
too entertaining to see him! there he sits, thinking the whole time of
his challenge! I intend to employ him all this afternoon in practising
to shoot at a mark."
And then again she pressed her to join the group, and Cecilia, fearing
her opposition might seem strange, consented.
Delvile arose at her entrance, and, with tolerable steadiness, she
congratulated him on his recovery: and then, taking her usual seat,
employed herself in embroidering a screen. She joined too,
occasionally, in the conversation, and observed, not without surprise,
that Delvile seemed much less dejected than before his confinement.
Soon after, he ordered his horse, and, accompanied by Lord Derford,
rode out. Mr Delvile then took Lord Ernolf to shew him some intended
improvements in another part of the castle, and Lady Honoria walked
away in search of any entertainment she could find.
Mrs Delvile, in better spirits than she had been for many days, sent
for her own work, and sitting by Cecilia, conversed with her again as
in former times; mixing instruction with entertainment, and general
satire with particular kindness, in a manner at once so lively and so
flattering, that Cecilia herself reviving, found but little difficulty
in bearing her part in the conversation.
And thus, with some gaiety, and tolerable ease, was spent the greatest
part of the morning; but just as they were talking of changing their
dress for dinner, Lady Honoria with an air of the utmost exultation,
came flying into the room. "Well, ma'am," she cried, "I have some news
now that I _must_ tell you, because it will make you believe me
another time though I know it will put you in a passion."
"That's sweetly designed, at least!" said Mrs Delvile, laughing;
"however, I'll trust you, for my passions will not, just now, be
irritated by straws."
"Why, ma'am, don't you remember I told you when you were in town that
Mr Mortimer kept a mistress--"
"Yes!" cried Mrs Delvile, disdainfully, "and you may remember, Lady
Honoria, I told you--"
"O, you would not believe a word of it! but it's all true, I assure
you! and now he has brought her down here; he sent for her about three
weeks ago, and he has boarded her at a cottage, about half a mile from
the Park-gate."
Cecilia, to whom Henrietta Belfield was instantly present, changed
colour repeatedly, and turned so extremely sick, she could with
difficulty keep her seat. She forced herself, however, to continue her
work, though she knew so little what she was about, that she put her
needle in and out of the same place without ceasing.
Meanwhile Mrs Delvile, with a countenance of the utmost indignation,
exclaimed, "Lady Honoria, if you think a tale of scandal such as this
reflects no disgrace upon its relater, you must pardon me for
entreating you to find an auditor more of the same opinion than
myself."
"Nay, ma'am, since you are so angry, I'll tell you the whole affair,
for this is but half of it. He has a child here, too,--I vow I long to
see it!--and he is so fond of it that he spends half his time in
nursing it;--and that, I suppose, is the thing that takes him out so
much; and I fancy, too, that's what has made him grow so grave, for
may be he thinks it would not be pretty to be very frisky, now he's a
papa."
Not only Cecilia, but Mrs Delvile herself was now overpowered, and she
sat for some time wholly silent and confounded; Lady Honoria then,
turning to Cecilia exclaimed, "Bless me, Miss Beverley, what are you
about! why that flower is the most ridiculous thing I ever saw! you
have spoilt your whole work."
Cecilia, in the utmost confusion, though pretending to laugh, then
began to unpick it; and Mrs Delvile, recovering, more calmly, though
not less angrily, said "And has this tale the honour of being invented
solely by your ladyship, or had it any other assistant?"
"O no, I assure you, it's no invention of mine; I had it from very
good authority upon my word. But only look at Miss Beverley! would not
one think I had said that she had a child herself? She looks as pale
as death. My dear, I am sure you can't be well?"
"I beg your pardon," cried Cecilia, forcing a smile, though extremely
provoked with her; "I never was better."
And then, with the hope of appearing unconcerned, she raised her head;
but meeting the eyes of Mrs Delvile fixed upon her face with a look of
penetrating observation, abashed and guilty, she again dropt it, and
resumed her work.
"Well, my dear," said Lady Honoria, "I am sure there is no occasion to
send for Dr Lyster to _you_, for you recover yourself in a
moment: you have the finest colour now I ever saw: has not she, Mrs
Delvile? did you ever see anybody blush so becomingly?"
"I wish, Lady Honoria," said Mrs Delvile, with severity, "it were
possible to see you blush!"
"O but I never do! not but what it's pretty enough too; but I don't
know how it is, it never happens. Now Euphrasia can blush from morning
to night. I can't think how she contrives it. Miss Beverley, too,
plays at it vastly well; she's red and white, and white and red half a
dozen times in a minute. Especially," looking at her archly, and
lowering her voice, "if you talk to her of Mortimer!"
"No, indeed! no such thing!" cried Cecilia with some resentment, and
again looking up; but glancing her eyes towards Mrs Delvile, and again
meeting hers, filled with the strongest expression of enquiring
solicitude, unable to sustain their inquisition, and shocked to find
herself thus watchfully observed, she returned in hasty confusion to
her employment.
"Well, my dear," cried Lady Honoria, again, "but what are you about
now? do you intend to unpick the whole screen?"
"How can she tell what she is doing," said Mrs Delvile, with
quickness, "if you torment her thus incessantly? I will take you away
from her, that she may have a little peace. You shall do me the honour
to attend my toilette, and acquaint me with some further particulars
of this extraordinary discovery."
Mrs Delvile then left the room, but Lady Honoria, before she followed
her, said in a low voice "Pity me, Miss Beverley, if you have the
least good-nature! I am now going to hear a lecture of two hours
long!"
Cecilia, left to herself was in a perturbation almost insupportable:
Delvile's mysterious conduct seemed the result of some entanglement of
vice; Henrietta Belfield, the artless Henrietta Belfield, she feared
had been abused, and her own ill-fated partiality, which now more than
ever she wished unknown even to herself, was evidently betrayed where
most the dignity of her mind made her desire it to be concealed!
In this state of shame, regret and resentment, which made her forget
to change her dress, or her place, she was suddenly surprised by
Delvile.
Starting and colouring, she busied herself with collecting her work,
that she might hurry out of the room. Delvile, though silent himself,
endeavoured to assist her; but when she would have gone, he attempted
to stop her, saying "Miss Beverley, for three minutes only."
"No, sir," cried she, indignantly, "not for an instant!" and leaving
him utterly astonished, she hastened to her own apartment.
She was then sorry she had been so precipitate; nothing had been
clearly proved against him; no authority was so likely to be
fallacious as that of Lady Honoria; neither was he under any
engagement to herself that could give her any right to manifest such
displeasure. These reflections, however, came too late, and the quick
feelings of her agitated mind were too rapid to wait the dictates of
cool reason. At dinner she attended wholly to Lord Ernolf, whose
assiduous politeness, profiting by the humour, saved her the painful
effort of forcing conversation, or the guilty consciousness of giving
way to silence, and enabled her to preserve her general tenor between
taciturnity and loquaciousness. Mrs Delvile she did not once dare look
at; but her son, she saw, seemed greatly hurt; yet it was proudly, not
sorrowfully, and therefore she saw it with less uneasiness.
During the rest of the day, which was passed in general society, Mrs
Delvile, though much occupied, frequently leaving the room, and
sending for Lady Honoria, was more soft, kind and gentle with Cecilia
than ever, looking at her with the utmost tenderness, often taking her
hand, and speaking to her with even unusual sweetness. Cecilia with
mingled sadness and pleasure observed this encreasing regard, which
she could not but attribute to the discovery made through Lady
Honoria's mischievous intelligence, and which, while it rejoiced her
with the belief of her approbation, added fresh force to her regret in
considering it was fruitless. Delvile, mean-time, evidently offended
himself, conversed only with the gentlemen, and went very early into
his own room.
When they were all retiring, Mrs Delvile, following Cecilia, dismissed
her maid to talk with her alone.
"I am not, I hope, often," she cried, "solicitous or importunate to
speak about my son: his character, I believe, wants no vindication;
clear and unsullied, it has always been its own support: yet the
aspersion cast upon it this morning by Lady Honoria, I think myself
bound to explain, not partially as his mother, but simply as his
friend."
Cecilia, who knew not whither such an explanation might lead, nor
wherefore it was made, heard this opening with much emotion, but gave
neither to that nor to what followed any interruption.
Mrs Delvile then continued: she had taken the trouble, she said, to
sift the whole affair, in order to shame Lady Honoria by a pointed
conviction of what she had invented, and to trace from the foundation
the circumstances whence her surmises or report had sprung.
Delvile, it seems, about a fortnight before the present time, in one
of his morning walks, had observed a gipsey sitting by the side of the
high road, who seemed extremely ill, and who had a very beautiful
child tied to her back.
Struck with the baby, he stopt to enquire to whom it belonged; to
herself, she said, and begged his charity with the most pitiable cries
of distress; telling him that she was travelling to join some of her
fraternity, who were in a body near Bath, but was so ill with an ague
and fever that she feared she should die on the road.
Delvile desired her to go to the next cottage, and promised to pay for
her board there till she was better. He then spoke to the man and his
wife who owned it to take them in, who, glad to oblige his Honour,
instantly consented, and he had since called twice to see in what
manner they went on.
"How simple," continued Mrs Delvile, "is a matter of fact in itself,
and how complex when embellished! This tale has been told by the
cottagers to our servants; it has travelled, probably gaining
something from every mouth, to Lady Honoria's maid, and, having
reached her ladyship, was swelled in a moment into all we heard! I
think, however, that, for some time at least, her levity will be
rather less daring. I have not, in this affair, at all spared her; I
made her hear from Mortimer himself the little story as it happened; I
then carried her to the cottage, where we had the whole matter
confirmed; and I afterwards insisted upon being told myself by her
maid all she had related to her lady, that she might thus be
unanswerably convicted of inventing whatever she omitted. I have
occasioned her some confusion, and, for the moment, a little
resentment; but she is so volatile that neither will last; and though,
with regard to my own family, I may perhaps have rendered her more
cautious, I fear, with regard to the world in general, she is utterly
incorrigible, because it has neither pleasure nor advantage to offer,
that can compensate for the deprivation of relating one staring story,
or ridiculous anecdote."
And then, wishing her good night, she added, "I make not any apology
for this detail, which you owe, not, believe me, to a mother's folly,
but, if I [know] myself at all, to a love of truth and justice.
Mortimer, independent of all connection with me, cannot but to every
body appear of a character which may be deemed even exemplary;
calumny, therefore, falling upon such a subject, injures not only
himself but society, since it weakens all confidence in virtue, and
strengthens the scepticism of depravity."
She then left her.
"Ah!" thought Cecilia, "to me, at least, this solicitude for his fame
needs no apology! humane and generous Delvile! never, again, will I a
moment doubt your worthiness!" And then, cherishing that darling idea,
she forgot all her cares and apprehensions, her quarrel, her
suspicions, and the approaching separation, and, recompensed for every
thing by this refutation of his guilt, she hastened to bed, and
composed herself to rest.
CHAPTER viii.
A CONFERENCE.
Early the next morning Cecilia had a visit from Lady Honoria, who came
to tell her story her own way, and laugh at the anxiety of Mrs
Delvile, and the trouble she had taken; "for, after all," continued
she, "what did the whole matter signify? and how could I possibly help
the mistake? when I heard of his paying for a woman's board, what was
so natural as to suppose she must be his mistress? especially as there
was a child in the case. O how I wish you had been with us! you never
saw such a ridiculous sight in your life; away we went in the chaise
full drive to the cottage, frightening all the people almost into
fits; out came the poor woman, away ran the poor man,--both of them
thought the end of the world at hand! The gipsey was best off, for she
went to her old business, and began begging. I assure you, I believe
she would be very pretty if she was not so ill, and so I dare say
Mortimer thought too, or I fancy he would not have taken such care of
her."
"Fie, fie, Lady Honoria! will nothing bring conviction to you?"
"Nay, you know, there's no harm in that, for why should not pretty
people live as well as ugly ones? There's no occasion to leave nothing
in the world but frights. I looked hard at the baby, to see if it was
like Mortimer, but I could not make it out; those young things are
like nothing. I tried if it would talk, for I wanted sadly to make it
call Mrs Delvile grandmama; however, the little urchin could say
nothing to be understood. O what a rage would Mrs Delvile have been
in! I suppose this whole castle would hardly have been thought heavy
enough to crush such an insolent brat, though it were to have fallen
upon it all at a blow!"
Thus rattled this light-hearted lady till the family was assembled to
breakfast; and then Cecilia, softened towards Delvile by newly-excited
admiration, as well as by the absence which would separate them the
following day, intended, by every little courteous office in her
power, to make her peace with him before his departure: but she
observed, with much chagrin, that Mrs Delvile never ceased to watch
her, which, added to an air of pride in the coldness of Delvile, that
he had never before assumed, discouraged her from making the attempt,
and compelled her to seem quiet and unconcerned.
As soon as breakfast was over, the gentlemen all rode or walked out;
and when the ladies were by themselves, Lady Honoria suddenly
exclaimed, "Mrs Delvile, I can't imagine for what reason you send Mr
Mortimer to Bristol."
"For a reason, Lady Honoria, that with all your wildness, I should be
very sorry you should know better by experience."
"Why then, ma'am; had we not better make a party, and all go? Miss
Beverley, should you like to join it? I am afraid it would be vastly
disagreeable to you."
Cecilia, now again was _red and white, and white and red a dozen
times in a minute_; and Mrs Delvile, rising and taking her hand,
expressively said, "Miss Beverley, you have a thousand times too much
sensibility for this mad-cap of a companion. I believe I shall punish
her by taking you away from her all this morning; will you come and
sit with me in the dressing-room?"
Cecilia assented without daring to look at her, and followed in
trembling, up stairs. Something of importance, she fancied, would
ensue, her secret she saw was revealed, and therefore she could form
no conjecture but that Delvile would be the subject of their discourse
yet whether to explain his behaviour, or plead his cause, whether to
express her separate approbation, or communicate some intelligence
from himself, she had neither time, opportunity nor clue to unravel.
All that was undoubted seemed the affection of Mrs Delvile, all that,
on her own part, could be resolved, was to suppress her partiality
till she knew if it might properly be, avowed.
Mrs Delvile, who saw her perturbation, led immediately to subjects of
indifference, and talked upon them so long, and with so much ease,
that Cecilia, recovering her composure, began to think she had been
mistaken, and that nothing was intended but a tranquil conversation.
As soon, however, as she had quieted her apprehensions, she sat silent
herself, with a look that Cecilia easily construed into thoughtful
perplexity in what manner she should introduce what she meant to
communicate.
This pause was succeeded by her speaking of Lady Honoria; "how wild,
how careless, how incorrigible she is! she lost her mother early; and
the Duke, who idolizes her, and who, marrying very late, is already an
old man, she rules entirely; with him, and a supple governess, who has
neither courage to oppose her, nor heart to wish well but to her own
interest, she has lived almost wholly. Lately, indeed, she has come
more into the world, but without even a desire of improvement, and
with no view and no thought but to gratify her idle humour by laughing
at whatever goes forward."
"She certainly neither wants parts nor discernment," said Cecilia;
"and, when my mind is not occupied by other matters, I find her
conversation entertaining and agreeable."
"Yes," said Mrs Delvile, "but that light sort of wit which attacks,
with equal alacrity, what is serious or what is gay, is twenty times
offensive, to once that it is exhilarating; since it shews that while
its only aim is self-diversion, it has the most insolent negligence
with respect to any pain it gives to others. The rank of Lady Honoria,
though it has not rendered her proud, nor even made her conscious she
has any dignity to support, has yet given her a saucy indifference
whom she pleases or hurts, that borders upon what in a woman is of all
things the most odious, a daring defiance of the world and its
opinions."
Cecilia, never less disposed to enter upon her defence, made but
little answer; and, soon after, Mrs Delvile added, "I heartily wish
she were properly established; and yet, according to the pernicious
manners and maxims of the present age, she is perhaps more secure from
misconduct while single, than she will be when married. Her father, I
fear, will leave her too much to herself, and in that case I scarce
know what may become of her; she has neither judgment nor principle to
direct her choice, and therefore, in all probability, the same whim
which one day will guide it, will the next lead her to repent it."
Again they were both silent; and then Mrs Delvile, gravely, yet with
energy exclaimed, "How few are there, how very few, who marry at once
upon principles rational, and feelings pleasant! interest and
inclination are eternally at strife, and where either is wholly
sacrificed, the other is inadequate to happiness. Yet how rarely do
they divide the attention! the young are rash, and the aged are
mercenary; their deliberations are never in concert, their views are
scarce ever blended; one vanquishes, and the other submits; neither
party temporizes, and commonly each is unhappy."
"The time," she continued, "is now arrived when reflections of this
sort cannot too seriously occupy me; the errors I have observed in
others, I would fain avoid committing; yet such is the blindness of
self-love, that perhaps, even at the moment I censure them, I am
falling, without consciousness, into the same! nothing, however, shall
through negligence be wrong; for where is the son who merits care and
attention, if Mortimer from his parents deserves not to meet them?"
The expectations of Cecilia were now again awakened, and awakened with
fresh terrors lest Mrs Delvile, from compassion, meant to offer her
services; vigorously, therefore, she determined to exert herself, and
rather give up Mortimer and all thoughts of him for ever, than submit
to receive assistance in persuading him to the union.
"Mr Delvile," she continued, "is most earnest and impatient that some
alliance should take place without further delay; and for myself,
could I see him with propriety and with happiness disposed of, what a
weight of anxiety would be removed from my heart!"
Cecilia now made an effort to speak, attempting to say "Certainly, it
is a matter of great consequence;" but so low was her voice, and so
confused her manner, that Mrs Delvile, though attentively listening,
heard not a word. She forbore, however, to make her repeat what she
said, and went on herself as if speaking in answer.
"Not only his own, but the peace of his whole family will depend upon
his election, since he is the last of his race. This castle and
estate, and another in the north, were entailed upon him by the late
Lord Delvile, his grandfather, who, disobliged by his eldest son, the
present lord, left every thing he had power to dispose of to his
second son, Mr Delvile, and at his death, to his grandson, Mortimer.
And even the present lord, though always at variance with his brother,
is fond of his nephew, and has declared him his heir. I, also, have
one sister, who is rich, who has no children, and who has made the
same declaration. Yet though with such high expectations, he must not
connect himself imprudently; for his paternal estate wants repair, and
he is well entitled with a wife to expect what it requires."
Most true! thought Cecilia, yet ashamed of her recent failure, she
applied herself to her work, and would not again try to speak.
"He is amiable, accomplished, well educated, and well born; far may we
look, and not meet with his equal; no woman need disdain, and few
women would refuse him."
Cecilia blushed her concurrence; yet could well at that moment have
spared hearing the eulogy.
"Yet how difficult," she continued, "to find a proper alliance! there
are many who have some recommendations, but who is there wholly
unexceptionable?"
This question seemed unanswerable; nor could Cecilia devise what it
meant.
"Girls of high family have but seldom large fortunes, since the heads
of their house commonly require their whole wealth for the support of
their own dignity; while on the other hand, girls of large fortune are
frequently ignorant, insolent, or low born; kept up by their friends
lest they should fall a prey to adventurers, they have no acquaintance
with the world, and little enlargement from education; their
instructions are limited to a few merely youthful accomplishments; the
first notion they imbibe is of their own importance, the first lesson
they are taught is the value of riches, and even from their cradles,
their little minds are narrowed, and their self-sufficiency is
excited, by cautions to beware of fortune-hunters, and assurances that
the whole world will be at their feet. Among such should we seek a
companion for Mortimer? surely not. Formed for domestic happiness, and
delighting in elegant society, his mind would disdain an alliance in
which its affections had no share."
Cecilia colouring and trembling, thought now the moment of her trial
was approaching, and half mortified and half frightened prepared
herself to sustain it with firmness.
"I venture, therefore, my dear Miss Beverley, to speak to you upon
this subject as a friend who will have patience to hear my
perplexities; you see upon what they hang,--where the birth is such as
Mortimer Delvile may claim, the fortune generally fails; and where the
fortune is adequate to his expectations, the birth yet more frequently
would disgrace us."
Cecilia, astonished by this speech, and quite off her guard from
momentary surprize, involuntarily raised her head to look at Mrs
Delvile, in whose countenance she observed the most anxious concern,
though her manner of speaking had seemed placid and composed.
"Once," she continued, without appearing to remark the emotion of her
auditor, "Mr Delvile thought of uniting him with his cousin Lady
Honoria; but he never could endure the proposal; and who shall blame
his repugnance? her sister, indeed, Lady Euphrasia, is much
preferable, her education has been better, and her fortune is much
more considerable. At present, however, Mortimer seems greatly averse
to her, and who has a right to be difficult, if we deny it to him?"
Wonder, uncertainty, expectation and suspence now all attacked
Cecilia, and all harassed her with redoubled violence; why she was
called to this conference she knew not; the approbation she had
thought so certain, she doubted, and the proposal of assistance she
had apprehended, she ceased to think would be offered some fearful
mystery, some cruel obscurity, still clouded all her prospects, and
not merely obstructed her view of the future, but made what was
immediately before her gloomy and indistinct.
The state of her mind seemed read by Mrs Delvile, who examined her
with eyes of such penetrating keenness, that they rather made
discoveries than enquiries. She was silent some time, and looked
irresolute how to proceed; but at length, she arose, and taking
Cecilia by the hand, who almost drew it back from her dread of what
would follow, she said "I will torment you no more, my sweet young
friend, with perplexities which you cannot relieve: this only I will
say, and then drop the subject for ever; when my solicitude for
Mortimer is removed, and he is established to the satisfaction of us
all, no care will remain in the heart of his mother, half so fervent,
so anxious and so sincere as the disposal of my amiable Cecilia, for
whose welfare and happiness my wishes are even maternal."
She then kissed her glowing cheek, and perceiving her almost stupified
with astonishment, spared her any effort to speak, by hastily leaving
her in possession of her room.
Undeceived in her expectations and chilled in her hopes, the heart of
Cecilia no longer struggled to sustain its dignity, or conceal its
tenderness; the conflict was at an end, Mrs Delvile had been open,
though her son was mysterious; but, in removing her doubts, she had
bereft her of her peace. She now found her own mistake in building
upon her approbation; she saw nothing was less in her intentions, and
that even when most ardent in affectionate regard, she separated her
interest from that of her son as if their union was a matter of utter
impossibility. "Yet why," cried Cecilia, "oh why is it deemed so! that
she loves me, she is ever eager to proclaim, that my fortune would be,
peculiarly useful, she makes not a secret, and that I, at least,
should start no insuperable objections, she has, alas! but too
obviously discovered! Has she doubts of her son?--no, she has too much
discernment; the father, then, the haughty, impracticable father, has
destined him for some woman of rank, and will listen to no other
alliance."
This notion somewhat soothed her in the disappointment she suffered;
yet to know herself betrayed to Mrs Delvile, and to see no other
consequence ensue but that of exciting a tender compassion, which led
her to discourage, from benevolence, hopes too high to be indulged,
was a mortification so severe, that it caused her a deeper depression
of spirits than any occurrence of her life had yet occasioned.
"What Henrietta Belfield is to me," she cried, "I am to Mrs Delvile! but
what in her is amiable and artless, in me is disgraceful and unworthy.
And this is the situation which so long I have desired! This is the
change of habitation which I thought would make me so happy! oh who
can chuse, who can judge for himself? who can point out the road to
his own felicity, or decide upon the spot where his peace will be
ensured!"
Still, however, she had something to do, some spirit to exert, and some
fortitude to manifest: Mortimer, she was certain, suspected not his own
power; his mother, she knew, was both too good and too wise to reveal it
to him, and she determined, by caution and firmness upon his leave-
taking and departure, to retrieve, if possible, that credit with Mrs
Delvile, which she feared her betrayed susceptibility had weakened.
As soon, therefore, as she recovered from her consternation, she
quitted Mrs Delvile's apartment, and seeking Lady Honoria herself,
determined not to spend even a moment alone, till Mortimer was gone;
lest the sadness of her reflections should overpower her resolution,
and give a melancholy to her air and manner which he might attribute,
with but too much justice, to concern upon his own account.
CHAPTER ix.
AN ATTACK.
At dinner, with the assistance of Lord Ernolf, who was most happy to
give it, Cecilia seemed tolerably easy. Lord Derford, too, encouraged
by his father, endeavoured to engage some share of her attention; but
he totally failed; her mind was superior to little arts of coquetry,
and her pride had too much dignity to evaporate in pique; she
determined, therefore, at this time, as at all others, to be
consistent in shewing him he had no chance of her favour.
At tea, when they were again assembled, Mortimer's journey was the
only subject of discourse, and it was agreed that he should set out
very early in the morning, and, as the weather was extremely hot, not
travel at all in the middle of the day.
Lady Honoria then, in a whisper to Cecilia, said, "I suppose, Miss
Beverley, you will rise with the lark to-morrow morning? for your
health, I mean. Early rising, you know, is vastly good for you."
Cecilia, affecting not to understand her, said she should rise, she
supposed, at her usual time.
"I'll tell Mortimer, however," returned her ladyship, "to look up at
your window before he goes off; for if he will play Romeo, you, I dare
say, will play Juliet, and this old castle is quite the thing for the
musty family of the Capulets: I dare say Shakespeare thought of it
when he wrote of them."
"Say to him what you please for yourself," cried Cecilia, "but let me
entreat you to say nothing for me."
"And my Lord Derford," continued she, "will make an excessive pretty
Paris, for he is vastly in love, though he has got nothing to say; but
what shall we do for a Mercutio? we may find five hundred whining
Romeos to one gay and charming Mercutio. Besides, Mrs Delvile, to do
her justice, is really too good for the old Nurse, though Mr Delvile
himself may serve for all the Capulets and all the Montagues at once,
for he has pride enough for both their houses, and twenty more
besides. By the way, if I don't take care, I shall have this Romeo run
away before I have made my little dainty country Paris pick a quarrel
with him."
She then walked up to one of the windows, and motioning Lord Derford
to follow her, Cecilia heard her say to him, "Well, my lord, have you
writ your letter? and have you sent it? Miss Beverley, I assure you,
will be charmed beyond measure by such a piece of gallantry."
"No, ma'am," answered the simple young lord, "I have not sent it yet,
for I have only writ a foul copy."
"O my lord," cried she, "that is the very thing you ought to send! a
foul copy of a challenge is always better than a fair one, for it
looks written with more agitation. I am vastly glad you mentioned
that."
Cecilia then, rising and joining them, said, "What mischief is Lady
Honoria about now? we must all be upon our guards, my lord, for she
has a spirit of diversion that will not spare us."
"Pray why do you interfere?" cried Lady Honoria, and then, in a lower
voice, she added, "what do you apprehend? do you suppose Mortimer
cannot manage such a poor little ideot as this?"
"I don't suppose any thing about the matter!"
"Well, then, don't interrupt my operations. Lord Derford, Miss
Beverley has been whispering me, that if you put this scheme in
execution, she shall find you, ever after, irresistible."
"Lord Derford, I hope," said Cecilia, laughing, is too well acquainted
with your ladyship to be in any danger of credulity."
"Vastly well!" cried she, "I see you are determined to provoke me, so
if you spoil my schemes, I will spoil yours, and tell a certain
gentleman your tender terrors for his safety."
Cecilia now, extremely alarmed, most earnestly entreated her to be
quiet; but the discovery of her fright only excited her ladyship's
laughter, and, with a look the most mischievously wicked, she called
out "Pray Mr Mortimer, come hither!"
Mortimer instantly obeyed; and Cecilia at the same moment would with
pleasure have endured almost any punishment to have been twenty miles
off.
"I have something," continued her ladyship, "of the utmost consequence
to communicate to you. We have been settling an admirable plan for
you; will you promise to be guided by us if I tell it you?"
"O certainly!" cried he; "to doubt that would disgrace us all round."
"Well, then,--Miss Beverley, have you any objection to my proceeding?"
"None at all!" answered Cecilia, who had the understanding to know
that the greatest excitement to ridicule is opposition.
"Well, then, I must tell you," she continued, "it is the advice of us
all, that as soon as you come to the possession of your estate, you
make some capital alterations in this antient castle."
Cecilia, greatly relieved, could with gratitude have embraced her: and
Mortimer, very certain that such rattle was all her own, promised the
utmost submission to her orders, and begged her further directions,
declaring that he could not, at least, desire a fairer architect.
"What we mean," said she, "may be effected with the utmost ease; it is
only to take out these old windows, and fix some thick iron grates in
their place, and so turn the castle into a gaol for the county."
Mortimer laughed heartily at this proposition; but his father,
unfortunately hearing it, sternly advanced, and with great austerity
said, "If I thought my son capable of putting such an insult upon his
ancestors, whatever may be the value I feel for him, I would banish
him my presence for ever."
"Dear Sir," cried Lady Honoria, "how would his ancestors ever know
it?"
"How?--why--that is a very extraordinary question, Lady Honoria!"
"Besides, Sir, I dare say the sheriff, or the mayor and corporation,
or some of those sort of people, would give him money enough, for the
use of it, to run him up a mighty pretty neat little box somewhere
near Richmond."
"A box!" exclaimed he indignantly; "a neat little box for the heir of
an estate such as this!"
"I only mean," cried she, giddily, "that he might have some place a
little more pleasant to live in, for really that old moat and draw-bridge
are enough to vapour him to death; I cannot for my life imagine
any use they are of: unless, indeed, to frighten away the deer, for
nothing else offer to come over. But, if you were to turn the house
into a gaol--"
"A gaol?" cried Mr Delvile, still more angrily, "your ladyship must
pardon me if I entreat you not to mention that word again when you are
pleased to speak of Delvile Castle."
"Dear Sir, why not?"
"Because it is a term that, in itself, from a young lady, has a sound
peculiarly improper; and which, applied to any gentleman's antient
family seat,--a thing, Lady Honoria, always respectable, however
lightly spoken of!--has an effect the least agreeable that can be
devised: for it implies an idea either that the family, or the
mansion, is going into decay."
"Well, Sir, you know, with regard to the mansion, it is certainly very
true, for all that other side, by the old tower, looks as if it would
fall upon one's head every time one is forced to pass it."
"I protest, Lady Honoria," said Mr Delvile, "that old tower, of which
you are pleased to speak so slightingly, is the most honourable
testimony to the antiquity of the castle of any now remaining, and I
would not part with it for all the new boxes, as you style them, in
the kingdom."
"I am sure I am very glad of it, Sir, for I dare say nobody would give
even one of them for it."
"Pardon me, Lady Honoria, you are greatly mistaken; they would give a
thousand; such a thing, belonging to a man from his own ancestors, is
invaluable."
"Why, dear Sir, what in the world could they do with it? unless,
indeed, they were to let some man paint it for an opera scene."
"A worthy use indeed!" cried Mr Delvile, more and more affronted: "and
pray does your ladyship talk thus to my Lord Duke?"
"O yes; and he never minds it at all."
"It were strange if he did!" cried Mrs Delvile; "my only astonishment
is that anybody can be found who _does_ mind it."
"Why now, Mrs Delvile," she answered, "pray be sincere; can you
possibly think this Gothic ugly old place at all comparable to any of
the new villas about town?"
"Gothic ugly old place!" repeated Mr Delvile, in utter amazement at
her dauntless flightiness; "your ladyship really does my humble
dwelling too much honour!"
"Lord, I beg a thousand pardons!" cried she, "I really did not think
of what I was saying. Come, dear Miss Beverley, and walk out with me,
for I am too much shocked to stay a moment longer."
And then, taking Cecilia by the arm, she hurried her into the park,
through a door which led thither from the parlour.
"For heaven's sake, Lady Honoria," said Cecilia, "could you find no
better entertainment for Mr Delvile than ridiculing his own house?"
"O," cried she, laughing, "did you never hear us quarrel before? why
when I was here last summer, I used to affront him ten times a day."
"And was that a regular ceremony?"
"No, really, I did not do it purposely; but it so happened; either by
talking of the castle, or the tower, or the draw-bridge, or the
fortifications; or wishing they were all employed to fill up that
odious moat; or something of that sort; for you know a small matter
will put him out of humour."
"And do you call it so small a matter to wish a man's whole habitation
annihilated?"
"Lord, I don't wish anything about it! I only say so to provoke him."
"And what strange pleasure can that give you?"
"O the greatest in the world! I take much delight in seeing anybody in
a passion. It makes them look so excessively ugly!"
"And is that the way you like every body should look, Lady Honoria?"
"O my dear, if you mean _me_, I never was in a passion twice in
my life: for as soon as ever I have provoked the people, I always run
away. But sometimes I am in a dreadful fright lest they should see me
laugh, for they make such horrid grimaces it is hardly possible to
look at them. When my father has been angry with me, I have sometimes
been obliged to pretend I was crying, by way of excuse for putting my
handkerchief to my face: for really he looks so excessively hideous,
you would suppose he was making mouths, like the children, merely to
frighten one."
"Amazing!" exclaimed Cecilia, "your ladyship can, indeed, never want
diversion, to find it in the anger of your father. But does it give
you no other sensation? are you not afraid?"
"O never! O what can he do to me, you know? he can only storm a
little, and swear a little, for he always swears when he is angry; and
perhaps order me to my own room; and ten to one but that happens to be
the very thing I want; for we never quarrel but when we are alone, and
then it's so dull, I am always wishing to run away."
"And can you take no other method of leaving him?"
"Why I think none so easily: and it can do him no harm, you know; I
often tell him, when we make friends, that if it were not for a
postilion and his daughter, he would be quite out of practice in
scolding and swearing: for whenever he is upon the road he does
nothing else: though why he is in such a hurry, nobody can divine, for
go whither he will he has nothing to do."
Thus ran on this flighty lady, happy in high animal spirits, and
careless who was otherwise, till, at some distance, they perceived
Lord Derford, who was approaching to join them.
"Miss Beverley," cried she, "here comes your adorer: I shall therefore
only walk on till we arrive at that large oak, and then make him
prostrate himself at your feet, and leave you together."
"Your ladyship is extremely good! but I am glad to be apprized of your
intention, as it will enable me to save you that trouble."
She then turned quick back, and passing Lord Derford, who still walked
on towards Lady Honoria, she returned to the house; but, upon entering
the parlour, found all the company dispersed, Delvile alone excepted,
who was walking about the room, with his tablets in his hand, in which
he had been writing.
From a mixture of shame and surprize, Cecilia, at the sight of him,
was involuntarily retreating; but, hastening to the door, he called
out in a reproachful tone, "Will you not even enter the same room with
me?"
"O yes," cried she, returning; "I was only afraid I disturbed you."
"No, madam," answered he, gravely; "you are the only person who could
_not_ disturb me, since my employment was making memorandums for
a letter to yourself: with which, however, I did not desire to
importune you, but that you have denied me the honour of even a five
minutes' audience."
Cecilia, in the utmost confusion at this attack, knew not whether to
stand still or proceed; but, as he presently continued his speech, she
found she had no choice but to stay.
"I should be sorry to quit this place, especially as the length of my
absence is extremely uncertain, while I have the unhappiness to be
under your displeasure, without making some little attempt to
apologize for the behaviour which incurred it. Must I, then, finish my
letter, or will you at last deign to hear me?"
"My displeasure, Sir," said Cecilia, "died with its occasion; I beg,
therefore, that it may rest no longer in your remembrance."
"I meant not, madam, to infer, that the subject or indeed that the
object merited your deliberate attention; I simply wish to explain
what may have appeared mysterious in my conduct, and for what may have
seemed still more censurable, to beg your pardon."
Cecilia now, recovered from her first apprehensions, and calmed,
because piqued, by the calmness with which he spoke himself, made no
opposition to his request, but suffering him to shut both the door
leading into the garden, and that which led into the hall, she seated
herself at one of the windows, determined to listen with intrepidity
to this long expected explanation.
The preparations, however, which he made to obviate being overheard,
added to the steadiness with which Cecilia waited his further
proceedings, soon robbed him of the courage with which he began the
assault, and evidently gave him a wish of retreating himself.
At length, after much hesitation, he said "This indulgence, madam,
deserves my most grateful acknowledgments; it is, indeed, what I had
little right, and still less reason, after the severity I have met
with from you, to expect."
And here, at the very mention of severity, his courage, called upon by
his pride, instantly returned, and he went on with the same spirit he
had begun.
"That severity, however, I mean not to lament; on the contrary, in a
situation such as mine, it was perhaps the first blessing I could
receive: I have found from it, indeed, more advantage and relief than
from all that philosophy, reflection or fortitude could offer. It has
shewn me the vanity of bewailing the barrier, placed by fate to my
wishes, since it has shewn me that another, less inevitable, but
equally insuperable, would have opposed them. I have determined,
therefore, after a struggle I must confess the most painful, to deny
myself the dangerous solace of your society, and endeavour, by joining
dissipation to reason, to forget the too great pleasure which hitherto
it has afforded me."
"Easy, Sir," cried Cecilia, "will be your task: I can only wish the
re-establishment of your health may be found no more difficult."
"Ah, madam," cried he, with a reproachful smile, "_he jests at scars
who never felt a wound!_--but this is a strain in which I have no
right to talk, and I will neither offend your delicacy, nor my own
integrity, by endeavouring to work upon the generosity of your
disposition in order to excite your compassion. Not such was the
motive with which I begged this audience; but merely a desire, before
I tear myself away, to open to you my heart, without palliation or
reserve."
He paused a few moments; and Cecilia finding her suspicions just that
this interview was meant to be final, considered that her trial,
however severe, would be short, and called forth all her resolution to
sustain it with spirit.
"Long before I had the honour of your acquaintance," he continued,
"your character and your accomplishments were known to me: Mr Biddulph
of Suffolk, who was my first friend at Oxford, and with whom my
intimacy is still undiminished, was early sensible of your
excellencies: we corresponded, and his letters were filled with your
praises. He confessed to me, that his admiration had been
unfortunate:--alas! I might now make the same confession to him!"
Mr Biddulph, among many of the neighbouring gentlemen, had made
proposals to the Dean for Cecilia, which, at her desire, were
rejected.
"When Mr Harrel saw masks in Portman-square, my curiosity to behold a
lady so adored, and so cruel, led me thither; your dress made you
easily distinguished.--Ah Miss Beverley! I venture not to mention
what I then felt for my friend! I will only say that something which I
felt for myself, warned me instantly to avoid you, since the clause in
your uncle's will was already well known to me."
Now, then, at last, thought Cecilia, all perplexity is over!--the
change of name is the obstacle; he inherits all the pride of his
family,--and therefore to that family will I unrepining leave him!
"This warning," he continued, "I should not have disregarded, had I
not, at the Opera, been deceived into a belief you were engaged; I
then wished no longer to shun you; bound in honour to forbear all
efforts at supplanting a man, to whom I thought you almost united, I
considered you already as married, and eagerly as I sought your
society, I sought it not with more pleasure than innocence. Yet even
then, to be candid, I found in myself a restlessness about your
affairs that kept me in eternal perturbation: but I flattered myself
it was mere curiosity, and only excited by the perpetual change of
opinion to which occasion gave rise, concerning which was the happy
man."
"I am sorry," said Cecilia, coolly, "there was any such mistake."
"I will not, madam, fatigue you," he returned, "by tracing the
progress of my unfortunate admiration; will endeavour to be more
brief, for I see you are already wearied." He stopt a moment, hoping
for some little encouragement; but Cecilia, in no humour to give it,
assumed an air of unconcern, and sat wholly quiet.
"I knew not," he then went on, with a look of extreme mortification,
"the warmth with which I honoured your virtues, till you deigned to
plead to me for Mr Belfield,--but let me not recollect the feelings of
that moment!--yet were they nothing,--cold, languid, lifeless to what
I afterwards experienced, when you undeceived me finally with respect
to your situation, and informed me the report concerning Sir Robert
Floyer was equally erroneous with that which concerned Belfield! O
what was the agitation of my whole soul at that instant!--to know you
disengaged,--to see you before me,--by the disorder of my whole frame
to discover the mistake I had cherished--"
Cecilia then, half rising, yet again seating herself, looked extremely
impatient to be gone.
"Pardon me, madam," he cried; "I will have done, and trace my feelings
and my sufferings no longer, but hasten, for my own sake as well as
yours, to the reason why I have spoken at all. From the hour that my
ill-destined passion was fully known to myself, I weighed all the
consequences of indulging it, and found, added to the extreme hazard
of success, an impropriety even in the attempt. My honour in the
honour of my family is bound; what to that would seem wrong, in me
would be unjustifiable: yet where inducements so numerous were opposed
by one single objection!--where virtue, beauty, education and family
were all unexceptionable,--Oh cruel clause! barbarous and repulsive
clause! that forbids my aspiring to the first of women, but by an
action that with my own family would degrade me for ever!"
He stopt, overpowered by his own emotion, and Cecilia arose. "I see,
madam," he cried, "your eagerness to be gone, and however at this
moment I may lament it, I shall recollect it hereafter with advantage.
But to conclude: I determined to avoid you, and, by avoiding, to
endeavour to forget you: I determined, also, that no human being, and
yourself least of all, should know, should even suspect the situation
of my mind: and though upon various occasions, my prudence and
forbearance have suddenly yielded to surprise and to passion, the
surrender has been short, and almost, I believe, unnoticed.
"This silence and this avoidance I sustained with decent constancy,
till during the storm, in an ill-fated moment, I saw, or thought I saw
you in some danger, and then, all caution off guard, all resolution
surprised, every passion awake, and tenderness triumphant--"
"Why, Sir," cried Cecilia, angrily, "and for what purpose all this?"
"Alas, I know not!" said he, with a deep sigh, "I thought myself
better qualified for this conference, and meant to be firm and
concise. I have told my story ill, but as your own understanding will
point out the cause, your own benevolence will perhaps urge some
excuse.
"Too certain, since that unfortunate accident, that all disguise was
vain, and convinced by your displeasure of the impropriety of which I
had been guilty, I determined, as the only apology I could offer, to
open to you my whole heart, and then fly you perhaps for ever.
"This, madam, incoherently indeed, yet with sincerity, I have now
done: my sufferings and my conflicts I do not mention, for I dare not!
O were I to paint to you the bitter struggles of a mind all at war
with itself,--Duty, spirit, and fortitude, combating love, happiness
and inclination,--each conquering alternately, and alternately each
vanquished,--I could endure it no longer, I resolved by one effort to
finish the strife, and to undergo an instant of even exquisite
torture, in preference to a continuance of such lingering misery!"
"The restoration of your health, Sir, and since you fancy it has been
injured, of your happiness," said Cecilia, "will, I hope, be as
speedy, as I doubt not they are certain."
"_Since I fancy it has been injured!_" repeated he; "what a
phrase, after an avowal such as mine! But why should I wish to
convince you of my sincerity, when to you it cannot be more
indifferent, than to myself it is unfortunate! I have now only to
entreat your pardon for the robbery I have committed upon your time,
and to repeat my acknowledgments that you have endeavoured to hear me
with patience."
"If you honour me, Sir, with some portion of your esteem," said the
offended Cecilia, "these acknowledgments, perhaps, should be mine;
suppose them, however made, for I have a letter to write, and can
therefore stay no longer."
"Nor do I presume, madam," cried he proudly, "to detain you: hitherto
you may frequently have thought me mysterious, sometimes strange and
capricious, and perhaps almost always, unmeaning; to clear myself from
these imputations, by a candid confession of the motives which have
governed me, is all that I wished. Once, also--I hope but once,--you
thought me impertinent,--there, indeed, I less dare vindicate myself--"
"There is no occasion, Sir," interrupted she, walking towards the
door, "for further vindication in any thing; I am perfectly satisfied,
and if my good wishes are worth your acceptance, assure yourself you
possess them."
"Barbarous, and insulting!" cried he, half to himself; and then, with
a quick motion hastening to open the door for her, "Go, madam," he
added, almost breathless with conflicting emotions, "go, and be your
happiness unalterable as your inflexibility!"
Cecilia was turning back to answer this reproach, but the sight of
Lady Honoria, who was entering at the other door, deterred her, and
she went on'.
When she came to her own room, she walked about it some time in a
state so unsettled, between anger and disappointment, sorrow and
pride, that she scarce knew to which emotion to give way, and felt
almost bursting with each.
"The die," she cried, "is at last thrown; and this affair is concluded
for ever! Delvile himself is content to relinquish me; no father has
commanded, no mother has interfered, he has required no admonition,
full well enabled to act for himself by the powerful instigation of
hereditary arrogance! Yet my family, he says,--unexpected
condescension! my family and every other circumstance is
unexceptionable; how feeble, then, is that regard which yields to one
only objection! how potent that haughtiness which to nothing will give
way! Well, let him keep his name! since so wondrous its properties, so
all-sufficient its preservation, what vanity, what presumption in me,
to suppose myself an equivalent for its loss!"
Thus, deeply offended, her spirits were supported by resentment, and
not only while in company, but when alone, she found herself scarce
averse to the approaching separation, and enabled to endure it without
repining.
CHAPTER x.
A RETREAT.
The next morning Cecilia arose late, not only to avoid the raillery of
Lady Honoria, but to escape seeing the departure of Delvile; she knew
that the spirit with which she had left him, made him, at present,
think her wholly insensible, and she was at least happy to be spared
the mortification of a discovery, since she found him thus content,
without even solicitation, to resign her.
Before she was dressed, Lady Honoria ran into her room, "A new scheme
of politics!" she cried; "our great statesman intends to leave us: he
can't trust his baby out of his sight, so he is going to nurse him
while upon the road himself. Poor pretty dear Mortimer! what a puppet
do they make of him! I have a vast inclination to get a pap-boat
myself, and make him a present of it."
Cecilia then enquired further particulars, and heard that Mr Delvile
purposed accompanying his son to Bristol, whose journey, therefore,
was postponed for a few hours to give time for new preparations.
Mr Delvile, who, upon this occasion, thought himself overwhelmed with
business, because, before his departure, he had some directions to
give to his domestics, chose to breakfast in his own apartment: Mrs
Delvile, also, wishing for some private conversation with her son,
invited him to partake of hers in her dressing-room, sending an
apology to her guests, and begging they would order their breakfasts
when they pleased.
Mr Delvile, scrupulous in ceremony, had made sundry apologies to Lord
Ernolf for leaving him; but his real anxiety for his son overpowering
his artificial character, the excuses he gave to that nobleman were
such as could not possibly offend; and the views of his lordship
himself in his visit, being nothing interrupted, so long as Cecilia
continued at the castle, he readily engaged, as a proof that he was
not affronted, to remain with Mrs Delvile till his return.
Cecilia, therefore, had her breakfast with the two lords and Lady
Honoria; and when it was over, Lord Ernolf proposed to his son riding
the first stage with the two Mr Delviles on horseback. This was agreed
upon, and they left the room: and then Lady Honoria, full of frolic
and gaiety, seized one of the napkins, and protested she would send it
to Mortimer for a _slabbering-bib_: she therefore made it up in a
parcel, and wrote upon the inside of the paper with which she
enveloped it, "A _pin-a fore_ for Master Mortimer Delvile, lest
he should daub his pappy when he is feeding him." Eager to have this
properly conveyed, she then ran out, to give it in charge to her own
man, who was to present him with it as he got into the chaise.
She had but just quitted the room, when the door of it was again
opened, and by Mortimer himself, booted, and equipped for his journey.
"Miss Beverley here! and alone!" cried he, with a look, and in a
voice, which skewed that all the pride of the preceding evening was
sunk into the deepest dejection; "and does she not fly as I approach
her? can she patiently bear in her sight one so strange, so fiery, so
inconsistent? But she is too wise to resent the ravings of a madman;--
and who, under the influence of a passion at once hopeless and
violent, can boast, but at intervals, full possession of his reason?"
Cecilia, utterly astonished by a gentleness so humble, looked at him
in silent surprise; he advanced to her mournfully, and added, "I am
ashamed, indeed, of the bitterness of spirit with which I last night
provoked your displeasure, when I should have supplicated your lenity:
but though I was prepared for your coldness, I could not endure it,
and though your indifference was almost friendly, it made me little
less than frantic; so strangely may justice be blinded by passion, and
every faculty of reason be warped by selfishness!"
"You have no apology to make, Sir," cried Cecilia, "since, believe me,
I require none."
"You may well," returned he, half-smiling, "dispense with my
apologies, since under the sanction of that word, I obtained your
hearing yesterday. But, believe me, you will now find me far more
reasonable; a whole night's reflections--reflections which no repose
interrupted!--have brought me to my senses. Even lunatics, you know,
have lucid moments!"
"Do you intend, Sir, to set off soon?"
"I believe so; I wait only for my father. But why is Miss Beverley so
impatient? I shall not soon _return_; that, at least, is certain,
and, for a few instants delay, may surely offer some palliation;--See!
if I am not ready to again accuse you of severity!--I must run, I
find, or all my boasted reformation will end but in fresh offence,
fresh disgrace, and fresh contrition! Adieu, madam!--and may all
prosperity attend you! That will be ever my darling wish, however long
my absence, however distant the climates which may part us!" He was
then hurrying away, but Cecilia, from an impulse of surprise too
sudden to be restrained, exclaimed "The climates?--do you, then, mean
to leave England?"
"Yes," cried he, with quickness, "for why should I remain in it? a few
weeks only could I fill up in any tour so near home, and hither in a
few weeks to return would be folly and madness: in an absence so
brief, what thought but that of the approaching meeting would occupy
me? and what, at that meeting, should I feel, but joy the most
dangerous, and delight which I dare not think of!--every conflict
renewed, every struggle re-felt, again all this scene would require to
be acted, again I must tear myself away, and every tumultuous passion
now beating in my heart would be revived, and, if possible, be revived
with added misery!--No!--neither my temper nor my constitution will
endure such another shock, one parting shall suffice, and the
fortitude with which I will lengthen my self-exile, shall atone to
myself for the weakness which makes it requisite!"
And then, with a vehemence that seemed fearful of the smallest delay,
he was again, and yet more hastily going, when Cecilia, with much
emotion, called out, "Two moments, Sir!"
"Two thousand! two million!" cried he, impetuously, and returning,
with a look of the most earnest surprise, he added, "What is it Miss
Beverley will condescend to command?"
"Nothing," cried she, recovering her presence of mind, "but to beg you
will by no means, upon my account, quit your country and your friends,
since another asylum can be found for myself, and since I would much
sooner part from Mrs Delvile, greatly and sincerely as I reverence
her, than be instrumental to robbing her, even for a month, of her
son."
"Generous and humane is the consideration," cried he; "but who half so
generous, so humane as Miss Beverley? so soft to all others, so noble
in herself? Can my mother have a wish, when I leave her with you? No;
she is sensible of your worth, she adores you, almost as I adore you
myself! you are now under her protection, you seem, indeed, born for
each other; let me not, then, deprive her of so honourable a charge--
Oh, why must he, who sees in such colours the excellencies of both,
who admires with such fervour the perfections you unite, be torn with
this violence from the objects he reveres, even though half his life
he would sacrifice, to spend in their society what remained!"--
"Well, then, Sir," said Cecilia, who now felt her courage decline, and
the softness of sorrow steal fast upon her spirits, "if you will not
give up your scheme, let me no longer detain you."
"Will you not wish me a good journey?"
"Yes,--very sincerely."
"And will you pardon the unguarded errors which have offended you?"
"I will think of them, Sir, no more."
"Farewell, then, most amiable of women, and may every blessing you
deserve light on your head! I leave to you my mother, certain of your
sympathetic affection for a character so resembling your own. When
_you_, madam, leave her, may the happy successor in your favour--
" He paused, his voice faultered, Cecilia, too, turned away from him,
and, uttering a deep sigh, he caught her hand, and pressing it to his
lips, exclaimed, "O great be your felicity, in whatever way you
receive it!--pure as your virtues, and warm as your benevolence!--Oh
too lovely Miss Beverley!--why, why must I quit you!"
Cecilia, though she trusted not her voice to reprove him, forced away
her hand, and then, in the utmost perturbation, he rushed out of the
room.
This scene for Cecilia, was the most unfortunate that could have
happened; the gentleness of Delvile was alone sufficient to melt her,
since her pride had no subsistence when not fed by his own; and while
his mildness had blunted her displeasure, his anguish had penetrated
her heart. Lost in thought and in sadness, she continued fixed to her
seat; and looking at the door through which he had passed, as if, with
himself, he had shut out all for which she existed.
This pensive dejection was not long uninterrupted; Lady Honoria came
running back, with intelligence, in what manner she had disposed of
her napkin, and Cecilia in listening, endeavoured to find some
diversion; but her ladyship, though volatile not undiscerning, soon
perceived that her attention was constrained, and looking at her with
much archness, said, I believe, my dear, I must find another napkin
for _you!_ not, how ever, for your _mouth_, but for your _eyes!_
Has Mortimer been in to take leave of you?"
"Take leave of me?--No,--is he gone?"
"O no, Pappy has a world of business to settle first; he won't be
ready these two hours. But don't look so sorrowful, for I'll run and
bring Mortimer to console you."
Away she flew, and Cecilia, who had no power to prevent her, finding
her spirits unequal either to another parting, or to the raillery of
Lady Honoria, should Mortimer, for his own sake, avoid it, took refuge
in flight, and seizing an umbrella, escaped into the park; where, to
perplex any pursuers, instead of chusing her usual walk, she directed
her steps to a thick and unfrequented wood, and never rested till she
was more than two miles from the house. Fidel, however, who now always
accompanied her, ran by her side, and, when she thought herself
sufficiently distant and private to be safe, she sat down under a
tree, and caressing her faithful favourite, soothed her own tenderness
by lamenting that _he_ had lost his master; and, having now no
part to act, and no dignity to support, no observation to fear, and no
inference to guard against, she gave vent to her long smothered
emotions, by weeping without caution or restraint.
She had met with an object whose character answered all her wishes for
him with whom she should entrust her fortune, and whose turn of mind,
so similar to her own, promised her the highest domestic felicity: to
this object her affections had involuntarily bent, they were seconded
by esteem, and unchecked by any suspicion of impropriety in her
choice: she had found too, in return, that his heart was all her own:
her birth, indeed, was inferior, but it was not disgraceful; her
disposition, education and temper seemed equal to his fondest wishes:
yet, at the very time when their union appeared most likely, when they
mixed with the same society, and dwelt under the same roof, when the
father to one, was the guardian to the other, and interest seemed to
invite their alliance even more than affection, the young man himself,
without counsel or command, could tear himself from her presence by an
effort all his own, forbear to seek her heart, and almost charge her
not to grant it, and determining upon voluntary exile, quit his
country and his connections with no view, and for no reason, but
merely that he might avoid the sight of her he loved!
Though the motive for this conduct was now no longer unknown to her,
she neither thought it satisfactory nor necessary; yet, while she
censured his flight, she bewailed his loss, and though his inducement
was repugnant to her opinion, his command over his passions she
admired and applauded.
CHAPTER xi.
A WORRY.
Cecilia continued in this private spot, happy at least to be alone,
till she was summoned by the dinner bell to return home.
As soon as she entered the parlour, where every body was assembled
before her, she observed, by the countenance of Mrs Delvile, that she
had passed the morning as sadly as herself.
"Miss Beverley," cried Lady Honoria, before she was seated, "I insist
upon your taking my place to-day." "Why so, madam?"
"Because I cannot suffer you to sit by a window with such a terrible
cold."
"Your ladyship is very good, but indeed I have not any cold at all."
"O my dear, I must beg your pardon there; your eyes are quite
bloodshot; Mrs Delvile, Lord Ernolf, are not her eyes quite red?--
Lord, and so I protest are her cheeks! now do pray look in the glass,
I assure you you will hardly know yourself."
Mrs Delvile, who regarded her with the utmost kindness, affected to
understand Lady Honoria's speech literally, both to lessen her
apparent confusion, and the suspicious surmises of Lord Ernolf; she
therefore said, "you have indeed a bad cold, my love; but shade your
eyes with your hat, and after dinner you shall bathe them in rose
water, which will soon take off the inflammation."
Cecilia, perceiving her intention, for which she felt the utmost
gratitude, no longer denied her cold, nor refused the offer of Lady
Honoria: who, delighting in mischief, whencesoever it proceeded,
presently added, "This cold is a judgment upon you for leaving me
alone all this morning; but I suppose you chose a tete-a-tete with
your favourite, without the intrusion of any third person."
Here every body stared, and Cecilia very seriously declared she had
been quite alone.
"Is it possible you can so forget yourself?" cried Lady Honoria; "had
you not your dearly beloved with you?"
Cecilia, who now comprehended that she meant Fidel, coloured more
deeply than ever, but attempted to laugh, and began eating her dinner.
"Here seems some matter of much intricacy," cried Lord Ernolf, "but,
to me, wholly unintelligible."
"And to me also," cried Mrs Delvile, "but I am content to let it
remain so; for the mysteries of Lady Honoria are so frequent, that
they deaden curiosity."
"Dear madam, that is very unnatural," cried Lady Honoria, "for I am
sure you must long to know who I mean."
"_I_ do, at least," said Lord Ernolf.
"Why then, my lord, you must know, Miss Beverley has two companions,
and I am one, and Fidel is the other; but Fidel was with her all this
morning, and she would not admit me to the conference. I suppose she
had something private to say to him of his master's journey."
"What rattle is this?" cried Mrs Delvile; "Fidel is gone with my son,
is he not?" turning to the servants.
"No, madam, Mr Mortimer did not enquire for him."
"That's very strange," said she, "I never knew him quit home without
him before."
"Dear ma'am, if he had taken him," cried Lady Honoria, "what could
poor Miss Beverley have done? for she has no friend here but him and
me, and really he's so much the greater favourite, that it is well if
I do not poison him some day for very spite."
Cecilia had no resource but in forcing a laugh, and Mrs Delvile, who
evidently felt for her, contrived soon to change the subject: yet not
before Lord Ernolf, with infinite chagrin, was certain by all that
passed of the hopeless state of affairs for his son.
The rest of the day, and every hour of the two days following, Cecilia
passed in the most comfortless constraint, fearful of being a moment
alone, lest the heaviness of her heart should seek relief in tears,
which consolation, melancholy as it was, she found too dangerous for
indulgence: yet the gaiety of Lady Honoria lost all power of
entertainment, and even the kindness of Mrs Delvile, now she imputed
it to compassion, gave her more mortification than pleasure.
On the third day, letters arrived from Bristol: but they brought with
them nothing of comfort, for though Mortimer wrote gaily, his father
sent word that his fever seemed threatening to return.
Mrs Delvile was now in the extremest anxiety; and the task of Cecilia
in appearing chearful and unconcerned, became more and more difficult
to perform. Lord Ernolf's efforts to oblige her grew as hopeless to
himself, as they were irksome to her; and Lady Honoria alone, of the
whole house, could either find or make the smallest diversion. But
while Lord Derford remained, she had still an object for ridicule, and
while Cecilia could colour and be confused, she had still a subject
for mischief.
Thus passed a week, during which the news from Bristol being every day
less and less pleasant, Mrs Delvile skewed an earnest desire to make a
journey thither herself, and proposed, half laughing and half
seriously, that the whole party should accompany her.
Lady Honoria's time, however, was already expired, and her father
intended to send for her in a few days.
Mrs Delvile, who knew that such a charge would occupy all her time,
willingly deferred setting out till her ladyship should be gone, but
wrote word to Bristol that she should shortly be there, attended by
the two lords, who insisted upon escorting her.
Cecilia now was in a state of the utmost distress; her stay at the
castle she knew kept Delvile at a distance; to accompany his mother to
Bristol, was forcing herself into his sight, which equally from
prudence and pride she wished to avoid; and even Mrs Delvile evidently
desired her absence, since whenever the journey was talked of, she
preferably addressed herself to any one else who was present.
All she could devise to relieve herself from a situation so painful,
was begging permission to make a visit without delay to her old friend
Mrs Charlton in Suffolk.
This resolution taken, she put it into immediate execution, and
seeking Mrs Delvile, enquired if she might venture to make a petition
to her?
"Undoubtedly," answered she; "but let it not be very disagreeable,
since I feel already that I can refuse you nothing."
"I have an old friend, ma'am," she then cried, speaking fast, and in
much haste to have done, "who I have not for many months seen, and, as
_my_ health does not require a Bristol journey,--if you would
honour me with mentioning my request to Mr Delvile, I think I might
take the present opportunity of making Mrs Charlton a visit."
Mrs Delvile looked at her some time without speaking, and then,
fervently embracing her, "sweet Cecilia!" she cried, "yes, you are all
that I thought you! good, wise, discreet, tender, and noble at once!--
how to part with you, indeed, I know not,--but you shall do as you
please, for that I am sure will be right, and therefore I will make no
opposition."
Cecilia blushed and thanked her, yet saw but too plainly that all the
motives of her scheme were clearly comprehended. She hastened,
therefore, to write to Mrs Charlton, and prepare for her reception.
Mr Delvile, though with his usual formality, sent his permission: and
Mortimer at the same time, begged his mother would bring with her
Fidel, whom he had unluckily forgotten.
Lady Honoria, who was present when Mrs Delvile mentioned this
commission, said in a whisper to Cecilia, "Miss Beverley, don't let
him go."
"Why not?"
"O, you had a great deal better take him slyly into Suffolk."
"I would as soon," answered Cecilia, "take with me the side-board of
plate, for I should scarcely think it more a robbery."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, I am sure they might all take such a theft for
an honour; and if I was going to Bristol, I would bid Mortimer send
him to you immediately. However, if you wish it, I will write to him.
He's my cousin, you know, so there will be no great impropriety in
it."
Cecilia thanked her for so courteous an offer, but entreated that she
might by no means draw her into such a condescension.
She then made immediate preparations for her journey into Suffolk,
which she saw gave equal surprize and chagrin to Lord Ernolf, upon
whose affairs Mrs Delvile herself now desired to speak with her.
"Tell me, Miss Beverley," she cried, "briefly and positively your
opinion of Lord Derford?"
"I think of him so little, madam," she answered, "that I cannot say of
him much; he appears, however, to be inoffensive; but, indeed, were I
never to see him again, he is one of those I should forget I had ever
seen at all."
"That is so exactly the case with myself also," cried Mrs Delvile,
"that to plead for him, I find utterly impossible, though my Lord
Ernolf has strongly requested me: but to press such an alliance, I
should think an indignity to your understanding."
Cecilia was much gratified by this speech; but she soon after added,
"There is one reason, indeed, which would render such a connection
desirable, though that is only one."
"What is it, madam?"
"His title."
"And why so? I am sure I have no ambition of that sort."
"No, my love," said Mrs Delvile, smiling, "I mean not by way of
gratification to _your_ pride, but to _his_; since a title,
by taking place of a family name, would obviate the _only_
objection that _any_ man could form to an alliance with Miss
Beverley."
Cecilia, who too well understood her, suppressed a sigh, and changed
the subject of conversation.
One day was sufficient for all the preparations she required, and, as
she meant to set out very early the next morning, she took leave of
Lady Honoria, and the Lords Ernolf and Derford, when they separated
for the night; but Mrs Delvile followed her to her room.
She expressed her concern at losing her in the warmest and most
flattering terms, yet said nothing of her coming back, nor of the
length of her stay; she desired, however, to hear from her frequently,
and assured her that out of her own immediate family, there was nobody
in the world she so tenderly valued.
She continued with her till it grew so late that they were almost
necessarily parted: and then rising to be gone, "See," she cried,
"with what reluctance I quit you! no interest but so dear a one as
that which calls me away, should induce me, with my own consent, to
bear your absence scarcely an hour: but the world is full of
mortifications, and to endure, or to sink under them, makes all the
distinction between the noble or the weak-minded. To _you_ this
may be said with safety; to most young women it would pass for a
reflection."
"You are very good," said Cecilia, smothering the emotions to which
this speech gave rise, "and if indeed you honour me with an opinion so
flattering, I will endeavour, if it is possibly in my power, not to
forfeit it."
"Ah, my love!" cried Mrs Delvile warmly, "if upon my opinion of you
alone depended our residence with each other, when should we ever
part, and how live a moment asunder? But what title have I to
monopolize two such blessings? the mother of Mortimer Delvile should
at nothing repine; the mother of Cecilia Beverley had alone equal
reason to be proud."
"You are determined, madam," said Cecilia, forcing a smile, "that I
_shall_ be worthy, by giving me the sweetest of motives, that of
deserving such praise." And then, in a faint voice, she desired her
respects to Mr Delvile, and added, "you will find, I hope, every body
at Bristol better than you expect."
"I hope so," returned she; "and that you too, will find your Mrs
Charlton well, happy, and good as you left her: but suffer her not to
drive me from your remembrance, and never fancy that because she has
known you longer, she loves you more; my acquaintance with you, though
short, has been critical, and she must hear from you a world of
anecdotes, before she can have reason to love you as much."
"Ah, madam," cried Cecilia, tears starting into her eyes, "let us part
now!--where will be that strength of mind you expect from me, if I
listen to you any longer!"
"You are right, my love," answered Mrs Delvile, "since all tenderness
enfeebles fortitude." Then affectionately embracing her, "Adieu," she
cried, "sweetest Cecilia, amiable and most excellent creature, adieu!--
you, carry with you my highest approbation, my love, my esteem, my
fondest wishes!--and shall I--yes, generous girl! I _will_ add my
warmest gratitude!"
This last word she spoke almost in a whisper, again kissed her, and
hastened out of the room.
Cecilia, surprised and affected, gratified and depressed, remained
almost motionless, and could not, for a great length of time, either
ring for her maid, or persuade herself to go to rest. She saw
throughout the whole behaviour of Mrs Delvile, a warmth of regard
which, though strongly opposed by family pride, made her almost
miserable to promote the very union she thought necessary to
discountenance; she saw, too, that it was with the utmost difficulty
she preserved the steadiness of her opposition, and that she had a
conflict perpetual with herself, to forbear openly acknowledging the
contrariety of her wishes, and the perplexity of her distress; but
chiefly she was struck with her expressive use of the word gratitude.
"Wherefore should she be grateful," thought Cecilia, "what have I
done, or had power to do? infinitely, indeed, is she deceived, if she
supposes that her son has acted by my directions; my influence with
him is nothing, and he could not be more his own master, were he
utterly indifferent to me. To conceal my own disappointment has, been
all I have attempted; and perhaps she may think of me thus highly,
from supposing that the firmness of her son is owing to my caution and
reserve: ah, she knows him not!--were my heart at this moment laid
open to him,--were all its weakness, its partiality, its ill-fated
admiration displayed, he would but double his vigilance to avoid and
forget me, and find the task all the easier by his abatement of
esteem. Oh strange infatuation of unconquerable prejudice! his very
life will he sacrifice in preference to his name, and while the
conflict of his mind threatens to level him with the dust, he disdains
to unite himself where one wish is unsatisfied!"
These reflections, and the uncertainty if she should ever in Delvile
Castle sleep again, disturbed her the whole night, and made all
calling in the morning unnecessary: she arose at five o'clock, dressed
herself with the utmost heaviness of heart, and in going through a
long gallery which led to the staircase, as she passed the door of
Mortimer's chamber, the thought of his ill health, his intended long
journey, and the probability that she might never see him more, so
deeply impressed and saddened her, that scarcely could she force
herself to proceed, without stopping to weep and to pray for him; she
was surrounded, however, by servants, and compelled therefore to
hasten to the chaise; she flung herself in, and, leaning back, drew
her hat over her eyes, and thought, as the carriage drove off, her
last hope of earthly happiness extinguished.
BOOK VII.
CHAPTER i.
A RENOVATION.
Cecilia was accompanied by her maid in the chaise, and her own servant
and one of Mrs Delvile's attended her on horseback.
The quietness of her dejection was soon interrupted by a loud cry
among the men of "home! home! home!" She then looked out of one of the
windows, and perceived Fidel, running after the carriage, and barking
at the servants, who were all endeavouring to send him back.
Touched by this proof of the animal's gratitude for her attention to
him, and conscious she had herself occasioned his master's leaving
him, the scheme of Lady Honoria occurred to her, and she almost wished
to put it in execution, but this was the thought of a moment, and
motioning him with her hand to go back, she desired Mrs Delvile's man
to return with him immediately, and commit him to the care of somebody
in the castle.
This little incident, however trifling, was the most important of her
journey, for she arrived at the house of Mrs Charlton without meeting
any other.
The sight of that lady gave her a sensation of pleasure to which she
had long been a stranger, pleasure pure, unmixed, unaffected and
unrestrained: it revived all her early affection, and with it,
something resembling at least her early tranquility: again she was in
the house where it had once been undisturbed, again she enjoyed the
society which was once all she had wished, and again saw the same
scene, the same faces, and same prospects she had beheld while her
heart was all devoted to her friends.
Mrs Charlton, though old and infirm, preserved an understanding,
which, whenever unbiassed by her affections, was sure to direct her
unerringly; but the extreme softness of her temper frequently misled
her judgment, by making it, at the pleasure either of misfortune or of
artifice, always yield to compassion, and pliant to entreaty. Where
her counsel and opinion were demanded, they were certain to reflect
honour on her capacity and discernment; but where her assistance or
her pity were supplicated, her purse and her tears were immediately
bestowed, and in her zeal to alleviate distress she forgot if the
object were deserving her solicitude, and stopt not to consider
propriety or discretion, if happiness, however momentary, were in her
power to grant.
This generous foible was, however, kept somewhat in subjection by the
watchfulness of two grand-daughters, who, fearing the injury they
might themselves receive from it, failed not to point out both its
inconvenience and its danger.
These ladies were daughters of a deceased and only son of Mrs
Charlton; they were single, and lived with their grand-mother, whose
fortune, which was considerable, they expected to share between them,
and they waited with eagerness for the moment of appropriation;
narrow-minded and rapacious, they wished to monopolize whatever she
possessed, and thought themselves aggrieved by her smallest donations.
Their chief employment was to keep from her all objects of distress,
and in this though they could not succeed, they at least confined her
liberality to such as resembled themselves; since neither the spirited
could brook, nor the delicate support the checks and rebuffs from the
granddaughters, which followed the gifts of Mrs Charlton. Cecilia, of
all her acquaintance, was the only one whose intimacy they encouraged,
for they knew her fortune made her superior to any mercenary views,
and they received from her themselves more civilities than they paid.
Mrs Charlton loved Cecilia with an excess of fondness, that not only
took place of the love she bore her other friends, but to which even
her regard for the Miss Charltons was inferior and feeble. Cecilia
when a child had reverenced her as a mother, and, grateful for her
tenderness and care, had afterwards cherished her as a friend. The
revival of this early connection delighted them both, it was balm to
the wounded mind of Cecilia, it was renovation to the existence of Mrs
Charlton.
Early the next morning she wrote a card to Mr Monckton and Lady
Margaret, acquainting them with her return into Suffolk, and desiring
to know when she might pay her respects to her Ladyship. She received
from the old lady a verbal answer, _when she pleased_, but Mr
Monckton came instantly himself to Mrs Charlton's.
His astonishment, his rapture at this unexpected incident were almost
boundless; he thought it a sudden turn of fortune in his own favour,
and concluded, now she had escaped the danger of Delvile Castle, the
road was short and certain that led to his own security.
Her satisfaction in the meeting was as sincere, though not so animated
as his own: but this similarity in their feelings was of short
duration, for when he enquired into what had passed at the castle,
with the reasons of her quitting it, the pain she felt in giving even
a cursory and evasive account, was opposed on his part by the warmest
delight in hearing it: he could not obtain from her the particulars of
what had happened, but the reluctance with which she spoke, the air of
mortification with which she heard his questions, and the evident
displeasure which was mingled in her chagrin, when he forced her to
mention Delvile, were all proofs the most indisputable and
satisfactory, that they had either parted without any explanation, or
with one by which Cecilia had been hurt and offended.
He now readily concluded that since the fiery trial he had most
apprehended was over; and she had quitted in anger the asylum she had
sought in extacy, Delvile himself did not covet the alliance, which,
since they were separated, was never likely to take place. He had
therefore little difficulty in promising all success to himself.
She was once more upon the spot where she had regarded him as the
first of men, he knew that during her absence no one had settled in
the neighbourhood who had any pretensions to dispute with him that
pre-eminence, he should again have access to her, at pleasure, and so
sanguine grew his hopes, that he almost began to rejoice even in the
partiality to Delvile that had hitherto been his terror, from
believing it would give her for a time, that sullen distaste of all
other connections, to which those who at once are delicate and fervent
are commonly led by early disappointment. His whole solicitude
therefore now was to preserve her esteem, to seek her confidence, and
to regain whatever by absence might be lost of the [ascendancy] over
her mind which her respect for his knowledge and capacity had for many
years given him. Fortune at this time seemed to prosper all his views,
and, by a stroke the most sudden and unexpected, to render more
rational his hopes and his plans than he had himself been able to
effect by the utmost craft of worldly wisdom.
The day following Cecilia, in Mrs Charlton's chaise, waited upon Lady
Margaret. She was received by Miss Bennet, her companion, with the
most fawning courtesy; but when conducted to the lady of the house,
she saw herself so evidently unwelcome, that she even regretted the
civility which had prompted her visit.
She found with her nobody but Mr Morrice, who was the only young man
that could persuade himself to endure her company in the absence of
her husband, but who, in common with most young men who are assiduous
in their attendance upon old ladies, doubted not but he ensured
himself a handsome legacy for his trouble.
Almost the first speech which her ladyship made, was "So you are not
married yet, I find; if Mr Monckton had been a real friend, he would
have taken care to have seen for some establishment for you."
"I was by no means," cried Cecilia, with spirit, "either in so much
haste or distress as to require from Mr Monckton any such exertion of
his friendship."
"Ma'am," cried Morrice, "what a terrible night we had of it at
Vauxhall! poor Harrel! I was really excessively sorry for him. I had
not courage to see you or Mrs Harrel after it. But as soon as I heard
you were in St James's-square, I tried to wait upon you; for really
going to Mr Harrel's again would have been quite too dismal. I would
rather have run a mile by the side of a race-horse."
"There is no occasion for any apology," said Cecilia, "for I was very
little disposed either to see or think of visitors."
"So I thought, ma'am;" answered he, with quickness, "and really that
made me the less alert in finding you out. However, ma'am, next winter
I shall be excessively happy to make up for the deficiency; besides, I
shall be much obliged to you to introduce me to Mr Delvile, for I have
a great desire to be acquainted with him."
Mr Delvile, thought Cecilia, would be but too proud to hear it!
However, she merely answered that she had no present prospect of
spending any time at Mr. Delvile's next winter.
"True, ma'am, true," cried he, "now I recollect, you become your own
mistress between this and then; and so I suppose you will naturally
chuse a house of your own, which will be much more eligible."
"I don't think that," said Lady Margaret, "I never saw anything
eligible come of young women's having houses of their own; she will do
a much better thing to marry, and have some proper person to take care
of her."
"Nothing more right, ma'am!" returned he; "a young lady in a house by
herself must be subject to a thousand dangers. What sort of place,
ma'am, has Mr Delvile got in the country? I hear he has a good deal of
ground there, and a large house." |
