longer able to suppress the violence of her awakened sorrows, cried out,
“I must go, madam, and pray for you at home, for now I have once begun
crying again, I don't know how to have done!” and hurried away.
Cecilia determined to make once more an effort with Mr Harrel for the
payment of the bill, and if that, in two days, did not succeed, to take
up money for the discharge of it herself, and rest all her security for
reimbursement upon the shame with which such a proceeding must overwhelm
him. Offended, however, by the repulse she had already received from
him, and disgusted by all she had heard of his unfeeling negligence,
she knew not how to address him, and resolved upon applying again to
Mr Arnott, who was already acquainted with the affair, for advice and
assistance.
Mr Arnott, though extremely gratified that she consulted him,
betrayed by his looks a hopelessness of success, that damped all her
expectations. He promised, however, to speak to Mr Harrel upon the
subject, but the promise was evidently given to oblige the fair
mediatrix, without any hope of advantage to the cause.
The next morning Mrs Hill again came, and again without payment was
dismissed.
Mr Arnott then, at the request of Cecilia, followed Mr Harrel into
his room, to enquire into the reason of this breach of promise; they
continued some time together, and when he returned to Cecilia, he told
her, that his brother had assured him he would give orders to Davison,
his gentleman, to let her have the money the next day.
The pleasure with which she would have heard this intelligence was much
checked by the grave and cold manner in which it was communicated: she
waited, therefore, with more impatience than confidence for the result
of this fresh assurance.
The next morning, however, was the same as the last; Mrs Hill came, saw
Davison, and was sent away.
Cecilia, to whom she related her grievances, then flew to Mr Arnott,
and entreated him to enquire at least of Davison why the woman had again
been disappointed.
Mr Arnott obeyed her, and brought for answer, that Davison had received
no orders from his master.
“I entreat you then,” cried she, with mingled eagerness and vexation,
“to go, for the last time, to Mr Harrel. I am sorry to impose upon you
an office so disagreeable, but I am sure you compassionate these poor
people, and will serve them now with your interest, as you have already
done with your purse. I only wish to know if there has been any mistake,
or if these delays are merely to sicken me of petitioning.”
Mr Arnott, with a repugnance to the request which he could as ill
conceal as his admiration of the zealous requester, again forced himself
to follow Mr Harrel. His stay was not long, and Cecilia at his return
perceived that he was hurt and disconcerted. As soon as they were alone
together, she begged to know what had passed? “Nothing,” answered he,
“that will give you any pleasure. When I entreated my brother to come to
the point, he said it was his intention to pay all his workmen together,
for that if he paid any one singly, all the rest would be dissatisfied.”
“And why,” said Cecilia, “should he not pay them at once? There can be
no more comparison in the value of the money to him and to them, than,
to speak with truth, there is in his and in their right to it.”
“But, madam, the bills for the new house itself are none of them
settled, and he says that the moment he is known to discharge an account
for the Temple, he shall not have any rest for the clamours it will
raise among the workmen who were employed about the house.”
“How infinitely strange!” exclaimed Cecilia; “will he not, then, pay
anybody?”
“Next quarter, he says, he shall pay them all, but, at present, he has a
particular call for his money.”
Cecilia would not trust herself to make any comments upon such an
avowal, but thanking Mr Arnott for the trouble which he had taken, she
determined, without any further application, to desire Mr Harrel to
advance her 20 pounds the next morning, and satisfy the carpenter
herself, be the risk what it might.
The following day, therefore, which was the Saturday when payment was
promised, she begged an audience of Mr Harrel; which he immediately
granted; but, before she could make her demand, he said to her, with
an air of the utmost gaiety and good-humour, “Well, Miss Beverley, how
fares it with your _protegee_? I hope, at length, she is contented. But
I must beg you would charge her to keep her own counsel, as otherwise
she will draw me into a scrape I shall not thank her for.”
“Have you, then, paid her?” cried Cecilia, with much amazement.
“Yes; I promised you I would, you know.”
This intelligence equally delighted and astonished her; she repeatedly
thanked him for his attention to her petition, and, eager to communicate
her success to Mr Arnott, she hastened to find him. “Now,” cried she, “I
shall torment you no more with painful commissions; the Hills, at last,
are paid!”
“From you, madam,” answered he gravely, “no commissions could be
painful.”
“Well, but,” said Cecilia, somewhat disappointed, “you don't seem glad
of this?”
“Yes,” answered he, with a forced smile, “I am very glad to see you so.”
“But how was it brought about? did Mr Harrel relent? or did you attack
him again?”
The hesitation of his answer convinced her there was some mystery in the
transaction; she began to apprehend she had been deceived, and hastily
quitting the room, sent for Mrs Hill: but the moment the poor woman
appeared, she was satisfied of the contrary, for, almost frantic with
joy and gratitude, she immediately flung herself upon her knees, to
thank her benefactress for having _seen her righted_.
Cecilia then gave her some general advice, promised to continue her
friend, and offered her assistance in getting her husband into an
hospital; but she told her he had already been in one many months, where
he had been pronounced incurable, and therefore was desirous to spend
his last days in his own lodgings.
“Well,” said Cecilia, “make them as easy to him as you, can, and come to
me next week, and I will try to put you in a better way of living.”
She then, still greatly perplexed about Mr Arnott, sought him again,
and, after various questions and conjectures, at length brought him to
confess he had himself lent his brother the sum with which the Hills had
been paid.
Struck with his generosity, she poured forth thanks and praises so
grateful to his ears, that she soon gave him a recompense which he would
have thought cheaply purchased by half his fortune.
BOOK II
CHAPTER i
A MAN OF WEALTH
The meanness with which Mr Harrel had assumed the credit, as well as
accepted the assistance of Mr Arnott, increased the disgust he had
already excited in Cecilia, and hastened her resolution of quitting his
house; and therefore, without waiting any longer for the advice of Mr
Monckton, she resolved to go instantly to her other guardians, and see
what better prospects their habitations might offer.
For this purpose she borrowed one of the carriages, and gave orders to
be driven into the city to the house of Mr Briggs.
She told her name, and was shewn, by a little shabby footboy, into a
parlour.
Here she waited, with tolerable patience, for half an hour, but then,
imagining the boy had forgotten to tell his master she was in the house,
she thought it expedient to make some enquiry.
No bell, however, could she find, and therefore she went into the
passage in search of the footboy; but, as she was proceeding to the head
of the kitchen stairs, she was startled by hearing a man's voice from
the upper part of the house exclaiming, in a furious passion, “Dare say
you've filched it for a dish-clout!”
She called out, however, “Are any of Mr Briggs's servants below?”
“Anan!” answered the boy, who came to the foot of the stairs, with
a knife in one hand and an old shoe, upon the sole of which he was
sharpening it, in the other, “Does any one call?”
“Yes,” said Cecilia, “I do; for I could not find the bell.”
“O, we have no bell in the parlour,” returned the boy, “master always
knocks with his stick.”
“I am afraid Mr Briggs is too busy to see me, and if so, I will come
another time.”
“No, ma'am,” said the boy, “master's only looking over his things from
the wash.”
“Will you tell him, then, that I am waiting?”
“I has, ma'am; but master misses his shaving-rag, and he says he
won't come to the Mogul till he's found it.” And then he went on with
sharpening his knife.
This little circumstance was at least sufficient to satisfy Cecilia
that if she fixed her abode with Mr Briggs, she should not have much
uneasiness to fear from the sight of extravagance and profusion.
She returned to the parlour, and after waiting another half-hour, Mr
Briggs made his appearance.
Mr Briggs was a short, thick, sturdy man, with very small keen black
eyes, a square face, a dark complexion, and a snub nose. His constant
dress, both in winter and summer, was a snuff-colour suit of clothes,
blue and white speckled worsted stockings, a plain shirt, and a bob wig.
He was seldom without a stick in his hand, which he usually held to his
forehead when not speaking.
This bob wig, however, to the no small amazement of Cecilia, he now
brought into the room upon the forefinger of his left hand, while, with
his right, he was smoothing the curls; and his head, in defiance of the
coldness of the weather, was bald and uncovered.
“Well,” cried he, as he entered, “did you think I should not come?”
“I was very willing, sir, to wait your leisure.”
“Ay, ay, knew you had not much to do. Been looking for my shaving-rag.
Going out of town; never use such a thing at home, paper does as well.
Warrant Master Harrel never heard of such a thing; ever see him comb his
own wig? Warrant he don't know how! never trust mine out of my hands,
the boy would tear off half the hair; all one to master Harrel, I
suppose. Well, which is the warmer man, that's all? Will he cast an
account with me?”
Cecilia, at a loss what to say to this singular exordium, began an
apology for not waiting upon him sooner.
“Ay, ay,” cried he, “always gadding, no getting sight of you. Live
a fine life! A pretty guardian, Master Harrel! and where's t'other?
where's old Don Puffabout?”
“If you mean Mr Delvile, sir, I have not yet seen him.”
“Thought so. No matter, as well not. Only tell you he's a German Duke,
or a Spanish Don Ferdinand. Well, you've me! poorly off else. A couple
of ignoramuses! don't know when to buy nor when to sell. No doing
business with either of them. We met once or twice; all to no purpose;
only heard Don Vampus count his old Grandees; how will that get interest
for money? Then comes Master Harrel--twenty bows to a word,--looks at a
watch,--about as big as a sixpence,--poor raw ninny!--a couple of rare
guardians! Well, you've me, I say; mind that!”
Cecilia was wholly unable to devise any answer to these effusions
of contempt and anger; and therefore his harangue lasted without
interruption, till he had exhausted all his subjects of complaint, and
emptied his mind of ill-will; and then, settling his wig, he drew a
chair near her, and twinkling his little black eyes in her face, his
rage subsided into the most perfect good humour; and, after peering at
her some time with a look of much approbation, he said, with an arch
nod, “Well, my duck, got ever a sweetheart yet?”
Cecilia laughed, and said “No.”
“Ah, little rogue, don't believe you! all a fib! better speak out: come,
fit I should know; a'n't you my own ward? to be sure, almost of age, but
not quite, so what's that to me?”
She then, more seriously, assured him she had no intelligence of that
sort to communicate.
“Well, when you have, tell, that's all. Warrant sparks enough
hankering. I'll give you some advice Take care of sharpers; don't trust
shoe-buckles, nothing but Bristol stones! tricks in all things. A fine
gentleman sharp as another man. Never give your heart to a gold-topped
cane, nothing but brass gilt over. Cheats everywhere: fleece you in a
year; won't leave you a groat. But one way to be safe,--bring 'em all to
me.”
Cecilia thanked him for his caution, and promised not to forget his
advice.
“That's the way,” he continued, “bring 'em to me. Won't be bamboozled.
Know their tricks. Shew 'em the odds on't. Ask for the rent-roll,--see
how they look! stare like stuck pigs! got no such thing.”
“Certainly, sir, that will be an excellent method of trial.”
“Ay, ay, know the way! soon find if they are above par. Be sure don't
mind gold waistcoats; nothing but tinsel, all shew and no substance;
better leave the matter to me; take care of you myself; know where to
find one will do.”
She again thanked him; and, being fully satisfied with this specimen of
his conversation, and unambitious of any further counsel from him, she
arose to depart.
“Well,” repeated he, nodding at her, with a look of much kindness,
“leave it to me, I say; I'll get you a careful husband, so take no
thought about the matter.”
Cecilia, half-laughing, begged he would not give himself much trouble,
and assured him she was not in any haste.
“All the better,” said he, “good girl; no fear for you: look out myself;
warrant I'll find one. Not very easy, neither! hard times! men scarce;
wars and tumults! stocks low! women chargeable!--but don't fear; do our
best; get you off soon.”
She then returned to her carriage: full of reflection upon the scene in
which she had just been engaged, and upon the strangeness of hastening
from one house to avoid a vice the very want of which seemed to render
another insupportable! but she now found that though luxury was more
baneful in its consequences, it was less disgustful in its progress than
avarice; yet, insuperably averse to both, and almost equally desirous to
fly from the unjust extravagance of Mr Harrel, as from the comfortless
and unnecessary parsimony of Mr Briggs, she proceeded instantly to
St James's Square, convinced that her third guardian, unless exactly
resembling one of the others, must inevitably be preferable to both.
CHAPTER ii
A MAN OF FAMILY.
The house of Mr Delvile was grand and spacious, fitted up not with
modern taste, but with the magnificence of former times; the servants
were all veterans, gorgeous in their liveries, and profoundly respectful
in their manners; every thing had an air of state, but of a state so
gloomy, that while it inspired awe, it repressed pleasure.
Cecilia sent in her name and was admitted without difficulty, and was
then ushered with great pomp through sundry apartments, and rows of
servants, before she came into the presence of Mr Delvile.
He received her with an air of haughty affability which, to a spirit
open and liberal as that of Cecilia, could not fail being extremely
offensive; but too much occupied with the care of his own importance
to penetrate into the feelings of another, he attributed the uneasiness
which his reception occasioned to the overawing predominance of superior
rank and consequence.
He ordered a servant to bring her a chair, while he only half rose
from his own upon her entering into the room; then, waving his hand and
bowing, with a motion that desired her to be seated, he said, “I am very
happy, Miss Beverley, that you have found me alone; you would rarely
have had the same good fortune. At this time of day I am generally in
a crowd. People of large connections have not much leisure in London,
especially if they see a little after their own affairs, and if their
estates, like mine, are dispersed in various parts of the kingdom.
However, I am glad it happened so. And I am glad, too, that you have
done me the favour of calling without waiting till I sent, which I
really would have done as soon as I heard of your arrival, but that the
multiplicity of my engagements allowed me no respite.”
A display of importance so ostentatious made Cecilia already half repent
her visit, satisfied that the hope in which she had planned it would be
fruitless.
Mr Delvile, still imputing to embarrassment, an inquietude of
countenance that proceeded merely from disappointment, imagined her
veneration was every moment increasing; and therefore, pitying a
timidity which both gratified and softened him, and equally pleased with
himself for inspiring, and with her for feeling it, he abated more
and more of his greatness, till he became, at length, so infinitely
condescending, with intention to give her courage, that he totally
depressed her with mortification and chagrin.
After some general inquiries concerning her way of life, he told her
that he hoped she was contented with her situation at the Harrels,
adding, “If you have any thing to complain of, remember to whom you may
appeal.” He then asked if she had seen Mr Briggs?
“Yes, sir, I am this moment come from his house.”
“I am sorry for it; his house cannot be a proper one for the reception
of a young lady. When the Dean made application that I would be one of
your guardians, I instantly sent him a refusal, as is my custom upon
all such occasions, which indeed occur to me with a frequency extremely
importunate: but the Dean was a man for whom I had really a regard, and,
therefore, when I found my refusal had affected him, I suffered myself
to be prevailed upon to indulge him, contrary not only to my general
rule, but to my inclination.”
Here he stopt, as if to receive some compliment, but Cecilia, very
little disposed to pay him any, went no farther than an inclination of
the head.
“I knew not, however,” he continued, “at the time I was induced to give
my consent, with whom I was to be associated; nor could I have imagined
the Dean so little conversant with the distinctions of the world, as to
disgrace me with inferior coadjutors: but the moment I learnt the
state of the affair, I insisted upon withdrawing both my name and
countenance.”
Here again he paused; not in expectation of an answer from Cecilia, but
merely to give her time to marvel in what manner he had at last been
melted.
“The Dean,” he resumed, “was then very ill; my displeasure, I believe,
hurt him. I was sorry for it; he was a worthy man, and had not meant to
offend me; in the end, I accepted his apology, and was even persuaded to
accept the office. You have a right, therefore, to consider yourself as
_personally_ my ward, and though I do not think proper to mix much with
your other guardians, I shall always be ready to serve and advise you,
and much pleased to see you.”
“You do me honour, sir,” said Cecilia, extremely wearied of such
graciousness, and rising to be gone.
“Pray sit still,” said he, with a smile; “I have not many engagements
for this morning. You must give me some account how you pass your time.
Are you much out? The Harrels, I am told, live at a great expense. What
is their establishment?”
“I don't exactly know, sir.”
“They are decent sort of people, I believe; are they not?”
“I hope so, sir!”
“And they have a tolerable acquaintance, I believe: I am told so; for I
know nothing of them.”
“They have, at least, a very numerous one, sir.”
“Well, my dear,” said he, taking her hand, “now you have once ventured
to come, don't be apprehensive of repeating your visits. I must
introduce you to Mrs Delvile; I am sure she will be happy to shew you
any kindness. Come, therefore, when you please, and without scruple. I
would call upon you myself, but am fearful of being embarrassed by the
people with whom you live.”
He then rang his bell, and with the same ceremonies which had attended
her admittance, she was conducted back to her carriage.
And here died away all hope of putting into execution, during her
minority, the plan of which the formation had given her so much
pleasure. She found that her present situation, however wide of her
wishes, was by no means the most disagreeable in which she could be
placed; she was tired, indeed, of dissipation, and shocked at the sight
of unfeeling extravagance; but notwithstanding the houses of each of her
other guardians were exempt from these particular vices, she saw not any
prospect of happiness with either of them; vulgarity seemed leagued with
avarice to drive her from the mansion of Mr Briggs, and haughtiness with
ostentation to exclude her from that of Mr Delvile.
She came back, therefore, to Portman Square, disappointed in her hopes,
and sick both of those whom she quitted and of those to whom she
was returning; but in going to her own apartment Mrs Harrel, eagerly
stopping her, begged she would come into the drawing-room, where she
promised her a most agreeable surprise.
Cecilia, for an instant, imagined that some old acquaintance was just
arrived out of the country; but, upon her entrance, she saw only Mr
Harrel and some workmen, and found that the agreeable surprise was to
proceed from the sight of an elegant Awning, prepared for one of the
inner apartments, to be fixed over a long desert-table, which was to be
ornamented with various devices of cut glass.
“Did you ever see any thing so beautiful in your life?” cried Mrs
Harrel; “and when the table is covered with the coloured ices and those
sort of things, it will be as beautiful again. We shall have it ready
for Tuesday se'nnight.
“I understood you were engaged to go to the Masquerade?”
“So we shall; only we intend to see masks at home first.”
“I have some thoughts,” said Mr Harrel, leading the way to another small
room, “of running up a flight of steps and a little light gallery here,
and so making a little Orchestra. What would such a thing come to, Mr
Tomkins?”
“O, a trifle, sir,” answered Mr Tomkins, “a mere nothing.”
“Well, then, give orders for it, and let it be done directly. I don't
care how slight it is, but pray let it be very elegant. Won't it be a
great addition, Miss Beverley?”
“Indeed, sir, I don't think it seems to be very necessary,” said
Cecilia, who wished much to take that moment for reminding him of the
debt he had contracted with Mr Arnott.
“Lord, Miss Beverley is so grave!” cried Mrs Harrel; “nothing of this
sort gives her any pleasure.”
“She has indeed,” answered Cecilia, trying to smile, “not much taste for
the pleasure of being always surrounded by workmen.”
And, as soon as she was able, she retired to her room, feeling, both on
the part of Mr Arnott and the Hills, a resentment at the injustice of
Mr Harrel, which fixed her in the resolution of breaking through that
facility of compliance, which had hitherto confined her disapprobation
to her own breast, and venturing, henceforward, to mark the opinion
she entertained of his conduct by consulting nothing but reason and
principle in her own.
Her first effort towards this change was made immediately, in begging
to be excused from accompanying Mrs Harrel to a large card assembly that
evening.
Mrs Harrel, extremely surprised, asked a thousand times the reason of
her refusal, imagining it to proceed from some very extraordinary cause;
nor was she, without the utmost difficulty, persuaded at last that she
merely meant to pass one evening by herself.
But the next day, when the refusal was repeated, she was still more
incredulous; it seemed to her impossible that any one who had the power
to be encircled with company, could by choice spend a second afternoon
alone: and she was so urgent in her request to be entrusted with the
secret, that Cecilia found no way left to appease her, but by frankly
confessing she was weary of eternal visiting, and sick of living always
in a crowd.
“Suppose, then,” cried she, “I send for Miss Larolles to come and sit
with you?”
Cecilia, not without laughing, declined this proposal, assuring her that
no such assistant was necessary for her entertainment: yet it was not
till after a long contention that she was able to convince her there
would be no cruelty in leaving her by herself.
The following day, however, her trouble diminished; for Mrs Harrel,
ceasing to be surprised, thought little more of the matter, and forbore
any earnestness of solicitation: and, from that time, she suffered her
to follow her own humour with very little opposition. Cecilia was much
concerned to find her so unmoved; and not less disappointed at the
indifference of Mr Harrel, who, being seldom of the same parties with
his lady, and seeing her too rarely either to communicate or hear any
domestic occurrences, far from being struck, as she had hoped, with the
new way in which she passed her time, was scarce sensible of the change,
and interfered not upon the subject.