for the house of Mr Briggs, purposing, as the weather was clear and
frosty, to walk through Oxford Road, and then put herself into a chair;
and hoping to return to Mr Harrel's by the usual hour of breakfast.
She had not proceeded far, before she saw a mob gathering, and the
windows of almost all the houses filling with spectators. She desired
her servant to enquire what this meant, and was informed that the people
were assembling to see some malefactors pass by in their way to Tyburn.
Alarmed at this intelligence from the fear of meeting the unhappy
criminals, she hastily turned down the next street, but found that also
filling with people who were running to the scene she was trying to
avoid: encircled thus every way, she applied to a maidservant who was
standing at the door of a large house, and begged leave to step in till
the mob was gone by. The maid immediately consented, and she waited here
while she sent her man for a chair.
He soon arrived with one; but just as she returned to the street door, a
gentleman, who was hastily entering the house, standing back to let
her pass, suddenly exclaimed, “Miss Beverley!” and looking at him, she
perceived young Delvile.
“I cannot stop an instant,” cried she, running down the steps, “lest the
crowd should prevent the chair from going on.”
“Will you not first,” said he, handing her in, “tell me what news you
have heard?”
“News?” repeated she. “No, I have heard none!”
“You will only, then, laugh at me for those officious offers you did so
well to reject?”
“I know not what offers you mean!”
“They were indeed superfluous, and therefore I wonder not you have
forgotten them. Shall I tell the chairmen whither to go?”
“To Mr Briggs. But I cannot imagine what you mean.”
“To Mr Briggs!” repeated he, “O live for ever French beads and Bristol
stones! fresh offers may perhaps be made there, impertinent, officious,
and useless as mine!”
He then told her servant the direction, and, making his bow, went into
the house she had just quitted.
Cecilia, extremely amazed by this short, but unintelligible
conversation, would again have called upon him to explain his meaning,
but found the crowd encreasing so fast that she could not venture to
detain the chair, which with difficulty made its way to the adjoining
streets: but her surprize at what had passed so entirely occupied her,
that when she stopt at the house of Mr Briggs, she had almost forgotten
what had brought her thither.
The foot-boy, who came to the door, told her that his master was at
home, but not well.
She desired he might be acquainted that she wished to speak to him upon
business, and would wait upon him again at any hour when he thought he
should be able to see her.
The boy returned with an answer that she might call again the next week.
Cecilia, knowing that so long a delay would destroy all the kindness of
her intention, determined to write to him for the money, and therefore
went into the parlour, and desired to have pen and ink.
The boy, after making her wait some time in a room without any fire,
brought her a pen and a little ink in a broken tea-cup, saying “Master
begs you won't spirt it about, for he's got no more; and all our
blacking's as good as gone.”
“Blacking?” repeated Cecilia.
“Yes, Miss; when Master's shoes are blacked, we commonly gets a little
drap of fresh ink.”
Cecilia promised to be careful, but desired him to fetch her a sheet of
paper.
“Law, Miss,” cried the boy, with a grin, “I dare say master'd as soon
give you a bit of his nose! howsever, I'll go ax.”
In a few minutes he again returned, and brought in his hand a slate and
a black lead pencil; “Miss,” cried he, “Master says how you may write
upon this, for he supposes you've no great matters to say.”
Cecilia, much astonished at this extreme parsimony, was obliged to
consent, but as the point of the pencil was very blunt, desired the
boy to get her a knife that she might cut it. He obeyed, but said “Pray
Miss, take care it ben't known, for master don't do such a thing once in
a year, and if he know'd I'd got you the knife, he'd go nigh to give me
a good polt of the head.”
Cecilia then wrote upon the slate her desire to be informed in what
manner she should send him her receipt for 600 pounds, which she begged
to have instantly advanced.
The boy came back grinning, and holding up his hands, and said, “Miss,
there's a fine piece of work upstairs! Master's in a peck of troubles;
but he says how he'll come down, if you'll stay till he's got his things
on.”
“Does he keep his bed, then? I hope I have not made him rise?”
“No, Miss, he don't keep his bed, only he must get ready, for he wears
no great matters of cloaths when he's alone. You are to know, Miss,”
lowering his voice, “that that day as he went abroad with our sweep's
cloaths on, he comed home in sich a pickle you never see! I believe
somebody'd knocked him in the kennel; so does Moll; but don't you say as
I told you! He's been special bad ever since. Moll and I was as glad as
could be, because he's so plaguy sharp; for, to let you know, Miss, he's
so near, it's partly a wonder how he lives at all: and yet he's worth a
power of money, too.”
“Well, well,” said Cecilia, not very desirous to encourage his
forwardness, “if I want any thing, I'll call for you.”
The boy, however, glad to tell his tale, went on.
“Our Moll won't stay with him above a week longer, Miss, because she
says how she can get nothing to eat, but just some old stinking salt
meat, that's stayed in the butcher's shop so long, it would make a horse
sick to look at it. But Moll's pretty nice; howsever, Miss, to let you
know, we don't get a good meal so often as once a quarter! why this last
week we ha'n't had nothing at all but some dry musty red herrings; so
you may think, Miss, we're kept pretty sharp!”
He was now interrupted by hearing Mr Briggs coming down the stairs, upon
which, abruptly breaking off his complaints, he held up his finger to
his nose in token of secrecy, and ran hastily into the kitchen.
The appearance of Mr Briggs was by no means rendered more attractive by
illness and negligence of dress. He had on a flannel gown and night cap;
his black beard, of many days' growth, was long and grim, and upon his
nose and one of his cheeks was a large patch of brown paper, which, as
he entered the room, he held on with both his hands.
Cecilia made many apologies for having disturbed him, and some civil
enquiries concerning his health.
“Ay, ay,” cried he, pettishly, “bad enough: all along of that trumpery
masquerade; wish I had not gone! Fool for my pains.”
“When were you taken ill, Sir?”
“Met with an accident; got a fall, broke my head, like to have lost my
wig. Wish the masquerade at old Nick! thought it would cost nothing, or
would not have gone. Warrant sha'n't get me so soon to another!”
“Did you fall in going home, Sir?”
“Ay, ay, plump in the kennel; could hardly get out of it; felt myself a
going, was afraid to tear my cloaths, knew the rascal would make me pay
for them, so by holding up the old sack, come bolt on my face! off pops
my wig; could not tell what to do; all as dark as pitch!”
“Did not you call for help?”
“Nobody by but scrubs, knew they would not help for nothing. Scrawled
out as I could, groped about for my wig, found it at last, all soused in
the mud; stuck to my head like Turner's cerate.”
“I hope, then, you got into a hackney coach?”
“What for? to make things worse? was not bad enough, hay?--must pay two
shillings beside?”
“But how did you find yourself when you got home, Sir?”
“How? why wet as muck; my head all bumps, my cheek all cut, my nose big
as two! forced to wear a plaister; half ruined in vinegar. Got a great
cold; put me in a fever; never been well since.”
“But have you had no advice, Sir? Should not you send for a physician?”
“What to do, hay? fill me with jallop? can get it myself, can't I? Had
one once; was taken very bad, thought should have popt off; began to
flinch, sent for the doctor, proved nothing but a cheat! cost me a
guinea, gave it at fourth visit, and he never came again!---warrant
won't have no more!”
Then perceiving upon the table some dust from the black lead pencil,
“What's here?” cried he, angrily, “who's been cutting the pencil? wish
they were hanged; suppose it's the boy; deserves to be horsewhipped:
give him a good banging.”
Cecilia immediately cleared him, by acknowledging she had herself been
the culprit.
“Ay, ay,” cried he, “thought as much all the time! guessed how it was;
nothing but ruin and waste; sending for money, nobody knows why; wanting
600 pounds--what to do? throw it in the dirt? Never heard the like!
Sha'n't have it, promise you that,” nodding his head, “shan't have no
such thing!”
“Sha'n't have it?” cried Cecilia, much surprised, “why not, Sir?”
“Keep it for your husband; get you one soon: won't have no juggling.
Don't be in a hurry; one in my eye.”
Cecilia then began a very earnest expostulation, assuring him she really
wanted the money, for an occasion which would not admit of delay. Her
remonstrances, however, he wholly disregarded, telling her that girls
knew nothing of the value of money, and ought not to be trusted with
it; that he would not hear of such extravagance, and was resolved not
to advance her a penny. Cecilia was both provoked and confounded by a
refusal so unexpected, and as she thought herself bound in honour to
Mr Harrel not to make known the motive of her urgency, she was for
some time totally silenced: till recollecting her account with the
bookseller, she determined to rest her plea upon that, persuaded that he
could not, at least, deny her money to pay her own bills. He heard her,
however, with the utmost contempt; “Books?” he cried, “what do you want
with books? do no good; all lost time; words get no cash.” She informed
him his admonitions were now too late, as she had already received them,
and must therefore necessarily pay for them. “No, no,” cried he, “send
'em back, that's best; keep no such rubbish, won't turn to account; do
better without 'em.” “That, Sir, will be impossible, for I have had them
some time, and cannot expect the bookseller to take them again.” “Must,
must,” cried he, “can't help himself; glad to have 'em too. Are but
a minor, can't be made pay a farthing.” Cecilia with much indignation
heard such fraud recommended, and told him she could by no means consent
to follow his advice. But she soon found, to her utter amazement, that
he steadily refused to give her any other, or to bestow the slightest
attention upon her expostulations, sturdily saying that her uncle had
left her a noble estate, and he would take care to see it put in proper
hands, by getting her a good and careful husband.
“I have no intention, no wish, Sir,” cried she, “to break into the
income or estate left me by my uncle; on the contrary, I hold them
sacred, and think myself bound in conscience never to live beyond them:
but the L10,000 bequeathed me by my Father, I regard as more peculiarly
my own property, and therefore think myself at liberty to dispose of it
as I please.”
“What,” cried he, in a rage, “make it over to a scrubby bookseller! give
it up for an old pot-hook? no, no, won't suffer it; sha'n't be, sha'n't
be, I say! if you want some books, go to Moorfields, pick up enough at
an old stall; get 'em at two pence a-piece; dear enough, too.”
Cecilia for some time hoped he was merely indulging his strange and
sordid humour by an opposition that was only intended to teize her;
but she soon found herself extremely mistaken: he was immoveable in
obstinacy, as he was incorrigible in avarice; he neither troubled
himself with enquiries nor reasoning, but was contented with refusing
her as a child might be refused, by peremptorily telling her she did not
know what she wanted, and therefore should not have what she asked.
And with this answer, after all that she could urge, she was compelled
to leave the house, as he complained that his brown paper plaister
wanted fresh dipping in vinegar, and he could stay talking no longer.
The disgust with which this behaviour filled her, was doubled by
the shame and concern of returning to the Harrels with her promise
unperformed; she deliberated upon every method that occurred to her
of still endeavouring to serve them, but could suggest nothing, except
trying to prevail upon Mr Delvile to interfere in her favour. She liked
not, indeed, the office of solicitation to so haughty a man, but, having
no other expedient, her repugnance gave way to her generosity, and she
ordered the chairmen to carry her to St James's Square.
CHAPTER ii
A PERPLEXITY.
And here, at the door of his Father's house, and just ascending the
steps, she perceived young Delvile.
“Again!” cried he, handing her out of the chair, “surely some good
genius is at work for me this morning!”
She told him she should not have called so early, now she was acquainted
with the late hours of Mrs Delvile, but that she merely meant to speak
with his Father, for two minutes, upon business.
He attended her up stairs; and finding she was in haste, went himself
with her message to Mr Delvile: and soon returned with an answer that he
would wait upon her presently.
The strange speeches he had made to her when they first met in the
morning now recurring to her memory, she determined to have them
explained, and in order to lead to the subject, mentioned the
disagreeable situation in which he had found her, while she was standing
up to avoid the sight of the condemned malefactors.
“Indeed?” cried he, in a tone of voice somewhat incredulous, “and was
that the purpose for which you stood up?”
“Certainly, Sir;--what other could I have?”
“None, surely!” said he, smiling, “but the accident was singularly
opportune.”
“Opportune?” cried Cecilia, staring, “how opportune? this is the second
time in the same morning that I am not able to understand you!”
“How _should_ you understand what is so little intelligible?”
“I see you have some meaning which I cannot fathom, why, else, should it
be so extraordinary that I should endeavour to avoid a mob? or how could
it be opportune that I should happen to meet with one?”
He laughed at first without making any answer; but perceiving she looked
at him with impatience, he half gaily, half reproachfully, said, “Whence
is it that young ladies, even such whose principles are most strict,
seem universally, in those affairs where their affections are concerned,
to think hypocrisy necessary, and deceit amiable? and hold it graceful
to disavow to-day, what they may perhaps mean publicly to acknowledge
to-morrow?”
Cecilia, who heard these questions with unfeigned astonishment, looked
at him with the utmost eagerness for an explanation.
“Do you so much wonder,” he continued, “that I should have hoped in Miss
Beverley to have seen some deviation from such rules? and have expected
more openness and candour in a young lady who has given so noble a proof
of the liberality of her mind and understanding?”
“You amaze me beyond measure!” cried she, “what rules, what candour,
what liberality, do you mean?”
“Must I speak yet more plainly? and if I do, will you bear to hear me?”
“Indeed I should be extremely glad if you would give me leave to
understand you.”
“And may I tell you what has charmed me, as well as what I have presumed
to wonder at?”
“You may tell me any thing, if you will but be less mysterious.”
“Forgive then the frankness you invite, and let me acknowledge to you
how greatly I honour the nobleness of your conduct. Surrounded as
you are by the opulent and the splendid, unshackled by dependance,
unrestrained by authority, blest by nature with all that is attractive,
by situation with all that is desirable,--to slight the rich, and
disregard the powerful, for the purer pleasure of raising oppressed
merit, and giving to desert that wealth in which alone it seemed
deficient--how can a spirit so liberal be sufficiently admired, or a
choice of so much dignity be too highly extolled?”
“I find,” cried Cecilia, “I must forbear any further enquiry, for the
more I hear, the less I understand.”
“Pardon me, then,” cried he, “if here I return to my first question:
whence is it that a young lady who can think so nobly, and act so
disinterestedly, should not be uniformly great, simple in truth, and
unaffected in sincerity? Why should she be thus guarded, where frankness
would do her so much honour? Why blush in owning what all others may
blush in envying?”
“Indeed you perplex me intolerably,” cried Cecilia, with some vexation,
“why Sir, will you not be more explicit?”
“And why, Madam,” returned he, with a laugh, “would you tempt me to be
more impertinent? have I not said strange things already?”
“Strange indeed,” cried she, “for not one of them can I comprehend!”
“Pardon, then,” cried he, “and forget them all! I scarce know myself
what urged me to say them, but I began inadvertently, without intending
to go on, and I have proceeded involuntarily, without knowing how to
stop. The fault, however, is ultimately your own, for the sight of
you creates an insurmountable desire to converse with you, and your
conversation a propensity equally incorrigible to take some interest in
your welfare.”
He would then have changed the discourse, and Cecilia, ashamed of
pressing him further, was for some time silent; but when one of the
servants came to inform her that his master meant to wait upon her
directly, her unwillingness to leave the matter in suspense induced
her, somewhat abruptly, to say, “Perhaps, Sir, you are thinking of Mr
Belfield?”
“A happy conjecture!” cried he, “but so wild a one, I cannot but marvel
how it should occur to you!”
“Well, Sir,” said she, “I must acknowledge I now understand your
meaning; but with respect to what has given rise to it, I am as much a
stranger as ever.”
The entrance of Mr Delvile here closed the conversation.
He began with his usual ostentatious apologies, declaring he had so many
people to attend, so many complaints to hear, and so many grievances to
redress, that it was impossible for him to wait upon her sooner, and not
without difficulty that he waited upon her now.
Mean time his son almost immediately retired: and Cecilia, instead of
listening to this harangue, was only disturbing herself with conjectures
upon what had just passed. She saw that young Delvile concluded she was
absolutely engaged to Mr Belfield, and though she was better pleased
that any suspicion should fall there than upon Sir Robert Floyer, she
was yet both provoked and concerned to be suspected at all. An attack so
earnest from almost any other person could hardly have failed being very
offensive to her, but in the manners of young Delvile good breeding was
so happily blended with frankness, that his freedom seemed merely to
result from the openness of his disposition, and even in its very act
pleaded its own excuse.
Her reverie was at length interrupted by Mr Delvile's desiring to know
in what he could serve her.
She told him she had present occasion for L600, and hoped he would not
object to her taking up that sum.
“Six hundred pounds,” said he, after some deliberation, “is rather an
extraordinary demand for a young lady in your situation; your allowance
is considerable, you have yet no house, no equipage, no establishment;
your expences, I should imagine, cannot be very great--”
He stopt, and seemed weighing her request.
Cecilia, shocked at appearing extravagant, yet too generous to mention
Mr Harrel, had again recourse to her bookseller's bill, which she told
him she was anxious to discharge.
“A bookseller's bill?” cried he; “and do you want L600 for a
bookseller's bill?”
“No, Sir,” said she, stammering, “no,--not all for that,--I have some
other--I have a particular occasion--”
“But what bill at all,” cried he, with much surprise, “can a young lady
have with a bookseller? The Spectator, Tatler and Guardian, would make
library sufficient for any female in the kingdom, nor do I think it
like a gentlewoman to have more. Besides, if you ally yourself in such
a manner as I shall approve and recommend, you will, in all probability,
find already collected more books than there can ever be any possible
occasion for you to look into. And let me counsel you to remember that
a lady, whether so called from birth or only from fortune, should never
degrade herself by being put on a level with writers, and such sort of
people.”
Cecilia thanked him for his advice, but confessed that upon the present
occasion it came too late, as the books were now actually in her own
possession.
“And have you taken,” cried he, “such a measure as this without
consulting me? I thought I had assured you my opinion was always at your
service when you were in any dilemma.”
“Yes, Sir,” answered Cecilia; “but I knew how much you were occupied,
and wished to avoid taking up your time.”
“I cannot blame your modesty,” he replied, “and therefore, as you have
contracted the debt, you are, in honour, bound to pay it. Mr Briggs,
however, has the entire management of your fortune, my many avocations
obliging me to decline so laborious a trust; apply, therefore, to him,
and, as things are situated, I will make no opposition to your demand.”
“I have already, Sir,” said Cecilia, “spoke to Mr Briggs, but--”
“You went to him first, then?” interrupted Mr Delvile, with a look of
much displeasure.
“I was unwilling, Sir, to trouble you till I found it unavoidable.” She
then acquainted him with Mr Briggs' refusal, and entreated he would
do her the favour to intercede in her behalf, that the money might no
longer be denied her.
Every word she spoke his pride seemed rising to resent, and when, she
had done, after regarding her some time with apparent indignation, he
said, “_I_ intercede! _I_ become an agent!”
Cecilia, amazed to find him thus violently irritated, made a very
earnest apology for her request; but without paying her any attention,
he walked up and down the room, exclaiming, “an agent! and to Mr
Briggs!--This is an affront I could never have expected! why did I
degrade myself by accepting this humiliating office? I ought to have
known better!” Then, turning to Cecilia, “Child,” he added, “for whom is
it you take me, and for what?”
Cecilia again, though affronted in her turn, began some protestations of
respect; but haughtily interrupting her, he said, “If of me, and of my
rank in life you judge by Mr Briggs or by Mr Harrel, I may be subject to
proposals such as these every day; suffer me, therefore, for your better
information, to hint to you, that the head of an ancient and honourable
house, is apt to think himself somewhat superior to people but just
rising from dust and obscurity.”
Thunderstruck by this imperious reproof, she could attempt no further
vindication; but when he observed her consternation, he was somewhat
appeased, and hoping he had now impressed her with a proper sense of his
dignity, he more gently said, “You did not, I believe, intend to insult
me.”
“Good Heaven, Sir; no!” cried Cecilia, “nothing was more distant from
my thoughts: if my expressions have been faulty, it has been wholly from
ignorance.”
“Well, well, we will think then no more of it.”
She then said she would no longer detain him, and, without daring to
again mention her petition, she wished him good morning.
He suffered her to go, yet, as she left the room, graciously said,
“Think no more of my displeasure, for it is over: I see you were not
aware of the extraordinary thing you proposed. I am sorry I cannot
possibly assist you; on any other occasion you may depend upon my
services; but you know Mr Briggs, you have seen him yourself,--judge,
then, how a man of any fashion is to accommodate himself with such a
person!”
Cecilia concurred, and, courtsying, took her leave.
“Ah!” thought she, in her way home, “how happy is it for me that I
followed the advice of Mr Monckton! else I had surely made interest to
become an inmate of that house, and then indeed, as he wisely foresaw,
I should inevitably have been overwhelmed by this pompous insolence! no
family, however amiable, could make amends for such a master of it.”
CHAPTER iii
AN ADMONITION.
The Harrels and Mr Arnott waited the return of Cecilia with the utmost
impatience; she told them with much concern the failure of her embassy,
which Mr Harrel heard with visible resentment and discontent, while Mr
Arnott, entreating him not to think of it, again made an offer of his
services, and declared he would disregard all personal convenience for
the pleasure of making him and his sister easy.