part, and asked Mr Harrel whether he believed his own influence with Mr
Briggs would be more successful.
“No, no,” answered he, “the old curmudgeon would but the rather refuse.
I know his reason, and therefore am sure all pleas will be vain. He has
dealings in the alley, and I dare say games with your money as if it
were his own. There is, indeed, one way--but I do not think you would
like it--though I protest I hardly know why not--however, 'tis as well
let alone.”
Cecilia insisted upon hearing what he meant, and, after some
hesitation, he hinted that there were means by which, with very little
inconvenience, she might borrow the money.
Cecilia, with that horror natural to all unpractised minds at the first
idea of contracting a voluntary debt, started at this suggestion, and
seemed very ill disposed to listen to it. Mr Harrel, perceiving her
repugnance, turned to Mr Arnott, and said, “Well, my good brother, I
hardly know how to suffer you to sell out at such a loss, but yet, my
present necessity is so urgent--”
“Don't mention it,” cried Mr Arnott, “I am very sorry I let you know
it; be certain, however, that while I have anything, it is yours and my
sister's.”
The two gentlemen we then retiring together; but Cecilia, shocked for Mr
Arnott, though unmoved by Mr Harrel, stopt them to enquire what was the
way by which it was meant she could borrow the money?
Mr Harrel seemed averse to answer, but she would not be refused; and
then he mentioned a Jew, of whose honesty he had made undoubted trial,
and who, as she was so near being of age, would accept very trifling
interest for whatever she should like to take up.
The heart of Cecilia recoiled at the very mention of a _Jew_, and
_taking up money upon interest_; but, impelled strongly by her own
generosity to emulate that of Mr Arnott, she agreed, after some
hesitation, to have recourse to this method.
Mr Harrel then made some faint denials, and Mr Arnott protested he had
a thousand times rather sell out at any discount, than consent to her
taking such a measure; but, when her first reluctance was conquered, all
that he urged served but to shew his worthiness in a stronger light, and
only increased her desire of saving him from such repeated imposition.
Her total ignorance in what manner to transact this business, made her
next put it wholly into the hands of Mr Harrel, whom she begged to take
up 600 pounds, upon such terms as he thought equitable, and to which,
what ever they might be, she would sign her name.
He seemed somewhat surprised at the sum, but without any question or
objection undertook the commission: and Cecilia would not lessen it,
because unwilling to do more for the security of the luxurious Mr
Harrel, than for the distresses of the laborious Hills.
Nothing could be more speedy than the execution of this affair, Mr
Harrel was diligent and expert, the whole was settled that morning, and,
giving to the Jew her bond for the payment at the interest he required,
she put into the hands of Mr Harrel L350, for which he gave his receipt,
and she kept the rest for her own purposes.
She intended the morning after this transaction to settle her account
with the bookseller. When she went into the parlour to breakfast,
she was somewhat surprised to see Mr Harrel seated there, in earnest
discourse with his wife. Fearful of interrupting a _tete-a-tete_ so
uncommon, she would have retired, but Mr Harrel, calling after her,
said, “O pray come in! I am only telling Priscilla a piece of my usual
ill luck. You must know I happen to be in immediate want of L200, though
only for three or four days, and I sent to order honest old Aaron to
come hither directly with the money, but it so happens that he went out
of town the moment he had done with us yesterday, and will not be back
again this week. Now I don't believe there is another Jew in the kingdom
who will let me have money upon the same terms; they are such notorious
rascals, that I hate the very thought of employing them.”
Cecilia, who could not but understand what this meant, was too much
displeased both by his extravagance and his indelicacy, to feel at all
inclined to change the destination of the money she had just received;
and therefore coolly agreed that it was unfortunate, but added nothing
more.
“O, it is provoking indeed,” cried he, “for the extra-interest I must
pay one of those extortioners is absolutely so much money thrown away.”
Cecilia, still without noticing these hints, began her breakfast. Mr
Harrel then said he would take his tea with them: and, while he was
buttering some dry toast, exclaimed, as if from sudden recollection, “O
Lord, now I think of it, I believe, Miss Beverley, you can lend me this
money yourself for a day or two. The moment old Aaron comes to town, I
will pay you.”
Cecilia, whose generosity, however extensive, was neither thoughtless
nor indiscriminate, found something so repulsive in this gross
procedure, that instead of assenting to his request with her usual
alacrity, she answered very gravely that the money she had just received
was already appropriated to a particular purpose, and she knew not how
to defer making use of it.
Mr Harrel was extremely chagrined by this reply, which was by no means
what he expected; but, tossing down a dish of tea, he began humming an
air, and soon recovered his usual unconcern.
In a few minutes, ringing his bell, he desired a servant to go to Mr
Zackery, and inform him that he wanted to speak with him immediately.
“And now,” said he, with a look in which vexation seemed struggling with
carelessness, “the thing is done! I don't like, indeed, to get into such
hands, for 'tis hard ever to get out of them when once one begins,--and
hitherto I have kept pretty clear. But there's no help for it--Mr
Arnott cannot just now assist me--and so the thing must take its course.
Priscilla, why do you look so grave?”
“I am thinking how unlucky it is my Brother should happen to be unable
to lend you this money.”
“O, don't think about it; I shall get rid of the man very soon I dare
say--I hope so, at least--I am sure I mean it.”
Cecilia now grew a little disturbed; she looked at Mrs. Harrel, who
seemed also uneasy, and then, with some hesitation, said “Have you
really never, Sir, employed this man before?”
“Never in my life: never any but old Aaron. I dread the whole race;
I have a sort of superstitious notion that if once I get into their
clutches, I shall never be my own man again; and that induced me to beg
your assistance. However, 'tis no great matter.”
She then began to waver; she feared there might be future mischief
as well as present inconvenience, in his applying to new usurers, and
knowing she had now the power to prevent him, thought herself half cruel
in refusing to exert it. She wished to consult Mr. Monckton, but found
it necessary to take her measures immediately, as the Jew was already
sent for, and must in a few moments be either employed or discarded.
Much perplext how to act, between a desire of doing good, and a fear
of encouraging evil, she weighed each side hastily, but while still
uncertain which ought to preponderate, her kindness for Mrs. Harrel
interfered, and, in the hope of rescuing her husband from further bad
practices, she said she would postpone her own business for the few days
he mentioned, rather than see him compelled to open any new account with
so dangerous a set of men.
He thanked her in his usual negligent manner, and accepting the 200
pounds, gave her his receipt for it, and a promise she should be paid in
a week.
Mrs. Harrel, however, seemed more grateful, and with many embraces spoke
her sense of this friendly good nature. Cecilia, happy from believing
she had revived in her some spark of sensibility, determined to
avail herself of so favourable a symptom, and enter at once upon the
disagreeable task she had set herself, of representing to her the danger
of her present situation.
As soon, therefore, as breakfast was done, and Mr Arnott, who came in
before it was over, was gone, with a view to excite her attention by
raising her curiosity, she begged the favour of a private conference in
her own room, upon matters of some importance.
She began with hoping that the friendship in which they had so long
lived would make her pardon the liberty she was going to take, and which
nothing less than their former intimacy, joined to strong apprehensions
for her future welfare, could authorise; “But oh Priscilla!” she
continued, “with open eyes to see your danger, yet not warn you of
it, would be a reserve treacherous in a friend, and cruel even in a
fellow-creature.”
“What danger?” cried Mrs Harrel, much alarmed, “do you think me ill? do
I look consumptive?”
“Yes, consumptive indeed!” said Cecilia, “but not, I hope, in your
constitution.”
And then, with all the tenderness in her power, she came to the point,
and conjured her without delay to retrench her expences, and change her
thoughtless way of life for one more considerate and domestic.
Mrs Harrel, with much simplicity, assured her _she did nothing but
what every body else did_, and that it was quite impossible for her to
_appear in the world_ in any other manner.
“But how are you to appear hereafter?” cried Cecilia, “if now you live
beyond your income, you must consider that in time your income by such
depredations will be exhausted.”
“But I declare to you,” answered Mrs Harrel, “I never run in debt
for more than half a year, for as soon as I receive my own money, I
generally pay it away every shilling: and so borrow what I want till pay
day comes round again.”
“And that,” said Cecilia, “seems a method expressly devised for keeping
you eternally comfortless: pardon me, however, for speaking so openly,
but I fear Mr Harrel himself must be even still less attentive and
accurate in his affairs, or he could not so frequently be embarrassed.
And what is to be the result? look but, my dear Priscilla, a little
forward, and you will tremble at the prospect before you!”
Mrs Harrel seemed frightened at this speech, and begged to know what she
would have them do?
Cecilia then, with equal wisdom and friendliness, proposed a general
reform in the household, the public and private expences of both; she
advised that a strict examination might be made into the state of their
affairs, that all their bills should be called in, and faithfully paid,
and that an entire new plan of life should be adopted, according to the
situation of their fortune and income when cleared of all incumbrances.
“Lord, my dear!” exclaimed Mrs Harrel, with a look of astonishment, “why
Mr Harrel would no more do all this than fly! If I was only to make such
a proposal, I dare say he would laugh in my face.”
“And why?”
“Why?--why because it would seem such an odd thing--it's what nobody
thinks of--though I am sure I am very much obliged to you for mentioning
it. Shall we go down stairs? I think I heard somebody come in.
“No matter who comes in,” said Cecilia, “reflect for a moment upon my
proposal, and, at least, if you disapprove it, suggest something more
eligible.”
“Oh, it's a very good proposal, that I agree,” said Mrs Harrel, looking
very weary, “but only the thing is it's quite impossible.”
“Why so? why is it impossible?”
“Why because--dear, I don't know--but I am sure it is.”
“But what is your reason? What makes you sure of it?”
“Lord, I can't tell--but I know it is--because--I am very certain it
is.”
Argument such as this, though extremely fatiguing to the understanding
of Cecilia, had yet no power to _blunt her purpose_: she warmly
expostulated against the weakness of her defence, strongly represented
the imprudence of her conduct, and exhorted her by every tie of justice,
honour and discretion to set about a reformation.
“Why what can I do?” cried Mrs Harrel, impatiently, “one must live a
little like other people. You would not have me stared at, I suppose;
and I am sure I don't know what I do that every body else does not do
too.”
“But were it not better,” said Cecilia, with more energy, “to think less
of _other people_, and more of _yourself?_ to consult your own fortune,
and your own situation in life, instead of being blindly guided by those
of _other people_? If, indeed, _other people_ would be responsible for
your losses, for the diminution of your wealth, and for the disorder
of your affairs, then might you rationally make their way of life the
example of yours: but you cannot flatter yourself such will be the case;
you know better; your losses, your diminished fortune, your embarrassed
circumstances will be all your own! pitied, perhaps, by some, but blamed
by more, and assisted by none!”
“Good Lord, Miss Beverley!” cried Mrs Harrel, starting, “you talk just
as if we were ruined!”
“I mean not that,” replied Cecilia, “but I would fain, by pointing
out your danger, prevail with you to prevent in time so dreadful a
catastrophe.”
Mrs Harrel, more affronted than alarmed, heard this answer with much
displeasure, and after a sullen hesitation, peevishly said, “I must own
I don't take it very kind of you to say such frightful things to me; I
am sure we only live like the rest of the world, and I don't see why a
man of Mr Harrel's fortune should live any worse. As to his having now
and then a little debt or two, it is nothing but what every body else
has. You only think it so odd, because you a'n't used to it: but you are
quite mistaken if you suppose he does not mean to pay, for he told me
this morning that as soon as ever he receives his rents, he intends to
discharge every bill he has in the world.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” answered Cecilia, “and I heartily wish he
may have the resolution to adhere to his purpose. I feared you
would think me impertinent, but you do worse in believing me unkind:
friendship and good-will could alone have induced me to hazard what I
have said to you. I must, however, have done; though I cannot forbear
adding that I hope what has already passed will sometimes recur to you.”
They then separated; Mrs Harrel half angry at remonstrances she thought
only censorious, and Cecilia offended at her pettishness and folly,
though grieved at her blindness.
She was soon, however, recompensed for this vexation by a visit from
Mrs Delvile, who, finding her alone, sat with her some time, and by her
spirit, understanding and elegance, dissipated all her chagrin.
From another circumstance, also, she received much pleasure, though a
little perplexity; Mr Arnott brought her word that Mr Belfield, almost
quite well, had actually left his lodgings, and was gone into the
country.
She now half suspected that the account of his illness given her by
young Delvile, was merely the effect of his curiosity to discover her
sentiments of him; yet when she considered how foreign to his character
appeared every species of artifice, she exculpated him from the design,
and concluded that the impatient spirit of Belfield had hurried him
away, when really unfit for travelling. She had no means, however, to
hear more of him now he had quitted the town, and therefore, though
uneasy, she was compelled to be patient.
In the evening she had again a visit from Mr Monckton, who, though he
was now acquainted how much she was at home, had the forbearance to
avoid making frequent use of that knowledge, that his attendance might
escape observation.
Cecilia, as usual, spoke to him of all her affairs with the utmost
openness; and as her mind was now chiefly occupied by her apprehensions
for the Harrels, she communicated to him the extravagance of which
they were guilty, and hinted at the distress that from time to time it
occasioned; but the assistance she had afforded them her own delicacy
prevented her mentioning.
Mr Monckton scrupled not from this account instantly to pronounce Harrel
a _ruined man_; and thinking Cecilia, from her connection with him,
in much danger of being involved in his future difficulties, he most
earnestly exhorted her to suffer no inducement to prevail with her
to advance him any money, confidently affirming she would have little
chance of being ever repaid.
Cecilia listened to this charge with much alarm, but readily promised
future circumspection. She confessed to him the conference she had
had in the morning with Mrs Harrel, and after lamenting her determined
neglect of her affairs, she added, “I cannot but own that my esteem for
her, even more than my affection, has lessened almost every day since
I have been in her house; but this morning, when I ventured to speak to
her with earnestness, I found her powers of reasoning so weak, and her
infatuation to luxury and expence so strong, that I have ever since felt
ashamed of my own discernment in having formerly selected her for my
friend.”
“When you gave her that title,” said Mr Monckton, “you had little choice
in your power; her sweetness and good-nature attracted you; childhood
is never troubled with foresight, and youth is seldom difficult: she
was lively and pleasing, you were generous and affectionate; your
acquaintance with her was formed while you were yet too young to know
your own worth, your fondness of her grew from habit, and before the
inferiority of her parts had weakened your regard, by offending your
judgment, her early marriage separated you from her entirely. But now
you meet again the scene is altered; three years of absence spent in
the cultivation of an understanding naturally of the first order, by
encreasing your wisdom, has made you more fastidious; while the same
time spent by her in mere idleness and shew, has hurt her disposition,
without adding to her knowledge, and robbed her of her natural
excellencies, without enriching her with acquired ones. You see her now
with impartiality, for you see her almost as a stranger, and all those
deficiencies which retirement and inexperience had formerly concealed,
her vanity, and her superficial acquaintance with the world, have now
rendered glaring. But folly weakens all bands: remember, therefore, if
you would form a solid friendship, to consult not only the heart but the
head, not only the temper, but the understanding.”
“Well, then,” said Cecilia, “at least it must be confessed I have
judiciously chosen _you_!”
“You have, indeed, done me the highest honour,” he answered.
They then talked of Belfield, and Mr Monckton confirmed the account
of Mr Arnott, that he had left London in good health. After which, he
enquired if she had seen any thing more of the Delviles?
“Yes,” said Cecilia, “Mrs. Delvile called upon me this morning. She is a
delightful woman; I am sorry you know her not enough to do her justice.”
“Is she civil to you?”
“Civil? she is all kindness!”
“Then depend upon it she has something in view: whenever that is not the
case she is all insolence. And Mr Delvile,--pray what do you think of
him?”
“O, I think him insufferable! and I cannot sufficiently thank you for
that timely caution which prevented my change of habitation. I would not
live under the same roof with him for the world!”
“Well, and do you not now begin also to see the son properly?”
“Properly? I don't understand you.”
“Why as the very son of such parents, haughty and impertinent.”
“No, indeed; he has not the smallest resemblance [to] his father, and
if he resembles his mother, it is only what every one must wish who
impartially sees her.”
“You know not that family. But how, indeed, should you, when they are
in a combination to prevent your getting that knowledge? They have all
their designs upon you, and if you are not carefully upon your guard,
you will be the dupe to them.”
“What can you possibly mean?”
“Nothing but what every body else must immediately see; they have a
great share of pride, and a small one of wealth; you seem by fortune
to be flung in their way, and doubtless they mean not to neglect so
inviting an opportunity of repairing their estates.”
“Indeed you are mistaken; I am certain they have no such intention: on
the contrary, they all even teasingly persist in thinking me already
engaged elsewhere.”
She then gave him a history of their several suspicions.
“The impertinence of report,” she added, “has so much convinced them
that Sir Robert Floyer and Mr Belfield fought merely as rivals, that
I can only clear myself of partiality for one of them, to have it
instantly concluded I feel it for the other. And, far from seeming
hurt that I appear to be disposed of, Mr Delvile openly seconds the
pretensions of Sir Robert, and his son officiously persuades me that I
am already Mr Belfield's.”
“Tricks, nothing but tricks to discover your real situation.”
He then gave her some general cautions to be upon her guard against
their artifices, and changing the subject, talked, for the rest of his
visit, upon matters of general entertainment.
CHAPTER iv
AN EVASION.
Cecilia now for about a fortnight passed her time without incident;
the Harrels continued their accustomed dissipation, Sir Robert Floyer,
without even seeking a private conference, persevered in his attentions,
and Mr Arnott, though still silent and humble, seemed only to live
by the pleasure of beholding her. She spent two whole days with Mrs
Delvile, both of which served to confirm her admiration of that lady and
of her son; and she joined the parties of the Harrels, or stayed quietly
at home, according to her spirits and inclinations: while she was
visited by Mr Monckton often enough to satisfy him with her proceedings,
yet too seldom to betray either to herself or to the world any suspicion
of his designs.
Her L200 pounds however, which was to have been returned at the end if
the first week, though a fortnight was now elapsed, had not even been
mentioned; she began to grow very impatient, but not knowing what course
to pursue, and wanting courage to remind Mr Harrel of his promise, she
still waited the performance of it without speaking.
At this time, preparations were making in the family for removing to
Violet-bank to spend the Easter holidays: but Cecilia, who was too much
grieved at such perpetual encrease of unnecessary expences to have
any enjoyment in new prospects of entertainment, had at present some
business of her own which gave her full employment.
The poor carpenter, whose family she had taken under her protection, was
just dead, and, as soon as the last duties had been paid him, she sent
for his widow, and after trying to console her for the loss she had
suffered, assured her she was immediately ready to fulfil the engagement
into which she had entered, of assisting her to undertake some better
method of procuring a livelihood; and therefore desired to know in what
manner she could serve her, and what she thought herself able to do.
The good woman, pouring forth thanks and praises innumerable, answered
that she had a Cousin, who had offered, for a certain premium, to take
her into partnership in a small haberdasher's shop. “But then, madam,”
continued she, “it's quite morally impossible I should raise such a
sum, or else, to be sure, such a shop as that, now I am grown so poorly,
would be quite a heaven upon earth to me: for my strength, madam, is
almost all gone away, and when I do any hard work, it's quite a piteous
sight to see me, for I am all in a tremble after it, just as if I had
an ague, and yet all the time my hands, madam, will be burning like a
coal!”
“You have indeed been overworked,” said Cecilia, “and it is high time
your feeble frame should have some rest. What is the sum your cousin
demands?”
“O madam, more than I should be able to get together in all my life!
for earn what I will, it goes as fast as it cones, because there's many
mouths, and small pay, and two of the little ones that can't help at
all;--and there's no Billy, madam, to work for us now!”
“But tell me, what is the sum?”
“Sixty pound, madam.”
“You shall have it!” cried the generous Cecilia, “if the situation will
make you happy, I will give it you myself.”
The poor woman wept her thanks, and was long before she could
sufficiently compose herself to answer the further questions of Cecilia,
who next enquired what could be done with the children? Mrs Hill,
however, hitherto hopeless of such a provision for herself, had for
them formed no plan. She told her, therefore, to go to her cousin, and
consult upon this subject, as well as to make preparations for her own
removal.