surprise, “as to bestow upon me the time you had destined for this gay
excursion?”
“Most willingly,” answered Cecilia, “if you are so good as to wish it.”
“But can you also--for you must by no means remain alone in Portman
Square--manage to live entirely in my house till Mr Harrel's return?”
To this proposal, which was what she most desired, Cecilia gave a glad
assent; and Mrs Delvile, extremely pleased with her compliance, promised
to have an apartment prepared for her immediately.
She then hastened home, to announce her new plan.
This she took occasion to do when the family was assembled at dinner.
The surprize with which she was heard was very general: Sir Robert
seemed at a loss what conclusion to draw from her information; Mr Arnott
was half elated with pleasure, and half depressed with apprehension; Mrs
Harrel wondered, without any other sensation; and Mr Harrel himself was
evidently the most concerned of the party.
Every effort of persuasion and importunity he now essayed to prevail
upon her to give up this scheme, and still accompany them to the
villa; but she coolly answered that her engagement with Mrs Delvile was
decided, and she had appointed to wait upon her the next morning.
When her resolution was found so steady, a general ill humour took place
of surprise: Sir Robert now had the air of a man who thought himself
affronted; Mr Arnott was wretched from a thousand uncertainties; Mrs
Harrel, indeed, was still the most indifferent; but Mr Harrel could
hardly repress his disappointment and anger.
Cecilia, however, was all gaiety and pleasure: in removing only from the
house of one guardian to another, she knew she could not be opposed;
and the flattering readiness with which Mrs Delvile had anticipated her
request, without enquiring into her motives, had relieved her from a
situation which now grew extremely distressing, without giving to her
the pain of making complaints of Mr Harrel. The absence of Mr Delvile
contributed to her happiness, and she much rejoiced in having now the
prospect of a speedy opportunity to explain to his son, whatever had
appeared mysterious in her conduct respecting Mr Belfield. If she had
any thing to regret, it was merely the impossibility, at this time, of
waiting for the counsel of Mr Monckton.
The next morning, while the family was in the midst of preparation for
departure, she took leave of Mrs Harrel, who faintly lamented the loss
of her company, and then hastily made her compliments to Mr Harrel and
Mr Arnott, and putting herself into a chair, was conveyed to her new
habitation.
Mrs Delvile received her with the most distinguished politeness; she
conducted her to the apartment which had been prepared for her, led her
to the library, which she desired her to make use of as her own, and
gave her the most obliging charges to remember that she was in a house
of which she had the command.
Young Delvile did not make his appearance till dinner time. Cecilia,
from recollecting the strange situations in which she had lately been
seen by him, blushed extremely when she first met his eyes; but finding
him gay and easy, general in his conversation, and undesigning in his
looks, she soon recovered from her embarrassment, and passed the rest of
the day without restraint or uneasiness.
Every hour she spent with Mrs Delvile, contributed to raise in her
esteem the mind and understanding of that lady. She found, indeed, that
it was not for nothing she was accused of pride, but she found at the
same time so many excellent qualities, so much true dignity of mind, and
so noble a spirit of liberality, that however great was the respect she
seemed to demand, it was always inferior to what she felt inclined to
pay.
Nor was young Delvile less rapid in the progress he made in her favour;
his character, upon every opportunity of shewing it, rose in her
opinion, and his disposition and manners had a mingled sweetness and
vivacity that rendered his society attractive, and his conversation
spirited.
Here, therefore, Cecilia experienced that happiness she so long had
coveted in vain: her life was neither public nor private, her amusements
were neither dissipated nor retired; the company she saw were either
people of high rank or strong parts, and their visits were neither
frequent nor long. The situation she quitted gave a zest to that into
which she entered, for she was now no longer shocked by extravagance
or levity, no longer tormented with addresses which disgusted her, nor
mortified by the ingratitude of the friend she had endeavoured to serve.
All was smooth and serene, yet lively and interesting.
Her plan, however, of clearing to young Delvile his mistakes concerning
Belfield, she could not put in execution; for he now never led to the
subject, though he was frequently alone with her, nor seemed at all
desirous to renew his former raillery, or repeat his enquiries. She
wondered at this change in him, but chose rather to wait the revival
of his own curiosity, than to distress or perplex herself by contriving
methods of explanation.
Situated thus happily, she had now one only anxiety, which was to know
whether, and in what manner, Mr Belfield had received his surgeon, as
well as the actual state of his own and his sister's affairs: but the
fear of again encountering young Delvile in suspicious circumstances,
deterred her at present from going to their house. Yet her natural
benevolence, which partial convenience never lulled to sleep, impressing
her with an apprehension that her services might be wanted, she was
induced to write to Miss Belfield, though she forbore to visit her.
Her letter was short, but kind and to the purpose: she apologized for
her officiousness, desiring to know if her brother was better, and
entreated her, in terms the most delicate, to acquaint her if yet she
would accept from her any assistance.
She sent this letter by her servant, who, after waiting a considerable
time, brought her the following answer.
_To Miss Beverley_.
Ah madam! your goodness quite melts me! we want nothing, however, yet,
though I fear we shall not say so much longer. But though I hope I shall
never forget myself so as to be proud and impertinent, I will rather
struggle with any hardship than beg, for I will not disoblige my poor
brother by any fault that I can help, especially now he is fallen so
low. But, thank heaven, his wound has at last been dressed, for the
surgeon has found him out, and he attends him for nothing; though my
brother is willing to part with every thing he is worth in the world,
rather than owe that obligation to him: yet I often wonder why he hates
so to be obliged, for when he was rich himself he was always doing
something to oblige other people. But I fear the surgeon thinks him very
bad! for he won't speak to us when we follow him down stairs.
I am sadly ashamed to send this bad writing, but I dare not ask my
brother for any help, because he would only be angry that I wrote any
thing about him at all; but indeed I have seen too little good come of
pride to think of imitating it; and as I have not his genius, I am sure
there is no need I should have his defects: ill, therefore, as I write,
you, madam, who have so much goodness and gentleness, would forgive it,
I believe, if it was worse, almost. And though we are not in need of
your kind offers, it is a great comfort to me to think there is a lady
in the world that, if we come to be quite destitute, and if the proud
heart of my poor unhappy brother should be quite broke down, will look
upon our distress with pity, and generously help us from quite sinking
under it.--I remain, Madam, with the most humble respect, your ever most
obliged humble servant, HENRIETTA BELFIELD.
Cecilia, much moved by the simplicity of this letter, determined that
her very first visit from Portman-square should be to its fair and
innocent writer. And having now an assurance that she was in no
immediate distress, and that her brother was actually under Mr Rupil's
care, she dismissed from her mind the only subject of uneasiness that at
present had endeavoured to disturb it, and gave herself wholly up to the
delightful serenity of [unalloyed] happiness.
Few are the days of felicity unmixed which we acknowledge while we
experience, though many are those we deplore, when by sorrow taught
their value, and by misfortune, their loss. Time with Cecilia now glided
on with such rapidity, that before she thought the morning half over,
the evening was closed, and ere she was sensible the first week was
past, the second was departed for ever. More and more pleased with the
inmates of her new habitation, she found in the abilities of Mrs Delvile
sources inexhaustible of entertainment, and, in the disposition and
sentiments of her son something so concordant to her own, that almost
every word he spoke shewed the sympathy of their minds, and almost every
look which caught her eyes was a reciprocation of intelligence. Her
heart, deeply wounded of late by unexpected indifference, and unreserved
mortification, was now, perhaps, more than usually susceptible of
those penetrating and exquisite pleasures which friendship and kindness
possess the highest powers of bestowing. Easy, gay, and airy, she only
rose to happiness, and only retired to rest; and not merely heightened
was her present enjoyment by her past disappointment, but, carrying her
retrospection to her earliest remembrance, she still found her actual
situation more peculiarly adapted to her taste and temper, than any she
had hitherto at any time experienced.
The very morning that the destined fortnight was elapsed, she received
a note from Mrs Harrel, with information of her arrival in town, and an
entreaty that she would return to Portman-square.
Cecilia, who, thus happy, had forgot to mark the progress of time, was
now all amazement to find the term of her absence so soon past. She
thought of going back with the utmost reluctance, and of quitting
her new abode with the most lively regret. The representations of Mr
Monckton daily lost their force, and notwithstanding her dislike of
Mr Delvile, she had no wish so earnest as that of being settled in his
family for the rest of her minority.
To effect this was her next thought; yet she knew not how to make the
proposal, but from the uncommon partiality of Mrs Delvile, she hoped,
with a very little encouragement, she would lead to it herself.
Here, however, she was disappointed; Mrs Delvile, when she heard of the
summons from the Harrels, expressed her sorrow at losing her in terms
of the most flattering regret, yet seemed to think the parting
indispensable, and dropt not the most distant hint of attempting to
prevent it.
Cecilia, vexed and disconcerted, then made arrangements for her
departure, which she fixed for the next morning.
The rest of this day, unlike every other which for the last fortnight
had preceded it, was passed with little appearance, and no reality of
satisfaction: Mrs Delvile was evidently concerned, her son openly avowed
his chagrin, and Cecilia felt the utmost mortification; yet, though
every one was discontented, no effort was made towards obtaining any
delay.
The next morning during breakfast, Mrs Delvile very elegantly thanked
her for granting to her so much of her time, and earnestly begged to
see her in future whenever she could be spared from her other friends;
protesting she was now so accustomed to her society, that she should
require both long and frequent visits to soften the separation. This
request was very eagerly seconded by young Delvile, who warmly spoke
his satisfaction that his mother had found so charming a friend, and
unaffectedly joined in her entreaties that the intimacy might be still
more closely cemented.
Cecilia had no great difficulty in according her compliance to those
demands, of which the kindness and cordiality somewhat lessened her
disturbance at the parting.
When Mrs Harrel's carriage arrived, Mrs Delvile took a most affectionate
leave of her, and her son attended her to the coach.
In her way down stairs, he stopt her for a few moments, and in some
confusion said “I wish much to apologize to Miss Beverley, before her
departure, for the very gross mistake of which I have been guilty. I
know not if it is possible she can pardon me, and I hardly know myself
by what perversity and blindness I persisted so long in my error.”
“O,” cried Cecilia, much rejoiced at this voluntary explanation, “if you
are but convinced you were really in an error, I have nothing more to
wish. Appearances, indeed, were so strangely against me, that I ought
not, perhaps, to wonder they deceived you.”
“This is being candid indeed,” answered he, again leading her on: “and
in truth, though your anxiety was obvious, its cause was obscure, and
where any thing is left to conjecture, opinion interferes, and the
judgment is easily warped. My own partiality, however, for Mr Belfield,
will I hope plead my excuse, as from that, and not from any prejudice
against the Baronet, my mistake arose: on the contrary, so highly I
respect your taste and your discernment, that your approbation, when
known, can scarcely fail of securing mine.”
Great as was the astonishment of Cecilia at the conclusion of this
speech; she was at the coach door before she could make any answer: but
Delvile, perceiving her surprise, added, while he handed her in, “Is
it possible--but no, it is _not_ possible I should be again mistaken. I
forbore to speak at all, till I had information by which I could not be
misled.”
“I know not in what unaccountable obscurity,” cried Cecilia, “I, or
my affairs, may be involved, but I perceive that the cloud which I had
hoped was dissipated, is thicker and more impenetrable than ever.”
Delvile then bowed to her with a look that accused her of insincerity,
and the carriage drove away.
Teazed by these eternal mistakes, and provoked to find that though the
object of her supposed partiality was so frequently changed, the notion
of her positive engagement with one of the duelists was invariable, she
resolved with all the speed in her power, to commission Mr Monckton to
wait upon Sir Robert Floyer, and in her own name give a formal rejection
to his proposals, and desire him thenceforward to make known, by
every opportunity, their total independence of each other: for sick of
debating with Mr Harrel, and detesting all intercourse with Sir Robert,
she now dropt her design of seeking an explanation herself.
She was received by Mrs Harrel with the same coldness with which she had
parted from her. That lady appeared now to have some uneasiness upon her
mind, and Cecilia endeavoured to draw from her its cause; but far from
seeking any alleviation in friendship, she studiously avoided her,
seeming pained by her conversation, and reproached by her sight. Cecilia
perceived this encreasing reserve with much concern, but with more
indignation, conscious that her good offices had merited a better
reception, and angry to find that her advice had not merely failed of
success, but even exposed her to aversion.
Mr Harrel, on the contrary, behaved to her with unusual civility, seemed
eager to oblige her, and desirous to render his house more agreeable to
her than ever. But in this he did not prosper; for Cecilia, immediately
upon her return, looking in her apartment for the projected alterations,
and finding none had been made, was so disgusted by such a detection of
duplicity, that he sunk yet lower than before in her opinion, and she
repined at the necessity she was under of any longer continuing his
guest.
The joy of Mr Arnott at again seeing her, was visible and sincere; and
not a little was it encreased by finding that Cecilia, who sought not
more to avoid Mr Harrel and Sir Robert, than she was herself avoided
by Mrs Harrel, talked with pleasure to nobody else in the house, and
scarcely attempted to conceal that he was the only one of the family who
possessed any portion of her esteem.
Even Sir Robert appeared now to have formed a design of paying her
rather more respect than he had hitherto thought necessary; but the
violence he did himself was so evident, and his imperious nature seemed
so repugnant to the task, that his insolence, breaking forth by starts,
and checked only by compulsion, was but the more conspicuous from his
inadequate efforts to disguise it.
BOOK IV.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER i
A COMPLAINT.
As Cecilia now found herself cleared, at least, of all suspicions
of harbouring too tender a regard for Mr Belfield, her objections to
visiting his sister were removed, and the morning after her return to Mr
Harrel's, she went in a chair to Swallow-street.
She sent her servant up stairs to enquire if she might be admitted,
and was immediately taken into the room where she had twice before been
received.
In a few minutes Miss Belfield, softly opening and shutting the door of
the next apartment, made her appearance. She looked thin and pale, but
much gratified by the sight of Cecilia. “Ah madam!” she cried, “you are
good indeed not to forget us! and you can little think how it cheers and
consoles me, that such a lady as you can condescend to be kind to me. It
is quite the only pleasure that I have now in the whole world.”
“I grieve that you have no greater;” cried Cecilia, “you seem much
fatigued and harassed. How is your brother? I fear you neglect your own
health, by too much attention to his.”
“No, indeed, madam; my mother does everything for him herself, and
hardly suffers anybody else to go near him.”
“What, then, makes you so melancholy?” said Cecilia, taking her hand;
“you do not look well; your anxiety, I am sure, is too much for your
strength.”
“How should I look well, madam,” answered she, “living as I live?
However, I will not talk of myself, but of my brother,--O he is so ill!
Indeed I am sadly, sadly afraid he will never be well again!”
“What does his surgeon say? You are too tender, and too much frightened
to be any judge.”
“It is not that I think myself he will die of his wound, for Mr Rupil
says the wound is almost nothing; but he is in a constant fever, and
so thin, and so weak, that indeed it is almost impossible he should
recover!”
“You are too apprehensive,” said Cecilia, “you know not what effect the
country air may have upon him; there are many, many expedients that with
so young a man may yet be successful.”
“O no, the country air can do nothing for him! for I will not deceive
you, madam, for that would be doubly a fault when I am so ready in
blaming other people for wearing false appearances: besides, you are
so good and so gentle, that it quite composes me to talk with you. So
I will honestly speak the truth, and the whole truth at once; my poor
brother is lost--O I fear for ever lost!--all by his own unhappy pride!
He forgets his father was a tradesman, he is ashamed of all his family,
and his whole desire is to live among the grandest people, as if he
belonged to no other. And now that he can no longer do that, he takes
the disappointment so to heart that he cannot get the better of it; and
he told me this morning that he wished he was dead, for he did not know
why he should live only to see his own ruin! But when he saw how I cried
at his saying so, he was very sorry indeed, for he has always been the
kindest brother in the world, when he has been away from the great folks
who have spoilt him: 'But why,' said he, 'Henrietta, why would you have
me live, when instead of raising you and my poor mother into an higher
station, I am sunk so low, that I only help to consume your own poor
pittances to support me in my disgrace!'”
“I am sorry indeed,” said Cecilia, “to find he has so deep a sense of
the failure of his expectations: but how happens it that you are so much
wiser? Young and inexperienced as you are, and early as you must have
been accustomed, from your mother as well as from Mr Belfield, to far
other doctrine, the clearness of your judgment, and the justness of your
remarks, astonish as much as they charm me.”
“Ah madam! Brought up as I have been brought up, there is little wonder
I should see the danger of an high education, let me be ever so ignorant
of everything else; for I, and all my sisters, have been the sufferers
the whole time: and while we were kept backward, that he might be
brought forward, while we were denied comforts, that he might have
luxuries, how could we help seeing the evil of so much vanity, and
wishing we had all been brought up according to our proper station?
instead of living in continual inconvenience, and having one part of a
family struggling with distress, only to let another part of it appear
in a way he had no right to!”
“How rationally,” said Cecilia, “have you considered this subject! and
how much do I honour you for the affection you retain for your brother,
notwithstanding the wrongs you have suffered to promote his elevation!”
“Indeed he deserves it; take but from him that one fault, pride, and I
believe he has not another: and humoured and darling child as from his
infancy he has always been, who at that can wonder, or be angry?”
“And he has still no plan, no scheme for his future destination?”
“No, madam, none at all; and that it is makes him so miserable, and
being so miserable makes him so ill, for Mr Rupil says that with such
uneasiness upon his mind, he can never, in his present low state, get
well. O it is melancholy to see how he is altered! and how he has lost
all his fine spirits! he that used to be the life of us all!--And now he
hardly ever speaks a word, or if he does, he says something so sorrowful
that it cuts us to the soul! But yesterday, when my mother and I thought
he was asleep, he lifted up his head, and looked at us both with the
tears in his eyes, which almost broke our hearts to see, and then, in
a low voice, he said 'What a lingering illness is this! Ah, my dear
mother, you and poor Henrietta ought to wish it quicker over! for should
I recover, my life, hereafter, will but linger like this illness.' And
afterwards he called out, 'what on earth is to become of me? I shall
never have health for the army, nor interest, nor means; what am I to
do? subsist in the very prime of my life upon the bounty of a widowed
mother! or, with such an education, such connections as mine, enter at
last into some mean and sordid business?'”
“It seems, then,” said Cecilia, “he now less wants a physician than a
friend.”
“He has a friend, madam, a noble friend, would he but accept his
services; but he never sees him without suffering fresh vexation, and
his fever encreases after every visit he pays him.”
“Well,” said Cecilia, rising, “I find we shall not have an easy task to
manage him; but keep up your spirits, and assure yourself he shall not
be lost, if it be possible to save him.”
She then, though with much fearfulness of offending, once more made an
offer of her purse. Miss Belfield no longer started at the proposal;
yet, gratefully thanking her, said she was not in any immediate
distress, and did not dare risk the displeasure of her brother, unless
driven to it by severer necessity. Cecilia, however, drew from her
a promise that she would apply to her in any sudden difficulty, and
charged her never to think herself without a banker while her direction
was known to her.
She then bid her adieu, and returned home; meditating the whole way upon
some plan of employment and advantage for Mr Belfield, which by clearing
his prospects, might revive his spirits, and facilitate his recovery:
for since his mind was so evidently the seat of his disease, she saw
that unless she could do more for him, she had yet done nothing.
Her meditation, however, turned to no account; she could suggest
nothing, for she was ignorant what was eligible to suggest. The stations
and employments of men she only knew by occasionally hearing that such
were their professions, and such their situations in life; but with
the means and gradations by which they arose to them she was wholly
unacquainted.
Mr Monckton, her constant resource in all cases of difficulty,
immediately occurred to her as her most able counsellor, and she
determined by the first opportunity to consult with him upon the
subject, certain of advice the most judicious from his experience, and
knowledge of the world.