such as to render advice particularly seasonable; I am sorry, therefore,
as I before said, you have not disclosed your situation to Mrs Delvile.
A young lady on the point of making an establishment, and with many
engagements in her power, is extremely liable to be mistaken in her
judgment, and therefore should solicit instruction from those who are
able to acquaint her what connection would be most to her advantage. One
thing, however, I am happy to commend, the young man who was wounded in
the duel--I cannot recollect his name--is, I hear, totally out of the
question.”
What next? thought Cecilia; though still she gave him no interruption,
for the haughtiness of his manner was repulsive to reply.
“My design, therefore, is to speak to you of Sir Robert Floyer. When
I had last the pleasure of addressing you upon this subject, you may
probably remember my voice was in his favour; but I then regarded him
merely as the rival of an inconsiderable young man, to rescue you from
whom he appeared an eligible person. The affair is now altered, that
young man is thought of no more, and another rival comes forward, to
whom Sir Robert is as inconsiderable as the first rival was to Sir
Robert.”
Cecilia started at this information, livelier sensations stimulated
her curiosity, and surmises in which she was most deeply interested
quickened her attention.
“This rival,” proceeded he, “I should imagine no young lady would a
moment hesitate in electing; he is every way the superior of Sir Robert
except in fortune, and the deficiencies of that the splendour of your
own may amply supply.”
The deepest crimson now tinged the cheeks of Cecilia; the prophecy of Mr
Monckton seemed immediately fulfilling, and she trembled with a rising
conflict between her approbation of the offer, and her dread of its
consequences.
“I know not, indeed,” continued he, “in what estimation you may have
been accustomed to hold rank and connection, nor whether you are
impressed with a proper sense of their superiority and value; for early
prejudices are not easily rooted out, and those who have lived chiefly
with monied people, regard even birth itself as unimportant when
compared with wealth.”
The colour which first glowed in the cheeks of Cecilia from expectation,
now rose yet higher from resentment: she thought herself already
insulted by a prelude so ostentatious and humiliating to the proposals
which were to follow; and she angrily determined, with whatever pain to
her heart, to assert her own dignity by refusing them at once, too well
satisfied by what she now saw of the present, that Mr Monckton had been
just in his prediction of the future.
“Your rejection, therefore,” continued he, “of this honourable offer,
may perhaps have been merely the consequence of the principles in which
you have been educated.--”
“Rejection?” interrupted Cecilia, amazed, “what rejection, Sir?”
“Have you not refused the proposals of my Lord Ernolf for his son?”
“Lord Ernolf? never! nor have I ever seen either his Lordship or his son
but in public.”
“That,” replied Mr Delvile, “is little to the purpose; where the
connexion is a proper one, a young lady of delicacy has only to accede
to it. But though this rejection came not immediately from yourself, it
had doubtless your concurrence.”
“It had not, Sir, even my knowledge.”
“Your alliance then with Sir Robert Floyer is probably nearer a
conclusion than I had imagined, for otherwise Mr Harrel would not,
without consulting you, have given the Earl so determinate an answer.”
“No, Sir,” said Cecilia, impatiently, “my alliance with him was never
more distant, nor do I mean it should ever approach more near.”
She was now little disposed for further conversation. Her heroic design
of refusing young Delvile by no means reconciled her to the discovery
she now made that he had not meant to address her; and though she was
provoked and fretted at this new proof that Mr Harrel scrupled neither
assertions nor actions to make her engagement with Sir Robert credited,
her disappointment in finding that Mr Delvile, instead of pleading the
cause of his son, was exerting his interest for another person, affected
her so much more nearly, that notwithstanding he still continued his
parading harangue, she scarcely knew even the subject of his discourse,
and seized the first opportunity of a cessation to rise and take her
leave.
He asked her if she would not call upon Mrs Delvile; but desirous to be
alone, she declined the invitation; he then charged her to proceed no
further with Sir Robert till he had made some enquiries concerning Lord
Ernolf, and graciously promising his protection and counsel, suffered
her to depart.
Cecilia now perceived she might plan her rejections, or study her
dignity at her leisure, for neither Mr Delvile nor his son seemed in
any haste to put her fortitude to the proof. With regard, therefore, to
their plots and intentions, Mr Monckton she found was wrong, but with
respect to their conduct and sentiments, she had every reason to believe
him right: and though her heart refused to rejoice in escaping a trial
of its strength, her judgment was so well convinced that his painting
was from the life, that she determined to conquer her partiality for
young Delvile, since she looked forward to nothing but mortification in
a connexion with his family.
CHAPTER v
AN AGITATION.
With this intention, and every faculty of her mind absorbed in
reflecting upon the reasons which gave rise to it, she returned to
Portman-square.
As her chair was carried into the hall, she observed, with some alarm, a
look of consternation among the servants, and an appearance of confusion
in the whole house. She was proceeding to her own room, intending to
enquire of her maid if any evil had happened, when she was crossed
upon the stairs by Mr Harrel, who passed her with an air so wild and
perturbed, that he hardly seemed to know her.
Frightened and amazed, she stopt short, irresolute which way to go; but,
hastily returning, he beckoned her to follow him.
She obeyed, and he led her to the library. He then shut the door, and
abruptly seizing her hand, called out, “Miss Beverley, I am ruined!--I
am undone!--I am blasted for ever!”
“I hope not, Sir!” said Cecilia, extremely terrified, “I hope not! Where
is Mrs Harrel?”
“O I know not! I know not!” cried he, in a frantic manner, “but I have
not seen her,--I cannot see her,--I hope I shall never see her more!--”
“O fie! fie!” said Cecilia, “let me call her, I beg; you should consult
with her in this distress, and seek comfort from her affection.”
“From her affection?” repeated he, fiercely, “from her hatred you
mean! do you not know that she, too, is ruined? Oh past redemption
ruined!--and yet that I should hesitate, that I should a moment hesitate
to conclude the whole business at once!”
“How dreadful!” cried Cecilia, “what horrible thing has happened?”
“I have undone Priscilla!” cried he, “I have blasted my credit! I have
destroyed--no, not yet quite destroyed myself!”
“O yet nor ever!” cried Cecilia, whose agitation now almost equalled
his own, “be not so desperate, I conjure you! speak to me more
intelligibly,--what does all this mean? How has it come to pass?”
“My debts!--my creditors!--one way only,” striking his hand upon his
forehead, “is left for me!”
“Do not say so, Sir!” said Cecilia, “you shall find many ways; pray have
courage! pray speak calmly; and if you will but be more prudent, will
but, in future, better regulate your affairs, I will myself undertake--”
She stopt; checked in the full career of her overflowing compassion, by
a sense of the worthlessness of its object; and by the remembrance of
the injunctions of Mr Monckton.
“What will you undertake?” cried he, eagerly, “I know you are an
angel!--tell me, what will you undertake?”
“I will,--” said Cecilia, hesitating, “I will speak to Mr Monckton,--I
will consult--”
“You may as well consult with every cursed creditor in the house!”
interrupted he; “but do so, if you please; my disgrace must perforce
reach him soon, and a short anticipation is not worth begging off.”
“Are your creditors then actually in the house?”
“O yes, yes! and therefore it is high time I should be out of it!--Did
you not see them?--Do they not line the hall?--They threaten me with
three executions before night!--three executions unless I satisfy their
immediate demands!--”
“And to what do their demands amount?”
“I know not!--I dare not ask!--to some thousand pounds, perhaps,--and I
have not, at this minute, forty guineas in the house!”
“Nay, then,” cried Cecilia, retreating, “I can indeed do nothing! if
their demands are so high, I _ought_ to do nothing.”
She would then have quitted him, not more shocked at his situation, than
indignant at the wilful extravagance which had occasioned it.
“Stay,” cried he, “and hear me!” then, lowering his voice, “seek
out,” he continued, “your unfortunate friend,--go to the poor ruined
Priscilla,--prepare her for tidings of horror! and do not, though you
renounce Me, do not abandon Her!”
Then, fiercely passing her, he was himself leaving the room; but
Cecilia, alarmed by the fury of his manner, called out, “What is it you
mean? what tidings of horror? whither are you going?”
“To hell!” cried he, and rushed out of the apartment.
Cecilia screamed aloud, and conjuring him to hear her, ran after him;
he paid her no regard, but, flying faster than she had power to pursue,
reached his own dressing-room, shut himself into it with violence, and
just as she arrived at the door, turned the key, and bolted it.
Her terror was now inexpressible; she believed him in the very act of
suicide, and her refusal of assistance seemed the signal for the deed:
her whole fortune, at that moment, was valueless and unimportant to her,
compared with the preservation of a fellow-creature: she called out with
all the vehemence of agony to beg he would open the door, and eagerly
promised by all that was sacred to do everything in her power to save
him.
At these words he opened it; his face was totally without colour, and he
grasped a razor in his hand.
“You have stopt me,” said he, in a voice scarce audible, “at the very
moment I had gathered courage for the blow: but if indeed you will
assist me, I will shut this up,--if not, I will steep it in my blood!”
“I will! I will!” cried Cecilia, “I will do every thing you desire!”
“And quickly?”
“Immediately.”
“Before my disgrace is known? and while all may yet be hushed up?”
“Yes, yes! all--any--every thing you wish!”
“Swear, then!”
Here Cecilia drew back; her recollection returned as her terror abated,
and her repugnance to entering into an engagement for she knew not
what, with a man whose actions she condemned, and whose principles she
abhorred, made all her fright now give way to indignation, and, after a
short pause, she angrily answered, “No, Sir, I will not swear!--but yet,
all that is reasonable, all that is friendly--”
“Hear me swear, then!” interrupted he, furiously, “which at this moment
I do, by every thing eternal, and by every thing infernal, that I
will not outlive the seizure of my property, and that the moment I am
informed there is an execution in my house, shall be the last of my
existence!”
“What cruelty! what compulsion! what impiety!” cried Cecilia: “give me,
however, that horrible instrument, and prescribe to me what conditions
you please.”
A noise was now heard below stairs, at which Cecilia, who had not dared
call for help lest he should quicken his desperation, was secretly
beginning to rejoice, when, starting at the sound, he exclaimed, “I
believe you are too late!--the ruffians have already seized my house!”
then, endeavouring to force her out of the room, “Go,” he cried, “to my
wife;--I want to be alone!”
“Oh give me first,” cried she, “that weapon, and I will take what oath
you please!”
“No, no!--go,--leave me,--” cried he, almost breathless with emotion, “I
must not now be trifled with.”
“I do not trifle! indeed I do not!” cried Cecilia, holding by his arm:
“try, put me to the proof!”
“Swear, solemnly swear, to empty my house of these creditors this
moment!”
“I do swear,” cried she, with energy, “and Heaven prosper me as I am
sincere!”
“I see, I see you are an angel!” cried he, rapturously, “and as such I
worship and adore you! O you have restored me to life, and rescued me
from perdition!”
“Give me, then, that fatal instrument!”
“That instrument,” returned he, “is nothing, since so many others are in
my power; but you have now taken from me all desire of using them. Go,
then, and stop those wretches from coming to me,--send immediately for
the Jew!--he will advance what money you please,--my man knows where
to find him; consult with Mr Arnott,--speak a word of comfort to
Priscilla,--but do nothing, nothing at all, till you have cleared my
house of those cursed scoundrels!”
Cecilia, whose heart sunk within her at the solemn promise she had
given, the mention of the Jew, and the arduous task she had undertaken,
quitted him without reply, and was going to her own room, to compose her
hurried spirits, and consider what steps she had to take, when hearing
the noise in the hall grow louder, she stopt to listen, and catching
some words that greatly alarmed her, went half way down stairs, when
she was met by Davison, Mr Harrel's man, of whom she enquired into the
occasion of the disturbance.
He answered that he must go immediately to his master, for the bailiffs
were coming into the house.
“Let him not know it if you value his life!” cried she, with new terror.
“Where is Mr Arnott? call him to me,--beg him to come this moment;--I
will wait for him here.”
The man flew to obey her; and Cecilia, finding she had time neither for
deliberation nor regret, and dreading lest Mr Harrel, by hearing of the
arrival of the bailiffs, should relapse into despair, determined to call
to her aid all the courage, prudence, and judgment she possessed, and,
since to act she was compelled, endeavour with her best ability, to save
his credit, and retrieve his affairs.
The moment Mr Arnott came, she ordered Davison to hasten to his master,
and watch his motions.
Then, addressing Mr Arnott, “Will you. Sir,” she said, “go and tell
those people that if they will instantly quit the house, every thing
shall be settled, and Mr Harrel will satisfy their demands?”
“Ah madam!” cried Mr Arnott, mournfully, “and how? he has no means to
pay them, and I have none--without ruin to myself,--to help him!”
“Send them but away,” said Cecilia, “and I will myself be your security
that your promise shall not be disgraced.”
“Alas, madam,” cried he, “what are you doing? well as I wish to Mr
Harrel, miserable as I am for my unfortunate sister, I yet cannot bear
that such goodness, such beneficence should be injured!”
Cecilia, however, persisted, and with evident reluctance he obeyed her.
While she waited his return, Davison came from Mr Harrel, who had
ordered him to run instantly for the Jew.
Good Heaven, thought Cecilia, that a man so wretchedly selfish and
worldly, should dare, with all his guilt upon his head,
To rush unlicenced on eternity! [Footnote: Mason's Elfrida]
Mr Arnott was more than half an hour with the people; and when, at last,
he returned, his countenance immediately proclaimed the ill success of
his errand. The creditors, he said, declared they had so frequently
been deceived, that they would not dismiss the bailiffs, or retire
themselves, without actual payment.
“Tell them, then, Sir,” said Cecilia, “to send me their accounts, and,
if it be possible, I will discharge them directly.”
Mr Arnott's eyes were filled with tears at this declaration, and he
protested, be the consequence to himself what it might, he would pay
away every shilling he was worth, rather than witness such injustice.
“No,” cried Cecilia, exerting more spirit, that she might shock him
less, “I did not save Mr Harrel, to destroy so much better a man! you
have suffered but too much oppression already; the present evil is mine;
and from me, at least, none I hope will ever spread to Mr Arnott.”
Mr Arnott could not bear this; he was struck with grief, with
admiration, and with gratitude, and finding his tears now refused to be
restrained, he went to execute her commission in silent dejection.
The dejection, however, was encreased, though his tears were dispersed,
when he returned; “Oh madam!” he cried, “all your efforts, generous as
they are, will be of no avail! the bills even now in the house amount to
more than L7000!”
Cecilia, amazed and confounded, started and clasped her hands, calling
out, “What must I do! to what have I bound myself! and how can I answer
to my conscience,--to my successors, such a disposal, such an abuse of
so large a part of my fortune!”
Mr Arnott could make no answer; and they stood looking at each other in
silent irresolution, till Davison brought intelligence that the Jew was
already come, and waited to speak with her.
“And what can I say to him?” cried she, more and more agitated; “I
understand nothing of usury; how am I to deal with him?”
Mr Arnott then confessed that he should himself have instantly been bail
for his brother, but that his fortune, originally not large, was now so
much impaired by the many debts which from time to time he had paid for
him, that as he hoped some day to have a family of his own, he dare not
run a risk by which he might be utterly ruined, and the less, as his
sister had at Violet Bank been prevailed upon to give up her settlement.
This account, which explained the late uneasiness of Mrs Harrel, still
encreased the distress of Cecilia; and every moment she obtained for
reflection, augmented her reluctance to parting with _so_ large a sum of
money for so worthless an object, and added strength to her resentment
for the unjustifiable menaces which had extorted from her such a
promise. Yet not an instant would she listen to Mr Arnott's offer of
fulfilling her engagement, and charged him, as he considered her
own self-esteem worth her keeping, not to urge to her a proposal so
ungenerous and selfish.
Davison now came again to hasten her, and said that the Jew was with his
master, and they both impatiently expected her.
Cecilia, half distracted with her uncertainty how to act, changed colour
at this message, and exclaimed “Oh Mr Arnott, run I beseech you for Mr
Monckton! bring him hither directly,--if any body can save me it is him;
but if I go back to Mr Harrel, I know it will be all over!”
“Certainly,” said Mr Arnott, “I will run to him this moment.”
“Yet no!--stop!--” cried the trembling Cecilia, “he can now do me no
good,--his counsel will arrive too late to serve me,--it cannot call
back the oath I have given! it cannot, compulsatory as it was, make me
break it, and not be miserable for ever!”
This idea sufficed to determine her; and the apprehension of
self-reproach, should the threat of Mr Harrel be put in execution, was
more insupportable to her blameless and upright mind, than any loss or
diminution which her fortune could sustain.
Slowly however, with tardy and unwilling steps, her judgment repugnant,
and her spirit repining, she obeyed the summons of Mr Harrel, who,
impatient of her delay, came forward to meet her.
“Miss Beverley,” he cried, “there is not a moment to be lost; this good
man will bring you any sum of money, upon a proper consideration, that
you will command; but if he is not immediately commissioned, and
these cursed fellows are not got out of my house, the affair will be
blown,”---“and what will follow,” added he, lowering his voice, “I will
not again frighten you by repeating, though I shall never recant.”
Cecilia turned from him in horror; and, with a faltering voice and heavy
heart, entreated Mr Arnott to settle for her with the Jew.
Large as was the sum, she was so near being of age, and her security
was so good, that the transaction was soon finished: 7500 pounds was
received of the Jew, Mr Harrel gave Cecilia his bond for the payment,
the creditors were satisfied, the bailiffs were dismissed, and the house
was soon restored to its customary appearance of splendid gaiety.
Mrs Harrel, who during this scene had shut herself up in her own room
to weep and lament, now flew to Cecilia, and in a transport of joy and
gratitude, thanked her upon her knees for thus preserving her from utter
ruin: the gentle Mr Arnott seemed uncertain whether most to grieve or
rejoice; and Mr Harrel repeatedly protested she should have the sole
guidance of his future conduct.
This promise, the hope of his amendment, and the joy she had expanded,
somewhat revived the spirits of Cecilia; who, however, deeply affected
by what had passed, hastened from them all to her own room.
She had now parted with 8050 pounds to Mr Harrel, without any security
when or how it was to be paid; and that ardour of benevolence which
taught her to value her riches merely as they enabled her to do good and
generous actions, was here of no avail to console or reward her, for
her gift was compelled, and its receiver was all but detested. “How much
better,” cried she, “would this have been bestowed upon the amiable Miss
Belfield! or upon her noble-minded, though proud-spirited brother! and
how much less a sum would have made the virtuous and industrious
Hills easy and happy for life! but here, to become the tool of the
extravagance I abhor! to be made responsible for the luxury I condemn!
to be liberal in opposition to my principles, and lavish in defiance of
my judgment!--Oh that my much-deceived Uncle had better known to what
dangerous hands he committed me! and that my weak and unhappy friend had
met with a worthier protector of her virtue and safety!”
As soon, however, as she recovered from the first shock of her
reflections, she turned her thoughts from herself to the formation
of some plan that might, at least, render her donation of serious and
lasting use. The signal service she had just done them gave her at
present an ascendency over the Harrels, which she hoped, if immediately
exerted, might prevent the return of so calamitous a scene, by engaging
them both to an immediate change of conduct. But unequal herself
to contriving expedients for this purpose that might not easily be
controverted, she determined to send the next morning a petition to
Mr Monckton to call upon her, reveal to him the whole transaction, and
entreat him to suggest to her what, with most probability of success,
she might offer to their consideration.
While this was passing in her mind, on the evening of the day in
which she had so dearly purchased the right of giving counsel, she was
summoned to tea.
She found Mr Harrel and his lady engaged in earnest discourse; as soon
as she appeared, the former said, “My dear Miss Beverley, after the
extraordinary kindness you have shewn me this morning, you will not, I
am sure, deny me one trifling favour which I mean to ask this evening.”
“No,” said Mrs Harrel, “that I am sure she will not, when she knows that
our future appearance in the world depends upon her granting it.”
“I hope, then,” said Cecilia, “I shall not wish to refuse it.”
“It is nothing in the world,” said Mr Harrel, “but to go with us
to-night to the Pantheon.”
Cecilia was struck with the utmost indignation at this proposal;
that the man who in the morning had an execution in his house, should
languish in the evening for the amusement of a public place,--that he
who but a few hours before was plunging uncalled into eternity, should,
while the intended instrument of death was yet scarce cold from the
grasp of his hand, deliberately court a return of his distress, by
instantly recurring to the methods which had involved him in it,
irritated and shocked her beyond even a wish of disguising her
displeasure, and therefore, after an expressive silence, she gave a
cold, but absolute denial.
“I see,” said Mr Harrel, somewhat confused, “you do not understand the
motives of our request. The unfortunate affair of this morning is very
likely to spread presently all over the town; the only refutation that
can be given to it, is by our all appearing in public before any body
knows whether to believe it or not.”
“Do, my dearest friend,” cried his lady, “oblige me by your compliance;
indeed our whole reputation depends upon it. I made an engagement
yesterday to go with Mrs Mears, and if I disappoint her, every body will
be guessing the reason.”
“At least,” answered Cecilia, “my going can answer no purpose to you:
pray, therefore, do not ask me; I am ill disposed for such sort of
amusement, and have by no means your opinion of its necessity.”