Produced by Delphine Lettau, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
CECILIA
or
MEMOIRS OF AN HEIRESS
VOLUME II (of III)
By Frances Burney
Edited by R. Brimley Johnson
Illustrated by M. Cubitt Cooke (Illustrations not available in this
edition)
CONTENTS
BOOK IV. Continued.
CHAPTER x. -- A MURMURING.
BOOK V.
CHAPTER i. -- A ROUT.
CHAPTER ii. -- A BROAD HINT.
CHAPTER iii. -- AN ACCOMMODATION.
CHAPTER iv. -- A DETECTION.
CHAPTER v. -- A SARCASM.
CHAPTER vi. -- A SURMISE.
CHAPTER vii. -- A BOLD STROKE.
CHAPTER viii. -- A MISER'S MANSION.
CHAPTER ix. -- A DECLARATION.
CHAPTER x. -- A GAMESTER'S CONSCIENCE.
CHAPTER xi. -- A PERSECUTION.
CHAPTER xii. -- A MAN OF BUSINESS.
CHAPTER xiii. -- A SOLUTION.
BOOK VI
CHAPTER i. -- A DEBATE.
CHAPTER ii. -- A RAILING.
CHAPTER iii. -- AN ANTIQUE MANSION.
CHAPTER iv. -- A RATTLE.
CHAPTER v. -- A STORM.
CHAPTER vi. -- A MYSTERY.
CHAPTER vii. -- AN ANECDOTE.
CHAPTER viii. -- A CONFERENCE.
CHAPTER ix. -- AN ATTACK.
CHAPTER x. -- A RETREAT.
CHAPTER xi. -- A WORRY.
BOOK VII.
CHAPTER i. -- A RENOVATION.
CHAPTER ii. -- A VISIT.
CHAPTER iii. -- AN INCIDENT.
CHAPTER iv. -- A PROPOSITION.
CHAPTER v. -- A LETTER.
CHAPTER vi. -- A DISCUSSION.
CHAPTER vii. -- A RETROSPECTION.
CHAPTER viii. -- AN EMBARRASSMENT.
CHAPTER ix. -- A TORMENT.
BOOK VIII.
CHAPTER i
BOOK IV. Continued.
CHAPTER x. -- A MURMURING.
Unable to relieve herself from this perplexity, Cecilia, to divert her
chagrin, again visited Miss Belfield. She had then the pleasure to hear
that her brother was much recovered, and had been able, the preceding
day, to take an airing, which he had borne so well that Mr Rupil had
charged him to use the same exercise every morning.
“And will he?” said Cecilia.
“No, madam, I am sadly afraid not,” she answered, “for coach hire is
very expensive, and we are willing, now, to save all we can in order to
help fitting him out for going abroad.”
Cecilia then earnestly entreated her to accept some assistance; but she
assured her she did not dare without the consent of her mother, which,
however, she undertook to obtain.
The next day, when Cecilia called to hear her success, Mrs Belfield,
who hitherto had kept out of sight, made her appearance. She found her,
alike in person, manners and conversation, a coarse and ordinary woman,
not more unlike her son in talents and acquired accomplishments, than
dissimilar to her daughter in softness and natural delicacy.
The moment Cecilia was seated, she began, without waiting for any
ceremony, or requiring any solicitation, abruptly to talk of her
affairs, and repiningly to relate her misfortunes.
“I find, madam,” she said, “you have been so kind as to visit my
daughter Henny a great many times, but as I have no time for company,
I have always kept out of the way, having other things to do than sit
still to talk. I have had a sad time of it here, ma'am, with my poor
son's illness, having no conveniencies about me, and much ado to make
him mind me; for he's all for having his own way, poor dear soul, and
I'm sure I don't know who could contradict him, for it's what I never
had the heart to do. But then, ma'am, what is to come of it? You see how
bad things go! for though I have got a very good income, it won't do for
every thing. And if it was as much again, I should want to save it all
now. For here my poor son, you see, is reduced all in a minute, as one
may say, from being one of the first gentlemen in the town, to a mere
poor object, without a farthing in the world!”
“He is, however, I hope now much better in his health?” said Cecilia.
“Yes, madam, thank heaven, for if he was worse, those might tell of it
that would, for I'm sure I should never live to hear of it. He has been
the best son in the world, madam, and used [to] nothing but the best
company, for I spared neither pains nor cost to bring him up genteely,
and I believe there's not a nobleman in the land that looks more
the gentleman. However, there's come no good of it, for though his
acquaintances was all among the first quality, he never received the
value of a penny from the best of them. So I have no great need to be
proud. But I meant for the best, though I have often enough wished I had
not meddled in the matter, but left him to be brought up in the shop, as
his father was before him.”
“His present plan, however,” said Cecilia, “will I hope make you ample
amends both for your sufferings and your tenderness.”
“What, madam, when he's going to leave me, and settle in foreign parts?
If you was a mother yourself, madam, you would not think that such good
amends.”
“Settle?” said Cecilia. “No, he only goes for a year or two.”
“That's more than I can say, madam, or any body else; and nobody knows
what may happen in that time. And how I shall keep myself up when he's
beyond seas, I am sure I don't know, for he has always been the pride of
my life, and every penny I saved for him, I thought to have been paid in
pounds.”
“You will still have your daughter, and she seems so amiable, that I am
sure you can want no consolation she will not endeavour to give you.”
“But what is a daughter, madam, to such a son as mine? a son that I
thought to have seen living like a prince, and sending his own coach for
me to dine with him! And now he's going to be taken away from me, and
nobody knows if I shall live till he comes back. But I may thank myself,
for if I had but been content to see him brought up in the shop--yet all
the world would have cried shame upon it, for when he was quite a child
in arms, the people used all to say he was born to be a gentleman, and
would live to make many a fine lady's heart ache.”
“If he can but make your heart easy,” said Cecilia, smiling, “we will
not grieve that the fine ladies should escape the prophecy.”
“O, ma'am, I don't mean by that to say he has been over gay among the
ladies, for it's a thing I never heard of him; and I dare say if any
lady was to take a fancy to him, she'd find there was not a modester
young man in the world. But you must needs think what a hardship it is
to me to have him turn out so unlucky, after all I have done for him,
when I thought to have seen him at the top of the tree, as one may say!”
“He will yet, I hope,” said Cecilia, “make you rejoice in all your
kindness to him; his health is already returning, and his affairs wear
again a more prosperous aspect.”
“But do you suppose, ma'am, that having him sent two or three hundred
miles away from me; with some young master to take care of, is the way
to make up to me what I have gone through for him? why I used to deny
myself every thing in the world, in order to save money to buy him smart
cloaths, and let him go to the Opera, and Ranelagh, and such sort of
places, that he might keep himself in fortune's way! and now you see the
end of it! here he is, in a little shabby room up two pairs of stairs,
with not one of the great folks coming near him, to see if he's so much
as dead or alive.”
“I do not wonder,” said Cecilia, “that you resent their shewing so
little gratitude for the pleasure and entertainment they have formerly
received from him but comfort yourself that it will at least secure
you from any similar disappointment, as Mr Belfield will, in future, be
guarded from forming such precarious expectations.”
“But what good will that do me, ma'am, for all the money he has been
throwing after them all this while? do you think I would have scraped it
up for him, and gone without every thing in the world, to see it all end
in this manner? why he might as well have been brought up the commonest
journeyman, for any comfort I shall have of him at this rate. And
suppose he should be drowned in going beyond seas? what am I to do
then?”
“You must not,” said Cecilia, “indulge such fears; I doubt not but your
son will return well, and return all that you wish.”
“Nobody knows that, ma'am; and the only way to be certain is for him not
to go at all; and I'm surprised, ma'am, you can wish him to make such a
journey to nobody knows where, with nothing but a young master that he
must as good as teach his A. B. C. all the way they go!”
“Certainly,” said Cecilia, amazed at this accusation, “I should not
wish him to go abroad, if any thing more eligible could be, done by his
remaining in England but as no prospect of that sort seems before him,
you must endeavour to reconcile yourself to parting with him.”
“Yes, but how am I to do that, when I don't know if ever I shall see him
again? Who could have thought of his living so among the great folks,
and then coming to want! I'm sure I thought they'd have provided for
him like a son of their own, for he used to go about to all the public
places just as they did themselves. Day after day I used to be counting
for when he would come to tell me he'd got a place at court, or
something of that sort, for I never could tell what it would be; and
then the next news I heard, was that he was shut up in this poor bit of
place, with nobody troubling their heads about him! however, I'll never
be persuaded but he might have done better, if he would but have spoke
a good word for himself, or else have let me done it for him; instead
of which, he never would so much as let me see any of his grand friends,
though I would not have made the least scruple in the world to have
asked them for any thing he had a mind to.”
Cecilia again endeavoured to give her comfort; but finding her only
satisfaction was to express her discontent, she arose to take leave.
But, turning first to Miss Belfield, contrived to make a private
enquiry whether she might repeat her offer of assistance. A downcast and
dejected look answering in the affirmative, she put into her hand a ten
pound bank note, and wishing them good morning, hurried out of the room.
Miss Belfield was running after her, but stopt by her mother, who called
out, “What is it?--How much is it?--Let me look at it!”--And then,
following Cecilia herself, she thanked her aloud all the way down stairs
for her genteelness, assuring her she would not fail making it known to
her son.
Cecilia at this declaration turned back, and exhorted her by no means
to mention it; after which she got into her chair, and returned home;
pitying Miss Belfield for the unjust partiality shewn to her brother,
and excusing the proud shame he had manifested of his relations, from
the vulgarity and selfishness of her who was at the head of them.
Almost a fortnight had now elapsed since her explanation with young
Delvile, yet not once had he been in Portman-square, though in the
fortnight which had preceded, scarce a day had passed which had not
afforded him some pretence for calling there.
At length a note arrived from Mrs Delvile. It contained the most
flattering reproaches for her long absence, and a pressing invitation
that she would dine and spend the next day with her.
Cecilia, who had merely denied herself the pleasure of this visit from
an apprehension of seeming too desirous of keeping up the connection,
now, from the same sense of propriety, determined upon making it,
wishing equally to avoid all appearance of consciousness, either by
seeking or avoiding the intimacy of the family.
Not a little was her anxiety to know in what manner young Delvile would
receive her, whether he would be grave or gay, agitated, as during their
last conversation, or easy, as in the meetings which had preceded it.
She found Mrs Delvile, however, alone; and, extremely kind to her, yet
much surprised, and half displeased, that she had so long been absent.
Cecilia, though somewhat distressed what excuses to offer, was happy to
find herself so highly in favour, and not very reluctant to promise more
frequent visits in future.
They were then summoned to dinner; but still no young Delvile was
visible; they were joined only by his father, and she found that no one
else was expected.
Her astonishment now was greater than ever, and she could account by no
possible conjecture for a conduct so extraordinary. Hitherto, whenever
she had visited in St James's-square by appointment, the air with which
he had received her, constantly announced that he had impatiently waited
her arrival; he had given up other engagements to stay with her, he
had openly expressed his hopes that she would never be long absent,
and seemed to take a pleasure in her society to which every other was
inferior. And now, how striking the difference! he forbore all visits at
the house where she resided, he even flew from his own when he knew she
was approaching it!
Nor was this the only vexation of which this day was productive; Mr
Delvile, when the servants were withdrawn after dinner, expressed some
concern that he had been called from her during their last conversation,
and added that he would take the present opportunity to talk with her
upon some matters of importance.
He then began the usual parading prelude, which, upon all occasions, he
thought necessary, in order to enhance the value of his interposition,
remind her of her inferiority, and impress her with a deeper sense of
the honour which his guardianship conferred upon her after which, he
proceeded to make a formal enquiry whether she had positively dismissed
Sir Robert Floyer?
She assured him she had.
“I understood my Lord Ernolf,” said he, “that you had totally
discouraged the addresses of his son?”
“Yes, Sir,” answered Cecilia, “for I never mean to receive them.”
“Have you, then, any other engagement?”
“No, Sir,” cried she, colouring between shame and displeasure, “none at
all.”
“This is a very extraordinary circumstance!” replied he; “the son of
an earl to be rejected by a young woman of no family, and yet no reason
assigned for it!”
This contemptuous speech so cruelly shocked Cecilia, that though he
continued to harangue her for a great part of the afternoon, she only
answered him when compelled by some question, and was so evidently
discomposed, that Mrs Delvile, who perceived her uneasiness with much
concern, redoubled her civilities and caresses, and used every method in
her power to oblige and enliven her.
Cecilia was not ungrateful for her care, and shewed her sense of it by
added respect and attention; but her mind was disturbed, and she quitted
the house as soon as she was able.
Mr Delvile's speech, from her previous knowledge of the extreme
haughtiness of his character, would not have occasioned her the smallest
emotion, had it merely related to him or to herself; but as it concerned
Lord Ernolf, she regarded it as also concerning his son, and she found
that, far from trying to promote the union Mr Monckton had told her he
had planned, he did not seem even to think of it, but, on the contrary,
proposed and seconded with all his interest another alliance.
This, added to the behaviour of young Delvile, made her suspect that
some engagement was in agitation on his own part, and that while she
thought him so sedulous only to avoid her, he was simply occupied in
seeking another. This painful suggestion, which every thing seemed to
confirm, again overset all her schemes, and destroyed all her visionary
happiness. Yet how to reconcile it with what had passed at their last
meeting she knew not; she had then every reason to believe that his
heart was in her power, and that courage, or an opportunity more
seasonable, was all he wanted to make known his devotion to her; why,
then, shun if he loved her? why, if he loved her not, seem so perturbed
at the explanation of her independence?
A very little time, however, she hoped would unravel this mystery; in
two days, the entertainment which Mr Harrel had planned, to deceive the
world by an appearance of affluence to which he had lost all title, was
to take place; young Delvile, in common with every other person who had
ever been seen at the house, had early received an invitation, which he
had readily promised to accept some time before the conversation that
seemed the period of their acquaintance had passed. Should he, after
being so long engaged, fail to keep his appointment, she could no longer
have any doubt of the justice of her conjecture; should he, on the
contrary, again appear, from his behaviour and his looks she might
perhaps be able to gather why he had so long been absent.