The next morning, when breakfast was over, Cecilia waited with much
impatience to hear some tidings of the poor carpenter’s wife; but
though Mr Harrel, who had always that meal in his own room, came
into his lady’s at his usual hour, to see what was going forward, he
did not mention her name. She therefore went into the hall herself,
to enquire among the servants if Mrs Hill was yet come?
Yes, they answered, and had seen their master, and was gone.
She then returned to the breakfast room, where her eagerness to
procure some information detained her, though the entrance of Sir
Robert Floyer made her wish to retire. But she was wholly at a loss
whether to impute to general forgetfulness, or to the failure of
performing his promise, the silence of Mr Harrel upon the subject of
her petition.
In a few minutes they were visited by Mr Morrice, who said he called
to acquaint the ladies that the next morning there was to be a
rehearsal of a very grand new dance at the Opera-House, where,
though admission was difficult, if it was agreeable to them to go,
he would undertake to introduce them.
Mrs Harrel happened to be engaged, and therefore declined the offer.
He then turned to Cecilia, and said, “Well, ma’am, when did you see
our friend Monckton?”
“Not since the rehearsal, sir.”
“He is a mighty agreeable fellow,” he continued, “and his house in
the country is charming. One is as easy at it as at home. Were you
ever there, Sir Robert?”
“Not I, truly,” replied Sir Robert; “what should I go for?—to see
an old woman with never a tooth in her head sitting at the top of
the table! Faith, I’d go an hundred miles a day for a month never to
see such a sight again.”
“O but you don’t know how well she does the honours,” said Morrice;
“and for my part, except just at meal times, I always contrive to
keep out of her way.”
“I wonder when she intends to die,” said Mr Harrel.
“She’s been a long time about it,” cried Sir Robert; “but those
tough old cats last for ever. We all thought she was going when
Monckton married her; however, if he had not managed like a
driveler, he might have broke her heart nine years ago.”
“I am sure I wish he had,” cried Mrs Harrel, “for she’s an odious
creature, and used always to make me afraid of her.”
“But an old woman,” answered Sir Robert, “is a person who has no
sense of decency; if once she takes to living, the devil himself
can’t get rid of her.”
“I dare say,” cried Morrice, “she’ll pop off before long in one of
those fits of the asthma. I assure you sometimes you may hear her
wheeze a mile off.”
“She’ll go never the sooner for that,” said Sir Robert, “for I have
got an old aunt of my own, who has been puffing and blowing as if
she was at her last gasp ever since I can remember; and for all
that, only yesterday, when I asked her doctor when she’d give up the
ghost, he told me she might live these dozen years.”
Cecilia was by no means sorry to have this brutal conversation
interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a letter for her. She
was immediately retiring to read it; but upon the petition of Mr
Monckton, who just then came into the room, she only went to a
window. The letter was as follows:
To Miss, at his Honour Squire Harrel’s—These:
Honoured Madam,—This with my humble duty. His Honour has given me
nothing. But I would not be troublesome, having wherewithal to wait,
so conclude, Honoured Madam, your dutiful servant to command, till
death, M. HILL.
The vexation with which Cecilia read this letter was visible to the
whole company; and while Mr Arnott looked at her with a wish of
enquiry he did not dare express, and Mr Monckton, under an
appearance of inattention, concealed the most anxious curiosity, Mr
Morrice alone had courage to interrogate her; and, pertly advancing,
said, “He is a happy man who writ that letter, ma’am, for I am sure
you have not read it with indifference.”
“Were I the writer,” said Mr Arnott, tenderly, “I am sure I should
reckon myself far otherwise, for Miss Beverley seems to have read it
with uneasiness.”
“However, I have read it,” answered she, “I assure you it is not
from any man.”
“O pray, Miss Beverley,” cried Sir Robert, coming forward, “are you
any better to-day?”
“No, sir, for I have not been ill.”
“A little vapoured, I thought, yesterday; perhaps you want
exercise.”
“I wish the ladies would put themselves under my care,” cried
Morrice, “and take a turn round the park.”
“I don’t doubt you, Sir,” said Mr Monckton, contemptuously, “and,
but for the check of modesty, probably there is not a man here who
would not wish the same.”
“I could propose a much better scheme than that,” said Sir Robert;
“what if you all walk to Harley Street, and give me your notions of
a house I am about there? what say you, Mrs Harrel?”
“O, I shall like it vastly.”
“Done,” cried Mr Harrel; “’tis an excellent motion.”
“Come then,” said Sir Robert, “let’s be off. Miss Beverley, I hope
you have a good warm cloak?”
“I must beg you to excuse my attending you, sir.”
Mr Monckton, who had heard this proposal with the utmost dread of
its success, revived at the calm steadiness with which it was
declined. Mr and Mrs Harrel both teized Cecilia to consent; but the
haughty Baronet, evidently more offended than hurt by her refusal,
pressed the matter no further, either with her or the rest of the
party, and the scheme was dropt entirely.
Mr Monckton failed not to remark this circumstance, which confirmed
his suspicions, that though the proposal seemed made by chance, its
design was nothing else than to obtain Cecilia’s opinion concerning
his house. But while this somewhat alarmed him, the unabated
insolence of his carriage, and the confident defiance of his pride,
still more surprized him; and notwithstanding all he observed of
Cecilia, seemed to promise nothing but dislike; he could draw no
other inference from his behaviour, than that if he admired, he also
concluded himself sure of her.
This was not a pleasant conjecture, however little weight he allowed
to it; and he resolved, by outstaying all the company, to have a few
minutes’ private discourse with her upon the subject.
In about half an hour, Sir Robert and Mr Harrel went out together:
Mr Monckton still persevered in keeping his ground, and tried,
though already weary, to keep up a general conversation; but what
moved at once his wonder and his indignation was the assurance of
Morrice, who seemed not only bent upon staying as long as himself,
but determined, by rattling away, to make his own entertainment.
At length a servant came in to tell Mrs Harrel that a stranger, who
was waiting in the house-keeper’s room, begged to speak with her
upon very particular business.
“O, I know,” cried she, “’tis that odious John Groot: do pray,
brother, try to get rid of him for me, for he comes to teize me
about his bill, and I never know what to say to him.”
Mr Arnott went immediately, and Mr Monckton could scarce refrain
from going too, that he might entreat John Groot by no means to be
satisfied without seeing Mrs Harrel herself: John Groot, however,
wanted not his entreaties, as the servant soon returned to summons
his lady to the conference.
But though Mr Monckton now seemed near the completion of his
purpose, Morrice still remained; his vexation at this circumstance
soon grew intolerable; to see himself upon the point of receiving
the recompense of his perseverance, by the fortunate removal of all
the obstacles in its way, and then to have it held from him by a
young fellow he so much despised, and who had no entrance into the
house but through his own boldness, and no inducement to stay in it
but from his own impertinence, mortified him so insufferably, that
it was with difficulty he even forbore from affronting him. Nor
would he have scrupled a moment desiring him to leave the room, had
he not prudently determined to guard with the utmost sedulity
against raising any suspicions of his passion for Cecilia.
He arose, however, and was moving towards her, with the intention to
occupy a part of a sofa on which she was seated, when Morrice, who
was standing at the back of it, with a sudden spring which made the
whole room shake, jumpt over, and sunk plump into the vacant place
himself, calling out at the same time, “Come, come, what have you
married men to do with young ladies? I shall seize this post for
myself.”
The rage of Mr Monckton at this feat, and still more at the words
married men, almost exceeded endurance; he stopt short, and
looking at him with a fierceness that overpowered his discretion,
was bursting out with, “Sir, you are an—impudent fellow,”
but checking himself when he got half way, concluded with, “a very
facetious gentleman!”
Morrice, who wished nothing so little as disobliging Mr Monckton,
and whose behaviour was merely the result of levity and a want of
early education, no sooner perceived his displeasure, than, rising
with yet more agility than he had seated himself, he resumed the
obsequiousness of which an uncommon flow of spirits had robbed him,
and guessing no other subject for his anger than the disturbance he
had made, he bowed almost to the ground, first to him, and
afterwards to Cecilia, most respectfully begging pardon of them both
for his frolic, and protesting he had no notion he should have made
such a noise!
Mrs Harrel and Mr Arnott, now hastening back, enquired what had been
the matter? Morrice, ashamed of his exploit, and frightened by the
looks of Mr Monckton, made an apology with the utmost humility, and
hurried away: and Mr Monckton, hopeless of any better fortune, soon
did the same, gnawn with a cruel discontent which he did not dare
avow, and longing. to revenge himself upon Morrice, even by personal
chastisement.
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