As not a moment was now to be lost, Cecilia had no sooner suggested
this scheme, than she hastened to St James’s-Square, to try its
practicability.
She found Mrs Delvile alone, and still at breakfast.
After the first compliments were over, while she was considering in
what manner to introduce her proposal, Mrs Delvile herself led to
the subject, by saying, “I am very sorry to hear we are so soon to
lose you; but I hope Mr Harrel does not intend to make any long stay
at his villa; for if he does, I shall be half tempted to come and
run away with you from him.”
“And that,” said Cecilia, delighted with this opening, “would be an
honour I am more than half tempted to desire.”
“Why indeed your leaving London at this time,” continued Mrs
Delvile, “is, for me, particularly unfortunate, as, if I could now
be favoured with your visits, I should doubly value them; for Mr
Delvile is gone to spend the holidays at the Duke of Derwent’s,
whither I was not well enough to accompany him; my son has his own
engagements, and there are so few people I can bear to see, that I
shall live almost entirely alone.”
“If I,” cried Cecilia, “in such a situation might hope to be
admitted, how gladly for that happiness would I exchange my
expedition to Violet Bank!”
“You are very good, and very amiable,” said Mrs Devile, “and your
society would, indeed, give me infinite satisfaction. Yet I am no
enemy to solitude; on the contrary, company is commonly burthensome
to me; I find few who have any power to give me entertainment, and
even of those few, the chief part have in their manners, situation,
or characters, an unfortunate something, that generally renders a
near connection with them inconvenient or disagreeable. There are,
indeed, so many drawbacks to regard and intimacy, from pride, from
propriety, and various other collateral causes, that rarely as we
meet with people of brilliant parts, there is almost ever some
objection to our desire of meeting them again. Yet to live wholly
alone is chearless and depressing; and with you, at least,” taking
Cecilia’s hand, “I find not one single obstacle to oppose to a
thousand inducements, which invite me to form a friendship that I
can only hope may be as lasting, as I am sure it will be pleasant.”
Cecilia expressed her sense of this partiality in the warmest terms;
and Mrs Delvile, soon discovering by her manner that she took not
any delight in her intended visit to Violet Bank, began next to
question her whether it would be possible for her to give it up.
She instantly answered in the affirmative.
“And would you really be so obliging,” cried Mrs Delvile, with some
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 Barrel’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.
Nguồn: Wikisource English — Cecilia (Burney)/Book 3/Chapter ix. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.