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.
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