One week only, however, had yet tried the perseverance of Cecilia,
when, while she was working with Mrs Charlton in her dressing-room,
her maid hastily entered it, and with a smile that seemed announcing
welcome news, said, “Lord, ma’am, here’s Fidel!” and, at the same
moment, she was followed by the dog, who jumpt upon Cecilia in a
transport of delight.
“Good heaven,” cried she, all amazement, “who has brought him? whence
does he come?”
“A country man brought him, ma’am; but he only put him in, and would
not stay a minute.”
“But whom did he enquire for?—who saw him?—what did he say?”
“He saw Ralph, ma’am.”
Ralph, then, was instantly called: and these questions being repeated,
he said, “Ma’am, it was a man I never saw before; but he only bid me
take care to deliver the dog into your own hands, and said you would
have a letter about him soon, and then went away: I wanted him to stay
till I came up stairs, but he was off at once.”
Cecilia, quite confounded by this account, could make neither comment
nor answer; but, as soon as the servants had left the room, Mrs
Charlton entreated to know to whom the dog had belonged, convinced by
her extreme agitation, that something interesting and uncommon must
relate to him.
This was no time for disguise; astonishment and confusion bereft
Cecilia of all power to attempt it; and, after a very few evasions,
she briefly communicated her situation with respect to Delvile, his
leaving her, his motives, and his mother’s evident concurrence: for
these were all so connected with her knowledge of Fidel, that she led
to them unavoidably in telling what she knew of him.
Very little penetration was requisite, to gather from her manner all
that was united in her narrative of her own feelings and
disappointment in the course of this affair: and Mrs Charlton, who had
hitherto believed the whole world at her disposal, and that she
continued single from no reason but her own difficulty of choice, was
utterly amazed to find that any man existed who could withstand the
united allurements of so much beauty, sweetness, and fortune. She felt
herself sometimes inclined to hate, and at other times to pity him;
yet concluded that her own extreme coldness was the real cause of his
flight, and warmly blamed a reserve which had thus ruined her
happiness.
Cecilia was in the extremest perplexity and distress to conjecture the
meaning of so unaccountable a present, and so strange a message.
Delvile, she knew, had desired the dog might follow him to Bristol;
his mother, always pleased to oblige him, would now less than ever
neglect any opportunity; she could not, therefore, doubt that she had
sent or taken him thither, and thence, according to all appearances,
he must now come. But was it likely Delvile would take such a liberty?
Was it probable, when so lately he had almost exhorted her to forget
him, he would even wish to present her with such a remembrance of
himself? And what was the letter she was bid to expect? Whence and
from what was it to come?
All was inexplicable! the only thing she could surmise, with any
semblance of probability, was that the whole was some frolic of Lady
Honoria Pemberton, who had persuaded Delvile to send her the dog, and
perhaps assured him she had herself requested to have him.
Provoked by this suggestion, her first thought was instantly having
him conveyed to the castle; but uncertain what the whole affair meant,
and hoping some explanation in the letter she was promised, she
determined to wait till it came, or at least till she heard from Mrs
Delvile, before she took any measures herself in the business. Mutual
accounts of their safe arrivals at Bristol and in Suffolk, had already
passed between them, and she expected very soon to have further
intelligence: though she was now, by the whole behaviour of Mrs
Delvile, convinced she wished not again to have her an inmate of her
house, and that the rest of her minority might pass, without
opposition; in the house of Mrs Charlton.
Day after day, however, passed, and yet she heard nothing more; a
week, a fortnight elapsed, and still no letter came. She now concluded
the promise was a deception, and repented that she had waited a moment
with any such expectation. Her peace, during this time, was greatly
disturbed; this present made her fear she was thought meanly of by Mr
Delvile; the silence of his mother gave her apprehensions for his
health, and her own irresolution how to act, kept her in perpetual
inquietude. She tried in vain to behave as if this incident had not
happened; her mind was uneasy, and the same actions produced not the
same effects; when she now worked or read, the sight of Fidel by her
side distracted her attention; when she walked, it was the same, for
Fidel always followed her; and though, in visiting her old
acquaintance, she forbore to let him accompany her, she was secretly
planning the whole time the contents of some letter, which she
expected to meet with, on returning to Mrs Charlton’s.
Those gentlemen in the country who, during the life-time of the Dean,
had paid their addresses to Cecilia, again waited upon her at Mrs
Charlton’s, and renewed their proposals. They had now, however, still
less chance of success, and their dismission was brief and decisive.
Among these came Mr Biddulph; and to him Cecilia was involuntarily
most civil, because she knew him to be the friend of Delvile. Yet his
conversation encreased the uneasiness of her suspence; for after
speaking of the family in general which she had left, he enquired more
particularly concerning Delvile, and then added, “I am, indeed,
greatly grieved to find, by all the accounts I receive of him, that he
is now in a very bad state of health.”
This speech gave her fresh subject for apprehension; and in proportion
as the silence of Mrs Delvile grew more alarming, her regard for her
favourite Fidel became more partial. The affectionate animal seemed to
mourn the loss of his master, and while sometimes she indulged herself
in fancifully telling him her fears, she imagined she read in his
countenance the faithfullest sympathy.
One week of her minority was now all that remained, and she was soon
wholly occupied in preparations for coming of age. She purposed taking
possession of a large house that had belonged to her uncle, which was
situated only three miles from that of Mrs Charlton; and she employed
herself in giving orders for fitting it up, and in hearing complaints,
and promising indulgencies, to various of her tenants.
At this time, while she was at breakfast one morning, a letter arrived
from Mrs Delvile. She apologised for not writing sooner, but added
that various family occurrences, which had robbed her of all leisure,
might easily be imagined, when she acquainted her that Mortimer had
determined upon again going abroad…. They were all, she said,
returned to Delvile Castle, but mentioned nothing either of the health
of her son, or of her own regret, and filled up the rest of her
letter, with general news and expressions of kindness: though, in a
postscript, was inserted, “We have lost our poor Fidel.”
Cecilia was still meditating upon this letter, by which her perplexity
how to act was rather encreased than diminished, when, to her great
surprise, Lady Honoria Pemberton was announced. She hastily begged one
of the Miss Charltons to convey Fidel out of sight, from a dread of
her raillery, should she, at last, be unconcerned in the transaction,
and then went to receive her.
Lady Honoria, who was with her governess, gave a brief history of her
quitting Delvile Castle, and said she was now going with her father to
visit a noble family in Norfolk: but she had obtained his permission
to leave him at the inn where they had slept, in order to make a short
excursion to Bury, for the pleasure of seeing Miss Beverley.
“And therefore,” she continued, “I can stay but half an hour; so you
must give me some account of yourself as fast as possible.”
“What account does your ladyship require?”
“Why, who you live with here, and who are your companions, and what
you do with yourself.”
“Why, I live with Mrs Charlton; and for companions, I have at least a
score; here are her two grand-daughters, and Mrs and Miss—.”
“Pho, pho,” interrupted Lady Honoria, “but I don’t mean such hum-drum
companions as those; you’ll tell me next, I suppose, of the parson and
his wife and three daughters, with all their cousins and aunts: I hate
those sort of people. What I desire to hear of is, who are your
particular favourites; and whether you take long walks here, as you
used to do at the Castle, and who you have to accompany you?” And
then, looking at her very archly, she added, “A pretty little dog,
now, I should think, would be vastly agreeable in such a place as
this.—Ah, Miss Beverley! you have not left off that trick of
colouring, I see!”
“If I colour now,” said Cecilia, fully convinced of the justness of
her suspicions, “I think it must be for your ladyship, not myself;
for, if I am not much mistaken, either in person, or by proxy, a blush
from Lady Honoria Pemberton would not, just now, be wholly out of
season.”
“Lord,” cried she, “how like that is to a speech of Mrs Delvile’s! She
has taught you exactly her manner of talking. But do you know I am
informed you have got Fidel with you here? O fie, Miss Beverley! What
will papa and mamma say, when they find you have taken away poor
little master’s plaything?”
“And O fie, Lady Honoria! what shall I say, when I find you
guilty of this mischievous frolic! I must beg, however, since you have
gone thus far, that you will proceed a little farther, and send back
the dog to the person from whom you received him.”
“No, not I! manage him all your own way: if you chuse to accept dogs
from gentlemen, you know, it is your affair, and not mine.”
“If you really will not return him yourself, you must at least pardon
me should you hear that I do in your ladyship’s name.”
Lady Honoria for some time only laughed and rallied, without coming to
any explanation; but when she had exhausted all the sport she could
make, she frankly owned that she had herself ordered the dog to be
privately stolen, and then sent a man with him to Mrs Charlton’s.
“But you know,” she continued, “I really owed you a spite for being so
ill-natured as to run away after sending me to call Mortimer to
comfort and take leave of you.”
“Do you dream, Lady Honoria? when did I send you?”
“Why you know you looked as if you wished it, and that was the same
thing. But really it made me appear excessively silly, when I had
forced him to come back with me, and told him you were waiting for
him,—to see nothing of you at all, and not be able to find or trace
you. He took it all for my own invention.”
“And was it not your own invention?”
“Why that’s nothing to the purpose; I wanted him to believe you sent
me, for I knew else he would not come.”
“Your ladyship was a great deal too good!”
“Why now suppose I had brought you together, what possible harm could
have happened from it? It would merely have given each of you some
notion of a fever and ague; for first you would both have been hot,
and then you would both have been cold, and then you would both have
turned red, and then you would both have turned white, and then you
would both have pretended to simper at the trick; and then there would
have been an end of it.”
“This is a very easy way of settling it all,” cried Cecilia laughing;
“however, you must be content to abide by your own theft, for you
cannot in conscience expect I should take it upon myself.”
“You are terribly ungrateful, I see,” said her ladyship, “for all the
trouble and contrivance and expence I have been at merely to oblige
you, while the whole time, poor Mortimer, I dare say, has had his
sweet Pet advertised in all the newspapers, and cried in every market-town in the kingdom. By the way, if you do send him back, I would
advise you to let your man demand the reward that has been offered for
him, which may serve in part of payment for his travelling expenses.”
Cecilia could only shake her head, and recollect Mrs Delvile’s
expression, that her levity was incorrigible.
“O if you had seen,” she continued, “how sheepish Mortimer looked when
I told him you were dying to see him before he set off! he coloured
so!—just as you do now!—but I think you’re vastly alike.”
“I fear, then,” cried Cecilia, not very angry at this speech, “there
is but little chance your ladyship should like either of us.”
“O yes, I do! I like odd people of all things.”
“Odd people? and in what are we so very odd?”
“O, in a thousand things. You’re so good, you know, and so grave, and
so squeamish.”
“Squeamish? how?”
“Why, you know, you never laugh at the old folks, and never fly at
your servants, nor smoke people before their faces, and are so civil
to the old fograms, you would make one imagine you liked nobody
so well. By the way, I could do no good with my little Lord Derford;
he pretended to find out I was only laughing at him, and so he minded
nothing I told him. I dare say, however, his father made the
detection, for I am sure he had not wit enough to discover it
himself.”
Cecilia then, very seriously began to entreat that she would return
the dog herself, and confess her frolic, remonstrating in strong terms
upon the mischievous tendency and consequences of such inconsiderate
flights.
“Well,” cried she, rising, “this is all vastly true; but I have no
time to hear any more of it just now; besides, it’s only forestalling
my next lecture from Mrs Delvile, for you talk so much alike, that it
is really very perplexing to me to remember which is which.”
She then hurried away, protesting she had already outstayed her
father’s patience, and declaring the delay of another minute would
occasion half a dozen expresses to know whether she was gone towards
Scotland or Flanders.
This visit, however, was both pleasant and consolatory to Cecilia; who
was now relieved from her suspence, and revived in her spirits by the
intelligence that Delvile had no share in sending her a present,
which, from him, would have been humiliating and impertinent. She
regretted, indeed, that she had not instantly returned it to the
castle, which she was now convinced was the measure she ought to have
pursued; but to make all possible reparation, she determined that her
own servant should set out with him the next morning to Bristol, and
take a letter to Mrs Delvile to explain what had happened, since to
conceal it from any delicacy to Lady Honoria, would be to expose
herself to suspicions the most mortifying, for which that gay and
careless young lady would never thank her.
She gave orders, therefore, to her servant to get ready for the
journey.
When she communicated these little transactions to Mrs Charlton, that
kind-hearted old lady, who knew her fondness for Fidel, advised her
not yet to part with him, but merely to acquaint Mrs Delvile where he
was, and what Lady Honoria had done, and, by leaving to herself the
care of settling his restoration, to give her, at least, an
opportunity of offering him to her acceptance.
Cecilia, however, would listen to no such proposal; she saw the
firmness of Delvile in his resolution to avoid her, and knew that
policy, as well as propriety, made it necessary she should part with
what she could only retain to remind her of one whom she now most
wished to forget.
Nguồn: Wikisource English — Cecilia (Burney)/Book 7/Chapter ii. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.