Cecilia vol. 2 by Frances (Fanny) Burney (Madame d\'Arblay)

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Produced by Delphine Lettau, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

CECILIA

OR

Memoirs of an Heiress

by

FRANCES BURNEY

VOL. II.

Edited by R. Brimley Johnson

Illustrated by M. Cubitt Cooke

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.

BOOK V.

CHAPTER i.

A ROUT.

The day at length arrived of which the evening and the entrance of
company were, for the first time, as eagerly wished by Cecilia as by
her dissipated host and hostess. No expence and no pains had been
spared to render this long projected entertainment splendid and
elegant; it was to begin with a concert, which was to be followed by a
ball, and succeeded by a supper.

Cecilia, though unusually anxious about her own affairs, was not so
engrossed by them as to behold with indifference a scene of such
unjustifiable extravagance; it contributed to render her thoughtful
and uneasy, and to deprive her of all mental power of participating in
the gaiety of the assembly. Mr Arnott was yet more deeply affected by
the mad folly of the scheme, and received from the whole evening no
other satisfaction than that which a look of sympathetic concern from
Cecilia occasionally afforded him.

Till nine o'clock no company appeared, except Sir Robert Floyer, who
stayed from dinner time, and Mr Morrice, who having received an
invitation for the evening, was so much delighted with the permission
to again enter the house, that he made use of it between six and
seven o'clock, and before the family had left the dining parlour. He
apologized with the utmost humility to Cecilia for the unfortunate
accident at the Pantheon; but as to her it had been productive of
nothing but pleasure, by exciting in young Delvile the most flattering
alarm for her safety, she found no great difficulty in according him
her pardon.

Among those who came in the first crowd was Mr Monckton, who, had he
been equally unconscious of sinister views, would in following his own
inclination, have been as early in his attendance as Mr Morrice; but
who, to obviate all suspicious remarks, conformed to the fashionable
tardiness of the times.

Cecilia's chief apprehension for the evening was that Sir Robert
Floyer would ask her to dance with him, which she could not refuse
without sitting still during the ball, nor accept, after the reports
she knew to be spread, without seeming to give a public sanction to
them. To Mr Monckton therefore, innocently considering him as a
married man and her old friend, she frankly told her distress, adding,
by way of excuse for the hint, that the partners were to be changed
every two dances.

Mr Monckton, though his principal study was carefully to avoid all
public gallantry or assiduity towards Cecilia, had not the forbearance
to resist this intimation, and therefore she had the pleasure of
telling Sir Robert, when he asked the honour of her hand for the two
first dances, that she was already engaged.

She then expected that he would immediately secure her for the two
following; but, to her great joy, he was so much piqued by the evident
pleasure with which she announced her engagement, that he proudly
walked away without adding another word.

Much satisfied with this arrangement, and not without hopes that, if
she was at liberty when he arrived, she might be applied to by young
Delvile, she now endeavoured to procure herself a place in the music
room.

This, with some difficulty, she effected; but though there was an
excellent concert, in which several capital performers played and
sung, she found it impossible to hear a note, as she chanced to be
seated just by Miss Leeson, and two other young ladies, who were
paying one another compliments upon their dress and their looks,
settling to dance in the same cotillon, guessing who would begin the
minuets, and wondering there were not more gentlemen. Yet, in the
midst of this unmeaning conversation, of which she remarked that Miss
Leeson bore the principal part, not one of them failed, from time to
time, to exclaim with great rapture _"What sweet music!--" "Oh. how
charming!" "Did you ever hear any thing so delightful?--"_

"Ah," said Cecilia to Mr Gosport, who now approached her, "but for
your explanatory observations, how much would the sudden loquacity of
this supercilious lady, whom I had imagined all but dumb, have
perplext me!"

"Those who are most silent to strangers," answered Mr Gosport,
"commonly talk most fluently to their intimates, for they are deeply
in arrears, and eager to pay off their debts. Miss Leeson now is in
her proper set, and therefore appears in her natural character: and
the poor girl's joy in being able to utter all the nothings she has
painfully hoarded while separated from her coterie, gives to her now
the wild transport of a bird just let loose from a cage. I rejoice to
see the little creature at liberty, for what can be so melancholy as a
forced appearance of thinking, where there are no materials for such
an occupation?"

Soon after, Miss Larolles, who was laughing immoderately, contrived to
crowd herself into their party, calling out to them, "O you have had
the greatest loss in the world! if you had but been in the next room
just now!--there's the drollest figure there you can conceive: enough
to frighten one to look at him." And presently she added "O Lord, if
you stoop a little this way, you may see him!"

Then followed a general tittering, accompanied with exclamations of
"Lord, what a fright!" "It's enough to kill one with laughing to look
at him!" "Did you ever see such a horrid creature in your life?" And
soon after, one of them screamed out "O Lord, see!--he's grinning at
Miss Beverley!"

Cecilia then turned her head towards the door, and there, to her own
as well as her neighbours' amazement, she perceived Mr Briggs! who, in
order to look about him at his ease, was standing upon a chair, from
which, having singled her out, he was regarding her with a facetious
smirk, which, when it caught her eye, was converted into a familiar
nod.

She returned his salutation, but was not much charmed to observe, that
presently descending from his exalted post, which had moved the wonder
and risibility of all the company, he made a motion to approach her;
for which purpose, regardless of either ladies or gentlemen in his
way, he sturdily pushed forward, with the same unconcerned hardiness
he would have forced himself through a crowd in the street; and taking
not the smallest notice of their frowns, supplications that he would
stand still, and exclamations of "Pray, Sir!"--"Lord, how
troublesome!" and "Sir, I do assure you here's no room!" he fairly and
adroitly elbowed them from him till he reached her seat: and then,
with a waggish grin, he looked round, to show he had got the better,
and to see whom he had discomposed.

When he had enjoyed this triumph, he turned to Cecilia, and chucking
her under the chin, said "Well, my little duck, how goes it? got to
you at last; squeezed my way; would not be nicked; warrant I'll mob
with the best of them! Look here! all in a heat!--hot as the dog
days."

And then, to the utter consternation of the company, he took off his
wig to wipe his head! which occasioned such universal horror, that all
who were near the door escaped into other, apartments, while those who
were too much enclosed, for flight, with one accord turned away their
heads.

Captain Aresby, being applied to by some of the ladies to remonstrate
upon this unexampled behaviour, advanced to him, and said, "I am quite
_abimé_, Sir, to incommode you, but the commands of the ladies
are insuperable. Give me leave, Sir, to entreat that you would put on
your wig."

"My wig?" cried he, "ay, ay, shall in a moment, only want to wipe my
head first."

"I am quite _assommé_, Sir," returned the Captain, "to disturb
you, but I must really hint you don't comprehend me: the ladies are
extremely inconvenienced by these sort of sights, and we make it a
principle they should never be _accablées_ with them."

"Anan!" cried Mr Briggs, staring.

"I say, Sir," replied the Captain, "the ladies are quite _au
desespoir_ that you will not cover your head."

"What for?" cried he, "what's the matter with my head? ne'er a man
here got a better! very good stuff in it: won't change it with ne'er a
one of you!"

And then, half unconscious of the offence he had given, and half angry
at the rebuke he had received, he leisurely compleated his design, and
again put on his wig, settling it to his face with as much composure
as if he had performed the operation in his own dressing-room.

The Captain, having gained his point, walked away, making, however,
various grimaces of disgust, and whispering from side to side "he's
the most petrifying fellow I ever was _obsedé_ by!"

Mr Briggs then, with much derision, and sundry distortions of
countenance, listened to an Italian song; after which, he bustled back
to the outer apartment, in search of Cecilia, who, ashamed of seeming
a party in the disturbance he had excited, had taken the opportunity
of his dispute with the Captain, to run into the next room; where,
however, he presently found her, while she was giving an account to Mr
Gosport of her connection with him, to which Morrice, ever curious and
eager to know what was going forward, was also listening.

"Ah, little chick!" cried he, "got to you again! soon out jostle those
jemmy sparks! But where's the supper? see nothing of the supper! Time
to go to bed,--suppose there is none; all a take in; nothing but a
little piping."

"Supper, Sir?" cried Cecilia; "the Concert is not over yet. Was supper
mentioned in your card of invitation?"

"Ay, to be sure, should not have come else. Don't visit often; always
costs money. Wish I had not come now; wore a hole in my shoe; hardly a
crack in it before."

"Why you did not walk, Sir?"

Did, did; why not? Might as well have stayed away though; daubed my
best coat, like to have spoilt it."

"So much the better for the taylors, Sir," said Morrice, pertly, "for
then you must have another."

"Another! what for? ha'n't had this seven years; just as good as new."

"I hope," said Cecilia, "you had not another fall?"

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