Cecilia vol. 3

F >> Frances (Fanny) Burney (Madame d\'Arblay) >> Cecilia vol. 3

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"There is no reason, Sir, to infer any thing; I am content with my
actual situation, and have, at present, neither prospect nor intention
of changing it."

"I perceive, but without surprise, your unwillingness to discuss the
subject; nor do I mean to press it: I shall merely offer to your
consideration one caution, and then relieve you from my presence. Young
women of ample fortunes, who are early independent, are sometimes apt
to presume they may do every thing with impunity; but they are
mistaken; they are as liable to censure as those who are wholly
unprovided for."

"I hope, Sir," said Cecilia, staring, "this at least is a caution
rather drawn from my situation than my behaviour?"

"I mean not, ma'am, narrowly to go into, or investigate the subject;
what I have said you may make your own use of; I have only to observe
further, that when young women, at your time of life, are at all
negligent of so nice a thing as reputation, they commonly live to
repent it."

He then arose to go, but Cecilia, not more offended than amazed, said,
"I must beg, Sir, you will explain yourself!"

"Certainly this matter," he answered, "must be immaterial to _me_: yet,
as I have once been your guardian by the nomination of the Dean your
uncle, I cannot forbear making an effort towards preventing any
indiscretion: and frequent visits to a young man--"

"Good God! Sir," interrupted Cecilia, "what is it you mean?"

"It can certainly, as I said before, be nothing to _me_, though I
should be glad to see you in better hands: but I cannot suppose you
have been led to take such steps without some serious plan; and I would
advise you, without loss of time, to think better of what you are
about."

"Should I think, Sir, to eternity," cried Cecilia, "I could never
conjecture what you mean!"

"You may not chuse," said he, proudly, "to understand me; but I have
done. If it had been in my power to have interfered in your service
with my Lord Derford, notwithstanding my reluctance to being involved
in any fresh employment, I should have made a point of not refusing it:
but this young man is nobody,--a very imprudent connection--"

"What young man, Sir?"

"Nay, _I_ know nothing of him! it is by no means likely I should: but
as I had already been informed of your attention to him, the
corroborating incidents of my servant's following you to his house, his
friend's seeking him at yours, and his own waiting upon you this
morning; were not well calculated to make me withdraw my credence to
it."

"Is it, then, Mr Belfield, Sir, concerning whom you draw these
inferences, from circumstances the most accidental and unmeaning?"

"It is by no means my practice," cried he, haughtily, and with evident
marks of high displeasure at this speech, "to believe any thing
lightly, or without even unquestionable authority; what once,
therefore, I have credited, I do not often find erroneous. Mistake not,
however, what I have said into supposing I have any objection to your
marrying; on the contrary, it had been for the honour of my family had
you been married a year ago I should not then have suffered the
degradation of seeing a son of the first expectations in the kingdom
upon the point of renouncing his birth, nor a woman of the first
distinction ruined in her health, and broken for ever in her
constitution."

The emotions of Cecilia at this speech were too powerful for
concealment; her colour varied, now reddening with indignation, now
turning pale with apprehension; she arose, she trembled and sat down,
she arose again, but not knowing what to say or what to do, again sat
down.

Mr Delvile then, making a stiff bow, wished her good morning.

"Go not so, Sir!" cried she, in faltering accents; "let me at least
convince you of the mistake with regard to Mr Belfield--"

"My mistakes, ma'am," said he, with a contemptuous smile, "are perhaps
not easily convicted: and I may possibly labour under others that would
give you no less trouble: it may therefore be better to avoid any
further disquisition."

"No, not better," answered she, again recovering her courage from this
fresh provocation; "I fear no disquisition; on the contrary, it is my
interest to solicit one."

"This intrepidity in a young woman," said he, ironically, "is certainly
very commendable; and doubtless, as you are your own mistress, your
having run out great part of your fortune, is nothing beyond what you
have a right to do."

"Me!" cried Cecilia, astonished, "run out great part of my fortune!"

"Perhaps that is another _mistake_! I have not often been so
unfortunate; and you are not, then, in debt?"

"In debt, Sir?"

"Nay, I have no intention to inquire into your affairs. Good morning to
you, ma'am."

"I beg, I entreat, Sir, that you will stop!--make me, at least,
understand what you mean, whether you deign to hear my justification or
not."

"O, I am mistaken, it seems! misinformed, deceived; and you have
neither spent more than you have received, nor taken up money of Jews?
your minority has been clear of debts? and your fortune, now you are of
age, will be free from incumbrances?"

Cecilia, who now began to understand him, eagerly answered, "do you
mean, Sir, the money which I took up last spring?"

"O no; by no means, I conceive the whole to be a _mistake_!"

And he went to the door.

"Hear me but a moment, Sir!" cried she hastily, following him; "since
you know of that transaction, do not refuse to listen to its occasion;
I took up the money for Mr Harrel; it was all, and solely for him."

"For Mr Harrel, was it?" said he, with an air of supercilious
incredulity; "that was rather an unlucky step. Your servant, ma'am."

And he opened the door.

"You will not hear me, then? you will not credit me?" cried she in the
cruellest agitation.

"Some other time, ma'am; at present my avocations are too numerous to
permit me."

And again, stiffly bowing, he called to his servants, who were waiting
in the hall, and put himself into his chair.

CHAPTER v.

A SUSPICION.

Cecilia was now left in a state of perturbation that was hardly to be
endured. The contempt with which she had been treated during the whole
visit was nothing short of insult, but the accusations with which it
was concluded did not more irritate than astonish her.

That some strange prejudice had been taken against her, even more than
belonged to her connection with young Delvile, the message brought her
by Dr Lyster had given her reason to suppose: what that prejudice was
she now knew, though how excited she was still ignorant; but she found
Mr Delvile had been informed she had taken up money of a Jew, without
having heard it was for Mr Harrel, and that he had been acquainted with
her visits in Portland-street, without seeming to know Mr Belfield had
a sister. Two charges such as these, so serious in their nature, and so
destructive of her character, filled her with horror and consternation,
and even somewhat served to palliate his illiberal and injurious
behaviour.

But how reports thus false and thus disgraceful should be raised, and
by what dark work of slander and malignity they had been spread,
remained a doubt inexplicable. They could not, she was certain, be the
mere rumour of chance, since in both the assertions there was some
foundation of truth, however cruelly perverted, or basely over-
charged.

This led her to consider how few people there were not only who had
interest, but who had power to propagate such calumnies; even her
acquaintance with the Belfields she remembered not ever mentioning, for
she knew none of their friends, and none of her own knew them. How,
then, should it be circulated, that she "visited often at the house?"
however be invented that it was from her "attention to the young man?"
Henrietta, she was sure, was too good and too innocent to be guilty of
such perfidy; and the young man himself had always shewn a modesty and
propriety that manifested his total freedom from the vanity of such a
suspicion, and an elevation of sentiment that would have taught him to
scorn the boast, even if he believed the partiality.

The mother, however, had neither been so modest nor so rational; she
had openly avowed her opinion that Cecilia was in love with her son;
and as that son, by never offering himself, had never been refused, her
opinion had received no check of sufficient force, for a mind so gross
and literal, to change it.

This part, therefore, of the charge she gave to Mrs Belfield, whose
officious and loquacious forwardness she concluded had induced her to
narrate her suspicions, till, step by step, they had reached Mr
Delvile.

But though able, by the probability of this conjecture, to account for
the report concerning Belfield, the whole affair of the debt remained a
difficulty not to be solved. Mr Harrel, his wife, Mr Arnott, the Jew
and Mr Monckton, were the only persons to whom the transaction was
known; and though from five, a secret, in the course of so many months,
might easily be supposed likely to transpire, those five were so
particularly bound to silence, not only for her interest but their own,
that it was not unreasonable to believe it as safe among them all, as
if solely consigned to one. For herself, she had revealed it to no
creature but Mr Monckton; not even to Delvile; though, upon her
consenting to marry him, he had an undoubted right to be acquainted
with the true state of her affairs; but such had been the hurry,
distress, confusion and irresolution of her mind at that period, that
this whole circumstance had been driven from it entirely, and she had,
since, frequently blamed herself for such want of recollection. Mr
Harrel, for a thousand reasons, she was certain had never named it; and
had the communication come from his widow or from Mr Arnott, the
motives would have been related as well as the debt, and she had been
spared the reproach of contracting it for purposes of her own
extravagance. The Jew, indeed, was, to her, under no obligation of
secrecy, but he had an obligation far more binding,--he was tied to
himself.

A suspicion now arose in her mind which made it thrill with horror;
"good God! she exclaimed, can Mr Monckton---"

She stopt, even to herself;--she checked the idea;--she drove it
hastily from her;--she was certain it was false and cruel,--she hated
herself for having started it.

"No," cried she, "he is my friend, the confirmed friend of many years,
my well-wisher from childhood, my zealous counsellor and assistant
almost from my birth to this hour:--such perfidy from him would not
even be human!"

Yet still her perplexity was undiminished; the affair was undoubtedly
known, and it only could be known by the treachery of some one
entrusted with it: and however earnestly her generosity combated her
rising suspicions, she could not wholly quell them; and Mr Monckton's
strange aversion to the Delviles, his earnestness to break off her
connexion with them, occurred to her remembrance, and haunted her
perforce with surmises to his disadvantage.

That gentleman, when he came home, found her in this comfortless and
fluctuating state, endeavouring to form conjectures upon what had
happened, yet unable to succeed, but by suggestions which one moment
excited her abhorrence of him, and the next of herself.

He enquired, with his usual appearance of easy friendliness, into what
had passed with her two guardians, and how she had settled her affairs.
She answered without hesitation all his questions, but her manner was
cold and reserved, though her communication was frank.

This was not unheeded by Mr Monckton, who, after a short time, begged
to know if any thing had disturbed her.

Cecilia, ashamed of her doubts, though unable to get rid of them, then
endeavoured to brighten up, and changed the subject to the difficulties
she had had to encounter from the obstinacy of Mr Briggs.

Mr Monckton for a while humoured this evasion; but when, by her own
exertion, her solemnity began to wear off, he repeated his
interrogatory, and would not be satisfied without an answer.

Cecilia, earnest that surmises so injurious should be removed, then
honestly, but without comments, related the scene which had just past
between Mr Delvile and herself.

No comments were, however, wanting to explain to Mr Monckton the change
of her behaviour. "I see," he cried hastily, "what you cannot but
suspect; and I will go myself to Mr Delvile, and insist upon his
clearing me."

Cecilia, shocked to have thus betrayed what was passing within her,
assured him his vindication required not such a step, and begged he
would counsel her how to discover this treachery, without drawing from
her concern at it a conclusion so offensive to himself.

He was evidently, however, and greatly disturbed; he declared his own
wonder equal to hers how the affair had been betrayed, expressed the
warmest indignation at the malevolent insinuations against her conduct,
and lamented with mingled acrimony and grief, that there should exist
even the possibility of casting the odium of such villainy upon
himself.

Cecilia, distressed, perplexed, and ashamed at once, again endeavoured
to appease him, and though a lurking doubt obstinately clung to her
understanding, the purity of her own principles, and the softness of
her heart, pleaded strongly for his innocence, and urged her to detest
her suspicion, though to conquer it they were unequal.

"It is true," said he, with an air ingenuous though mortified, "I
dislike the Delviles, and have always disliked them; they appear to me
a jealous, vindictive, and insolent race, and I should have thought I
betrayed the faithful regard I professed for you, had I concealed my
opinion when I saw you in danger of forming an alliance with them; I
spoke to you, therefore, with honest zeal, thoughtless of any enmity I
might draw upon myself; but though it was an interference from which I
hoped, by preventing the connection, to contribute to your happiness,
it was not with a design to stop it at the expence of your character,
--a design black, horrible, and diabolic! a design which must be formed
by a Daemon, but which even a Daemon could never, I think, execute!"

The candour of this speech, in which his aversion to the Delviles was
openly acknowledged, and rationally justified, somewhat quieted the
suspicions of Cecilia, which far more anxiously sought to be confuted
than confirmed: she began, therefore, to conclude that some accident,
inexplicable as unfortunate, had occasioned the partial discovery to Mr
Delvile, by which her own goodness proved the source of her defamation:
and though something still hung upon her mind that destroyed that firm
confidence she had hitherto felt in the friendship of Mr Monckton, she
held it utterly unjust to condemn him without proof, which she was not
more unable to procure, than to satisfy herself with any reason why so
perfidiously he should calumniate her.

Comfortless, however, and tormented with conjectures equally vague and
afflicting, she could only clear him to be lost in perplexity, she
could only accuse him to be penetrated with horror. She endeavoured to
suspend her judgment till time should develop the mystery, and only for
the present sought to finish her business and leave London.

She renewed, therefore, again, the subject of Mr Briggs, and told him
how vain had been her effort to settle with him. Mr Monckton instantly
offered his services in assisting her, and the next morning they went
together to his house, where, after an obstinate battle, they gained a
complete victory: Mr Briggs gave up all his accounts, and, in a few
days, by the active interference of Mr Monckton, her affairs were
wholly taken out of his hands. He stormed, and prophesied all ill to
Cecilia, but it was not to any purpose; he was so disagreeable to her,
by his manners, and so unintelligible to her in matters of business,
that she was happy to have done with him; even though, upon inspecting
his accounts, they were all found clear and exact, and his desire to
retain his power over her fortune, proved to have no other motive than
a love of money so potent, that to manage it, even for another, gave
him a satisfaction he knew not how to relinquish.

Mr Monckton, who, though a man of pleasure, understood business
perfectly well, now instructed and directed her in making a general
arrangement of her affairs. The estate which devolved to her from her
uncle, and which was all in landed property, she continued to commit to
the management of the steward who was employed in his life-time; and
her own fortune from her father, which was all in the stocks, she now
diminished to nothing by selling out to pay Mr Monckton the principal
and interest which she owed him, and by settling with her Bookseller.

While these matters were transacting, which, notwithstanding her
eagerness to leave town, could not be brought into such a train as to
permit her absence in less than a week, she passed her time chiefly
alone. Her wishes all inclined her to bestow it upon Henrietta, but the
late attack of Mr Delvile had frightened her from keeping up that
connection, since however carefully she might confine it to the
daughter, Mrs Belfield, she was certain, would impute it all to the
son.

That attack rested upon her mind, in defiance of all her endeavours to
banish it; the contempt with which it was made seemed intentionally
offensive, as if he had been happy to derive from her supposed ill
conduct, a right to triumph over as well as reject her. She concluded,
also, that Delvile would be informed of these calumnies, yet she judged
his generosity by her own, and was therefore convinced he would not
credit them: but what chiefly at this time encreased her sadness and
uneasiness, was the mention of Mrs Delvile's broken constitution and
ruined health. She had always preserved for that lady the most
affectionate respect, and could not consider herself as the cause of
her sufferings, without feeling the utmost concern, however conscious
she had not wilfully occasioned them.

Nor was this scene the only one by which her efforts to forget this
family were defeated; her watchful monitor, Albany, failed not again to
claim her promise; and though Mr Monckton earnestly exhorted her not to
trust herself out with him, she preferred a little risk to the keenness
of his reproaches, and the weather being good on the morning that he
called, she consented to accompany him in his rambles: only charging
her footman to follow where-ever they went, and not to fail enquiring
for her if she stayed long out of his sight. These precautions were
rather taken to satisfy Mr Monckton than herself, who, having now
procured intelligence of the former disorder of his intellects, was
fearful of some extravagance, and apprehensive for her safety.

He took her to a miserable house in a court leading into Piccadilly,
where, up three pair of stairs, was a wretched woman ill in bed, while
a large family of children were playing in the room.

"See here," cried he, "what human nature can endure! look at that poor
wretch, distracted with torture, yet lying in all this noise! unable to
stir in her bed, yet without any assistant! suffering the pangs of
acute disease, yet wanting the necessaries of life!"

Cecilia went up to the bed-side, and enquired more particularly into
the situation of the invalid; but finding she could hardly speak from
pain, she sent for the woman of the house, who kept a Green Grocer's
shop on the ground floor, and desired her to hire a nurse for her sick
lodger, to call all the children down stairs, and to send for an
apothecary, whose bill she promised to pay. She then gave her some
money to get what necessaries might be wanted, and said she would come
again in two days to see how they went on.

Albany, who listened to these directions with silent, yet eager
attention, now clasped both his hands with a look of rapture, and
exclaimed "Virtue yet lives,--and I have found her?"

Cecilia, proud of such praise, and ambitious to deserve it, chearfully
said, "where, Sir, shall we go now?"

"Home;" answered he with an aspect the most benign; "I will not wear
out thy pity by rendering woe familiar to it."

Cecilia, though at this moment more disposed for acts of charity than
for business or for pleasure, remembered that her fortune however large
was not unlimited, and would not press any further bounty for objects
she knew not, certain that occasions and claimants, far beyond her
ability of answering, would but too frequently arise among those with
whom she was more connected, she therefore yielded herself to his
direction, and returned to Soho-Square.

Again, however, he failed not to call the time she had appointed for
re-visiting the invalid, to whom, with much gladness, he conducted her.

The poor woman, whose disease was a rheumatic fever, was already much
better; she had been attended by an apothecary who had given her some
alleviating medicine; she had a nurse at her bedside, and the room
being cleared of the children, she had had the refreshment of some
sleep.

She was now able to raise her head, and make her acknowledgments to her
benefactress; but not a little was the surprise of Cecilia, when, upon
looking in her face, she said, "Ah, madam, I have seen you before!"

Cecilia, who had not the smallest recollection of her, in return
desired to know when, or where?

"When you were going to be married, madam, I was the Pew-Opener at----
Church."

Cecilia started with secret horror, and involuntarily retreated from
the bed; while Albany with a look of astonishment exclaimed, "Married!
--why, then, is it unknown?"

"Ask me not!" cried she, hastily; "it is all a mistake."

"Poor thing!" cried he, "this, then, is the string thy nerves endure
not to have touched! sooner will I expire than a breath of mine shall
make it vibrate! Oh sacred be thy sorrow, for thou canst melt at that
of the indigent!"

Cecilia then made a few general enquiries, and heard that the poor
woman, who was a widow, had been obliged to give up her office, from
the frequent attacks which she suffered of the rheumatism; that she had
received much assistance both from the Rector and the Curate of ----
Church, but her continual illness, with the largeness of her family,
kept her distressed in spite of all help.

Cecilia promised to consider what she could do for her, and then giving
her more money, returned to Lady Margaret's.

Albany, who found that the unfortunate recollection of the Pew-Opener
had awakened in his young pupil a melancholy train of reflections,
seemed now to compassionate the sadness which hitherto he had reproved,
and walking silently by her side till she came to Soho-Square, said in
accents of kindness, "Peace light upon thy head, and dissipate thy
woes!" and left her.

"Ah when!" cried she to herself, "if thus they are to be revived for-
ever!"

Mr Monckton, who observed that something had greatly affected her, now
expostulated warmly against Albany and his wild schemes; "You trifle
with your own happiness," he cried, "by witnessing these scenes of
distress, and you will trifle away your fortune upon projects you can
never fulfil: the very air in those miserable houses is unwholesome for
you to breathe; you will soon be affected with some of the diseases to
which you so uncautiously expose yourself, and while not half you give
in charity will answer the purpose you wish, you will be plundered by
cheats and sharpers till you have nothing left to bestow. You must be
more considerate for yourself, and not thus governed by Albany, whose
insanity is but partially cured, and whose projects are so boundless,
that the whole capital of the East India Company would not suffice to
fulfil them."

Cecilia, though she liked not the severity of this remonstrance,
acknowledged there was some truth in it, and promised to be discreet,
and take the reins into her own hands.

There remained for her, however, no other satisfaction; and the path
which had thus been pointed out to her, grew more and more alluring
every step. Her old friends, the poor Hills, now occurred to her
memory, and she determined to see herself in what manner they went on.

The scene which this enquiry presented to her, was by no means
calculated to strengthen Mr Monckton's doctrine, for the prosperity in
which she found this little family, amply rewarded the liberality she
had shewn to it, and proved an irresistible encouragement to similar
actions. Mrs Hill wept for joy in recounting how well she succeeded,
and Cecilia, delighted by the power of giving such pleasure, forgot all
cautions and promises in the generosity which she displayed. She paid
Mrs Roberts the arrears that were due to her, she discharged all that
was owing for the children who had been put to school, desired they
might still be sent to it solely at her expense, and gave the mother a
sum of money to be laid out in presents for them all.

To perform her promise with the Pew Opener was however more difficult;
her ill health, and the extreme youth of her children making her
utterly helpless: but these were not considerations for Cecilia to
desert her, but rather motives for regarding her as more peculiarly an
object of charity. She found she had once been a clear starcher, and
was a tolerable plain work-woman; she resolved, therefore, to send her
into the country, where she hoped to be able to get her some business,
and knew that at least, she could help her, if unsuccessful, and see
that her children were brought up to useful employments. The, woman
herself was enchanted at the plan, and firmly persuaded the country air
would restore her health. Cecilia told her only to wait till she was
well enough to travel, and promised, in the mean time, to look out some
little habitation for her. She then gave her money to pay her bills,
and for her journey, and writing a full direction where she would hear
of her at Bury, took leave of her till that time.

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