Cecilia vol. 3

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

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Miss Cecilia Beverley

_To Miss Beverley_.

Mr Delvile has too many affairs of importance upon his hands, to make
any appointment till he has deliberated how to arrange them. Mr Delvile
will acquaint Miss Beverley when it shall be in his power to see her.

St James's-square, _Nov_ 8.

These characteristic letters, which at another time might have diverted
Cecilia, now merely served to torment her. She was eager to quit town,
she was more eager to have her meeting with Mr Delvile over, who,
oppressive to her even when he meant to be kind, she foresaw, now he
was in wrath, would be imperious even to rudeness. Desirous, however,
to make one interview suffice for both, and to settle whatever business
might remain unfinished by letters, she again wrote to Mr Briggs, whom
she had not spirits to encounter without absolute necessity, and
informing him of Mr Delvile's delay, begged he would not trouble
himself to call till he heard from her again.

Two days passed without any message from them; they were spent chiefly
alone, and very uncomfortably, Mr Monckton being content to see little
of her, while he knew she saw nothing of any body else. On the third
morning, weary of her own thoughts, weary of Lady Margaret's ill-
humoured looks, and still more weary of Miss Bennet's parasitical
conversation, she determined, for a little relief to the heaviness of
her mind, to go to her bookseller, and look over and order into the
country such new publications as seemed to promise her any pleasure.

She sent therefore, for a chair, and glad to have devised for herself
any amusement, set out in it immediately.

Upon entering the shop, she saw the Bookseller engaged in close
conference with a man meanly dressed, and much muffled up, who seemed
talking to him with uncommon earnestness, and just as she was
approaching, said, "To terms I am indifferent, for writing is no labour
to me; on the contrary, it is the first delight of my life, and
therefore, and not for dirty pelf, I wish to make it my profession."

The speech struck Cecilia, but the voice struck her more, it was
Belfield's! and her amazement was so great, that she stopt short to
look at him, without heeding a man who attended her, and desired to
know her commands.

The bookseller now perceiving her, came forward, and Belfield, turning
to see who interrupted them, started as if a spectre had crossed his
eyes, slapped his hat over his face, and hastily went out of the shop.

Cecilia checking her inclination to speak to him, from observing his
eagerness to escape her, soon recollected her own errand, and employed
herself in looking over new books.

Her surprize, however, at a change so sudden in the condition of this
young man, and at a declaration of a passion for writing, so opposite
to all the sentiments which he had professed at their late meeting in
the cottage, awakened in her a strong curiosity to be informed of his
situation; and after putting aside some books which she desired to have
packed up for her, she asked if the gentleman who had just left the
shop, and who, she found by what he had said, was an Author, had
written anything that was published with his name?

"No, ma'am," answered the Bookseller, "nothing of any consequence; he
is known, however, to have written several things that have appeared as
anonymous; and I fancy, now, soon, we shall see something considerable
from him."

"He is about some great work, then?"

"Why no, not exactly that, perhaps, at present; we must feel our way,
with some little smart _jeu d'esprit_ before we undertake a great work.
But he is a very great genius, and I doubt not will produce something
extraordinary."

"Whatever he produces," said Cecilia, "as I have now chanced to see
him, I shall be glad you will, at any time, send to me."

"Certainly, ma'am; but it must be among other things, for he does not
chuse, just now to be known; and it is a rule in our business never to
tell people's names when they desire to be secret. He is a little out
of cash, just now, as you may suppose by his appearance, so instead of
buying books, he comes to sell them. However, he has taken a very good
road to bring himself home again, for we pay very handsomely for things
of any merit, especially if they deal smartly in a few touches of the
times."

Cecilia chose not to risk any further questions, lest her knowledge of
him should be suspected, but got into her chair, and returned to Lady
Margaret's.

The sight of Belfield reminded her not only of himself; the gentle
Henrietta again took her place in her memory, whence her various
distresses and suspences had of late driven from it everybody but
Delvile, and those whom Delvile brought into it. But her regard for
that amiable girl, though sunk in the busy scenes of her calamitous
uncertainties, was only sunk in her own bosom, and ready, upon their
removal, to revive with fresh vigour. She was now indeed more unhappy
than even in the period of her forgetfulness, yet her mind, was no
longer filled with the restless turbulence of hope, which still more
than despondency unfitted it for thinking of others.

This remembrance thus awakened, awakened also a desire of renewing the
connection so long neglected. All scruples concerning Delvile had now
lost their foundation, since the doubts from which they arose were both
explained and removed: she was certain alike of his indifference to
Henrietta, and his separation from herself; she knew that nothing was
to be feared from painful or offensive rivalry, and she resolved,
therefore, to lose no time in seeking the first pleasure to which since
her disappointment she had voluntarily looked forward.

Early in the evening, she told Lady Margaret she was going out for an
hour or two, and sending again for a chair, was carried to Portland-
street.

She enquired for Miss Belfield, and was shewn into a parlour, where she
found her drinking tea with her mother, and Mr Hobson, their landlord.

Henrietta almost screamed at her sight, from a sudden impulse of joy
and surprize, and, running up to her, flung her arms round her neck,
and embraced her with the most rapturous emotion: but then, drawing
back with a look of timidity and shame, she bashfully apologized for
her freedom, saying, "Indeed, dearest Miss Beverley, it is no want of
respect, but I am so very glad to see you it makes me quite forget
myself!"

Cecilia, charmed at a reception so ingenuously affectionate, soon
satisfied her doubting diffidence by the warmest thanks that she had
preserved so much regard for her, and by doubling the kindness with
which she returned her caresses.

"Mercy on me, madam," cried Mrs Belfield, who during this time had been
busily employed in sweeping the hearth, wiping some slops upon the
table, and smoothing her handkerchief and apron, "why the girl's enough
to smother you. Henny, how can you be so troublesome? I never saw you
behave in this way before."

"Miss Beverley, madam," said Henrietta, again retreating, "is so kind
as to pardon me, and I was so much surprised at seeing her, that I
hardly knew what I was about."

"The young ladies, ma'am," said Mr Hobson, "have a mighty way of
saluting one another till such time as they get husbands: and then I'll
warrant you they can meet without any salutation at all. That's my
remark, at least, and what I've seen of the world has set me upon
making it."

This speech led Cecilia to check, however artless, the tenderness of
her fervent young friend, whom she was much teized by meeting in such
company, but who seemed not to dare understand the frequent looks which
she gave her expressive of a wish to be alone with her.

"Come, ladies," continued the facetious Mr Hobson, "what if we were all
to sit down, and have a good dish of tea? and suppose, Mrs Belfield,
you was to order us a fresh round of toast and butter? do you think the
young ladies here would have any objection? and what if we were to have
a little more water in the tea-kettle? not forgetting a little more tea
in the teapot. What I say is this, let us all be comfortable; that's my
notion of things."

"And a very good notion too," said Mrs Belfield, "for you who have
nothing to vex you. Ah, ma'am, you have heard, I suppose, about my son?
gone off! nobody knows where! left that lord's house, where he might
have lived like a king, and gone out into the wide world nobody knows
for what!"

"Indeed?" said Cecilia, who, from seeing him in London concluded he was
again with his family, "and has he not acquainted you where he is?"

"No, ma'am, no," cried Mrs Belfield, "he's never once told me where he
is gone, nor let me know the least about the matter, for if I did I
would not taste a dish of tea again for a twelvemonth till I saw him
get back again to that lord's! and I believe in my heart there's never
such another in the three kingdoms, for he has sent here after him I
dare say a score of times. And no wonder, for I will take upon me to
say he won't find his fellow in a hurry, Lord as he is."

"As to his being a Lord," said Mr Hobson, "I am one of them that lay no
great stress upon that, unless he has got a good long purse of his own,
and then, to be sure, a Lord's no bad thing. But as to the matter of
saying Lord such a one, how d'ye do? and Lord such a one, what do you
want? and such sort of compliments, why in my mind, it's a mere
nothing, in comparison of a good income. As to your son, ma'am, he did
not go the right way to work. He should have begun with business, and
gone into pleasure afterwards and if he had but done that, I'll be bold
to say we might have had him at this very minute drinking tea with us
over this fireside."

"My son, Sir," said Mrs Belfield, rather angrily, "was another sort of
a person than a person of business: he always despised it from a child,
and come of it what may, I am sure he was born to be a gentleman."

"As to his despising business," said Mr Hobson, very contemptuously,
"why so much the worse, for business is no such despiseable thing. And
if he had been brought up behind a counter, instead of dangling after
these same Lords, why he might have had a house of his own over his
head, and been as good a man as myself."

"A house over his head?" said Mrs Belfield, "why he might have had what
he would, and have done what he would, if he had but followed my
advice, and put himself a little forward. I have told him a hundred
times to ask some of those great people he lived amongst for a place at
court, for I know they've so many they hardly know what to do with
them, and it was always my design from the beginning that he should be
something of a great man; but I never could persuade him, though, for
anything I know, as I have often told him, if he had but had a little
courage he might have been an Ambassador by this time. And now, all of
a sudden, to be gone nobody knows where!"--

"I am sorry, indeed," said Cecilia, who knew not whether most to pity
or wonder at her blind folly; "but I doubt not you will hear of him
soon."

"As to being an Ambassador, ma'am," said Mr Hobson, "it's talking quite
out of character. Those sort of great people keep things of that kind
for their own poor relations and cousins. What I say is this; a man's
best way is to take care of himself. The more those great people see
you want them, the less they like your company. Let every man be
brought up to business, and then when he's made his fortune, he may
walk with his hat on. Why now there was your friend, ma'am," turning to
Cecilia, "that shot out his brains without paying any body a souse;
pray how was that being more genteel than standing behind a counter,
and not owing a shilling?"

"Do you think a young lady," cried Mrs Belfield warmly, "can bear to
hear of such a thing as standing behind a counter? I am sure if my son
had ever done it, I should not expect any lady would so much as look at
him, And yet, though I say it, she might look a good while, and not see
many such persons, let her look where she pleased. And then he has such
a winning manner into the bargain, that I believe in my heart there's
never a lady in the land could say no to him. And yet he has such a
prodigious shyness, I never could make him own he had so much as asked
the question. And what lady can begin first?"

"Why no," said Mr Hobson, "that would be out of character another way.
Now my notion is this; let every man be agreeable! and then he may ask
what lady he pleases. And when he's a mind of a lady, he should look
upon a frown or two as nothing; for the ladies frown in courtship as a
thing of course; it's just like a man swearing at a coachman; why he's
not a bit more in a passion, only he thinks he sha'n't be minded
without it."

"Well, for my part," said Mrs Belfield, "I am sure if I was a young
lady, and most especially if I was a young lady of fortune, and all
that, I should like a modest young gentleman, such as my son, for
example, better by half than a bold swearing young fellow, that would
make a point to have me whether I would or no."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" cried Mr Hobson; "but the young ladies are not of that
way of thinking; they are all for a little life and spirit. Don't I say
right, young ladies?"

Cecilia, who could not but perceive that these speeches was levelled at
herself, felt offended and tired; and finding she had no chance of any
private conversation with Henrietta, arose to take leave: but while she
stopped in the passage to enquire when she could see her alone, a
footman knocked at the door, who, having asked if Mr Belfield lodged
there, and been answered in the affirmative; begged to know whether
Miss Beverley was then in the house?

Cecilia, much surprised, went forward, and told him who she was.

"I have been, madam," said he, "with a message to you at Mr Monckton's,
in Soho-Square: but nobody knew where you was; and Mr Monckton came out
and spoke to me himself, and said that all he could suppose was that
you might be at this house. So he directed me to come here."

"And from whom, Sir, is your message?"

"From the honourable Mr Delvile, madam, in St James's-Square. He
desires to know if you shall be at home on Saturday morning, the day
after to-morrow, and whether you can appoint Mr Briggs to meet him by
twelve o'clock exactly, as he sha'n't be able to stay above three
minutes."

Cecilia gave an answer as cold as the message; that she would be in
Soho-Square at the time he mentioned, and acquaint Mr Briggs of his
intention.

The footman then went away; and Henrietta told her, that if she could
call some morning she might perhaps contrive to be alone with her, and
added, "indeed I wish much to see you, if you could possibly do me so
great an honour; for I am very miserable, and have nobody to tell so!
Ah, Miss Beverley! you that have so many friends, and that deserve as
many again, you little know what a hard thing it is to have none!--but
my brother's strange disappearing has half broke our hearts!"

Cecilia was beginning a consolatory speech, in which she meant to give
her private assurances of his health and safety, when she was
interrupted by Mr Albany, who came suddenly into the passage.

Henrietta received him with a look of pleasure, and enquired why he had
so long been absent; but, surprised by the sight of Cecilia, he
exclaimed, without answering her, "why didst thou fail me? why appoint
me to a place thou wert quitting thyself?--thou thing of fair
professions! thou inveigler of esteem! thou vain, delusive promiser of
pleasure!"

"You condemn me too hastily," said Cecilia; if I failed in my promise,
it was not owing to caprice or insincerity, but to a real and bitter
misfortune which incapacitated me from keeping it. I shall soon,
however,--nay, I am already at your disposal, if you have any commands
for me."

"I have always," answered he, "commands for the rich, for I have always
compassion for the poor."

"Come to me, then, at Mr Monckton's in Soho-Square," cried she, and
hastened into her chair, impatient to end a conference which she saw
excited the wonder of the servants, and which also now drew out from
the parlour Mr Hobson and Mrs Belfield. She then kissed her hand to
Henrietta, and ordered the chairmen to carry her home.

It had not been without difficulty that she had restrained herself from
mentioning what she knew of Belfield, when she found his mother and
sister in a state of such painful uncertainty concerning him. But her
utter ignorance of his plans, joined to her undoubted knowledge of his
wish of concealment, made her fear doing mischief by officiousness, and
think it wiser not to betray what she had seen of him, till better
informed of his own views and intentions. Yet, willing to shorten a
suspence so uneasy to them, she determined to entreat Mr Monckton would
endeavour to find him out, and acquaint him with their anxiety.

That gentleman, when she returned to his house, was in a state of mind
by no means enviable. Missing her at tea, he had asked Miss Bennet
where she was, and hearing she had not left word, he could scarce
conceal his chagrin. Knowing, however, how few were her acquaintances
in town, he soon concluded she was with Miss Belfield, but, not
satisfied with sending Mr Delvile's messenger after her, he privately
employed one in whom he trusted for himself, to make enquiries at the
house without saying whence he came.

But though this man was returned, and he knew her safety, he still felt
alarmed; he had flattered himself, from the length of time in which she
had now done nothing without consulting him, she would scarce even
think of any action without his previous concurrence. And he had hoped,
by a little longer use, to make his counsel become necessary, which he
knew to be a very short step from rendering it absolute.

Nor was he well pleased to perceive, by this voluntary excursion, a
struggle to cast off her sadness, and a wish to procure herself
entertainment: it was not that he desired her misery, but he was
earnest that all relief from it should spring from himself: and though
far from displeased that Delvile should lose his sovereignty over her
thoughts, he was yet of opinion that, till his own liberty was
restored, he had less to apprehend from grief indulged, than grief
allayed; one could but lead her to repining retirement, the other might
guide her to a consolatory rival.

He well knew, however, it was as essential to his cause to disguise his
disappointments as his expectations, and, certain that by pleasing
alone he had any chance of acquiring power, he cleared up when Cecilia
returned, who as unconscious of feeling, as of owing any subjection to
him, preserved uncontrolled the right of acting for herself, however
desirous and glad of occasional instruction.

She told him where she had been, and related her meeting Belfield, and
the unhappiness of his friends, and hinted her wish that he could be
informed what they suffered. Mr Monckton, eager to oblige her, went
instantly in search of him, and returning to supper, told her he had
traced him through the Bookseller, who had not the dexterity to parry
his artful enquiries, and had actually appointed him to breakfast in
Soho-Square the next morning.

He had found him, he said, writing, but in high spirits and good
humour. He had resisted, for a while, his invitation on account of his
dress, all his clothes but the very coat which he had on being packed
up and at his mother's: but, when laughed at by Mr Monckton for still
retaining some foppery, he gaily protested what remained of it should
be extinguished; and acknowledging that his shame was no part of his
philosophy, declared he would throw it wholly aside, and, in spite of
his degradation, renew his visits at his house.

"I would not tell him," Mr Monckton continued, "of the anxiety of his
family; I thought it would come more powerfully from yourself, who,
having seen, can better enforce it."

Cecilia was very thankful for this compliance with her request, and
anticipated the pleasure she hoped soon to give Henrietta, by the
restoration of a brother so much loved and so regretted.

She sent, mean time, to Mr Briggs the message she had received from Mr
Delvile, and had the satisfaction of an answer that he would observe
the appointment.

CHAPTER iii.

A CONFABULATION.

The next morning, while the family was at breakfast, Belfield,
according to his promise, made his visit.

A high colour overspread his face as he entered the room, resulting
from a sensation of grief at his fallen fortune, and shame at his
altered appearance, which though he endeavoured to cover under an air
of gaiety and unconcern, gave an awkwardness to his manners, and a
visible distress to his countenance: Mr Monckton received him with
pleasure, and Cecilia, who saw the conflict of his philosophy with his
pride, dressed her features once more in smiles, which however faint
and heartless, shewed her desire to reassure him. Miss Bennet, as usual
when not called upon by the master or lady of the house, sat as a
cypher; and Lady Margaret, always disagreeable and repulsive to the
friends of her husband, though she was not now more than commonly
ungracious, struck the quick-feeling and irritable Belfield, to wear an
air of rude superiority meant to reproach him with his disgrace.

This notion, which strongly affected him, made him, for one instant,
hesitate whether he should remain another in the same room with her:
but the friendliness of Mr Monckton, and the gentleness and good
breeding of Cecilia, seemed so studious to make amends for her
moroseness, that he checked his too ready indignation, and took his
seat at the table. Yet was it some time before he could recover even
the assumed vivacity which this suspected insult had robbed him of,
sufficiently to enter into conversation with any appearance of ease or
pleasure. But, after a while, soothed by the attentions of Cecilia and
Mr Monckton, his uneasiness wore off, and the native spirit and
liveliness of his character broke forth with their accustomed energy.

"This good company, I hope," said he, addressing himself, however, only
to Cecilia, "will not so much _mistake the thing_ as to criticise my
dress of this morning; since it is perfectly according to rule, and to
rule established from time immemorial: but lest any of you should so
much err as to fancy shabby what is only characteristic, I must
endeavour to be beforehand with the malice of conjecture, and have the
honour to inform you, that I am enlisted in the Grub-street regiment,
of the third story, and under the tattered banner of scribbling
volunteers! a race which, if it boasts not the courage of heroes, at
least equals them in enmity. This coat, therefore, is merely the
uniform of my corps, and you will all, I hope, respect it as
emblematical of wit and erudition."

"We must at least respect you," said Cecilia, "who thus gaily can sport
with it."

"Ah, madam!" said he, more seriously, "it is not from you I ought to
look for respect! I must appear to you the most unsteady and coward-
hearted of beings. But lately I blushed to see you from poverty, though
more worthily employed than when I had been seen by you in affluence;
that shame vanquished, another equally narrow took its place, and
yesterday I blushed again that you detected me in a new pursuit, though
I had only quitted my former one from a conviction it was ill chosen.
There seems in human nature a worthlessness not to be conquered! yet I
will struggle with it to the last, and either die in the attempt, or
dare seem that which I am, without adding to the miseries of life, the
sting, the envenomed sting of dastardly false shame!"

"Your language is wonderfully altered within this twelvemonth," said Mr
Monckton; "_the worthlessness of human nature_! the _miseries of life_!
this from you! so lately the champion of human nature, and the
panegyrist of human life!"

"Soured by personal disappointment," answered he, "I may perhaps speak
with too much acrimony; yet, ultimately, my opinions have not much
changed. Happiness is given to us with more liberality than we are
willing to confess; it is judgment only that is dealt us sparingly, and
of that we have so little, that when felicity is before us, we turn to
the right or left, or when at the right or left, we proceed strait
forward. It has been so with me; I have sought it at a distance, amidst
difficulty and danger, when all that I could wish has been immediately
within my grasp."

"It must be owned," said Mr Monckton, "after what you have suffered
from this world you were wont to defend, there is little reason to
wonder at some change in your opinion."

"Yet whatever have been my sufferings," he answered, "I have generally
been involved in them by my own rashness or caprice. My last enterprise
especially, from which my expectations were highest, was the most ill-
judged of any. I considered not how little my way of life had fitted me
for the experiment I was making, how irreparably I was enervated by
long sedentary habits, and how insufficient for bodily strength was
mental resolution. We may fight against partial prejudices, and by
spirit and fortitude we may overcome them; but it will not do to war
with the general tenor of education. We may blame, despise, regret as
we please, but customs long established, and habits long indulged,
assume an empire despotic, though their power is but prescriptive.
Opposing them is vain; Nature herself, when forced aside, is not more
elastic in her rebound."

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