Cecilia; Or, Memoirs of an Heiress. Volume 3

“No, ma’am, my acquaintance is—not very universal.”

“Then, Sir, you are no judge how well he might make his own terms. And as to this young lady, she found him out, Sir, when not one of his own natural friends could tell where in the world he was gone! She was the first, Sir, to come and tell me news of him though I was his own mother! Love, Sir, is prodigious for quickness! it can see, I sometimes think, through bricks and mortar. Yet all this would not do, he was so obstinate not to take the hint!”

Cecilia now felt so extremely provoked, she was upon the point of bursting in upon them to make her own vindication; but as her passions, though they tried her reason never conquered it, she restrained herself by considering that to issue forth from a room in that house, would do more towards strengthening what was thus boldly asserted, than all her protestations could have chance to destroy.

“And as to young ladies themselves,” continued Mrs Belfield, “they know no more how to make their minds known than a baby does: so I suppose he’ll shilly shally till somebody else will cry snap, and take her. It is but a little while ago that it was all the report she was to have young Mr Delvile, one of her guardian’s sons.”

“I am sorry report was so impertinent,” cried Mr Delvile, with much displeasure; “young Mr Delvile is not to be disposed of with so little ceremony; he knows better what is due to his family.”

Cecilia here blushed from indignation, and Henrietta sighed from despondency.

“Lord, Sir,” answered Mrs Belfield, “what should his family do better? I never heard they were any so rich, and I dare say the old gentleman, being her guardian, took care to put his son enough in her way, however it came about that they did not make a match of it: for as to old Mr Delvile, all the world says–”

“All the world takes a very great liberty,” angrily interrupted Mr Delvile, “in saying any thing about him: and you will excuse my informing you that a person of his rank and consideration, is not lightly to be mentioned upon every little occasion that occurs.”

“Lord, Sir,” cried Mrs Belfield, somewhat surprised at this unexpected prohibition, “I don’t care for my part if I never mention the old gentleman’s name again! I never heard any good of him in my life, for they say he’s as proud as Lucifer, and nobody knows what it’s of, for they say—”

“They say?” cried he, firing with rage, “and who are they? be so good as inform me that?”

“Lord, every body, Sir! it’s his common character.”

“Then every body is extremely indecent,” speaking very loud, “to pay no more respect to one of the first families in England. It is a licentiousness that ought by no means to be suffered with impunity.”

Here, the street-door being kept open by the servants in waiting, a new step was heard in the passage, which Henrietta immediately knowing, turned, with uplifted hands to Cecilia, and whispered, “How unlucky! it’s my brother! I thought he would not have returned till night!”

“Surely he will not come in here?” re-whispered Cecilia.

But, at the same moment, he opened the door, and entered the room. He was immediately beginning an apology, and starting back, but Henrietta catching him by the arm, told him in a low voice, that she had made use of his room because she had thought him engaged for the day, but begged him to keep still and quiet, as the least noise would discover them.

Belfield then stopt; but the embarrassment of Cecilia was extreme; to find herself in his room after the speeches she had heard from his mother, and to continue with him in it by connivance, when she knew she had been represented as quite at his service, distressed and provoked her immeasurably; and she felt very angry with Henrietta for not sooner informing her whose apartment she had borrowed. Yet now to remove, and to be seen, was not to be thought of; she kept, therefore, fixed to her seat, though changing colour every moment from the variety of her emotions.

During this painful interruption she lost Mrs Belfield’s next answer, and another speech or two from Mr Delvile, to whose own passion and loudness was owing Belfield’s entering his room unheard: but the next voice that called their attention was that of Mr Hobson, who just then walked into the parlour.

“Why what’s to do here?” cried he, facetiously, “nothing but chairs and livery servants! Why, ma’am, what is this your rout day? Sir your most humble servant. I ask pardon, but I did not know you at first. But come, suppose we were all to sit down? Sitting’s as cheap as standing, and what I say is this; when a man’s tired, it’s more agreeable.”

“Have you any thing further, ma’am,” said Mr Delvile, with great solemnity, “to communicate to me?”

“No, Sir,” said Mrs Belfield, rather angrily, “it’s no business of mine to be communicating myself to a gentleman that I don’t know the name of. Why, Mr Hobson, how come you to know the gentleman?”

“To know me!” repeated Mr Delvile, scornfully.

“Why I can’t say much, ma’am,” answered Mr Hobson, “as to my knowing the gentleman, being I have been in his company but once; and what I say is, to know a person if one leaves but a quart in a hogshead, it’s two pints too much. That’s my notion. But, Sir, that was but an ungain business at ‘Squire Monckton’s t’other morning. Every body was no-how, as one may say. But, Sir, if I may be so free, pray what is your private opinion of that old gentleman that talked so much out of the way?”

“My private opinion, Sir?”

“Yes, Sir; I mean if it’s no secret, for as to a secret, I hold it’s what no man has a right to enquire into, being of its own nature it’s a thing not to be told. Now as to what I think myself, my doctrine is this; I am quite of the old gentleman’s mind about some things, and about others I hold him to be quite wide of the mark. But as to talking in such a whisky frisky manner that nobody can understand him, why its tantamount to not talking at all, being he might as well hold his tongue. That’s what I say. And then as to that other article, of abusing a person for not giving away all his lawful gains to every cripple in the streets, just because he happens to have but one leg, or one eye, or some such matter, why it’s knowing nothing of business! it’s what I call talking at random.”

“When you have finished, Sir,” said Mr Delvile, “you will be so good to let me know.”

“I don’t mean to intrude, Sir; that’s not my way, so if you are upon business—”

“What else, Sir, could you suppose brought me hither? However, I by no means purpose any discussion. I have only a few words more to say to this gentlewoman, and as my time is not wholly inconsequential, I should not be sorry to have an early opportunity of being heard.”

“I shall leave you with the lady directly, Sir; for I know business better than to interrupt it: but seeing chairs in the entry, my notion was I should see ladies in the parlour, not much thinking of gentlemen’s going about in that manner, being I never did it myself. But I have nothing to offer against that; let every man have his own way; that’s what I say. Only just let me ask the lady before I go, what’s the meaning of my seeing two chairs in the entry, and only a person for one in the parlour? The gentleman, I suppose, did not come in both; ha! ha! ha!”

“Why now you put me in mind,” said Mrs Belfield, “I saw a chair as soon as I come in; and I was just going to say who’s here, when this gentleman’s coming put it out of my head.”

“Why this is what I call Hocus Pocus work!” said Mr Hobson; “but I shall make free to ask the chairmen who they are waiting for.”

Mrs Belfield, however, anticipated him; for running into the passage, she angrily called out, “What do you do here, Misters? do you only come to be out of the rain? I’ll have no stand made of my entry, I can tell you!”

“Why we are waiting for the lady,” cried one of them.

“Waiting for a fiddlestick!” said Mrs Belfield; “here’s no lady here, nor no company; so if you think I’ll have my entry filled up by two hulking fellows for nothing, I shall shew you the difference. One’s dirt enough of one’s own, without taking people out of the streets to help one. Who do you think’s to clean after you?”

“That’s no business of ours; the lady bid us wait,” answered the man.

Cecilia at this dispute could with pleasure have cast herself out of the window to avoid being discovered; but all plan of escape was too late; Mrs Belfield called aloud for her daughter, and then, returning to the front parlour, said, “I’ll soon know if there’s company come to my house without my knowing it!” and opened a door leading to the next room!

Cecilia, who had hitherto sat fixed to her chair, now hastily arose, but in a confusion too cruel for speech: Belfield, wondering even at his own situation, and equally concerned and surprised at her evident distress, had himself the feeling of a culprit, though without the least knowledge of any cause: and Henrietta, terrified at the prospect of her mother’s anger, retreated as much as possible out of sight.

Such was the situation of the discovered, abashed, perplexed, and embarrassed! while that of the discoverers, far different, was bold, delighted, and triumphant!

“So!” cried Mrs Belfield, “why here’s Miss Beverley!—in my son’s back room!” winking at Mr Delvile.

“Why here’s a lady, sure enough!” said Mr Hobson, “and just where she should be, and that is with a gentleman. Ha! ha! that’s the right way, according to my notion! that’s the true maxim for living agreeable.”

“I came to see Miss Belfield,” cried Cecilia, endeavouring, but vainly, to speak with composure, “and she brought me into this room.”

“I am but this moment,” cried Belfield, with eagerness, “returned home; and unfortunately broke into the room, from total ignorance of the honour which Miss Beverley did my sister.”

These speeches, though both literally true, sounded, in the circumstances which brought them out, so much as mere excuses, that while Mr Delvile haughtily marked his incredulity by a motion of his chin, Mrs Belfield continued winking at him most significantly, and Mr Hobson, with still less ceremony, laughed aloud.

“I have nothing more, ma’am,” said Mr Delvile to Mrs Belfield, “to enquire, for the few doubts with which I came to this house are now entirely satisfied. Good morning to you, ma’am.”

“Give me leave, Sir,” said Cecilia, advancing with more spirit, “to explain, in presence of those who can best testify my veracity, the real circumstances—”

“I would by no means occasion you such unnecessary trouble, ma’am,” answered he, with an air at once exulting and pompous, “the situation in which I see you abundantly satisfies my curiosity, and saves me from the apprehension I was under of being again convicted of a mistake!”

He then made her a stiff bow, and went to his chair.

Cecilia, colouring deeply at this contemptuous treatment, coldly took leave of Henrietta, and courtsying to Mrs Belfield, hastened into the passage, to get into her own.

Henrietta was too much intimidated to speak, and Belfield was too delicate to follow her; Mr Hobson only said “The young lady seems quite dashed;” but Mrs Belfield pursued her with entreaties she would stay.

She was too angry, however, to make any answer but by a distant bow of the head, and left the house with a resolution little short of a vow never again to enter it.

Her reflections upon this unfortunate visit were bitter beyond measure; the situation in which she had been surprised,—clandestinely concealed with only Belfield and his sister—joined to the positive assertions of her partiality for him made by his mother, could not, to Mr Delvile, but appear marks irrefragable that his charge in his former conversation was rather mild than over-strained, and that the connection he had mentioned, for whatever motives denied, was incontestably formed.