Cecilia; Or, Memoirs of an Heiress. Volume 2

“I don’t—I can’t tell, Sir.”

“Is it long since you have seen him?”

“It is two months,” answered she, with yet more hesitation, “since I was at Delvile Castle.”

“O, but,” cried Morrice, “did not you see him while he was in Suffolk? I believe, indeed, he is there now, for it was only yesterday I heard of his coming down, by a gentleman who called upon Lady Margaret, and told us he had seen a stranger, a day or two ago, at Mrs Charlton’s door, and when he asked who he was, they told him his name was Delvile, and said he was on a visit at Mr Biddulph’s.”

Cecilia was quite confounded by this speech; to have it known that Delvile had visited her, was in itself alarming, but to have her own equivocation thus glaringly exposed, was infinitely more dangerous. The just suspicions to which it must give rise filled her with dread, and the palpable evasion in which she had been discovered, overwhelmed, her with confusion.

“So you had forgotten,” said Mr Gosport, looking at her with much archness, “that you had seen him within the two months? but no wonder; for where is the lady who having so many admirers, can be at the trouble to remember which of them she saw last? or who, being so accustomed to adulation, can hold it worth while to enquire whence it comes? A thousand Mr Delviles are to Miss Beverley but as one; used from them all to the same tale, she regards them not individually as lovers, but collectively as men; and to gather, even from herself, which she is most inclined to favour, she must probably desire, like Portia in the Merchant of Venice, that their names may be run over one by one, before she can distinctly tell which is which.”

The gallant gaiety of this speech was some relief to Cecilia, who was beginning a laughing reply, when Morrice called out, “That man looks as if he was upon the scout.” And, raising her eyes, she perceived a man on horseback, who, though much muffled up, his hat flapped, and a handkerchief held to his mouth and chin, she instantly, by his air and figure, recognized to be Delvile.

In much consternation at this sight, she forgot what she meant to say, and dropping her eyes, walked silently on. Mr Gosport, attentive to her motions, looked from her to the horseman, and after a short examination, said, “I think I have seen that man before; have you, Miss Beverley?”

“Me?—no,”—answered she, “I believe not,—I hardly indeed, see him now.”

“I have, I am pretty sure,” said Morrice; “and if I could see his face, I dare say I should recollect him.”

“He seems very willing to know if he can recollect any of us,” said Mr Gosport, “and, if I am not mistaken, he sees much better than he is seen.”

He was now come up to them, and though a glance sufficed to discover the object of his search, the sight of the party with which she was surrounded made him not dare stop or speak to her, and therefore, clapping spurs to his horse, he galloped past them.

“See,” cried Morrice, looking after him, “how he turns round to examine us! I wonder who he is.”

“Perhaps some highwayman!” cried Miss Larolles; “I assure you I am in a prodigious fright; I should hate to be robbed so you can’t think.”

“I was going to make much the same conjecture,” said Mr Gosport, “and, if I am not greatly deceived, that man is a robber of no common sort. What think you, Miss Beverley, can you discern a thief in disguise?”

“No, indeed; I pretend to no such extraordinary knowledge.”

“That’s true; for all that you pretend to is extraordinary ignorance.”

“I have a good mind,” said Morrice, “to ride after him, and see what he is about.”

“What for?” exclaimed Cecilia, greatly alarmed “there can certainly be no occasion!”

“No, pray don’t,” cried Miss Larolles, “for I assure you if he should come back to rob us, I should die upon the spot. Nothing could be so disagreeable I should scream so, you’ve no idea.”

Morrice then gave up the proposal, and they walked quietly on; but Cecilia was extremely disturbed by this accident; she readily conjectured that, impatient for her arrival, Delvile had ridden that way, to see what had retarded her, and she was sensible that nothing could be so desirable as an immediate explanation of the motive of her journey. Such a meeting, therefore, had she been alone, was just what she could have wished, though, thus unluckily encompassed, it only added to her anxiety.

Involuntarily, however, she quickened her pace, through her eagerness to be relieved from so troublesome a party; but Miss Larolles, who was in no such haste, protested she could not keep up with her; saying, “You don’t consider that I have got this sweet little dog to carry, and he is such a shocking plague to me you’ve no notion. Only conceive what a weight he is!”

“Pray, ma’am,” cried Morrice, “let me take him for you; I’ll be very careful of him, I promise you; and you need not be afraid to trust me, for I understand more about dogs than about any thing.”

Miss Larolles, after many fond caresses, being really weary, consented, and Morrice placed the little animal before him on horseback; but while this matter was adjusting, and Miss Larolles was giving directions how she would have it held, Morrice exclaimed, “Look, look! that man is coming back! He is certainly watching us. There! now he’s going off again!—I suppose he saw me remarking him.”

“I dare say he’s laying in wait to rob us,” said Miss Larolles; “so when we turn off the high road, to go to Mrs Mears, I suppose he’ll come galloping after us. It’s excessive horrid, I assure you.”

“‘Tis a petrifying thing,” said the captain, “that one must always be degouté by some wretched being or other of this sort; but pray be not deranged, I will ride after him, if you please, and do mon possible to get rid of him.”

“Indeed I wish you would,” answered Miss Larolles, “for I assure you he has put such shocking notions into my head, it’s quite disagreeable.”

“I shall make it a principle,” said the captain, “to have the honour of obeying you.” And was riding off, when Cecilia, in great agitation, called out “Why should you go, Sir?—he is not in our way,—pray let him alone,—for what purpose should you pursue him?”

“I hope,” said Mr Gosport, “for the purpose of making him join our company, to some part of which I fancy he would be no very intolerable addition.”

This speech again silenced Cecilia, who perceived, with the utmost confusion, that both Delvile and herself were undoubtedly suspected by Mr Gosport, if not already actually betrayed to him. She was obliged, therefore, to let the matter take its course, though quite sick with apprehension lest a full discovery should follow the projected pursuit.

The Captain, who wanted not courage, however deeply in vanity and affectation he had buried common sense, stood suspended, upon the request of Cecilia, that he would not go, and, with a shrug of distress, said, “Give me leave to own I am parfaitment in a state the most accablant in the world; nothing could give me greater pleasure than to profit of the occasion to accommodate either of these ladies; but as they proceed upon different principles, I am indecidé to a degree which way to turn myself!”

“Put it to the vote, then,” said Morrice; “the two ladies have both spoke; now, then, for the gentlemen. Come, Sir,” to Mr Gosport, “what say you?”

“O, fetch the culprit back, by all means,” answered he; “and then let us all insist upon his opening his cause, by telling us in what he has offended us; for there is no part of his business, I believe, with which we are less acquainted.”

“Well,” said Morrice, “I’m for asking him a few questions too; so is the Captain; so every body has spoke but you, Sir,” addressing himself to Mr Meadows, “So now, Sir, let’s hear your opinion.”

Mr Meadows, appearing wholly inattentive, rode on.

“Why, Sir, I say!” cried Morrice, louder, “we are all waiting for your vote. Pray what is the gentleman’s name? it’s deuced hard to make him hear one.”

“His name is Meadows,” said Miss Larolles, in a low voice, “and I assure you sometimes he won’t hear people by the hour together. He’s so excessive absent you’ve no notion. One day he made me so mad, that I could not help crying; and Mr Sawyer was standing by the whole time! and I assure you I believe he laughed at me. Only conceive how distressing!”

“May be,” said Morrice, “it’s out of bashfulness perhaps he thinks we shall cut him up.”

“Bashfulness,” repeated Miss Larolles; “Lord, you don’t conceive the thing at all. Why he’s at the very head of the ton. There’s nothing in the world so fashionable as taking no notice of things, and never seeing people, and saying nothing at all, and never hearing a word, and not knowing one’s own acquaintance. All the ton people do so, and I assure you as to Mr Meadows, he’s so excessively courted by every body, that if he does but say a syllable, he thinks it such an immense favour, you’ve no idea.”

This account, however little alluring in itself, of his celebrity, was yet sufficient to make Morrice covet his further acquaintance; for Morrice was ever attentive to turn his pleasure to his profit, and never negligent of his interest, but when ignorant how to pursue it. He returned, therefore, to the charge, though by no means with the same freedom he had begun it, and lowering his voice to a tone of respect and submission, he said, “Pray, Sir, may we take the liberty to ask your advice, whether we shall go on, or take a turn back?”

Mr Meadows made not any answer; but when Morrice was going to repeat his question, without appearing even to know that he was near him, he abruptly said to Miss Larolles, “Pray what is become of Mrs Mears? I don’t see her amongst us.”

“Lord, Mr Meadows,” exclaimed she, “how can you be so odd? Don’t you remember she went on in a chaise to the inn?”

“O, ay, true,” cried he; “I protest I had quite forgot it; I beg your pardon, indeed. Yes, I recollect now,—she fell off her horse.”

“Her horse? Why you know she was in her chaise.”

“Her chaise, was it?—ay, true, so it was. Poor thing!—I am glad she was not hurt.”

“Not hurt? Why she’s so excessively bruised, she can’t stir a step! Only conceive what a memory you’ve got!”

“I am most extremely sorry for her indeed,” cried he, again stretching himself and yawning; “poor soul!—I hope she won’t die. Do you think she will!”

“Die!” repeated Miss Larolles, with a scream, “Lord, how shocking! You are really enough to frighten one to hear you.”

“But, Sir,” said Morrice, “I wish you would be so kind as to give us your vote; the man will else be gone so far, we sha’n’t be able to overtake him.—Though I do really believe that is the very fellow coming back to peep at us again!”

“I am ennuyé to a degree,” cried the Captain; “he is certainly set upon us as a spy, and I must really beg leave to enquire of him upon what principle he incommodes us.”—And instantly he rode after him.