Cecilia; Or, Memoirs of an Heiress. Volume 2

Cecilia, who could bear to hear no more, again hastened Mrs Charlton, who now moved, on; but Morrice, stepping between them both and the door, said, “Now do pray, Miss Beverley, guess who it was.”

“No indeed, I cannot,” said she, in the utmost confusion, “Nor have I any time to hear. Come, dear madam, we shall be very late indeed.”

“O but I must tell you before you go;—why it was young Mr Delvile! the same that I saw with you one night at the Pantheon, and that I used to meet last spring at Mr Harrel’s.”

“Mr Delvile!” repeated every one; “very strange he should not speak.”

“Pray, ma’am,” continued Morrice, “is it not the same gentleman that was at Mr Biddulph’s?”

Cecilia, half dead with shame and vexation, stammered out “No, no,—I believe not,—I can’t tell;—I have not a moment to spare.”

And then, at last, got Mrs Charlton out of the room, and into the chaise. But thither, before she could drive off, she was followed by Mr Gosport, who gravely came to offer his advice that she would immediately lodge an information at the Public Office at Bow Street, that a very suspicious looking man had been observed loitering in those parts, who appeared to harbour most dangerous designs against her person and property.

Cecilia was too much confounded to rally or reply, and Mr Gosport returned to his party with his speech unanswered.

The rest of the journey was without any new casualty, for late as it was, they escaped being robbed; but neither robbers nor new casualties were wanting to make it unpleasant to Cecilia; the incidents which had already happened sufficed for that purpose; and the consciousness of being so generally betrayed, added to the delay of her recantation, prepared her for nothing but mortifications to herself, and conflicts with Delvile the most bitter and severe.

It was near ten o’clock before they arrived in Pall-Mall. The house to which Delvile had given directions was easily found, and the servant sent forward had prepared the people of it for their reception.

In the cruellest anxiety and trepidation, Cecilia then counted every moment till Delvile came. She planned an apology for her conduct with all the address of which she was mistress, and determined to bear his disappointment and indignation with firmness; yet the part she had to act was both hard and artificial; she sighed to have it over, and repined she must have it at all.

The instant there was a knock at the door, she flew out upon the stairs to listen; and hearing his well-known voice enquiring for the ladies who had just taken the lodgings, she ran back to Mrs Charlton, saying, “Ah, madam, assist me I entreat! for now must I merit, or forfeit your esteem for ever!”

“Can you pardon,” cried Delvile, as he entered the room, “an intrusion which was not in our bond? But how could I wait till to-morrow, when I knew you were in town to-night?”

He then made his compliments to Mrs Charlton, and, after enquiring how she had borne her journey, turned again to Cecilia, whose uneasy sensations he saw but too plainly in her countenance; “Are you angry,” cried he, anxiously, “that I have ventured to come hither to-night?”

“No,” answered she, struggling with all her feelings for composure; “what we wish is easily excused; and I am glad to see you to-night, because otherwise—”

She hesitated; and Delvile, little imagining why, thanked her in the warmest terms for her condescension. He then related how he had been tormented by Morrice, enquired why Mr Monckton had not accompanied her, and what could possibly have induced her to make her journey so late, or, with so large a party, to be walking upon the high road instead of hastening to London.

“I wonder not,” answered she, more steadily, “at your surprise, though I have now no time to lessen it. You have never, I find, received my letter?”

“No,” cried he, much struck by her manner; “was it to forbid our meeting till to-morrow?”

“To-morrow!” she repeated expressively, “no; it was to forbid—”

Here the door was suddenly opened, and Morrice burst into the room.

The dismay and astonishment of Delvile at sight of him could only be equalled by the confusion and consternation of Cecilia; but Morrice, perceiving neither, abruptly called out “Miss Beverley, I quite beg your pardon for coming so late, but you must know”—then stopping short upon seeing Delvile, “Good lord,” he exclaimed, “if here is not our gentleman spy! Why, Sir, you have not spared the spur! I left you galloping off quite another way.”

“However that may be Sir,” cried Delvile, equally enraged at the interruption and the observation, “you did not, I presume, wait upon Miss Beverley to talk of me?”

“No, Sir,” answered he, lightly, “for I had told her all about you at the inn. Did not I, Miss Beverley? Did not I tell you I was sure it was Mr Delvile that was dodging us about so? Though I believe, Sir, you thought I had not found you out?”

“And pray, young man,” said Mrs Charlton, much offended by this familiar intrusion, “how did you find us out?”

“Why, ma’am, by the luckiest accident in the world! Just as I was riding into town, I met the returned chaise that brought you; and I knew the postilion very well, as I go that road pretty often; so, by the merest chance in the world, I saw him by the light of the moon. And then he told me where he had set you down.”

“And pray, Sir,” again asked Mrs Charlton, “what was your reason for making the enquiry?”

“Why, ma’am, I had a little favour to ask of Miss Beverley, that made me think I would take the liberty to call.”

“And was this time of night, Sir,” she returned, “the only one you could chase for that purpose?”

“Why, ma’am, I’ll tell you how that was; I did not mean to have called till to-morrow morning; but as I was willing to know if the postilion had given me a right direction, I knocked one soft little knock at the door, thinking you might be gone to bed after your journey, merely to ask if it was the right house; but when the servant told me there was a gentleman with you already, I thought there would be no harm in just stepping for a moment up stairs.”

“And what, Sir,” said Cecilia, whom mingled shame and vexation had hitherto kept silent, “is your business with me?”

“Why, ma’am, I only just called to give you a direction to a most excellent dog-doctor, as we call him, that lives at the corner of—”

“A dog-doctor, Sir?” repeated Cecilia, “and what have I to do with any such direction?”

“Why you must know, ma’am, I have been in the greatest concern imaginable about that accident which happened to me with the poor little dog, and so—”

“What little dog, Sir?” cried Delvile, who now began to conclude he was not sober, “do you know what you are talking of?”

“Yes, Sir, for it was that very little dog you made me drop out of my arms, by which means he broke his other leg.”

“I made you drop him?” cried Delvile, angrily, “I believe, Sir, you had much better call some other time; it does not appear to me that you are in a proper situation for remaining here at present.”

“Sir, I shall be gone in an instant,” answered Morrice, “I merely wanted to beg the favour of Miss Beverley to tell that young lady that owned the dog, that if she will carry him to this man, I am sure he will make a cure of him.”

“Come, Sir,” said Delvile, convinced now of his inebriety, “if you please we will walk away together.”

“I don’t mean to take you away, Sir,” said Morrice, looking very significantly, “for I suppose you have not rode so hard to go so soon; but as to me, I’ll only write the direction, and be off.”

Delvile, amazed and irritated at so many following specimens of ignorant assurance, would not, in his present eagerness, have scrupled turning him out of the house, had he not thought it imprudent, upon such an occasion, to quarrel with him, and improper, at so late an hour, to be left behind; he therefore only, while he was writing the direction, told Cecilia, in a low voice, that he would get rid of him and return in an instant.

They then went together; leaving Cecilia in an agony of distress surpassing all she had hitherto experienced. “Ah, Mrs Charlton,” she cried, “what refuge have I now from ridicule, or perhaps disgrace! Mr Delvile has been detected watching me in disguise! he has been discovered at this late hour meeting me in private! The story will reach his family with all the hyperbole of exaggeration;—how will his noble mother disdain me! how cruelly shall I sink before the severity of her eye!”

Mrs Charlton tried to comfort her, but the effort was vain, and she spent her time in the bitterest repining till eleven o’clock. Delvile’s not returning then added wonder to her sadness, and the impropriety of his returning at all so late, grew every instant more glaring.

At last, though in great disturbance, and evidently much ruffled in his temper, he came; “I feared,” he cried, “I had passed the time for admittance, and the torture I have suffered from being detained has almost driven me wild. I have been in misery to see you again,—your looks, your manner,—the letter you talk of,—all have filled me with alarm; and though I know not what it is I have to dread, I find it impossible to rest a moment without some explanation. Tell me, then, why you seem thus strange and thus depressed? Tell me what that letter was to forbid? Tell me any thing, and every thing, but that you repent your condescension.”

“That letter,” said Cecilia, “would have explained to you all. I scarce know how to communicate its contents; yet I hope you will hear with patience what I acknowledge I have resolved upon only from necessity. That letter was to tell you that to-morrow we must not meet;—it was to prepare you, indeed, for our meeting, perhaps, never more!”

“Gracious heaven!” exclaimed he, starting, “what is it you mean?”

“That I have made a promise too rash to be kept; that you must pardon me if, late as it is, I retract, since I am convinced it was wrong, and must be wretched in performing it.”

Confounded and dismayed, for a moment he continued silent, and then passionately called out, “Who has been with you to defame me in your opinion? Who has barbarously wronged my character since I left you Monday? Mr Monckton received me coldly,—has he injured me in your esteem? Tell, tell me but to whom I owe this change, that my vindication, if it restores not your favour, may at least make you cease to (missing words) that once I was honoured with some share of it!”

“It wants not to be restored,” said Cecilia, with much softness, “since it has never been alienated. Be satisfied that I think of you as I thought when we last parted, and generously forbear to reproach me, when I assure you I am actuated by principles which you ought not to disapprove.”

“And are you then, unchanged?” cried he, more gently, “and is your esteem for me still—”

“I thought it justice to say so once,” cried she, hastily interrupting him, “but exact from me nothing more. It is too late for us now to talk any longer; to-morrow you may find my letter at Mrs Robert’s, and that, short as it is, contains my resolution and its cause.”