What next? thought Cecilia; though still she gave him no interruption, for the haughtiness of his manner was repulsive to reply.
“My design, therefore, is to speak to you of Sir Robert Floyer. When I had last the pleasure of addressing you upon this subject, you may probably remember my voice was in his favour; but I then regarded him merely as the rival of an inconsiderable young man, to rescue you from whom he appeared an eligible person. The affair is now altered, that young man is thought of no more, and another rival comes forward, to whom Sir Robert is as inconsiderable as the first rival was to Sir Robert.”
Cecilia started at this information, livelier sensations stimulated her curiosity, and surmises in which she was most deeply interested quickened her attention.
“This rival,” proceeded he, “I should imagine no young lady would a moment hesitate in electing; he is every way the superior of Sir Robert except in fortune, and the deficiencies of that the splendour of your own may amply supply.”
The deepest crimson now tinged the cheeks of Cecilia; the prophecy of Mr Monckton seemed immediately fulfilling, and she trembled with a rising conflict between her approbation of the offer, and her dread of its consequences.
“I know not, indeed,” continued he, “in what estimation you may have been accustomed to hold rank and connection, nor whether you are impressed with a proper sense of their superiority and value; for early prejudices are not easily rooted out, and those who have lived chiefly with monied people, regard even birth itself as unimportant when compared with wealth.”
The colour which first glowed in the cheeks of Cecilia from expectation, now rose yet higher from resentment: she thought herself already insulted by a prelude so ostentatious and humiliating to the proposals which were to follow; and she angrily determined, with whatever pain to her heart, to assert her own dignity by refusing them at once, too well satisfied by what she now saw of the present, that Mr Monckton had been just in his prediction of the future.
“Your rejection, therefore,” continued he, “of this honourable offer, may perhaps have been merely the consequence of the principles in which you have been educated.—”
“Rejection?” interrupted Cecilia, amazed, “what rejection, Sir?”
“Have you not refused the proposals of my Lord Ernolf for his son?”
“Lord Ernolf? never! nor have I ever seen either his Lordship or his son but in public.”
“That,” replied Mr Delvile, “is little to the purpose; where the connexion is a proper one, a young lady of delicacy has only to accede to it. But though this rejection came not immediately from yourself, it had doubtless your concurrence.”
“It had not, Sir, even my knowledge.”
“Your alliance then with Sir Robert Floyer is probably nearer a conclusion than I had imagined, for otherwise Mr Harrel would not, without consulting you, have given the Earl so determinate an answer.”
“No, Sir,” said Cecilia, impatiently, “my alliance with him was never more distant, nor do I mean it should ever approach more near.”
She was now little disposed for further conversation. Her heroic design of refusing young Delvile by no means reconciled her to the discovery she now made that he had not meant to address her; and though she was provoked and fretted at this new proof that Mr Harrel scrupled neither assertions nor actions to make her engagement with Sir Robert credited, her disappointment in finding that Mr Delvile, instead of pleading the cause of his son, was exerting his interest for another person, affected her so much more nearly, that notwithstanding he still continued his parading harangue, she scarcely knew even the subject of his discourse, and seized the first opportunity of a cessation to rise and take her leave.
He asked her if she would not call upon Mrs Delvile; but desirous to be alone, she declined the invitation; he then charged her to proceed no further with Sir Robert till he had made some enquiries concerning Lord Ernolf, and graciously promising his protection and counsel, suffered her to depart.
Cecilia now perceived she might plan her rejections, or study her dignity at her leisure, for neither Mr Delvile nor his son seemed in any haste to put her fortitude to the proof. With regard, therefore, to their plots and intentions, Mr Monckton she found was wrong, but with respect to their conduct and sentiments, she had every reason to believe him right: and though her heart refused to rejoice in escaping a trial of its strength, her judgment was so well convinced that his painting was from the life, that she determined to conquer her partiality for young Delvile, since she looked forward to nothing but mortification in a connexion with his family.
CHAPTER V. — AN AGITATION.
With this intention, and every faculty of her mind absorbed in reflecting upon the reasons which gave rise to it, she returned to Portman-square.
As her chair was carried into the hall, she observed, with some alarm, a look of consternation among the servants, and an appearance of confusion in the whole house. She was proceeding to her own room, intending to enquire of her maid if any evil had happened, when she was crossed upon the stairs by Mr Harrel, who passed her with an air so wild and perturbed, that he hardly seemed to know her.
Frightened and amazed, she stopt short, irresolute which way to go; but, hastily returning, he beckoned her to follow him.
She obeyed, and he led her to the library. He then shut the door, and abruptly seizing her hand, called out, “Miss Beverley, I am ruined! — I am undone! — I am blasted for ever!”
“I hope not, Sir!” said Cecilia, extremely terrified, “I hope not! Where is Mrs Harrel?”
“O I know not! I know not!” cried he, in a frantic manner, “but I have not seen her, — I cannot see her, — I hope I shall never see her more!—”
“O fie! fie!” said Cecilia, “let me call her, I beg; you should consult with her in this distress, and seek comfort from her affection.”
“From her affection?” repeated he, fiercely, “from her hatred you mean! do you not know that she, too, is ruined? Oh past redemption ruined! — and yet that I should hesitate, that I should a moment hesitate to conclude the whole business at once!”
“How dreadful!” cried Cecilia, “what horrible thing has happened?”
“I have undone Priscilla!” cried he, “I have blasted my credit! I have destroyed — no, not yet quite destroyed myself!”
“O yet nor ever!” cried Cecilia, whose agitation now almost equalled his own, “be not so desperate, I conjure you! speak to me more intelligibly, — what does all this mean? How has it come to pass?”
“My debts! — my creditors! — one way only,” striking his hand upon his forehead, “is left for me!”
“Do not say so, Sir!” said Cecilia, “you shall find many ways; pray have courage! pray speak calmly; and if you will but be more prudent, will but, in future, better regulate your affairs, I will myself undertake—”
She stopt; checked in the full career of her overflowing compassion, by a sense of the worthlessness of its object; and by the remembrance of the injunctions of Mr Monckton.
“What will you undertake?” cried he, eagerly, “I know you are an angel! — tell me, what will you undertake?”
“I will,—” said Cecilia, hesitating, “I will speak to Mr Monckton, — I will consult—”
“You may as well consult with every cursed creditor in the house!” interrupted he; “but do so, if you please; my disgrace must perforce reach him soon, and a short anticipation is not worth begging off.”
“Are your creditors then actually in the house?”
“O yes, yes! and therefore it is high time I should be out of it! — Did you not see them? — Do they not line the hall? — They threaten me with three executions before night! — three executions unless I satisfy their immediate demands!—”
“And to what do their demands amount?”
“I know not! — I dare not ask! — to some thousand pounds, perhaps, — and I have not, at this minute, forty guineas in the house!”
“Nay, then,”
cried Cecilia, retreating, “I can indeed do nothing! if their demands are so high, I ought to do nothing.”
She would then have quitted him, not more shocked at his situation, than indignant at the wilful extravagance which had occasioned it.
“Stay,” cried he, “and hear me!” then, lowering his voice, “seek out,” he continued, “your unfortunate friend, — go to the poor ruined Priscilla, — prepare her for tidings of horror! and do not, though you renounce Me, do not abandon Her!”
Then, fiercely passing her, he was himself leaving the room; but Cecilia, alarmed by the fury of his manner, called out, “What is it you mean? what tidings of horror? whither are you going?”
“To hell!” cried he, and rushed out of the apartment.
Cecilia screamed aloud, and conjuring him to hear her, ran after him; he paid her no regard, but, flying faster than she had power to pursue, reached his own dressing-room, shut himself into it with violence, and just as she arrived at the door, turned the key, and bolted it.
Her terror was now inexpressible; she believed him in the very act of suicide, and her refusal of assistance seemed the signal for the deed: her whole fortune, at that moment, was valueless and unimportant to her, compared with the preservation of a fellow-creature: she called out with all the vehemence of agony to beg he would open the door, and eagerly promised by all that was sacred to do everything in her power to save him.
At these words he opened it; his face was totally without colour, and he grasped a razor in his hand.
“You have stopt me,” said he, in a voice scarce audible, “at the very moment I had gathered courage for the blow: but if indeed you will assist me, I will shut this up, — if not, I will steep it in my blood!”
“I will! I will!” cried Cecilia, “I will do every thing you desire!”
“And quickly?”
“Immediately.”
“Before my disgrace is known? and while all may yet be hushed up?”
“Yes, yes! all — any — every thing you wish!”
“Swear, then!”
Here Cecilia drew back; her recollection returned as her terror abated, and her repugnance to entering into an engagement for she knew not what, with a man whose actions she condemned, and whose principles she abhorred, made all her fright now give way to indignation, and, after a short pause, she angrily answered, “No, Sir, I will not swear! — but yet, all that is reasonable, all that is friendly—”
“Hear me swear, then!” interrupted he, furiously, “which at this moment I do, by every thing eternal, and by every thing infernal, that I will not outlive the seizure of my property, and that the moment I am informed there is an execution in my house, shall be the last of my existence!”
“What cruelty! what compulsion! what impiety!” cried Cecilia: “give me, however, that horrible instrument, and prescribe to me what conditions you please.”
A noise was now heard below stairs, at which Cecilia, who had not dared call for help lest he should quicken his desperation, was secretly beginning to rejoice, when, starting at the sound, he exclaimed, “I believe you are too late! — the ruffians have already seized my house!” then, endeavouring to force her out of the room, “Go,” he cried, “to my wife; — I want to be alone!”
“Oh give me first,” cried she, “that weapon, and I will take what oath you please!”
“No, no! — go, — leave me,—” cried he, almost breathless with emotion, “I must not now be trifled with.”
“I do not trifle! indeed I do not!” cried Cecilia, holding by his arm: “try, put me to the proof!”
“Swear, solemnly swear, to empty my house of these creditors this moment!”
“I do swear,” cried she, with energy, “and Heaven prosper me as I am sincere!”
“I see, I see you are an angel!” cried he, rapturously, “and as such I worship and adore you! O you have restored me to life, and rescued me from perdition!”
“Give me, then, that fatal instrument!”
“That instrument,” returned he, “is nothing, since so many others are in my power; but you have now taken from me all desire of using them. Go, then, and stop those wretches from coming to me, — send immediately for the Jew! — he will advance what money you please, — my man knows where to find him; consult with Mr Arnott, — speak a word of comfort to Priscilla, — but do nothing, nothing at all, till you have cleared my house of those cursed scoundrels!”
Cecilia, whose heart sunk within her at the solemn promise she had given, the mention of the Jew, and the arduous task she had undertaken, quitted him without reply, and was going to her own room, to compose her hurried spirits, and consider what steps she had to take, when hearing the noise in the hall grow louder, she stopt to listen, and catching some words that greatly alarmed her, went half way down stairs, when she was met by Davison, Mr Harrel’s man, of whom she enquired into the occasion of the disturbance.
He answered that he must go immediately to his master, for the bailiffs were coming into the house.
“Let him not know it if you value his life!” cried she, with new terror. “Where is Mr Arnott? call him to me, — beg him to come this moment; — I will wait for him here.”
The man flew to obey her; and Cecilia, finding she had time neither for deliberation nor regret, and dreading lest Mr Harrel, by hearing of the arrival of the bailiffs, should relapse into despair, determined to call to her aid all the courage, prudence, and judgment she possessed, and, since to act she was compelled, endeavour with her best ability, to save his credit, and retrieve his affairs.
The moment Mr Arnott came, she ordered Davison to hasten to his master, and watch his motions.
Then, addressing Mr Arnott, “Will you. Sir,” she said, “go and tell those people that if they will instantly quit the house, every thing shall be settled, and Mr Harrel will satisfy their demands?”
“Ah madam!” cried Mr Arnott, mournfully, “and how? he has no means to pay them, and I have none — without ruin to myself, — to help him!”
“Send them but away,” said Cecilia, “and I will myself be your security that your promise shall not be disgraced.”
“Alas, madam,” cried he, “what are you doing? well as I wish to Mr Harrel, miserable as I am for my unfortunate sister, I yet cannot bear that such goodness, such beneficence should be injured!”
Cecilia, however, persisted, and with evident reluctance he obeyed her.
While she waited his return, Davison came from Mr Harrel, who had ordered him to run instantly for the Jew.
Good Heaven, thought Cecilia, that a man so wretchedly selfish and worldly, should dare, with all his guilt upon his head,
To rush unlicenced on eternity! {Footnote: Mason’s Elfrida}
Mr Arnott was more than half an hour with the people; and when, at last, he returned, his countenance immediately proclaimed the ill success of his errand. The creditors, he said, declared they had so frequently been deceived, that they would not dismiss the bailiffs, or retire themselves, without actual payment.
“Tell them, then, Sir,” said Cecilia, “to send me their accounts, and, if it be possible, I will discharge them directly.”
Mr Arnott’s eyes were filled with tears at this declaration, and he protested, be the consequence to himself what it might, he would pay away every shilling he was worth, rather than witness such injustice.
“No,” cried Cecilia, exerting more spirit, that she might shock him less, “I did not save Mr Harrel, to destroy so much better a man! you have suffered but too much oppression already; the present evil is mine; and from me, at least, none I hope will ever spread to Mr Arnott.”
Mr Arnott could not bear this; he was struck with grief, with admiration, and with gratitude, and finding his tears now refused to be restrained, he went to execute her commission in silent dejection.
The dejection, however, was encreased, though his tears were dispersed, when he returned; “Oh madam!” he cried, “all your efforts, generous as they are, will be of no
avail! the bills even now in the house amount to more than L7000!”
Cecilia, amazed and confounded, started and clasped her hands, calling out, “What must I do! to what have I bound myself! and how can I answer to my conscience, — to my successors, such a disposal, such an abuse of so large a part of my fortune!”
Mr Arnott could make no answer; and they stood looking at each other in silent irresolution, till Davison brought intelligence that the Jew was already come, and waited to speak with her.
“And what can I say to him?” cried she, more and more agitated; “I understand nothing of usury; how am I to deal with him?”
Mr Arnott then confessed that he should himself have instantly been bail for his brother, but that his fortune, originally not large, was now so much impaired by the many debts which from time to time he had paid for him, that as he hoped some day to have a family of his own, he dare not run a risk by which he might be utterly ruined, and the less, as his sister had at Violet Bank been prevailed upon to give up her settlement.
This account, which explained the late uneasiness of Mrs Harrel, still encreased the distress of Cecilia; and every moment she obtained for reflection, augmented her reluctance to parting with so large a sum of money for so worthless an object, and added strength to her resentment for the unjustifiable menaces which had extorted from her such a promise. Yet not an instant would she listen to Mr Arnott’s offer of fulfilling her engagement, and charged him, as he considered her own self-esteem worth her keeping, not to urge to her a proposal so ungenerous and selfish.
Davison now came again to hasten her, and said that the Jew was with his master, and they both impatiently expected her.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 76