“I heartily wish it had been otherwise,” said Cecilia; “but I still hope, if any thing can be done for Mrs Harrel, you will not object to such a proposal.”
“Ma’am, as I said before,” returned Mr Hobson, “I see you’re a lady of sense, and for that I honour you; but as to any thing being done, it’s what I call a distinct thing. What’s mine is mine, and what’s another man’s is his; that’s my way of arguing; but then if he takes what’s mine, where’s the law to hinder my taking what’s his? This is what I call talking to the purpose. Now as to a man’s cutting his throat, or the like of that, for blowing out his own brains may be called the self-same thing, what are his creditors the better for that? nothing at all, but so much the worse it’s a false notion to respect it, for there’s no respect in it; it’s contrary to law, and a prejudice against religion.”
“I agree entirely in your opinion,” said Cecilia, “but still Mrs Harrel” —
“I know your argument, ma’am,” interrupted Mr Hobson; “Mrs Harrel i’n’t the worse for her husband’s being shot through the head, because she was no accessory to the same, and for that reason, it’s a hardship she should lose all her substance; this, ma’am, is what I say, speaking to your side of the argument. But now, ma’am, please to take notice what I argue upon the reply; what have we creditors to do with a man’s family? Suppose I am a cabinet-maker? When I send in my chairs, do I ask who is to sit upon them? No; it’s all one to me whether it’s the gentleman’s progeny or his friends, I must be paid for the chairs the same, use them who may. That’s the law, ma’am, and no man need be ashamed to abide by it.”
The truth of this speech palliating its sententious absurdity, made Cecilia give up her faint attempt to soften him; and her chair being ready, she arose to take leave.
“Lack-a-day, ma’am,” cried Mrs Belfield, “I hope you won’t go yet, for I expect my son home soon, and I’ve a heap of things to talk to you about besides, only Mr Hobson having so much to say stopt my mouth. But I should take it as a great favour, ma’am, if you would come some afternoon and drink a dish of tea with me, for then we should have time to say all our say. And I’m sure, ma’am, if you would only let one of your footmen just take a run to let me know when you’d come, my son would be very proud to give you the meeting; and the servants can’t have much else to do at your house, for where there’s such a heap of ‘em, they commonly think of nothing all day long but standing and gaping at one another.”
“I am going out of town to-morrow,” said Cecilia, “and therefore cannot have the pleasure of calling upon Miss Belfield again.”
She then slightly courtsied, and left the room.
The gentle Henrietta, her eyes swimming in tears, followed her to her chair; but she followed her not alone, Mrs Belfield also attended, repining very loudly at the unlucky absence of her son; and the cringing Mr Simkins, creeping after her and bowing, said in a low voice, “I humbly crave pardon, ma’am, for the liberty, but I hope you won’t think as I have any share in Mr Hobson’s behaving so rude, for I must needs say, I don’t think it over genteel in no shape.” And Mr Hobson himself, bent upon having one more sentence heard, called out, even after she was seated in her chair, “All I say, ma’am, is this; let every man be honest; that’s what I argue, and that’s my notion of things.”
Cecilia still reached home before Mrs Delvile; but most uneasy were her sensations, and most unquiet was her heart; the letter she had seen in the hands of Henrietta seemed to corroborate all her former suspicions, since if it came not from one infinitely dear to her she would not have shewn such fondness for it, and if that one was not dear to her in secret, she would not have concealed it.
Where then was the hope that any but Delvile could have written it? in secret she could not cherish two, and that Delvile was cherished most fondly, the artlessness of her character unfitted her for disguising.
And why should he write to her? what was his pretence? That he loved her she could now less than ever believe, since his late conduct to herself, though perplexing and inconsistent, evinced at least a partiality incompatible with a passion for another. What then, could she infer, but that he had seduced her affections, and ruined her peace, for the idle and cruel gratification of temporary vanity?
“And if such,” cried she, “is the depravity of this accomplished hypocrite, if such is the littleness of soul that a manner so noble disguises, shall be next, urged, perhaps, rather by prudence than preference, make me the object of his pursuit, and the food of his vain-glory? And shall I, warned and instructed as I am, be as easy a prey and as wretched a dupe? No, I will be better satisfied with his conduct, before I venture to trust him, and since I am richer than Henrietta and less likely to be deserted, when won, I will be more on my guard to know why I am addressed, and vindicate the rights of innocence, if I find she has been thus deluded, by forgetting his talents in his treachery, and renouncing him for ever!”
Such were the reflections and surmises that dampt all the long-sought pleasure of her change of residence, and made her habitation in St James’s-square no happier than it had been at Mr Harrel’s!
She dined again with only Mr and Mrs Delvile, and did not see their son all day; which, in her present uncertainty what to think of him, was an absence she scarcely regretted.
When the servants retired, Mr Delvile told her that he had that morning received two visits upon her account, both from admirers, who each pretended to having had leave to wait upon her from Mr Harrel.
He then named Sir Robert Floyer and Mr Marriot.
“I believe, indeed,” said Cecilia, “that neither of them were treated perfectly well; to me, however, their own behaviour has by no means been strictly honourable. I have always, when referred to, been very explicit; and what other methods they were pleased to take, I cannot wonder should fail.”
“I told them,” said Mr Delvile, “that, since you were now under my roof, I could not refuse to receive their proposals, especially as there would be no impropriety in your alliance with either of them but I told them, at the same time, that I could by no means think of pressing their suit, as that was an office which, however well it might do for Mr Harrel, would be totally improper and unbecoming for me.”
“Certainly;” said Cecilia, “and permit me, Sir, to entreat that, should they again apply to you, they may be wholly discouraged from repeating their visits, and assured that far from having trifled with them hitherto, the resolutions I have declared will never be varied.”
“I am happy,” said Mrs Delvile, “to see so much spirit and discernment where arts of all sorts will be practised to ensnare and delude. Fortune and independence were never so securely lodged as in Miss Beverley, and I doubt not but her choice, whenever it is decided, will reflect as much honour upon her heart, as her difficulty in making it does upon her understanding.”
Mr Delvile then enquired whether she had fixed upon any person to choose as a guardian in the place of Mr Harrel. No, she said, nor should she, unless it were absolutely necessary.
“I believe, indeed,” said Mrs Delvile, “your affairs will not much miss him! Since I have heard of the excess of his extravagance, I have extremely rejoiced in the uncommon prudence and sagacity of his fair ward, who, in such dangerous hands, with less penetration and sound sense, might have been drawn into a thousand difficulties, and perhaps defrauded of half her fortune.”
Cecilia received but little joy from this most unseasonable compliment, which, with many of the same sort that were frequently, though accidentally made, intimidated her from the confession she had planned and finding nothing but censure was likely to follow the discovery, she at length determined to give it up wholly, unless any connection should take place which might render necessary its avowal. Yet something she could not but murmur, that an action so detrimental to her own interest, and which, at the time, appeared indispensable to her benevolence, should now be considered as a mark of such folly and imprudence that she did not dare own it.
&nb
sp; CHAPTER II. — A RAILING.
The next morning the family purposed setting off as soon as breakfast was over; young Delvile, however, waited not so long; the fineness of the weather tempted him, he said, to travel on horse-back, and therefore he had risen very early, and was already gone. Cecilia could not but wonder, yet did not repine.
Just as breakfast was over, and Mr and Mrs Delvile and Cecilia were preparing to depart, to their no little surprise, the door was opened, and, out of breath with haste and with heat, in stumpt Mr Briggs! “So,” cried he to Cecilia, “what’s all this? hay? — where are you going? — a coach at the door! horses to every wheel! Servants fine as lords! what’s in the wind now? think to chouse me out of my belongings?”
“I thought, Sir,” said Cecilia, who instantly understood him, though Mr and Mrs Delvile stared at him in utter astonishment, “I had explained before I left you that I should not return.”
“Didn’t, didn’t!” answered he, angrily; “waited for you three days, dressed a breast o’ mutton o’ purpose; got in a lobster, and two crabs; all spoilt by keeping; stink already; weather quite muggy, forced to souse ’em in vinegar; one expense brings on another; never begin the like agen.”
“I am very sorry, indeed,” said Cecilia, much disconcerted, “if there has been any mistake through my neglect; but I had hoped I was understood, and I have been so much occupied—”
“Ay, ay,” interrupted he, “fine work! rare doings! a merry Vauxhalling, with pistols at all your noddles! thought as much! thought he’d tip the perch; saw he wasn’t stanch; knew he’d go by his company, — a set of jackanapes! all blacklegs! nobody warm among ‘em; fellows with a month’s good living upon their backs, and not sixpence for the hangman in their pockets!”
Mrs Delvile now, with a look of arch congratulation at Cecilia as the object of this agreeable visit, finding it not likely to be immediately concluded, returned to her chair; but Mr Delvile, leaning sternly upon his cane, moved not from the spot where he stood at his entrance, but surveyed him from head to foot, with the most astonished contempt at his undaunted vulgarity.
“Well I’d all your cash myself; seized that, else! — run out the constable for you, next, and made you blow out your brains for company. Mind what I say, never give your mind to a gold lace hat! many a one wears it don’t know five farthings from twopence. A good man always wears a bob wig; make that your rule. Ever see Master Harrel wear such a thing? No, I’ll warrant! better if he had; kept his head on his own shoulders. And now, pray, how does he cut up? what has he left behind him? a twey-case, I suppose, and a bit of a hat won’t go on a man’s head!”
Cecilia, perceiving, with great confusion, that Mr Delvile, though evidently provoked by this intrusion, would not deign to speak, that Mr Briggs might be regarded as belonging wholly to herself, hastily said “I will not, Sir, as your time is precious, detain you here, but, as soon as it is in my power, I will wait upon you in the city.”
Mr Briggs, however, without listening to her, thought proper to continue his harangue.
“Invited me once to his house; sent me a card, half of it printed like a book! t’other half a scrawl could not read; pretended to give a supper; all a mere bam; went without my dinner, and got nothing to eat; all glass and shew; victuals painted all manner of colours; lighted up like a pastry-cook on twelfth-day; wanted something solid, and got a great lump of sweetmeat; found it as cold as a stone, all froze in my mouth like ice; made me jump again, and brought the tears in my eyes; forced to spit it out; believe it was nothing but a snowball, just set up for show, and covered over with a little sugar. Pretty way to spend money! Stuffing, and piping, and hopping! never could rest till every farthing was gone; nothing left but his own fool’s pate, and even that he could not hold together.”
“At present, Sir,” said Cecilia, “we are all going out of town; the carriage is waiting at the door, and therefore—”
“No such thing,” cried he; “Sha’n’t go; come for you myself; take you to my own house. Got every thing ready, been to the broker’s, bought a nice blanket, hardly a brack in it. Pick up a table soon; one in my eye.”
“I am sorry you have so totally mistaken me, Sir; for I am now going into the country with Mr and Mrs Delvile.”
“Won’t consent, won’t consent! what will you go there for? hear of nothing but dead dukes; as well visit an old tomb.”
Here Mr Delvile, who felt himself insulted in a manner he could least support, after looking at him very disdainfully, turned to Cecilia, and said “Miss Beverley, if this person wishes for a longer conference with you, I am sorry you did not appoint a more seasonable hour for your interview.”
“Ay, ay,” cried the impenetrable Mr Briggs; “want to hurry her off! see that! But ‘t won’t do; a’n’t to be nicked; chuse to come in for my thirds; won’t be gulled, sha’n’t have more than your share.”
“Sir!” cried Mr Delvile, with a look meant to be nothing less than petrific.
“What!” cried he, with an arch leer; “all above it, hay? warrant your Spanish Don never thinks of such a thing! don’t believe ’em my duck! great cry and little wool; no more of the ready than other folks; mere puff and go one.”
“This is language, Sir,” said Mr Delvile, “so utterly incomprehensible, that I presume you do not even intend it should be understood; otherwise, I should very little scruple to inform you, that no man of the name of Delvile brooks the smallest insinuation of dishonour.”
“Don’t he?” returned Mr Briggs, with a grin; “why how will he help it? will the old grandees jump up out of their graves to frighten us?”
“What old grandees, Sir? to whom are you pleased to allude?”
“Why all them old grandfathers and aunts you brag of; a set of poor souls you won’t let rest in their coffins; mere clay and dirt! fine things to be proud of! a parcel of old mouldy rubbish quite departed this life! raking up bones and dust, nobody knows for what! ought to be ashamed; who cares for dead carcases? nothing but [carrion]. My little Tom’s worth forty of ‘em!”
“I can so ill make out, Miss Beverley,” said the astonished Mr Delvile, “what this person is pleased to dive at, that I cannot pretend to enter into any sort of conversation with him; you will therefore be so good as to let me know when he has finished his discourse, and you are at leisure to set off.”
And then, with a very stately air, he was quitting the room; but was soon stopt, upon Mr Briggs calling out “Ay, ay, Don Duke, poke in the old charnel houses by yourself, none of your defunct for me! didn’t care if they were all hung in a string. Who’s the better for ‘em?’
“Pray, Sir,” cried Mr Delvile, turning round, “to whom were you pleased to address that speech?”
“To one Don Puffendorff,” replied Mr Briggs; “know ever such a person, hay?”
“Don who? Sir!” said Mr Delvile, stalking nearer to him, “I must trouble you to say that name over again.”
“Suppose don’t chuse it? how then?”
“I am to blame,” said Mr Delvile, scornfully waving his hand with a repulsive motion, “to suffer myself to be irritated so unworthily; and I am sorry, in my own house, to be compelled to hint that the sooner I have it to myself, the better I shall be contented with it.”
“Ay, ay, want to get me off; want to have her to yourself! won’t be so soon choused; who’s the better man? hay? which do you think is warmest? and all got by myself; obliged to never a grandee for a penny; what do you say to that? will you cast an account with me?”
“Very extraordinary this!” cried Mr Delvile; “the most extraordinary circumstance of the kind I ever met with! a person to enter my house in order to talk in this incomprehensible manner! a person, too, I hardly know by sight!”
“Never mind, old Don,” cried Briggs, with a facetious nod, “Know me better another time!”
“Old who, Sir! — what!”
“Come to a fair reckoning,” continued Mr Briggs; “suppose you were in my case, and had never a farthing bu
t of your own getting; where would you be then? What would become of your fine coach and horses? you might stump your feet off before you’d ever get into one. Where would be all this fine crockery work for your breakfast? you might pop your head under a pump, or drink out of your own paw; what would you do for that fine jemmy tye? Where would you get a gold head to your stick? — You might dig long enough in them cold vaults before any of your old grandfathers would pop out to give you one.”
Mr Delvile, feeling more enraged than he thought suited his dignity, restrained himself from making any further answer, but going up to the bell, rang it with great violence.
“And as to ringing a bell,” continued Mr Briggs, “you’d never know what it was in your life, unless could make interest to be a dust-man.”
“A dust-man!” — repeated Mr Delvile, unable to command his silence longer, “I protest” — and biting his lips, he stopt short.
“Ay, love it, don’t you? suits your taste; why not one dust as well as another? Dust in a cart good as dust of a charnel-house; don’t smell half so bad.”
A servant now entering, Mr Delvile called out “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He then begged Mrs Delvile to go into the coach, and telling Cecilia to follow when at leisure, left the room.
“I will come immediately, Sir,” said Cecilia; “Mr Briggs, I am sorry to leave you, and much concerned you have had this trouble; but I can detain Mr Delvile no longer.”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 96