“As to these sort of things,” said Mr Hobson, “I can’t say I am much versed in them, by reason they are things I never much studied; but if I was to speak my notion, it is this; the best way to thrive in the world is to get money; but how is it to be got? Why by business: for business is to money, what fine words are to a lady, a sure road to success. Now I don’t mean by this to be censorious upon the ladies, being they have nothing else to go by, for as to examining if a man knows any thing of the world, and that, they have nothing whereby to judge, knowing nothing of it themselves. So that when they are taken in by rogues and sharpers, the fault is all in the law, for making no proviso against their having money in their own hands. Let every one be trusted according to their headpiece and what I say is this: a lady in them cases is much to be pitied, for she is obligated to take a man upon his own credit, which is tantamount to no credit at all, being what man will speak an ill word of himself? you may as well expect a bad shilling to cry out don’t take me! That’s what I say, and that’s my way of giving my vote.”
Cecilia, quite tired of these interruptions, and impatient to be gone, now said to Belfield, “I should be much obliged to you, Sir, if you could send to me the man you speak of tomorrow morning. I wished, also to consult you with regard to the route I ought to take. My purpose is to go to Nice, and as I am very desirous to travel expeditiously, you may perhaps be able to instruct me what is the best method for me to pursue.”
“Come, Mr Hobson and Mr Simkins,” cried Mrs Belfield, with a look of much significance and delight, “suppose you two and I was to walk into the next room? There’s no need for us to hear all the young lady may have a mind to say.”
“She has nothing to say, madam,” cried Cecilia, “that the whole world may not hear. Neither is it my purpose to talk, but to listen, if Mr Belfield is at leisure to favour me with his advice.”
“I must always be at leisure, and always be proud, madam,” Belfield began, when Hobson, interrupting him, said, “I ask pardon, Sir, for intruding, but I only mean to wish the young lady good night. As to interfering with business, that’s not my way, for it’s not the right method, by reason—”
“We will listen to your reason, Sir,” cried Belfield, “some other time; at present we will give you all credit for it unheard.”
“Let every man speak his own maxim, Sir,” cried Hobson; “for that’s what I call fair arguing: but as to one person’s speaking, and then making an answer for another into the bargain, why it’s going to work no-how; you may as well talk to a counter, and think because you make a noise upon it with your own hand, it gives you the reply.”
“Why, Mr Hobson,” cried Mrs Belfield, “I am quite ashamed of you for being so dull! don’t you see my son has something to say to the lady that you and I have no business to be meddling with?”
“I’m sure, ma’am, for my part,” said Mr Simkins, “I’m very agreeable to going away, for as to putting the young lady to the blush, it’s what I would not do in no shape.”
“I only mean,” said Mr Hobson, when he was interrupted by Mrs Belfield, who, out of all patience, now turned him out of the room by the shoulders, and, pulling Mr Simkins after, followed herself, and shut the door, though Cecilia, much provoked, desired she would stay, and declared repeatedly that all her business was public.
Belfield, who had, looked ready to murder them all during this short scene, now approached Cecilia, and with an air of mingled spirit and respect, said, “I am much grieved, much confounded, madam, that your ears should be offended by speeches so improper to reach them; yet if it is possible I can have the honour of being of any use to you, in me, still, I hope, you feel you may confide. I am too distant from you in situation to give you reason to apprehend I can form any sinister views in serving you; and, permit me to add, I am too near you in mind, ever to give you the pain of bidding me remember that distance.”
Cecilia then, extremely unwilling to shock a sensibility not more generous than jealous, determined to continue her enquiries, and, at the same time, to prevent any further misapprehension, by revealing her actual situation.
“I am sorry, Sir,” she answered, “to have occasioned this disturbance; Mrs Belfield, I find, is wholly unacquainted with the circumstance which now carries me abroad, or it would not have happened.”
Here a little noise in the passage interrupting her, she heard Mrs Belfield, though in a low voice, say, “Hush, Sir, hush! you must not come in just now; you’ve caught me, I confess, rather upon the listening order; but to tell you the truth, I did not know what might be going forward. However, there’s no admittance now, I assure you, for my son’s upon particular business with a lady, and Mr Hobson and Mr Simkins and I, have all been as good as turned out by them but just now.”
Cecilia and Belfield, though they heard this speech with mutual indignation, had no time to mark or express it, as it was answered without in a voice at once loud and furious, “You, madam, may be content to listen here; pardon me if I am less humbly disposed!” And the door was abruptly opened by young Delvile!
Cecilia, who half screamed from excess of astonishment, would scarcely, even by the presence of Belfield and his mother, have been restrained from flying to meet him, had his own aspect invited such a mark of tenderness; but far other was the case; when the door was open, he stopt short with a look half petrified, his feet seeming rooted to the spot upon which they stood.
“I declare I ask pardon, ma’am,” cried Mrs Belfield, “but the interruption was no fault of mine, for the gentleman would come in; and—”
“It is no interruption, madam;” cried Belfield, “Mr Delvile does me nothing but honour.”
“I thank you, Sir!” said Delvile, trying to recover and come forward, but trembling violently, and speaking with the most frigid coldness.
They were then, for a few instants, all silent; Cecilia, amazed by his arrival, still more amazed by his behaviour, feared to speak lest he meant not, as yet, to avow his marriage, and felt a thousand apprehensions that some new calamity had hurried him home: while Belfield was both hurt by his strangeness, and embarrassed for the sake of Cecilia; and his mother, though wondering at them all, was kept quiet by her son’s looks.
Delvile then, struggling for an appearance of more ease, said, “I seem to have made a general confusion here: — pray, I beg” —
“None at all, Sir,” said Belfield, and offered a chair to Cecilia.
“No, Sir,” she answered, in a voice scarce audible, “I was just going.” And again rang the bell.
“I fear I hurry you, madam?” cried Delvile, whose whole frame was now shaking with uncontrollable emotion; “you are upon business — I ought to beg your pardon — my entrance, I believe, was unseasonable.” —
“Sir!” cried she, looking aghast at this speech.
“I should have been rather surprised,” he added, “to have met you here, so late, — so unexpectedly, — so deeply engaged — had I not happened to see your servant in the street, who told me the honour I should be likely to have by coming.”
“Good God!—” exclaimed she, involuntarily; but, checking herself as well as she could, she courtsied to Mrs Belfield, unable to speak to her, and avoiding even to look at Belfield, who respectfully hung back, she hastened out of the room: accompanied by Mrs Belfield, who again began the most voluble and vulgar apologies for the intrusion she had met with.
Delvile also, after a moment’s pause, followed, saying, “Give me leave, madam, to see you to your carriage.”
Cecilia then, notwithstanding Mrs Belfield still kept talking, could no longer refrain saying, “Good heaven, what does all this mean?”
“Rather for me is that question,” he answered, in such agitation he could not, though he meant it, assist her into the chaise, “for mine, I believe, is the greater surprise!”
“What surprise?” cried she, “explain, I conjure you!”
“By and bye I will,” he answered; “go on postilion.”
“Where,
Sir?”
“Where you came from, I suppose.”
“What, Sir, back to Rumford?”
“Rumford!” exclaimed he, with encreasing disorder, “you came then from Suffolk hither? — from Suffolk to this very house?”
“Good heaven!” cried Cecilia, “come into the chaise, and let me speak and hear to be understood!”
“Who is that now in it?”
“My Maid.”
“Your maid? — and she waits for you thus at the door?” —
“What, what is it you mean?”
“Tell the man, madam, whither to go.”
“I don’t know myself — any where you please — do you order him.”
“I order him! — you came not hither to receive orders from me! — where was it you had purposed to rest?”
“I don’t know — I meant to go to Mrs Hill’s — I have no place taken.” —
“No place taken!” repeated he, in a voice faultering between passion and grief; “you purposed, then, to stay here? — I have perhaps driven you away?”
“Here!” cried Cecilia, mingling, in her turn, indignation with surprise, “gracious heaven! what is it you mean to doubt?”
“Nothing!” cried he, with emphasis, “I never have had, I never will have a doubt! I will know, I will have conviction for every thing! Postilion, drive to St James’s-square! — to Mr Delvile’s. There, madam, I will wait upon you.”
“No! stay, postilion!” called out Cecilia, seized with terror inexpressible; “let me get out, let me speak with you at once!”
“It cannot be; I will follow you in a few minutes — drive on, postilion!”
“No, no! — I will not go — I dare not leave you — unkind Delvile! — what is it you suspect.”
“Cecilia,” cried he, putting his hand upon the chaise-door, “I have ever believed you spotless as an angel! and, by heaven! I believe you so still, in spite of appearances — in defiance of every thing! — Now then be satisfied; — I will be with you very soon. Meanwhile, take this letter, I was just going to send to you. — Postilion, drive on, or be at your peril!”
The man waited no further orders, nor regarded the prohibition of Cecilia, who called out to him without ceasing; but he would not listen to her till he got to the end of the street; he then stopt, and she broke the seal of her letter, and read, by the light of the lamps, enough to let her know that Delvile had written it upon the road from Dover to London, to acquaint her his mother was now better, and had taken pity of his suspense and impatience, and insisted upon his coming privately to England, to satisfy himself fully about Mr Monckton, communicate his marriage to his father, and give those orders towards preparing for its being made public, which his unhappy precipitation in leaving the kingdom had prevented.
This letter, which, though written but a few hours before she received it, was full of tenderness, gratitude and anxiety for her happiness, instantly convinced her that his strange behaviour had been wholly the effect of a sudden impulse of jealousy; excited by so unexpectedly finding her in town, at the very house where his father had assured him she had an improper connexion, and alone, so suspiciously, with the young man affirmed to be her favourite. He knew nothing of the ejectment, nothing of any reason for her leaving Suffolk, every thing had the semblance of no motive but to indulge a private and criminal inclination.
These thoughts, which confusedly, yet forcibly, rushed upon her mind, brought with them at once an excuse for his conduct, and an alarm for his danger; “He must think,” she cried, “I came to town only to meet Mr Belfield!” then, opening the chaise-door herself, she jumpt out, and ran back into Portland-street, too impatient to argue with the postilion to return with her, and stopt not till she came to Mrs Belfield’s house.
She knocked at the door with violence; Mrs Belfield came to it herself; “Where,” cried she, hastily entering as she spoke, “are the gentlemen?”
“Lack-a-day! ma’am,” answered Mrs Belfield, “they are both gone out.”
“Gone out? — where to? — which way?”
“I am sure I can’t tell, ma’am, no more than you can; but I am sadly afraid they’ll have a quarrel before they’ve done.”
“Oh heaven!” cried Cecilia, who now doubted not a second duel, “tell me, shew me, which way they went?”
“Why, ma’am, to let you into the secret,” answered Mrs Belfield, “only I beg you’ll take no notice of it to my son, but, seeing them so much out of sorts, I begged the favour of Mr Simkins, as Mr Hobson was gone out to his club, just to follow them, and see what they were after.”
Cecilia was much rejoiced this caution had been taken, and determined to wait his return. She would have sent for the chaise to follow her; but Mrs Belfield kept no servant, and the maid of the house was employed in preparing the supper.
When Mr Simkins came back, she learnt, after various interruptions from Mrs Belfield, and much delay from his own slowness and circumlocution, that he had pursued the two gentlemen to the * * coffee-house.
She hesitated not a moment in resolving to follow them: she feared the failure of any commission, nor did she know whom to entrust with one: and the danger was too urgent for much deliberation. She begged, therefore, that Mr. Simkins would walk with her to the chaise; but hearing that the coffee-house was another way, she desired Mrs Belfield to let the servant run and order it to Mrs Roberts, in Fetterlane, and then eagerly requested Mr Simkins to accompany her on foot till they met with an hackney-coach.
They then set out, Mr Simkins feeling proud and happy in being allowed to attend her, while Cecilia, glad of any protection, accepted his offer of continuing with her, even after she met with an hackney-coach.
When she arrived at the coffee-house, she ordered the coachman to desire the master of it to come and speak with her.
He came, and she hastily called out, “Pray, are two gentlemen here?”
“Here are several gentlemen here, madam.”
“Yes, yes, — but are two upon any business — any particular business—”
“Two gentlemen, madam, came about half an hour ago, and asked for a room to themselves.”
“And where are they now? — are they up stairs? — down stairs? — where are they?”
“One of them went away in about ten minutes, and the other soon after.”
Bitterly chagrined and disappointed, she knew not what step to take next; but, after some consideration, concluded upon obeying Delvile’s own directions, and proceeding to St James’s-square, where alone, now, she seemed to have any chance of meeting with him. Gladly, however, she still consented to be accompanied by Mr Simkins, for her dread of being alone, at so late an hour, in an hackney-coach, was invincible. Whether Delvile himself had any authority for directing her to his father’s, or whether, in the perturbation of his new — excited and agonising sensations of jealousy, he had forgotten that any authority was necessary, she knew not; nor could she now interest herself in the doubt: a second scene, such as had so lately passed with Mr Monckton, occupied all her thoughts: she knew the too great probability that the high spirit of Belfield would disdain making the explanation which Delvile in his present agitation might require, and the consequence of such a refusal must almost inevitably be fatal.
CHAPTER VII. — A PURSUIT.
The moment the porter came to the door, Cecilia eagerly called out from the coach, “Is Mr Delvile here?”
“Yes, madam,” he answered, “but I believe he is engaged.”
“Oh no matter for any engagement!” cried she, “on the door, — I must speak to him this moment!”
“If you will please to step into the parlour, madam, I will tell his gentleman you are here; but he will be much displeased if he is disturbed without notice.”
“Ah heaven!” exclaimed she, “what Mr Delvile are you talking of?”
“My master, madam.”
Cecilia, who had got out of the coach, now hastily returned to it, and was some time in too great agony to answer either th
e porter, who desired some message, or the coachman, who asked whither he was to drive. To see Mr Delvile, unprotected by his son, and contrary to his orders, appeared to her insupportable; yet to what place could she go? where was she likely to meet with Delvile? how could he find her if she went to Mrs Hill’s? and in what other house could she at present claim admittance?
After a little recovering from this cruel shock, she ventured, though in a faultering voice, to enquire whether young Mr Delvile had been there?
“Yes, madam,” the porter answered; “we thought he was abroad, but he called just now, and asked if any lady had been at the house. He would not even stay to go up to my master, and we have not dared tell him of his arrival.”
This a little revived her; to hear that he had actually been enquiring for her, at least assured her of his safety from any immediate violence, and she began to hope she might now possibly meet with him time enough to explain all that had past in his absence, and occasioned her seemingly strange and suspicious situation at Belfield’s. She compelled herself, therefore, to summon courage for seeing his father, since, as he had directed her to the house, she concluded he would return there to seek her, when he had wandered elsewhere to no purpose.
She then, though with much timidity and reluctance, sent a message to Mr Delvile to entreat a moment’s audience.
An answer was brought her that he saw no company so late at night.
Losing now all dread of his reproaches, in her superior dread of missing Delvile, she called out earnestly to the man, “Tell him, Sir, I beseech him not to refuse me! tell him I have something to communicate that requires his immediate attention!”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 143