The Complete Novels of Fanny Burney (Illustrated). Frances Burney
Cecilia endeavoured to recover her serenity, and answer these questions in her usual manner; but she persisted in declining to give any opinion at all about the plans, and, after slightly looking at them, left the room.
Mr Harrel, who knew better how to account for her behaviour than he thought proper to declare, saw with concern that she was more seriously displeased than he had believed an occurrence which he had regarded as wholly unimportant could have made her: and, therefore, desirous that she should be appeased, he followed her out of the library, and said, “Miss Beverley, will tomorrow be soon enough for your protegee?”
“O yes, no doubt!” answered she, most agreeably surprised by the question.
“Well, then, will you take the trouble to bid her come to me in the morning?”
Delighted at this unexpected commission, she thanked him with smiles for the office; and as she hastened down stairs to chear the poor expectant with the welcome intelligence, she framed a thousand excuses for the part he had hitherto acted, and without any difficulty, persuaded herself he began to see the faults of his conduct, and to meditate a reformation.
She was received by the poor creature she so warmly wished to serve with a countenance already so much enlivened, that she fancied Mr Harrel had himself anticipated her intended information: this, however, she found was not the case, for as soon as she heard his message, she shook her head, and said, “Ah, madam, his honour always says tomorrow! but I can better bear to be disappointed now, so I’ll grumble no more; for indeed, madam, I have been blessed enough today to comfort me for every thing in the world, if I could but keep from thinking of poor Billy! I could bear all the rest, madam, but whenever my other troubles go off, that comes back to me so much the harder!”
“There, indeed, I can afford you no relief,” said Cecilia, “but you must try to think less of him, and more of your husband and children who are now alive. To-morrow you will receive your money, and that, I hope, will raise your spirits. And pray let your husband have a physician, to tell you how to nurse and manage him; I will give you one fee for him now, and if he should want further advice, don’t fear to let me know.”
Cecilia had again taken out her purse, but Mrs Hill, clasping her hands, called out, “Oh madam no! I don’t come here to fleece such goodness! but blessed be the hour that brought me here today, and if my poor Billy was alive, he should help me to thank you!”
She then told her that she was now quite rich, for while she was gone, a gentleman had come into the room, who had given her five guineas.
Cecilia, by her description, soon found this gentleman was Mr Arnott, and a charity so sympathetic with her own, failed not to raise him greatly in her favour. But as her benevolence was a stranger to that parade which is only liberal from emulation, when she found more money not immediately wanted, she put up her purse, and charging Mrs Hill to enquire for her the next morning when she came to be paid, bid her hasten back to her sick husband.
And then, again ordering the carriage to the door, she set off upon her visit to Miss Larolles, with a heart happy in the good already done, and happier still in the hope of doing more.
Miss Larolles was out, and she returned home; for she was too sanguine in her expectations from Mr Harrel, to have any desire of seeking her other guardians. The rest of the day she was more than usually civil to him, with a view to mark her approbation of his good intentions: while Mr Arnott, gratified by meeting the smiles he so much valued, thought his five guineas amply repaid, independently of the real pleasure which he took in doing good.
CHAPTER 10
A PROVOCATION
The next morning, when breakfast was over, Cecilia waited with much impatience to hear some tidings of the poor carpenter’s wife; but though Mr Harrel, who had always that meal in his own room, came into his lady’s at his usual hour, to see what was going forward, he did not mention her name. She therefore went into the hall herself, to enquire among the servants if Mrs Hill was yet come?
Yes, they answered, and had seen their master, and was gone.
She then returned to the breakfast room, where her eagerness to procure some information detained her, though the entrance of Sir Robert Floyer made her wish to retire. But she was wholly at a loss whether to impute to general forgetfulness, or to the failure of performing his promise, the silence of Mr Harrel upon the subject of her petition.
In a few minutes they were visited by Mr Morrice, who said he called to acquaint the ladies that the next morning there was to be a rehearsal of a very grand new dance at the Opera–House, where, though admission was difficult, if it was agreeable to them to go, he would undertake to introduce them.
Mrs Harrel happened to be engaged, and therefore declined the offer. He then turned to Cecilia, and said, “Well, ma’am, when did you see our friend Monckton?”
“Not since the rehearsal, sir.”
“He is a mighty agreeable fellow,” he continued, “and his house in the country is charming. One is as easy at it as at home. Were you ever there, Sir Robert?”
“Not I, truly,” replied Sir Robert; “what should I go for? — to see an old woman with never a tooth in her head sitting at the top of the table! Faith, I’d go an hundred miles a day for a month never to see such a sight again.”
“O but you don’t know how well she does the honours,” said Morrice; “and for my part, except just at meal times, I always contrive to keep out of her way.”
“I wonder when she intends to die,” said Mr Harrel.
“She’s been a long time about it,” cried Sir Robert; “but those tough old cats last for ever. We all thought she was going when Monckton married her; however, if he had not managed like a driveler, he might have broke her heart nine years ago.”
“I am sure I wish he had,” cried Mrs Harrel, “for she’s an odious creature, and used always to make me afraid of her.”
“But an old woman,” answered Sir Robert, “is a person who has no sense of decency; if once she takes to living, the devil himself can’t get rid of her.”
“I dare say,” cried Morrice, “she’ll pop off before long in one of those fits of the asthma. I assure you sometimes you may hear her wheeze a mile off.”
“She’ll go never the sooner for that,” said Sir Robert, “for I have got an old aunt of my own, who has been puffing and blowing as if she was at her last gasp ever since I can remember; and for all that, only yesterday, when I asked her doctor when she’d give up the ghost, he told me she might live these dozen years.”
Cecilia was by no means sorry to have this brutal conversation interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a letter for her. She was immediately retiring to read it; but upon the petition of Mr Monckton, who just then came into the room, she only went to a window. The letter was as follows:
To Miss, at his Honour Squire Harrel’s — These:
Honoured Madam — This with my humble duty. His Honour has given me nothing. But I would not be troublesome, having wherewithal to wait, so conclude, Honoured Madam, your dutiful servant to command, till death, M. HILL.
The vexation with which Cecilia read this letter was visible to the whole company; and while Mr Arnott looked at her with a wish of enquiry he did not dare express, and Mr Monckton, under an appearance of inattention, concealed the most anxious curiosity, Mr Morrice alone had courage to interrogate her; and, pertly advancing, said, “He is a happy man who writ that letter, ma’am, for I am sure you have not read it with indifference.”
“Were I the writer,” said Mr Arnott, tenderly, “I am sure I should reckon myself far otherwise, for Miss Beverley seems to have read it with uneasiness.”
“However,