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 to-day, 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 x. – 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, I have read it,” answered she, “I assure you it is not from any man.”
“O pray, Miss Beverley,” cried Sir Robert, coming forward, “are you any better to-day?”
“No, sir, for I have not been ill.”
“A little vapoured, I thought, yesterday; perhaps you want exercise.”
“I wish the ladies would put themselves under my care,” cried Morrice, “and take a turn round the park.”
“I don’t doubt you, Sir,” said Mr Monckton, contemptuously, “and, but for the check of modesty, probably there is not a man here who would not wish the same.”
“I could propose a much better scheme than that,” said Sir Robert; “what if you all walk to Harley Street, and give me your notions of a house I am about there? what say you, Mrs Harrel?”
“O, I shall like it vastly.”
“Done,” cried Mr Harrel; “‘tis an excellent motion.”
“Come then,” said Sir Robert, “let’s be off. Miss Beverley, I hope you have a good warm cloak?”
“I must beg you to excuse my attending you, sir.”
Mr Monckton, who had heard this proposal with the utmost dread of its success, revived at the calm steadiness with which it was declined. Mr and Mrs Harrel both teized Cecilia to consent; but the haughty Baronet, evidently more offended than hurt by her refusal, pressed the matter no further, either with her or the rest of the party, and the scheme was dropt entirely.
Mr Monckton failed not to remark this circumstance, which confirmed his suspicions, that though the proposal seemed made by chance, its design was nothing else than to obtain Cecilia’s opinion concerning his house. But while this somewhat alarmed him, the unabated insolence of his carriage, and the confident defiance of his pride, still more surprized him; and notwithstanding all he observed of Cecilia, seemed to promise nothing but dislike; he could draw no other inference from his behaviour, than that if he admired, he also concluded himself sure of her.
This was not a pleasant conjecture, however little weight he allowed to it; and he resolved, by outstaying all the company, to have a few minutes’ private discourse with her upon the subject.