Fanny Burney - Regency Romance Classics – Fanny Burney Collection

To this note Cecilia received no answer: but she had the pleasure to observe that Sir Robert forbore his usual visit on the day she sent it, and, though he appeared again the day following, he never spoke to her and seemed sullen and out of humour.

Yet still young Delvile came not, and still, as her surprise encreased, her tranquillity was diminished. She could form no excuse for his delay, nor conjecture any reason for his absence. Every motive seemed to favour his seeking, and not one his shunning her: the explanation which had so lately passed had informed him he had no rival to fear, and the manner in which he had heard it assured her the information was not indifferent to him; why, then, so assiduous in his visits when he thought her engaged, and so slack in all attendance when he knew she was at liberty?

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Unable to relieve herself from this perplexity, Cecilia, to divert her chagrin, again visited Miss Belfield. She had then the pleasure to hear that her brother was much recovered, and had been able, the preceding day, to take an airing, which he had borne so well that Mr Rupil had charged him to use the same exercise every morning.

“And will he?” said Cecilia.

“No, madam, I am sadly afraid not,” she answered, “for coach hire is very expensive, and we are willing, now, to save all we can in order to help fitting him out for going abroad.”

Cecilia then earnestly entreated her to accept some assistance; but she assured her she did not dare without the consent of her mother, which, however, she undertook to obtain.

The next day, when Cecilia called to hear her success, Mrs Belfield, who hitherto had kept out of sight, made her appearance. She found her, alike in person, manners and conversation, a coarse and ordinary woman, not more unlike her son in talents and acquired accomplishments, than dissimilar to her daughter in softness and natural delicacy.

The moment Cecilia was seated, she began, without waiting for any ceremony, or requiring any solicitation, abruptly to talk of her affairs, and repiningly to relate her misfortunes.

“I find, madam,” she said, “you have been so kind as to visit my daughter Henny a great many times, but as I have no time for company, I have always kept out of the way, having other things to do than sit still to talk. I have had a sad time of it here, ma’am, with my poor son’s illness, having no conveniencies about me, and much ado to make him mind me; for he’s all for having his own way, poor dear soul, and I’m sure I don’t know who could contradict him, for it’s what I never had the heart to do. But then, ma’am, what is to come of it? You see how bad things go! for though I have got a very good income, it won’t do for every thing. And if it was as much again, I should want to save it all now. For here my poor son, you see, is reduced all in a minute, as one may say, from being one of the first gentlemen in the town, to a mere poor object, without a farthing in the world!”

“He is, however, I hope now much better in his health?” said Cecilia.

“Yes, madam, thank heaven, for if he was worse, those might tell of it that would, for I’m sure I should never live to hear of it. He has been the best son in the world, madam, and used to nothing but the best company, for I spared neither pains nor cost to bring him up genteely, and I believe there’s not a nobleman in the land that looks more the gentleman. However, there’s come no good of it, for though his acquaintances was all among the first quality, he never received the value of a penny from the best of them. So I have no great need to be proud. But I meant for the best, though I have often enough wished I had not meddled in the matter, but left him to be brought up in the shop, as his father was before him.”

“His present plan, however,” said Cecilia, “will I hope make you ample amends both for your sufferings and your tenderness.”

“What, madam, when he’s going to leave me, and settle in foreign parts? If you was a mother yourself, madam, you would not think that such good amends.”

“Settle?” said Cecilia. “No, he only goes for a year or two.”

“That’s more than I can say, madam, or any body else; and nobody knows what may happen in that time. And how I shall keep myself up when he’s beyond seas, I am sure I don’t know, for he has always been the pride of my life, and every penny I saved for him, I thought to have been paid in pounds.”

“You will still have your daughter, and she seems so amiable, that I am sure you can want no consolation she will not endeavour to give you.”

“But what is a daughter, madam, to such a son as mine? a son that I thought to have seen living like a prince, and sending his own coach for me to dine with him! And now he’s going to be taken away from me, and nobody knows if I shall live till he comes back. But I may thank myself, for if I had but been content to see him brought up in the shop — yet all the world would have cried shame upon it, for when he was quite a child in arms, the people used all to say he was born to be a gentleman, and would live to make many a fine lady’s heart ache.”

“If he can but make your heart easy,” said Cecilia, smiling, “we will not grieve that the fine ladies should escape the prophecy.”

“O, ma’am, I don’t mean by that to say he has been over gay among the ladies, for it’s a thing I never heard of him; and I dare say if any lady was to take a fancy to him, she’d find there was not a modester young man in the world. But you must needs think what a hardship it is to me to have him turn out so unlucky, after all I have done for him, when I thought to have seen him at the top of the tree, as one may say!”

“He will yet, I hope,” said Cecilia, “make you rejoice in all your kindness to him: his health is already returning, and his affairs wear again a more prosperous aspect” “But do you suppose, ma’am, that having him sent two or three hundred miles away from me; with some young master to take care of, is the way to make up to me what I have gone through for him? why I used to deny myself every thing in the world, in order to save money to buy him smart cloaths, and let him go to the Opera, and Ranelagh, and such sort of places, that he might keep himself in fortune’s way! and now you see the end of it! here he is, in a little shabby room up two pairs of stairs, with not one of the great folks coming near him, to see if he’s so much as dead or alive.”

“I do not wonder,” said Cecilia, “that you resent their shewing so little gratitude for the pleasure and entertainment they have formerly received from him but comfort yourself that it will at least secure you from any similar disappointment, as Mr Belfield will, in future, be guarded from forming such precarious expectations.”

“But what good will that do me, ma’am, for all the money he has been throwing after them all this while? do you think I would have scraped it up for him, and gone without every thing in the world, to see it all end in this manner? why he might as well have been brought up the commonest journeyman, for any comfort I shall have of him at this rate. And suppose he should be drowned in going beyond seas? what am I to do then?”

“You must not,” said Cecilia, “indulge such fears; I doubt not but your son will return well, and return all that you wish.”

“Nobody knows that, ma’am; and the only way to be certain is for him not to go at all; and I’m surprised, ma’am, you can wish him to make such a journey to nobody knows where, with nothing but a young master that he must as good as teach his A. B. C. all the way they go!”

“Certainly,” said Cecilia, amazed at this accusation, “I should not wish him to go abroad, if any thing more eligible could be, done by his remaining in England but as no prospect of that sort seems before him, you must endeavour to reconcile yourself to parting with him.”