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Miss Mackenzie

<h3>CHAPTER XXI</h3> <h3>Mr Maguire Goes to London on Business  </h3> Mr Maguire made up his mind to go to London, to look after his lady-love, but when he found himself there he did not quite know what to do. It is often the case with us that we make up our minds for great action,—that in some special crisis of our lives we resolve that something must be done, and that we make an energetic start; but we find very soon that we do not know how to go on doing anything. It was so with Mr Maguire. When he had secured a bed at a small public house near the Great Western railway station,—thinking, no doubt that he would go to the great hotel on his next coming to town, should he then have obtained the lady's fortune,—he scarcely knew what step he would next take. Margaret's last letter had been written to him from the Cedars, but he thought it probable that she might only have gone there for a day or two. He knew the address of the house in Gower Street, and at last resolved that he would go boldly in among the enemy there; for he was assured that the family of the lady's late brother were his special enemies in this case. It was considerably past noon when he reached London, and it was about three when, with a hesitating hand, but a loud knock, he presented himself at Mrs Mackenzie's door. He first asked for Miss Mackenzie, and was told that she was not staying there. Was he thereupon to leave his card and go away? He had told himself that in this pursuit of the heiress he would probably be called upon to dare much, and if he did not begin to show some daring at once, how could he respect himself, or trust to himself for future daring? So he boldly asked for Mrs Mackenzie, and was at once shown into the parlour. There sat the widow, in her full lugubrious weeds, there sat Miss Colza, and there sat Mary Jane, and they were all busy hemming, darning, and clipping; turning old sheets into new ones; for now it was more than ever necessary that Mrs Mackenzie should make money at once by taking in lodgers. When Mr Maguire was shown into the room each lady rose from her chair, with her sheet in her hands and in her lap, and then, as he stood before them, at the other side of the table, each lady again sat down. "A gentleman as is asking for Miss Margaret," the servant had said; that same cook to whom Mr Grandairs had been so severe on the occasion of Mrs Mackenzie's dinner party. The other girl had been unnecessary to them in their poverty, and had left them. "My name is Maguire, the Rev. Mr Maguire, from Littlebath, where I had the pleasure of knowing Miss Mackenzie." Then the widow asked him to take a chair, and he took a chair. "My sister-in-law is not with us at present," said Mrs Mackenzie. "She is staying for a visit with her aunt, Lady Ball, at the Cedars, Twickenham," said Mary Jane, who had contrived to drop her sheet, and hustle it under the table with her feet, as soon as she learned that the visitor was a clergyman. "Lady Ball is the lady of Sir John Ball, Baronet," said Miss Colza, whose good nature made her desirous of standing up for the honour of the family with which she was, for the time, domesticated. "I knew she had been at Lady Ball's," said the clergyman, "as I heard from her from thence; but I thought she had probably returned." "Oh dear, no," said the widow, "she ain't returned here, nor don't mean. We haven't the room for her, and that's the truth. Have we, Mary Jane?" "That we have not, mamma; and I don't think aunt Margaret would think of such a thing." Then, thought Mr Maguire, the Balls must have got hold of the heiress, and not the Mackenzies, and my battle must be fought at the Cedars, and not here. Still, as he was there, he thought possibly he might obtain some further information; and this would be the easier, if, as appeared to be the case, there was enmity between the Gower Street family and their relative. "Has Miss Mackenzie gone to live permanently at the Cedars?" he asked. "Not that I know of," said the widow. "It isn't at all unlikely, mamma, that it may be so, when you consider everything. It's just the sort of way in which they'll most likely get over her." "Mary Jane, hold your tongue," said her mother; "you shouldn't say things of that sort before strangers." "Though I may not have the pleasure of knowing you and your amiable family," said Mr Maguire, smiling his sweetest, "I am by no means a stranger to Miss Mackenzie." Then the ladies all looked at him, and thought they had never seen anything so terrible as that squint. "Miss Mackenzie is making a long visit at the Cedars," said Miss Colza, "that is all we know at present. I am told the Balls are very nice people, but perhaps a little worldly-minded; that's to be expected, however, from people who live out of the west-end from London. I live in Finsbury Square, or at least, I did before I came here, and I ain't a bit ashamed to own it. But of course the west-end is the nicest." Then Mr Maguire got up, saying that he should probably do himself the pleasure of calling on Miss Mackenzie at the Cedars, and went his way. "I wonder what he's after," said Mrs Mackenzie, as soon as the door was shut. "Perhaps he came to tell her to bear it all with Christian resignation," said Miss Colza; "they always do come when anything's in the wind like that; they like to know everything before anybody else." "It's my belief he's after her money," said Mrs Mackenzie. "With such a squint as that!" said Mary Jane; "I wouldn't have him though he was made of money, and I hadn't a farthing." "Beauty is but skin deep," said Miss Colza. "And it's manners to wait till you are asked," said Mrs Mackenzie. Mary Jane chucked up her head with disdain, thereby indicating that though she had not been asked, and though beauty is but skin deep, still she held the same opinion. Mr Maguire, as he went away to a clerical advertising office in the neighbourhood of Exeter Hall, thought over the matter profoundly. It was clear enough to him that the Mackenzies of Gower Street were not interfering with him; very probably they might have hoped and attempted to keep the heiress among them; that assertion that there was no room for her in the house—as though they were and ever had been averse to having her with them—seemed to imply that such was the case. It was the natural language of a disappointed woman. But if so, that hope was now over with them. And then the young lady had plainly exposed the suspicions which they all entertained as to the Balls. These grand people at the Cedars, this baronet's family at Twickenham, must have got her to come among them with the intention of keeping her there. It did not occur to him that the baronet or the baronet's son would actually want Miss Mackenzie's money. He presumed baronets to be rich people; but still they might very probably be as dogs in the manger, and desirous of preventing their relative from doing with her money that active service to humanity in general which would be done were she to marry a deserving clergyman who had nothing of his own. He made his visit to the advertising office, and learned that clergymen without cures were at present drugs in the market. He couldn't understand how this should be the case, seeing that the newspapers were constantly declaring that the supply of university clergymen were becoming less and less every day. He had come from Trinity, Dublin and after the success of his career at Littlebath, was astonished that he should not be snapped at by the retailers of curacies. On the next day he visited Twickenham. Now, on the morning of that very day Margaret Mackenzie first woke to the consciousness that she was the promised wife of her cousin John Ball. There was great comfort in the thought. It was not only, nor even chiefly, that she who, on the preceding morning, had awakened to the remembrance of her utter destitution, now felt that all those terrible troubles were over. It was not simply that her great care had been vanquished for her. It was this, that the man who had a second time come to her asking for her love, had now given her all-sufficient evidence that he did so for the sake of her love. He, who was so anxious for money, had shown her that he could care for her more even than he cared for gold. As she thought of this, and made herself happy in the thought, she would not rise at once from her bed, but curled herself in the clothes and hugged herself in her joy. "I should have taken him before, at once, instantly, if I could have thought that it was so," she said to herself; "but this is a thousand times better." Then she found that the pillow beneath her cheek was wet with her tears. On the preceding evening she had been very silent and demure, and her betrothed had also been silent. There had been no words about the tea-making, and Lady Ball had been silent also. As far as she knew, Margaret was to go on the following day, but she would say nothing on the subject. Margaret, indeed, had commenced her packing, and did not know when she went to bed whether she was to go or not. She rather hoped that she might be allowed to go, as her aunt would doubtless be disagreeable; but in that, and in all matters now, she would of course be guided implicitly by Mr Ball. He had told her to be firm, and of her own firmness she had no doubt whatever. Lady Ball, with all her anger, or with all her eloquence, should not talk her out of her husband. She could be firm, and she had no doubt that John Ball could be firm also. Nevertheless, when she was dressing, she did not fail to tell herself that she might have a bad time of it that morning,—and a bad time of it for some days to come, if it was John's intention that she should remain at the Cedars. She was convinced that Lady Ball would not welcome her as a daughter-in-law now as she would have done when the property was thought to belong to her. What right had she to expect such welcome? No doubt some hard things would be said to her; but she knew her own courage, and was sure that she could bear any hard things with such a hope within her breast as that which she now possessed. She left her room a little earlier than usual, thinking that she might thus meet her cousin and receive his orders. And in this she was not disappointed; he was in the hall as she came down, and she was able to smile on him, and press his hand, and make her morning greetings to him with some tenderness in her voice. He looked heavy about the face, and almost more careworn than usual, but he took her hand and led her into the breakfast-room. "Did you tell your mother, John?" she said, standing very close to him, almost leaning upon his shoulder. He, however, did not probably want such signs of love as this, and moved a step away from her. "Yes," said he, "I told both my father and my mother. What she says to you, you must hear, and bear it quietly for my sake." "I will," said Margaret. "I think that she is unreasonable, but still she is my mother." "I shall always remember that, John." "And she is old, and things have not always gone well with her. She says, too, that you have been impertinent to her." Margaret's face became very red at this charge, but she made no immediate reply. "I don't think you could mean to be impertinent." "Certainly not, John; but, of course, I shall feel myself much more bound to her now than I was before." "Yes, of course; but I wish that nothing had occurred to make her so angry with you." "I don't think that I was impertinent, John, though perhaps it might seem so. When she was talking about my being a companion to a lady, I perhaps answered her sharply. I was so determined that I wouldn't lead that sort of life, that, perhaps I said more than I should have done. You know, John, that it hasn't been quite pleasant between us for the last few days." John did know this, and he knew also that there was not much probability of pleasantness for some days to come. His mother's last words to him on the preceding evening, as he was leaving her after having told his story, did not give much promise of pleasantness for Margaret. "John," she had said, "nothing on earth shall induce me to live in the same house with Margaret Mackenzie as your wife. If you choose to break up everything for her sake, you can do it. I cannot control you. But remember, it will be your doing." Margaret then asked him what she was to do, and where she was to live. She would fain have asked him when they were to be married, but she did not dare to make inquiry on that point. He told her that, for the present, she must remain at the Cedars. If she went away it would be regarded as an open quarrel, and moreover, he did not wish that she should live by herself in London lodgings. "We shall be able to see how things go for a day or two," he said. To this she submitted without a murmur, and then Lady Ball came into the room. They were both very nervous in watching her first behaviour, but were not at all prepared for the line of conduct which she adopted. John Ball and Margaret had separated when they heard the rustle of her dress. He had made a step towards the window, and she had retreated to the other side of the fire-place. Lady Ball, on entering the room, had been nearest to Margaret, but she walked round the table away from her usual place for prayers, and accosted her son. "Good-morning, John," she said, giving him her hand. Margaret waited a second or two, and then addressed her aunt. "Good-morning, aunt," she said, stepping half across the rug. But her aunt, turning her back to her, moved into the embrasure of the window. It had been decided that there was to be an absolute cut between them! As long as she remained in that house Lady Ball would not speak to her. John said nothing, but a black frown came upon his brow. Poor Margaret retired, rebuked, to her corner by the chimney. Just at that moment the girls and children rushed in from the study, with the daily governess who came every morning, and Sir John rang for the servants to come to prayers. I wonder whether that old lady's heart was at all softened as she prayed? whether it ever occurred to her to think that there was any meaning in that form of words she used, when she asked her God to forgive her as she might forgive others? Not that Margaret had in truth trespassed against her at all; but, doubtless, she regarded her niece as a black trespasser, and as being quite qualified for forgiveness, could she have brought herself to forgive. But I fear that the form of words on that occasion meant nothing, and that she had been delivered from no evil during those moments she had been on her knees. Margaret sat down in her accustomed place, but no notice was taken of her by her aunt. When the tea had been poured out, John got up from his seat and asked his mother which was Margaret's cup. "My dear," said she, "if you will sit down, Miss Mackenzie shall have her tea." "I will take it to her," said he. "John," said his mother, drawing her chair somewhat away from the table, "if you flurry me in this way, you will drive me out of the room." Then he had sat down, and Margaret received her cup in the usual way. The girls and children stared at each other, and the governess, who always breakfasted at the house, did not dare to lift her eyes from off her plate. Margaret longed for an opportunity of starting with John Ball, and walking with him to the station, but no such opportunity came in her way. It was his custom always to go up to his father before he left home, and on this occasion Margaret did not see him after he quitted the breakfast table. When the clatter of the knives and cups was over, and the eating and drinking was at an end, Lady Ball left the room and Margaret began to think what she would do. She could not remain about the house in her aunt's way, without being spoken to, or speaking. So she went to her room, resolving that she would not leave it till the carriage had taken off Sir John and her aunt. Then she would go out for a walk, and would again meet her cousin at the station. From her bedroom window she could see the sweep before the front of the house, and at two o'clock she saw and heard the lumbering of the carriage as it came to the door, and then she put on her hat to be ready for her walk; but her uncle and aunt did not, as it seemed, come out, and the carriage remained there as a fixture. This had been the case for some twenty minutes, when there came a knock at her own door, and the maid-servant told her that her aunt wished to see her in the drawing-room. "To see me?" said Margaret, thoroughly surprised, and not a little dismayed. "Yes, Miss; and there's a gentleman there who asked for you when he first come." Now, indeed, she was dismayed. Who could be the gentleman? Was it Mr Slow, or a myrmidon from Mr Slow's legal abode? Or was it Mr Rubb with his yellow gloves again? Whoever it was there must be something very special in his mission, as her aunt had, in consequence, deferred her drive, and was also apparently about to drop her purpose of cutting her niece's acquaintance in her own house. But we will go back to Mr Maguire. He had passed the evening and the morning in thinking over the method of his attack, and had at last resolved that he would be very bold. He would go down to the Cedars, and claim Margaret as his affianced bride. He went, therefore, down to the Cedars, and in accordance with his plan as arranged, he gave his card to the servant, and asked if he could see Sir John Ball alone. Now, Sir John Ball never saw any one on business, or, indeed, not on business; and, after a while, word was brought out to Mr Maguire that he could see Lady Ball, but that Sir John was not well enough to receive any visitors. Lady Ball, Mr Maguire thought, would suit him better than Sir John. He signified his will accordingly, and on being shown into the drawing-room, found her ladyship there alone. It must be acknowledged that he was a brave man, and that he was doing a bold thing. He knew that he should find himself among enemies, and that his claim would be ignored and ridiculed by the persons whom he was about to attack; he knew that everybody, on first seeing him, was affrighted and somewhat horrified; he knew too,—at least, we must presume that he knew,—that the lady herself had given him no promise. But he thought it possible, nay, almost probable, that she would turn to him if she saw him again; that she might own him as her own; that her feelings might be strong enough in his favour to induce her to throw off the thraldom of her relatives, and that he might make good his ground in her breast, even if he could not bear her away in triumph out of the hands of his enemies. When he entered the room Lady Ball looked at him and shuddered. People always did shudder when they saw him for the first time. "Lady Ball," said he, "I am the Rev. Mr Maguire, of Littlebath." She was holding his card in her hand, and having notified to him that she was aware of the fact he had mentioned, asked him to sit down. "I have called," said he, taking his seat, "hoping to be allowed to speak to you on a subject of extreme delicacy." "Indeed," said Lady Ball, thinking to catch his eye, and failing in the effort. "I may say of very extreme delicacy. I believe your niece, Miss Margaret Mackenzie, is staying here?" In answer to this, Lady Ball acknowledged that Miss Mackenzie was now at the Cedars. "Have you any objection, Lady Ball, to allowing me to see her in your presence?" Lady Ball was a quick-thinking, intelligent, and, at the same time, prudent old lady, and she gave no answer to this before she had considered the import of the question. Why should this clergyman want to see Margaret? And would his seeing her conduce most to her own success, or to Margaret's? Then there was the fact that Margaret was of an age which entitled her to the right of seeing any visitor who might call on her. Thinking over all this as best she could in the few moments at her command, and thinking also of this clergyman's stipulation that she was to be present at the interview, she said that she had no objection whatever. She would send for Miss Mackenzie. She rose to ring the bell, but Mr Maguire, also rising from his chair, stopped her hand. "Pardon me for a moment," said he. "Before you call Margaret to come down I would wish to explain to you for what purpose I have come here." Lady Ball, when she heard the man call her niece by her Christian name, listened with all her ears. Under no circumstances but one could such a man call such a woman by her Christian name in such company. "Lady Ball," he said, "I do not know whether you may be aware of it or no, but I am engaged to marry your niece." Lady Ball, who had not yet resumed her seat, now did so. "I had not heard of it," she said. "It may be so," said Mr Maguire. "It is so," said Lady Ball. "Very probably. There are many reasons which operate upon young ladies in such a condition to keep their secret even from their nearest relatives. For myself, being a clergyman of the Church of England, professing evangelical doctrines, and therefore, as I had need not say, averse to everything that may have about it even a seeming of impropriety, I think it best to declare the fact to you, even though in doing so I may perhaps give some offence to dear Margaret." It must, I think, be acknowledged that Mr Maguire was true to himself, and that he was conducting his case at any rate with courage. Lady Ball was doubtful what she would do. It was on her tongue to tell the man that her niece's fortune was gone. But she remembered that she might probably advance her own interests by securing an interview between the two lovers of Littlebath in her own presence. She never for a moment doubted that Mr Maguire's statement was true. It never occurred to her that there had been no such engagement. She felt confident from the moment in which Mr Maguire's important tidings had reached her ears that she had now in her hands the means of rescuing her son. That Mr Maguire would cease to make his demand for his bride when he should hear the truth, was of course to be expected; but her son would not be such an idiot, such a soft fool, as to go on with his purpose when he should learn that such a secret as this had been kept back from him. She had refused him, and taken up with this horrid, greasy, evil-eyed parson when she was rich; and then, when she was poor,—even before she had got rid of her other engagement, she had come back upon him, and, playing upon his pity, had secured him in her toils. Lady Ball felt well inclined to thank the clergyman for coming to her relief at such a moment. "It will be best that I should ask my niece to come down to you," said she, getting up and walking out of the room. But she did not go up to her niece. She first went to Sir John and quieted his impatience with reference to the driving, and then, after a few minutes' further delay for consideration, she sent the servant up to her niece. Having done this she returned to the drawing-room, and found Mr Maguire looking at the photographs on the table. "It is very like dear Margaret, very like her, indeed," said he, looking at one of Miss Mackenzie. "The sweetest face that ever my eyes rested on! May I ask you if you have just seen your niece, Lady Ball?" "No, sir, I have not seen her; but I have sent for her." There was still some little delay before Margaret came down. She was much fluttered, and wanted time to think, if only time could be allowed to her. Perhaps there had come a man to say that her money was not gone. If so, with what delight would she give it all to her cousin John! That was her first thought. But if so, how then about the promise made to her dying brother? She almost wished that the money might not be hers. Looking to herself only, and to her own happiness, it would certainly be better for her that it should not be hers. And if it should be Mr Rubb with the yellow gloves! But before she could consider that alternative she had opened the door, and there was Mr Maguire standing ready to receive her. "Dearest Margaret!" he exclaimed. "My own love!" And there he stood, with his arms open, as though he expected Miss Mackenzie to rush into them. He was certainly a man of very great courage. "Mr Maguire!" said she, and she stood still near the door. Then she looked at her aunt, and saw that Lady Ball's eyes were keenly fixed upon her. Something like the truth, some approximation to the facts as they were, flashed upon her in a moment, and she knew that she had to bear herself in this difficulty with all her discretion and all her fortitude. "Margaret," exclaimed Mr Maguire, "will you not come to me?" "What do you mean, Mr Maguire?" said she, still standing aloof from him, and retreating somewhat nearer to the door. "The gentleman says that you are engaged to marry him," said Lady Ball. Margaret, looking again into her aunt's face, saw the smile of triumph that sat there, and resolved at once to make good her ground. "If he has said that, he has told an untruth,—an untruth both unmanly and unmannerly. You hear, sir, what Lady Ball has stated. Is it true that you have made such an assertion?" "And will you contradict it, Margaret? Oh, Margaret! Margaret! you cannot contradict it." The reader must remember that this clergyman no doubt thought and felt that he had a good deal of truth on his side. Gentlemen when they make offers to ladies, and are told by ladies that they may come again, and that time is required for consideration, are always disposed to think that the difficulties of the siege are over. And in nine cases out of ten it is so. Mr Maguire, no doubt, since the interview in question, had received letters from the lady which should at any rate have prevented him from uttering any such assertion as that which he had now made; but he looked upon those letters as the work of the enemy, and chose to go back for his authority to the last words which Margaret had spoken to him. He knew that he was playing an intricate game,—that all was not quite on the square; but he thought that the enemy was playing him false, and that falsehood in return was therefore fair. This that was going on was a robbery of the Church, a spoiling of Israel, a touching with profane hands of things that had already been made sacred. "But I do contradict it," said Margaret, stepping forward into the room, and almost exciting admiration in Lady Ball's breast by her demeanour. "Aunt," said she, "as this gentleman has chosen to come here with such a story as this, I must tell you all the facts." "Has he ever been engaged to you?" asked Lady Ball. "Never." "Oh, Margaret!" again exclaimed Mr Maguire. "Sir, I will ask you to let me tell my aunt the truth. When I was at Littlebath, before I knew that my fortune was not my own,"—as she said this she looked hard into Mr Maguire's face—"before I had become penniless, as I am now,"—then she paused again, and still looking at him, saw with inward pleasure the elongation of her suitor's face, "this gentleman asked me to marry him." "He did ask you?" said Lady Ball. "Of course I asked her," urged Mr Maguire. "There can be no denying that on either side." He did not now quite know what to do. He certainly did not wish to impoverish the Church by marrying Miss Mackenzie without any fortune. But might it not all be a trick? That she had been rich he knew, and how could she have become poor so quickly? "He did ask me, and I told him that I must take a fortnight to consider of it." "You did not refuse him, then?" said Lady Ball. "Not then, but I have done so since by letter. Twice I have written to him, telling him that I had nothing of my own, and that there could be nothing between us." "I got her letters," said Mr Maguire, turning round to Lady Ball. "I certainly got her letters. But such letters as those, if they are written under dictation—" He was rather anxious that Lady Bell should quarrel with him. In the programme which he had made for himself when he came to the house, a quarrel to the knife with the Ball family was a part of his tactics. His programme, no doubt, was disturbed by the course which events had taken, but still a quarrel with Lady Ball might be the best for him. If she were to quarrel with him, it would give him some evidence that this story about the loss of the money was untrue. But Lady Ball would not quarrel with him. She sat still and said nothing. "Nobody dictated them," said Margaret. "But now you are here, I will tell you the facts. The money which I thought was mine, in truth belongs to my cousin, Mr John Ball, and I—" So far she spoke loudly, With her face raised, and her eyes fixed upon him. Then as she concluded, she dropped her voice and eyes together. "And I am now engaged to him as his wife." "Oh, indeed!" said Mr Maguire. "That statement must be taken for what it is worth," said Lady Ball, rising from her seat. "Of what Miss Mackenzie says now, I know nothing. I sincerely hope that she may find that she is mistaken." "And now, Margaret," said Mr Maguire, "may I ask to see you for one minute alone?" "Certainly not," said she. "If you have anything more to say I will hear it in my aunt's presence." She waited a few moments, but as he did not speak, she took herself back to the door and made her escape to her own room. How Mr Maguire took himself out of the house we need not stop to inquire. There must, I should think, have been some difficulty in the man&oelig;uvre. It was considerably past three when Sir John was taken out for his drive, and while he was in the carriage his wife told him what had occurred. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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