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Miss Mackenzie

<h3>CHAPTER XXIII</h3> <h3>The Lodgings of Mrs Buggins, Née Protheroe  </h3> It was nearly the end of October when Miss Mackenzie left the Cedars and at that time of the year there is not much difficulty in getting lodgings in London. The house which her brother Walter occupied in Arundel Street had, at his death, remained in the hands of an old servant of his, who had bought her late master's furniture with her savings, and had continued to live there, letting out the house in lodgings. Her former mistress had gone to see her once or twice during the past year, and it had been understood between them, that if Miss Mackenzie ever wanted a room for a night or two in London, she could be accommodated at the old house. She would have preferred to write to Hannah Protheroe,—or Mrs Protheroe, as she was now called by brevet rank since she had held a house of her own,—had time permitted her to do so. But time and the circumstances did not permit this, and therefore she had herself driven to Arundel Street without any notice. Mrs Protheroe received her with open arms, and with many promises of comfort and attendance,—as was to be expected, seeing that Mrs Protheroe was, as she thought, receiving into her house the rich heiress. She proffered at once the use of her drawing-room and of the best bedroom, and declared that as the house was now empty, with the exception of one young gentleman from Somerset House upstairs, she would be able to devote herself almost exclusively to Miss Mackenzie. Things were much changed from those former days in which Hannah Protheroe used frequently to snub Margaret Mackenzie, being almost of equal standing in the house with her young mistress. And now Margaret was called upon to explain, that low as her standing might have been then, at this present moment it was even lower. She had indeed the means of paying for her lodgings, but these she was called upon to husband with the minutest economy. The task of telling all this was difficult. She began it by declining the drawing-room, and by saying that a bedroom upstairs would suffice for her. "You haven't heard, Hannah, what has happened to me," she said, when Mrs Protheroe expressed her surprise at this decision. "My brother's will was no will at all. I do not get any of his property. It all goes under some other will to my cousin, Mr John Ball." By these tidings Hannah was of course prostrated, and driven into a state of excitement that was not without its pleasantness as far as she was concerned. Of course she objected that the last will must be the real will, and in this way the matter came to full discussion between them. "And, after all, that John Ball is to have everything!" said Mrs Protheroe, holding up both her hands. By this time Hannah Protheroe had got herself comfortably into a chair, and no doubt her personal pleasure in the evening's occupation was considerably enhanced by the unconscious feeling that she was the richer woman of the two. But she behaved very well, and I am inclined to think, in preparing buttered muffins for her guest, she was more particular in the toasting, and more generous with the butter, than she would have been had she been preparing the dainty for drawing-room use. And when she learned that Margaret had eaten nothing since breakfast, she herself went out and brought in a sweetbread with her own hand, though she kept a servant whom she might have sent to the shop. And, for the honour of lodging-house keepers, I protest that that sweetbread never made its appearance in any bill. "You will be more comfortable down here with me, won't you, my dear, than up there, with not a creature to speak to?" In this way Mrs Protheroe made her apology for giving Miss Mackenzie her tea downstairs, in a little back parlour behind the kitchen. It was a tidy room, with two wooden armchairs, and a bit of carpet over the flags in the centre, and a rug before the fire. Margaret did not inquire why it smelt of tobacco, nor did Mrs Protheroe think it necessary to give any explanation why she went up herself at half-past seven to answer the bell at the area; nor did she say anything then of the office messenger from Somerset House, who often found this little room convenient for his evening pipe. So was passed the first evening after our Griselda had left the Cedars. The next day she sat at home doing nothing,—still talking to Hannah Protheroe, and thinking that perhaps John Ball might come. But he did not come. She dined downstairs, at one o'clock, in the same room behind the kitchen, and then she had tea at six. But as Hannah intimated that perhaps a gentleman friend would look in during the evening, she was obliged to betake herself, after tea, to the solitude of her own room. As Hannah was between fifty and sixty, and nearer the latter age than the former, there could be no objection to her receiving what visitors she pleased. The third day passed with Miss Mackenzie the same as the second, and still no cousin came to see her. The next day, being Sunday, she diversified by going to church three times; but on the Sunday she was forced to dine alone, as the gentleman friend usually came in on that day to eat his bit of mutton with his friend, Mrs Protheroe. "A most respectable man, in the Admiralty branch, Miss Margaret, and will have a pension of twenty-seven shillings and sixpence a week in a year or two. And it is so lonely by oneself, you know." Then Miss Mackenzie knew that Hannah Protheroe intended to become Hannah Buggins, and she understood the whole mystery of the tobacco smoke. On the Monday she went to the house in Gower Street, and communicated to them the fact that she had left the Cedars. Miss Colza was in the room with her sister-in-law and nieces, and as it was soon evident that Miss Colza knew the whole history of her misfortune with reference to the property, she talked about her affairs before Miss Colza as though that young lady had been one of her late brother's family. But yet she felt that she did not like Miss Colza, and once or twice felt almost inclined to resent certain pushing questions which Miss Colza addressed to her. "And have you quarrelled with all the Ball family?" the young lady asked, putting great emphasis on the word all. "I did not say that I had quarrelled with any of them," said Miss Mackenzie. "Oh! I beg pardon. I thought as you came away so sudden like, and as you didn't see any of them since, you know—" "It is a matter of no importance whatever," said Miss Mackenzie. "No: none in the least," said Miss Colza. And in this way they made up their minds to hate each other. But what did the woman mean by talking in this way of all the Balls, as though a quarrel with one of the family was a thing of more importance than a quarrel with any of the others? Could she know, or could she even guess, anything of John Ball and of the offer he had made? But this mystery was soon cleared up in Margaret's mind, when, at Mrs Mackenzie's request, they two went upstairs into that lady's bedroom for a little private conversation. The conversation was desired for purposes appertaining solely to the convenience of the widow. She wanted some money, and then, with tears in her eyes, she demanded to know what was to be done. Miss Colza paid her eighteen shillings a week for board and lodging, and that was now two weeks in arrear; and one bedroom was let to a young man employed in the oilcloth factory, at seven shillings a week. "And the rent is ninety pounds, and the taxes twenty-two," said Mrs Mackenzie, with her handkerchief up to her eyes; "and there's the taxman come now for seven pound ten, and where I'm to get it, unless I coined my blood, I don't know." Margaret gave her two sovereigns which she had in her purse, and promised to send her a cheque for the amount of the taxes due. Then she told as much as she could tell of that proposal as to the interest of the money due from the firm in the New Road. "If it could only be made certain," said the widow, who had fallen much from her high ideas since Margaret had last seen her. Things were greatly changed in that house since the day on which the dinner, à la Russe, had been given under the auspices of Mr Grandairs. "If it can only be made certain. They still keep his name up in the firm. There it is as plain as life over the place of business"—she would not even yet call it a shop—"Rubb and Mackenzie; and yet they won't let me know anything as to how matters are going on. I went there the other day, and they would tell me nothing. And as for Samuel Rubb, he hasn't been here this last fortnight, and I've got no one to see me righted. If you were to ask Mr Slow, wouldn't he be able to see me righted?" Margaret declared that she hardly knew whether that would come within Mr Slow's line of business, and that she did not feel herself competent to give advice on such a point as that. She then explained, as best she could, that her own affairs were not as yet settled, but that she was led to hope, from what had been said to her, that the interest due by the firm on the money borrowed might become a fixed annual income for Mrs Mackenzie's benefit. After that it came out that Mr Maguire had again been in Gower Street. "And he was alone, for the best part of half an hour, with that young woman downstairs," said Mrs Mackenzie. "And you saw him?" Margaret asked. "Oh, yes; I saw him afterwards." "And what did he say?" "He didn't say much to me. Only he gave me to understand—at least, that is what I suppose he meant—that you and he— He meant to say, that you and he had been courting, I suppose." Then Margaret understood why Miss Colza had desired to know whether she had quarrelled with all the Balls. In her open and somewhat indignant speech in the drawing-room at the Cedars, she had declared before Mr Maguire, in her aunt's presence, that she was engaged to marry her cousin, John Ball. Mr Maguire had now enlisted Miss Colza in his service, and had told Miss Colza what had occurred. But still Miss Mackenzie did not thoroughly understand the matter. Why, she asked herself, should Mr Maguire trouble himself further, now that he knew that she had no fortune? But, in truth, it was not so easy to satisfy Mr Maguire on that point, as it was to satisfy Miss Mackenzie herself. He believed that the relatives of his lady-love were robbing her, or that they were, at any rate, taking advantage of her weakness. If it might be given to him to rescue her and her fortune from them, then, in such case as that, surely he would get his reward. The reader will therefore understand why Miss Colza was anxious to know whether Miss Mackenzie had quarrelled with all the Balls. Margaret's face became unusually black when she was told that she and Mr Maguire had been courting, but she did not contradict the assertion. She did, however, express her opinion of that gentleman. "He is a mean, false, greedy man," she said, and then paused a moment; "and he has been the cause of my ruin." She would not, however, explain what she meant by this, and left the house, without going back to the room in which Miss Colza was sitting. About a week afterwards she got a letter from Mr Slow, in which that gentleman,—or rather the firm, for the letter was signed Slow and Bideawhile,—asked her whether she was in want of immediate funds. The affair between her and her cousin was not yet, they said, in a state for final settlement, but they would be justified in supplying her own immediate wants out of the estate. To this she sent a reply, saying that she had money for her immediate wants, but that she would feel very grateful if anything could be done for Mrs Mackenzie and her family. Then she got a further letter, very short, saying that a half-year's interest on the loan had, by Mr Ball's consent, been paid to Mrs Mackenzie by Rubb and Mackenzie. On the day following this, when she was sitting up in her bedroom, Mrs Protheroe came to her, dressed in wonderful habiliments. She wore a dark-blue bonnet, filled all round with yellow flowers, and a spotted silk dress, of which the prevailing colour was scarlet. She was going, she said, to St Mary-le-Strand, "to be made Mrs Buggins of." She tried to carry it off with bravado when she entered the room, but she left it with a tear in her eye, and a whimper in her throat. "To be sure, I'm an old woman," she said before she went. "Who has said that I ain't? Not I; nor yet Buggins. We is both of us old. But I don't know why we is to be desolate and lonely all our days, because we ain't young. It seems to me that the young folks is to have it all to themselves, and I'm sure I don't know why." Then she went, clearly resolved, that as far as she was concerned, the young people shouldn't have it all to themselves; and as Buggins was of the same way of thinking, they were married at St Mary-le-Strand that very morning. And this marriage would have been of no moment to us or to our little history, had not Mr Maguire chosen that morning, of all mornings in the year, to call on Miss Mackenzie in Arundel Street. He had obtained her address—of course, from Miss Colza; and, not having been idle the while in pushing his inquiries respecting Miss Mackenzie's affairs, had now come to Arundel Street to carry on the battle as best he might. Margaret was still in her room as he came, and as the girl could not show the gentleman up there, she took him into an empty parlour, and brought the tidings up to the lodger. Mr Maguire had not sent up his name; but a personal description by the girl at once made Margaret know who was there. "I won't see him," said she, with heightened colour, grieving greatly that the strong-minded Hannah Protheroe,—or Buggins, as it might probably be by that time,—was not at home. "Martha, don't let him come up. Tell him to go away at once." After some persuasion, the girl went down with the message, which she softened to suit her own idea of propriety. But she returned, saying that the gentleman was very urgent. He insisted that he must see Miss Mackenzie, if only for an instant, before he left the house. "Tell him," said Margaret, "that nothing shall induce me to see him. I'll send for a policeman. If he won't go when he's told, Martha, you must go for a policeman." Martha, when she heard that, became frightened about the spoons and coats, and ran down again in a hurry. Then she came up again with a scrap of paper, on which a few words had been written with a pencil. This was passed through a very narrow opening in the door, as Margaret stood with it guarded, fearing lest the enemy might carry the point by an assault. "You are being robbed," said the note, "you are, indeed,—and my only wish is to protect you." "Tell him that there is no answer, and that I will receive no more notes from him," said Margaret. Then, at last, when he received that message, Mr Maguire went away. About a week after that, another visitor came to Miss Mackenzie, and him she received. But he was not the man for whose coming she in truth longed. It was Mr Samuel Rubb who now called, and when Mrs Buggins told her lodger that he was in the parlour, she went down to see him willingly. Her life was now more desolate than it had been before the occurrence of that ceremony in the church of St Mary-le-Strand; for, though she had much respect for Mr Buggins, of whose character she had heard nothing that was not good, and though she had given her consent as to the expediency of the Buggins' alliance, she did not find herself qualified to associate with Mr Buggins. "He won't say a word, Miss," Hannah had pleaded, "and he'll run and fetch for you like a dog." But even when recommended so highly for his social qualities, Buggins, she felt, would be antipathetic to her; and, with many false assurances that she did not think it right to interrupt a newly-married couple, she confined herself on those days to her own room. But when Mr Rubb came, she went down to see him. How much Mr Rubb knew of her affairs,—how far he might be in Miss Colza's confidence,—she did not know; but his conduct to her had not been offensive, and she had been pleased when she learned that the first half year's interest had been paid to her sister-in-law. "I'm sorry to hear of all this, Miss Mackenzie," said he, when he came forward to greet her. He had not thought it necessary, on this occasion, to put on his yellow gloves or his shiny boots, and she liked him the better on that account. "Of all what, Mr Rubb?" said she. "Why, about you and the family at the Cedars. If what I hear is true, they've just got you to give up everything, and then dropped you." "I left Sir John Ball's house on my own account, Mr Rubb; I was not turned out." "I don't suppose they'd do that. They wouldn't dare to do that; not so soon after getting hold of your money. Miss Mackenzie, I hope I shall not anger you; but it seems to me to be the most horridly wicked piece of business I ever heard of." "You are mistaken, Mr Rubb. You forget that the thing was first found out by my own lawyer." "I don't know how that may be, but I can't bring myself to believe that it all is as they say it is; I can't, indeed." She merely smiled, and shook her head. Then he went on speaking. "I hope I'm not giving offence. It's not what I mean, if I am." "You are not giving any offence, Mr Rubb; only I think you are mistaken about my relatives at Twickenham." "Of course, I may be; there's no doubt of that. I may be mistaken, like another. But, Miss Mackenzie, by heavens, I can't bring myself to think it." As he spoke in this energetic way, he rose from his chair, and stood opposite to her. "I cannot bring myself to think that the fight should be given up." "But there has been no fight." "There ought to be a fight, Miss Mackenzie; I know that there ought. I believe I'm right in supposing, if all this is allowed to go by the board as it is going, that you won't have, so to say, anything of your own." "I shall have to earn my bread like other people; and, indeed, I am endeavouring now to put myself in the way of doing so." "I'll tell you how you shall earn it. Come and be my wife. I think we've got a turn for good up at the business. Come and be my wife. That's honest, any way." "You are honest," said she, with a tear in her eye. "I am honest now," said he, "though I was not honest to you once;" and I think there was a tear in his eye also. "If you mean about that money that you have borrowed, I am very glad of it—very glad of it. It will be something for them in Gower Street." "Miss Mackenzie, as long as I have a hand to help myself with, they shall have that at least. But now, about this other thing. Whether there's nothing to come or anything, I'll be true to my offer. I'll fight for it, if there's to be a fight, and I'll let it go if there's to be no fight. But whether one way or whether the other, there shall be a home for you when you say the word. Say it now. Will you be my wife?" "I cannot say that word, Mr Rubb." "And why not?" "I cannot say it; indeed, I cannot." "Is it Mr Ball that prevents you?" "Do not ask me questions like that. Indeed, indeed, indeed, I cannot do as you ask me." "You despise me, like enough, because I am only a tradesman?" "What am I myself, that I should despise any man? No, Mr Rubb, I am thankful and grateful to you; but it cannot be." Then he took up his hat, and, turning away from her without any word of adieu, made his way out of the house. "He really do seem a nice man, Miss," said Mrs Buggins. "I wonder you wouldn't have him liefer than go into one of them hospitals." Whether Miss Mackenzie had any remnant left of another hope, or whether all such hope had gone, we need not perhaps inquire accurately. Whatever might be the state of her mind on that score, she was doing her best to carry out her purpose with reference to the plan of nursing; and as she could not now apply to her cousin, she had written to Mr Slow upon the subject. Late in November yet another gentleman came to see her, but when he came she was unfortunately out. She had gone up to the house in Gower Street, and had there been so cross-questioned by the indefatigable Miss Colza that she had felt herself compelled to tell her sister-in-law that she could not again come there as long as Miss Colza was one of the family. It was manifest to her that these questions had been put on behalf of Mr Maguire, and she had therefore felt more indignant than she would have been had they originated in the impertinent curiosity of the woman herself. She also informed Mrs Mackenzie that, in obedience to instructions from Mr Slow, she intended to postpone her purpose with reference to the hospital till some time early in the next year. Mr Slow had sent a clerk to her to explain that till that time such amicable arrangement as that to which he looked forward to make could not be completed. On her return from this visit to Gower Street she found the card,—simply the card,—of her cousin, John Ball. Why had she gone out? Why had she not remained a fixture in the house, seeing that it had always been possible that he should come? But why! oh, why! had he treated her in this way, leaving his card at her home, as though that would comfort her in her grievous desolation? It would have been far better that he should have left there no intimation of his coming. She took the card, and in her anger threw it from her into the fire. But yet she waited for him to come again. Not once during the next ten days, excepting on the Sunday, did she go out of the house during the hours that her cousin would be in London. Very sad and monotonous was her life, passed alone in her own bedroom. And it was the more sad, because Mrs Buggins somewhat resented the manner in which her husband was treated. Mrs Buggins was still attentive, but she made little speeches about Buggins' respectability, and Margaret felt that her presence in the house was an annoyance. At last, at the end of the ten days, John Ball came again, and Margaret, with a fluttering heart, descended to meet him in the empty parlour. She was the first to speak. As she had come downstairs, she had made up her mind to tell him openly what were her thoughts. "I had hoped to have seen you before this, John," she said, as she gave him her hand. "I did call before. Did you not get my card?" "Oh, yes; I got your card. But I had expected to see you before that. The kind of life that I am leading here is very sad, and cannot be long continued." "I would have had you remain at the Cedars, Margaret; but you would not be counselled by me." "No; not in that, John." "I only mention it now to excuse myself. But you are not to suppose that I am not anxious about you, because I have not seen you. I have been with Mr Slow constantly. These law questions are always very tedious in being settled." "But I want nothing for myself." "It behoves Mr Slow, for that very reason, to be the more anxious on your behalf; and, if you will believe me, Margaret, I am quite as anxious as he is. If you had remained with us, I could have discussed the matter with you from day to day; but, of course, I cannot do so while you are here." As he was talking in this way, everything with reference to their past intercourse came across her mind. She could not tell him that she had been anxious to see him, not with reference to the money, but that he might tell her that he did not find her guilty on that charge which her aunt had brought against her concerning Mr Maguire. She did not want assurances of solicitude as to her future means of maintenance. She cared little or nothing about her future maintenance, if she could not get from him one kind word with reference to the past. But he went on talking to her about Mr Slow, and the interest, and the property, and the law, till, at last, in her anger, she told him that she did not care to hear further about it, till she should be told at last what she was to do. "As I have got nothing of my own," she said, "I want to be earning my bread, and I think that the delay is cruel." "And do you think," said he, "that the delay is not cruel to me also?" She thought that he alluded to the fact that he could not yet obtain possession of the income for his own purposes. "You may have it all at once, for me," she said. "Have all what?" he replied. "Margaret, I think you fail to see the difficulties of my position. In the first place, my father is on his deathbed!" "Oh, John, I am sorry for that." "And, then, my mother is very bitter about all this. And how can I, at such a time, tell her that her opinion is to go for nothing? I am bound to think of my own children, and cannot abandon my claim to the property." "No one wants you to abandon it. At least, I do not." "What am I to do, then? This Mr Maguire is making charges against me." "Oh, John!" "He is saying that I am robbing you, and trying to cover the robbery by marrying you. Both my own lawyer, and Mr Slow, have told me that a plain statement of the whole case must be prepared, so that any one who cares to inquire may learn the whole truth, before I can venture to do anything which might otherwise compromise my character. You do not think of all this, Margaret, when you are angry with me." Margaret, hanging down her head, confessed that she had not thought of it. "The difficulty would have been less, had you remained at the Cedars." Then she again lifted her head, and told him that that would have been impossible. Let things go as they might, she knew that she had been right in leaving her aunt's house. There was not much more said between them, nor did he give her any definite promise as to when he would see her again. He told her that she might draw on Mr Slow for money if she wanted it, but that she again declined. And he told her also not to withdraw Susanna Mackenzie from her school at Littlebath—at any rate, not for the present; and intimated also that Mr Slow would pay the schoolmistress's bill. Then he took his leave of her. He had spoken no word of love to her; but yet she felt, when he was gone, that her case was not as hopeless now as it had seemed to be that morning. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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