Miss Mackenzie Goes to the Cedars
About the middle of December Mrs Mackenzie, of Gower Street, received
a letter from her sister-in-law at Littlebath, in which it was
proposed that Susanna should pass the Christmas holidays with her
father and mother. "I myself," said the letter, "am going for three
weeks to the Cedars. Lady Ball has written to me, and as she seems
to wish it, I shall go. It is always well, I think, to drop family
dissensions." The letter said a great deal more, for Margaret
Mackenzie, not having much business on hand, was fond of writing
long letters; but the upshot of it was, that she would leave Susanna
in Gower Street, on her way to the Cedars, and call for her on her
return home.
"What on earth is she going there for?" said Mrs Tom Mackenzie.
"Because they have asked her," replied the husband.
"Of course they have asked her; but that's no reason she should go.
The Balls have behaved very badly to us, and I should think much
better of her if she stayed away."
To this Mr Mackenzie made no answer, but simply remarked that he
would be rejoiced in having Susanna at home on Christmas Day.
"That's all very well, my dear," said Mrs Tom, "and of course so
shall I. But as she has taken the charge of the child I don't think
she ought to drop her down and pick her up just whenever she pleases.
Suppose she was to take it into her head to stop at the Cedars
altogether, what are we to do then?--just have the girl returned upon
our hands, with all her ideas of life confused and deranged. I hate
such ways."
"She has promised to provide for Susanna, whenever she may not
continue to give her a home."
"What would such a promise be worth if John Ball got hold of her
money? That's what they're after, as sure as my name is Martha; and
what she's after too, very likely. She was there once before she went
to Littlebath at all. They want to get their uncle's money back, and
she wants to be a baronet's wife."
The same view of the matter was perhaps taken by Mr Rubb, junior,
when he was told that Miss Mackenzie was to pass through London on
her way to the Cedars, though he did not express his fears openly, as
Mrs Mackenzie had done.
"Why don't you ask your sister to stay in Gower Street?" he said to
his partner.
"She wouldn't come."
"You might at any rate ask her."
"What good would it do?"
"Well; I don't know that it would do any good; but it wouldn't do any
harm. Of course it's natural that she should wish to have friends
about her; and it will only be natural too that she should marry some
one."
"She may marry whom she pleases for me."
"She will marry whom she pleases; but I suppose you don't want to see
her money go to the Balls."
"I shouldn't care a straw where her money went," said Thomas
Mackenzie, "if I could only know that this sum which we have had from
her was properly arranged. To tell you the truth, Rubb, I'm ashamed
to look my sister in the face."
"That's nonsense. Her money is as right as the bank; and if in such
matters as that brothers and sisters can't take liberties with each
other, who the deuce can?"
"In matters of money nobody should ever take a liberty with anybody,"
said Mr Mackenzie.
He knew, however, that a great liberty had been taken with his
sister's money, and that his firm had no longer the power of
providing her with the security which had been promised to her.
Mr Mackenzie would take no steps, at his partner's instance, towards
arresting his sister in London; but Mr Rubb was more successful
with Mrs Mackenzie, with whom, during the last month or two, he had
contrived to establish a greater intimacy than had ever previously
existed between the two families. He had been of late a good deal in
Gower Street, and Mrs Mackenzie had found him to be a much pleasanter
and better educated man than she had expected. Such was the language
in which she expressed her praise of him, though I am disposed to
doubt whether she herself was at all qualified to judge of the
education of any man. He had now talked over the affairs of Margaret
Mackenzie with her sister-in-law, and the result of that talking
was that Mrs Mackenzie wrote a letter to Littlebath, pressing Miss
Mackenzie to stay a few days in Gower Street, on her way through
London. She did this as well as she knew how to do it; but still
there was that in the letter which plainly told an apt reader that
there was no reality in the professions of affection made in it. Miss
Mackenzie became well aware of the fact as she read her sister's
words. Available hypocrisy is a quality very difficult of attainment
and of all hypocrisies, epistolatory hypocrisy is perhaps the
most difficult. A man or woman must have studied the matter very
thoroughly, or be possessed of great natural advantages in that
direction, who can so fill a letter with false expressions of
affection, as to make any reader believe them to be true. Mrs
Mackenzie was possessed of no such skill.
"Believe her to be my affectionate sister-in-law! I won't believe
her to be anything of the kind," Margaret so spoke of the writer to
herself, when she had finished the letter; but, nevertheless, she
answered it with kind language, saying that she could not stay in
town as she passed through to the Cedars, but that she would pass
one night in Gower Street when she called to pick up Susanna on her
return home.
It is hard to say what pleasure she promised herself in going to
the Cedars, or why she accepted that invitation. She had, in truth,
liked neither the people nor the house, and had felt herself to
be uncomfortable while she was there. I think she felt it to be a
duty to force herself to go out among people who, though they were
personally disagreeable to her, might be socially advantageous. If
Sir John Ball had not been a baronet, the call to the Cedars would
not have been so imperative on her. And yet she was not a tufthunter,
nor a toady. She was doing what we all do,--endeavouring to choose
her friends from the best of those who made overtures to her
of friendship. If other things be equal, it is probable that a
baronet will be more of a gentleman and a pleasanter fellow than a
manufacturer of oilcloth. Who is there that doesn't feel that? It
is true that she had tried the baronet, and had not found him very
pleasant, but that might probably have been her own fault. She had
been shy and stiff, and perhaps ill-mannered, or had at least accused
herself of these faults; and therefore she resolved to go again.
She called with Susanna as she passed through London, and just saw
her sister-in-law.
"I wish you could have stayed," said Mrs Mackenzie.
"I will for one night, as I return, on the 10th of January," said
Miss Mackenzie.
Mrs Mackenzie could not understand what Mr Rubb had meant by saying
that that old maid was soft and pleasant, nor could she understand
Susanna's love for her aunt. "I suppose men will put up with anything
for the sake of money," she said to herself; "and as for children,
the truth is, they'll love anybody who indulges them."
"Aunt is so kind," Susanna said. "She's always kind. If you wake her
up in the middle of the night, she's kind in a moment. And if there's
anything good to eat, it will make her eyes quite shine if she sees
that anybody else likes it. I have known her sit for half an hour
ever so uncomfortable, because she would not disturb the cat."
"Then she must be a fool, my dear," said Mrs Mackenzie.
"She isn't a fool, mamma; I'm quite sure of that," said Susanna.
Miss Mackenzie went on to the Cedars, and her mind almost misgave her
in going there, as she was driven up through the dull brick lodges,
which looked as though no paint had touched them for the last thirty
years, up to the front door of the dull brick house, which bore
almost as dreary a look of neglect as the lodges. It was a large
brick house of three stories, with the door in the middle, and three
windows on each side of the door, and a railed area with a kitchen
below the ground. Such houses were built very commonly in the
neighbourhood of London some hundred and fifty years ago, and they
may still be pleasant enough to the eye if there be ivy over them,
and if they be clean with new paint, and spruce with the outer care
of gardeners and the inner care of housemaids; but old houses are
often like old ladies, who require more care in their dressing than
they who are younger. Very little care was given to the Cedars, and
the place therefore always looked ill-dressed. On the right hand as
you entered was the dining-room, and the three windows to the left
were all devoted to the hall. Behind the dining-room was Sir John's
study, as he called it, and behind or beyond the hall was the
drawing-room, from which four windows looked out into the garden.
This might have been a pretty room had any care been taken to make
anything pretty at the Cedars. But the furniture was old, and the
sofas were hard, and the tables were rickety, and the curtains which
had once been red had become brown with the sun. The dinginess of
the house had not struck Miss Mackenzie so forcibly when she first
visited it, as it did now. Then she had come almost direct from
Arundel Street, and the house in Arundel Street had itself been very
dingy. Mrs Stumfold's drawing-rooms were not dingy, nor were her own
rooms in the Paragon. Her eye had become accustomed to better things,
and she now saw at once how old were the curtains, and how lamentably
the papers wanted to be renewed on the walls. She had, however, been
drawn from the neighbouring station to the house in the private
carriage belonging to the establishment, and if there was any sense
of justice in her, it must be presumed that she balanced the good
things with the bad.
But her mind misgave her, not because the house was outwardly dreary,
but in fear of the inward dreariness of the people--or in fear
rather of their dreariness and pride combined. Old Lady Ball, though
naturally ill-natured, was not ill-mannered, nor did she give herself
any special airs; but she knew that she was a baronet's wife, that
she kept her carriage, and that it was an obligation upon her to
make up for the poverty of her house by some little haughtiness of
demeanour. There are women, high in rank, but poor in pocket, so
gifted with the peculiar grace of aristocracy, that they show by
every word spoken, by every turn of the head, by every step taken,
that they are among the high ones of the earth, and that money has
nothing to do with it. Old Lady Ball was not so gifted, nor had she
just claim to such gifts. But some idea on the subject pervaded her
mind, and she made efforts to be aristocratic in her poverty. Sir
John was a discontented, cross old man, who had succeeded greatly
in early life, having been for nearly twenty years in Parliament,
but had fallen into adversity in his older days. The loss of that
very money of which his niece, Miss Mackenzie was possessed, was,
in truth, the one great misfortune which he deplored; but that
misfortune had had ramifications and extensions with which the reader
need not trouble himself; but which, altogether, connected as they
were with certain liberal aspirations which he had entertained
in early life, and certain political struggles made during his
parliamentary career, induced him to regard himself as a sort of
Prometheus. He had done much for the world, and the world in return
had made him a baronet without any money! He was a very tall, thin,
gray-haired, old man, stooping much, and worn with age, but still
endowed with some strength of will, and great capability of making
himself unpleasant. His son was a bald-headed, stout man, somewhat
past forty, who was by no means without cleverness, having done
great things as a young man at Oxford; but in life he had failed.
He was a director of certain companies in London, at which he used
to attend, receiving his guinea for doing so, and he had some small
capital,--some remnant of his father's trade wealth, which he nursed
with extreme care, buying shares here and there and changing his
money about as his keen outlook into City affairs directed him. I do
not suppose that he had much talent for the business, or he would
have grown rich; but a certain careful zeal carried him on without
direct loss, and gave him perhaps five per cent for his capital,
whereas he would have received no more than four and a half had he
left it alone and taken his dividends without troubling himself. As
the difference did not certainly amount to a hundred a-year, it can
hardly be said that he made good use of his time. His zeal deserved a
better success. He was always thinking of his money, excusing himself
to himself and to others by the fact of his nine children. For myself
I think that his children were no justification to him; as they would
have been held to be none, had he murdered and robbed his neighbours
for their sake.
There had been a crowd of girls in the house when Miss Mackenzie had
paid her former visit to the Cedars,--so many that she had carried
away no remembrance of them as individuals. But at that time the
eldest son, a youth now just of age, was not at home. This hope of
the Balls, who was endeavouring to do at Oxford as his father had
done, was now with his family, and came forward to meet his cousin
as the old carriage was driven up to the door. Old Sir John stood
within, in the hall, mindful of the window air, and Lady Ball, a
little mindful of her dignity, remained at the drawing-room door.
Even though Miss Mackenzie had eight hundred a-year, and was
nearly related to the Incharrow family, a further advance than the
drawing-room door would be inexpedient; for the lady, with all her
virtues, was still sister to the man who dealt in retail oilcloth in
the New Road!
Miss Mackenzie thought nothing of this, but was well contented to be
received by her hostess in the drawing-room.
"It's a dull house to come to, my dear," said Lady Ball; "but blood
is thicker than water, they say, and we thought that perhaps you
might like to be with your cousins at Christmas."
"I shall like it very much," said Miss Mackenzie.
"I suppose you must find it rather sad, living alone at Littlebath,
away from all your people?"
"I have my niece with me, you know."
"A niece, have you? That's one of the girls from Gower Street, I
suppose? It's very kind of you, and I dare say, very proper."
"But Littlebath is a very gay place, I thought," said John Ball, the
third and youngest of the name. "We always hear of it at Oxford as
being the most stunning place for parties anywhere near."
"I suppose you play cards every night of your life," said the
baronet.
"No; I don't play cards," said Miss Mackenzie. "Many ladies do, but
I'm not in that set."
"What set are you in?" said Sir John.
"I don't think I am in any set. I know Mr Stumfold, the clergyman
there, and I go to his house sometimes."
"Oh, ah; I see," said Sir John. "I beg your pardon for mentioning
cards. I shouldn't have done it, if I had known that you were one of
Mr Stumfold's people."
"I am not one of Mr Stumfold's people especially," she said, and then
she went upstairs.
The other John Ball came back from London just in time for
dinner--the middle one of the three, whom we will call Mr Ball. He
greeted his cousin very kindly, and then said a word or two to his
mother about shares. She answered him, assuming a look of interest in
his tidings.
"I don't understand it; upon my word, I don't," said he. "Some of
them will burn their fingers before they've done. I don't dare do it;
I know that."
In the evening, when John Ball,--or Jack, as he was called in the
family,--had left the drawing-room, and the old man was alone with
his son, they discussed the position of Margaret Mackenzie.
"You'll find she has taken up with the religious people there," said
the father.
"It's just what she would do," said the son.
"They're the greatest thieves going. When once they have got their
eyes upon money, they never take them off again."
"She's not been there long enough yet to give any one a hold upon
her."
"I don't know that, John; but, if you'll take my advice, you'll find
out the truth at once. She has no children, and if you've made up
your mind about it, you'll do no good by delay."
"She's a very nice woman, in her way."
"Yes, she's nice enough. She's not a beauty; eh, John? and she won't
set the Thames on fire."
"I don't wish her to do so; but I think she'd look after the girls,
and do her duty."
"I dare say; unless she has taken to run after prayer-meetings every
hour of her life."
"They don't often do that after they're married, sir."
"Well; I know nothing against her. I never thought much of her
brothers, and I never cared to know them. One's dead now, and as for
the other, I don't suppose he need trouble you much. If you've made
up your mind about it, I think you might as well ask her at once."
From all which it may be seen that Miss Mackenzie had been invited to
the Cedars with a direct object on the part of Mr Ball.
But though the old gentleman thus strongly advised instant action,
nothing was done during Christmas week, nor had any hint been given
up to the end of the year. John Ball, however, had not altogether
lost his time, and had played the part of middle-aged lover better
than might have been expected from one the whole tenor of whose life
was so thoroughly unromantic. He did manage to make himself pleasant
to Miss Mackenzie, and so far ingratiated himself with her that he
won much of her confidence in regard to money matters.
"But that's a very large sum of money?" he said to her one day as
they were sitting together in his father's study. He was alluding to
the amount which she had lent to Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie, and had
become aware of the fact that as yet Miss Mackenzie held no security
for the loan. "Two thousand five hundred pounds is a very large sum
of money."
"But I'm to get five per cent, John." They were first cousins, but it
was not without some ceremonial difficulty that they had arrived at
each other's Christian names.
"My dear Margaret, their word for five per cent is no security. Five
per cent is nothing magnificent. A lady situated as you are should
never part with her money without security--never: but if she does,
she should have more than five per cent."
"You'll find it's all right, I don't doubt," said Miss Mackenzie,
who, however, was beginning to have little inward tremblings of her
own.
"I hope so; but I must say, I think Mr Slow has been much to blame.
I do, indeed." Mr Slow was the attorney who had for years acted
for Walter Mackenzie and his father, and was now acting for Miss
Mackenzie. "Will you allow me to go to him and see about it?"
"It has not been his fault. He wrote and asked me whether I would let
them have it, before the papers were ready, and I said I would."
"But may I ask about it?"
Miss Mackenzie paused before she answered:
"I think you had better not, John. Remember that Tom is my own
brother, and I should not like to seem to doubt him. Indeed, I do not
doubt him in the least--nor yet Mr Rubb."
"I can assure you that it is a very bad way of doing business," said
the anxious lover.
By degrees she began to like her cousin John Ball. I do not at all
wish the reader to suppose that she had fallen in love with that
bald-headed, middle-aged gentleman, or that she even thought of him
in the light of a possible husband; but she found herself to be
comfortable in his company, and was able to make a friend of him.
It is true that he talked to her more of money than anything else;
but then it was her money of which he talked, and he did it with an
interest that could not but flatter her. He was solicitous about her
welfare, gave her bits of advice, did one or two commissions for her
in town, called her Margaret, and was kind and cousinly. The Cedars,
she thought, was altogether more pleasant than she had found the
place before. Then she told herself that on the occasion of her
former visit she had not been there long enough to learn to like the
place or the people. Now she knew them, and though she still dreaded
her uncle and his cross sayings, and though that driving out with her
aunt in the old carriage was tedious, she would have been glad to
prolong her stay there, had she not bound herself to take Susanna
back to school at Littlebath on a certain day. When that day came
near--and it did come very near before Mr Ball spoke out--they
pressed her to prolong her stay. This was done by both Lady Ball and
by her son.
"You might as well remain with us another fortnight," said Lady
Ball during one of these drives. It was the last drive which Miss
Mackenzie had through Twickenham lanes during that visit to the
Cedars.
"I can't do it, aunt, because of Susanna."
"I don't see that at all. You're not to make yourself a slave to
Susanna."
"But I'm to make myself a mother to her as well as I can."
"I must say you have been rather hasty, my dear. Suppose you were to
change your mode of life, what would you do?"
Then Miss Mackenzie, blushing slightly in the obscure corner of the
carriage as she spoke, explained to Lady Ball that clause in her
agreement with her brother respecting the five hundred pounds.
"Oh, indeed," said Lady Ball.
The information thus given had been manifestly distasteful, and the
conversation was for a while interrupted; but Lady Ball returned to
her request before they were again at home.
"I really do think you might stop, Margaret. Now that we have all got
to know each other, it will be a great pity that it all should be
broken up."
"But I hope it won't be broken up, aunt."
"You know what I mean, my dear. When people live so far off they
can't see each other constantly; and now you are here, I think you
might stay a little longer. I know there is not much attraction--"
"Oh, aunt, don't say that! I like being here very much."
"Then, why can't you stay? Write and tell Mrs Tom that she must keep
Susanna at home for another week or so. It can't matter."
To this Miss Mackenzie made no immediate answer.
"It is not only for myself I speak, but John likes having you here
with his girls; and Jack is so fond of you; and John himself is quite
different while you are here. Do stay!"
Saying which Lady Ball put out her hand caressingly on Miss
Mackenzie's arm.
"I'm afraid I mustn't," said Miss Mackenzie, very slowly. "Much as I
should like it, I'm afraid I mustn't do it. I've pledged myself to go
back with Susanna, and I like to be as good as my word."
Lady Ball drew herself up.
"I never went so much out of my way to ask any one to stay in my
house before," she said.
"Dear aunt! don't be angry with me."
"Oh no! I'm not angry. Here we are. Will you get out first?"
Whereupon Lady Ball descended from the carriage, and walked into the
house with a good deal of dignity.
"What a wicked old woman she was!" virtuous readers will say; "what a
wicked old woman to endeavour to catch that poor old maid's fortune
for her son!"
But I deny that she was in any degree a wicked old woman on that
score. Why should not the two cousins marry, and do very well
together with their joint means? Lady Ball intended to make a
baronet's wife of her. If much was to be taken, was not much also to
be given?
"You are going to stay, are you not?" Jack said to her that evening,
as he wished her good-night. She was very fond of Jack, who was a
nice-looking, smooth-faced young fellow, idolised by his sisters over
whom he tyrannised, and bullied by his grandfather, before whom he
quaked.
"I'm afraid not, Jack; but you shall come and see me at Littlebath,
if you will."
"I should like it, of all things; but I do wish you'd stay: the house
is so much nicer when you are in it!"
But of course she could not stay at the request of the young lad,
when she had refused the request of the lad's grandmother.
After this she had one day to remain at the Cedars. It was a
Thursday, and on the Friday she was to go to her brother's house on
her way to Littlebath. On the Thursday morning Mr Ball waylaid her on
the staircase, as she came down to breakfast, and took her with him
into the drawing-room. There he made his request, standing with her
in the middle of the room.
"Margaret," he said, "must you go away and leave us?"
"I'm afraid I must, John," she said.
"I wish we could make you think better of it."
"Of course I should like to stay, but--"
"Yes, there's always a but. I should have thought that, of all people
in the world, you were the one most able to do just what you please
with your time."
"We have all got duties to do, John."
"Of course we have; but why shouldn't it be your duty to make your
relations happy? If you could only know how much I like your being
here?"
Had it not been that she did not dare to do that for the son which
she had refused to the mother, I think that she would have given way.
As it was, she did not know how to yield, after having persevered so
long.
"You are all so kind," she said, giving him her hand, "that it goes
to my heart to refuse you; but I'm afraid I can't. I do not wish to
give my brother's wife cause to complain of me."
"Then," said Mr Ball, speaking very slowly, "I must ask this favour
of you, that you will let me see you alone for half an hour after
dinner this evening."
"Certainly," said Miss Mackenzie.
"Thank you, Margaret. After tea I will go into the study, and perhaps
you will follow me."