Miss Mackenzie Leaves the Cedars
There was something so serious in her cousin's request to her, and so
much of gravity in his mode of making it, that Miss Mackenzie could
not but think of it throughout the day. On what subject did he wish
to speak to her in so solemn and special a manner? An idea of the
possibility of an offer no doubt crossed her mind and fluttered her,
but it did not do more than this; it did not remain fixed with her,
or induce her to resolve what answer she would give if such offer
were made. She was afraid to allow herself to think that such a thing
could happen, and put the matter away from her,--uneasily, indeed,
but still with so much resolution as to leave her with a conviction
that she need not give any consideration to such an hypothesis.
And she was not at a loss to suggest to herself another subject. Her
cousin had learned something about her money which he felt himself
bound to tell her, but which he would not have told her now had she
consented to remain at the Cedars. There was something wrong about
the loan. This made her seriously unhappy, for she dreaded the
necessity of discussing her brother's conduct with her cousin.
During the whole of the day Lady Ball was very courteous, but rather
distant. Lady Ball had said to herself that Margaret would have
stayed had she been in a disposition favourable to John Ball's hopes.
If she should decline the alliance with which the Balls proposed to
honour her, then Lady Ball was prepared to be very cool. There would
be an ingratitude in such a proceeding after the open-armed affection
which had been shown to her which Lady Ball could not readily bring
herself to forgive. Sir John, once or twice during the day, took up
his little sarcasms against her supposed religious tendencies at
Littlebath.
"You'll be glad to get back to Mr Stumfold," he said.
"I shall be glad to see him, of course," she answered, "as he is a
friend."
"Mr Stumfold has a great many lady friends at Littlebath," he
continued.
"Yes, a great many," said Miss Mackenzie, understanding well that she
was being bullied.
"What a pity that there can be only one Mrs Stumfold," snarled the
baronet; "it's often a wonder to me how women can be so foolish."
"And it's often a wonder to me," said Miss Mackenzie, "how gentlemen
can be so ill-natured."
She had plucked up her spirits of late, and had resented Sir John's
ill-humour.
At the usual hour Mr Ball came home to dinner, and Miss Mackenzie, as
soon as she saw him, again became fluttered. She perceived that he
was not at his ease, and that made her worse. When he spoke to the
girls he seemed hardly to mind what he was saying, and he greeted his
mother without any whispered tidings as to the share-market of the
day.
Margaret asked herself if it could be possible that anything was very
wrong about her own money. If the worst came to the worst she could
but have lost that two thousand five hundred pounds and she would be
able to live well enough without it. If her brother had asked her for
it, she would have given it to him. She would teach herself to regard
it as a gift, and then the subject would not make her unhappy.
They all came down to dinner, and they all went in to tea, and the
tea-things were taken away, and then John Ball arose. During tea-time
neither he nor Miss Mackenzie had spoken a word, and when she got up
to follow him, there was a solemnity about the matter which ought to
have been ludicrous to any of those remaining, who might chance to
know what was about to happen. It must be supposed that Lady Ball
at any rate did know, and when she saw her middle-aged niece walk
slowly out of the room after her middle-aged son, in order that a
love proposal might be made from one to the other with advantage,
she must, I should think, have perceived the comic nature of the
arrangement. She went on, however, very gravely with her knitting,
and did not even make an attempt to catch her husband's eye.
"Margaret," said John Ball, as soon as he had shut the study door;
"but, perhaps, you had better sit down."
Then she sat down, and he came and seated himself opposite to her;
opposite her, but not so close as to give him any of the advantages
of a lover.
"Margaret, I don't know whether you have guessed the subject on which
I wish to speak to you; but I wish you had."
"Is it about the money?" she asked.
"The money! What money? The money you have lent to your brother? Oh,
no."
Then, at that moment, Margaret did, I think, guess.
"It's not at all about the money," he said, and then he sighed.
He had at one time thought of asking his mother to make the
proposition for him, and now he wished that he had done so.
"No, Margaret, it's something else that I want to say. I believe you
know my condition in life pretty accurately."
"In what way, John?"
"I am a poor man; considering my large family, a very poor man. I
have between eight and nine hundred a year, and when my father and
mother are both gone I shall have nearly as much more; but I have
nine children, and as I must keep up something of a position, I have
a hard time of it sometimes, I can tell you."
Here he paused, as though he expected her to say something; but she
had nothing to say and he went on.
"Jack is at Oxford, as you know, and I wish to give him any chance
that a good education may afford. It did not do much for me, but he
may be more lucky. When my father is dead, I think I shall sell this
place; but I have not quite made up my mind about that;--it must
depend on circumstances. As for the girls, you see that I do what I
can to educate them."
"They seem to me to be brought up very nicely; nothing could be
better."
"They are good girls, very good girls, and so is Jack a very good
fellow."
"I love Jack dearly," said Miss Mackenzie, who had already come to
a half-formed resolution that Jack Ball should be heir to half her
fortune, her niece Susanna being heiress to the other half.
"Do you? I'm so glad of that." And there was actually a tear in the
father's eye.
"And so I do the girls," said Margaret. "It's something so nice to
feel that one has people really belonging to one that one may love.
I hope they'll know Susanna some day, for she's a very nice girl,--a
very dear girl."
"I hope they will," said Mr Ball; but there was not much enthusiasm
in the expression of this hope.
Then he got up from his chair, and took a turn across the room. "The
truth is, Margaret, that there's no use in my beating about the bush.
I shan't say what I've got to say a bit the better for delaying it.
I want you to be my wife, and to be mother to those children. I
like you better than any woman I've seen since I lost Rachel, but
I shouldn't dare to make you such an offer if you had not money of
your own. I could not marry unless my wife had money, and I would not
marry any woman unless I felt I could love her--not if she had ever
so much. There! now you know it all. I suppose I have not said it as
I ought to do, but if you're the woman I take you for that won't make
much difference."
For my part I think that he said what he had to say very well. I do
not know that he could have done it much better. I do not know that
any other form of words would have been more persuasive to the woman
he was addressing. Had he said much of his love, or nothing of his
poverty; or had he omitted altogether any mention of her wealth, her
heart would have gone against him at once. As it was he had produced
in her mind such a state of doubt, that she was unable to answer him
on the moment.
"I know," he went on to say, "that I haven't much to offer you." He
had now seated himself again, and as he spoke he looked upon the
ground.
"It isn't that, John," she answered; "you have much more to give than
I have a right to expect."
"No," he said. "What I offer you is a life of endless trouble and
care. I know all about it myself. It's all very well to talk of a
competence and a big house, and if you were to take me, perhaps we
might keep the old place on and furnish it again, and my mother
thinks a great deal about the title. For my part I think it's only
a nuisance when a man has not got a fortune with it, and I don't
suppose it will be any pleasure to you to be called Lady Ball. You'd
have a life of fret and worry, and would not have half so much money
to spend as you have now. I know all that, and have thought a deal
about it before I could bring myself to speak to you. But, Margaret,
you would have duties which would, I think, in themselves, have a
pleasure for you. You would know what to do with your life, and would
be of inestimable value to many people who would love you dearly.
As for me, I never saw any other woman whom I could bring myself to
offer as a mother to my children." All this he said looking down at
the floor, in a low, dull, droning voice, as though every sentence
spoken were to have been the last. Then he paused, looked into her
face for a moment, and after that, allowed his eyes again to fall on
the ground.
Margaret was, of course, aware that she must make him some answer,
and she was by no means prepared to give him one that would be
favourable. Indeed, she thought she knew that she could not marry
him, because she felt that she did not love him with affection of the
sort which would be due to a husband. She told herself that she must
refuse his offer. But yet she wanted time, and above all things, she
wished to find words which would not be painful to him. His dull
droning voice, and the honest recital of his troubles, and of her
troubles if she were to share his lot, had touched her more nearly
than any vows of love would have done. When he told her of the heavy
duties which might fall to her lot as his wife, he almost made her
think that it might be well for her to marry him, even though she did
not love him. "I hardly know how to answer you, you have taken me so
much by surprise," she said.
"You need not give me an answer at once," he replied; "you can think
of it." As she did not immediately say anything, he presumed that she
assented to this proposition. "You won't wonder now," he said, "that
I wished you to stay here, or that my mother wished it."
"Does Lady Ball know?" she asked.
"Yes, my mother does know."
"What am I to say to her?"
"Shall I tell you, Margaret, what to say? Put your arms round her
neck, and tell her that you will be her daughter."
"No, John; I cannot do that; and perhaps I ought to say now that I
don't think it will ever be possible. It has all so surprised me,
that I haven't known how to speak; and I am afraid I shall be letting
you go from me with a false idea. Perhaps I ought to say at once that
it cannot be."
"No, Margaret, no. It is much better that you should think of it. No
harm can come of that."
"There will be harm if you are disappointed."
"I certainly shall be disappointed if you decide against me; but not
more violently so, if you do it next week than if you do it now. But
I do hope that you will not decide against me."
"And what am I to do?"
"You can write to me from Littlebath."
"And how soon must I write?"
"As soon as you can make up your mind. But, Margaret, do not decide
against me too quickly. I do not know that I shall do myself any good
by promising you that I will love you tenderly." So saying he put out
his hand, and she took it; and they stood there looking into each
other's eyes, as young lovers might have done,--as his son might have
looked into those of her daughter, had she been married young and had
children of her own. In the teeth of all those tedious money dealings
in the City there was some spice of romance left within his bosom
yet!
But how was she to get herself out of the room? It would not do for
such a Juliet to stay all the night looking into the eyes of her
ancient Romeo. And how was she to behave herself to Lady Ball, when
she should again find herself in the drawing-room, conscious as she
was that Lady Ball knew all about it? And how was she to conduct
herself before all those young people whom she had left there? And
her proposed father-in-law, whom she feared so much, and in truth
disliked so greatly--would he know all about it, and thrust his
ill-natured jokes at her? Her lover should have opened the door for
her to pass through; but instead of doing so, as soon as she had
withdrawn her hand from his, he placed himself on the rug, and leaned
back in silence against the chimney-piece.
"I suppose it wouldn't do," she said, "for me to go off to bed
without seeing them."
"I think you had better see my mother," he replied, "else you will
feel awkward in the morning."
Then she opened the door for herself, and with frightened feet crept
back to the drawing-room. She could hardly bring herself to open
the second door; but when she had done so, her heart was greatly
released, as, looking in, she saw that her aunt was the only person
there.
"Well, Margaret," said the old lady, walking up to her; "well?"
"Dear aunt, I don't know what I am to say to you. I don't know what
you want."
"I want you to tell me you have consented to become John's wife."
"But I have not consented. Think how sudden it has been, aunt!"
"Yes, yes; I can understand that. You could not tell him at once that
you would take him; but you won't mind telling me."
"I would have told him so in an instant, if I had made up my mind. Do
you think I would wish to keep him in suspense on such a matter? If
I could have felt that I could love him as his wife, I would have
told him so instantly,--instantly."
"And why not love him as his wife--why not?" Lady Ball, as she asked
the question, was almost imperious in her eagerness.
"Why not, aunt? It is not easy to answer such a question as that. A
woman, I suppose, can't say why she doesn't love a man, nor yet why
she does. You see, it's so sudden. I hadn't thought of him in that
way."
"You've known him now for nearly a year, and you've been in the house
with him for the last three weeks. If you haven't seen that he has
been attached to you, you are the only person in the house that has
been so blind."
"I haven't seen it at all, aunt."
"Perhaps you are afraid of the responsibility," said Lady Ball.
"I should fear it certainly; but that alone would not deter me. I
would endeavour to do my best."
"And you don't like living in the same house with me and Sir John."
"Indeed, yes; you are always good to me; and as to my uncle, I know
he does not mean to be unkind. I should not fear that."
"The truth is, I suppose, Margaret, that you do not like to part with
your money."
"That's unjust, aunt. I don't think I care more for my money than
another woman."
"Then what is it? He can give you a position in the world higher than
any you could have had a hope to possess. As Lady Ball you will be
equal in all respects to your own far-away cousin, Lady Mackenzie."
"That has nothing to do with it, aunt."
"Then what is it?" asked Lady Ball again. "I suppose you have no
absolute objection to be a baronet's wife."
"Suppose, aunt, that I do not love him?"
"Pshaw!" said the old woman.
"But it isn't pshaw," said Miss Mackenzie. "No woman ought to marry a
man unless she feels that she loves him."
"Pshaw!" said Lady Ball again.
They had both been standing; and as everybody else was gone Miss
Mackenzie had determined that she would go off to bed without
settling herself in the room. So she prepared herself for her
departure.
"I'll say good-night now, aunt. I have still some of my packing to
do, and I must be up early."
"Don't be in a hurry, Margaret. I want to speak to you before you
leave us, and I shall have no other opportunity. Sit down, won't
you?"
Then Miss Mackenzie seated herself, most unwillingly.
"I don't know that there is anyone nearer to you than I am, my dear;
at any rate, no woman; and therefore I can say more than any other
person. When you talk of not loving John, does that mean--does it
mean that you are engaged to anyone else?"
"No, it does not."
"And it does not mean that there is anyone else whom you are thinking
of marrying?"
"I am not thinking of marrying anyone."
"Or that you love any other man?"
"You are cross-questioning me, aunt, more than is fair."
"Then there is some one?"
"No, there is nobody. What I say about John I don't say through any
feeling for anybody else."
"Then, my dear, I think that a little talk between you and me may
make this matter all right. I'm sure you don't doubt John when he
says that he loves you very dearly. As for your loving him, of course
that would come. It is not as if you two were two young people, and
that you wanted to be billing and cooing. Of course you ought to be
fond of each other, and like each other's company; and I have no
doubt that you will. You and I would, of course, be thrown very much
together, and I'm sure I'm very fond of you. Indeed, Margaret, I have
endeavoured to show that I am."
"You've been very kind, aunt."
"Therefore as to your loving him, I really don't think there need
be any doubt about that. Then, my dear, as to the other part of
the arrangement,--the money and all that. If you were to have any
children, your own fortune would be settled on them; at least, that
could be arranged, if you required it; though, as your fortune all
came from the Balls, and is the very money with which the title was
intended to be maintained, you probably would not be very exacting
about that. Stop a moment, my dear, and let me finish before you
speak. I want you particularly to think of what I say, and to
remember that all your money did come from the Balls. It has been
very hard upon John,--you must feel that. Look at him with his heavy
family, and how he works for them!"
"But my uncle Jonathan died and left his money to my brothers before
John was married. It is twenty-five years ago."
"Well I remember it, my dear! John was just engaged to Rachel, and
the marriage was put off because of the great cruelty of Jonathan's
will. Of course I am not blaming you."
"I was only ten years old, and uncle Jonathan did not leave me a
penny. My money came to me from my brother; and, as far as I can
understand, it is nearly double as much as he got from Sir John's
brother."
"That may be; but John would have doubled it quite as readily as
Walter Mackenzie. What I mean to say is this, that as you have the
money which in the course of nature would have come to John, and
which would have been his now if a great injustice had not been
done--"
"It was done by a Ball, and not by a Mackenzie."
"That does not alter the case in the least. Your feelings should be
just the same in spite of that. Of course the money is yours and you
can do what you like with it. You can give it to young Mr Samuel
Rubb, if you please." Stupid old woman! "But I think you must feel
that you should repair the injury which was done, as it is in your
power to do so. A fine position is offered you. When poor Sir John
goes, you will become Lady Ball, and be the mistress of this house,
and have your own carriage." Terribly stupid old woman! "And you
would have friends and relatives always round you, instead of being
all alone at such a place as Littlebath, which must, I should say,
be very sad. Of course there would be duties to perform to the dear
children; but I don't think so ill of you, Margaret, as to suppose
for an instant that you would shrink from that. Stop one moment,
my dear, and I shall have done. I think I have said all now; but
I can well understand that when John spoke to you, you could not
immediately give him a favourable answer. It was much better to leave
it till to-morrow. But you can't have any objection to speaking out
to me, and I really think you might make me happy by saying that it
shall be as I wish."
It is astonishing the harm that an old woman may do when she goes
well to work, and when she believes she can prevail by means of her
own peculiar eloquence. Lady Ball had so trusted to her own prestige,
to her own ladyship, to her own carriage and horses, and to the
rest of it, and had also so misjudged Margaret's ordinary mild
manner, that she had thought to force her niece into an immediate
acquiescence by her mere words. The result, however, was exactly
the contrary to this. Had Miss Mackenzie been left to herself after
the interview with Mr Ball: had she gone upstairs to sleep upon his
proposal, without any disturbance to those visions of sacrificial
duty which his plain statement had produced: had she been allowed
to leave the house and think over it all without any other argument
to her than those which he had used, I think that she would have
accepted him. But now she was up in arms against the whole thing.
Her mind, clear as it was, was hardly lucid enough to allow of her
separating the mother and son at this moment. She was claimed as a
wife into the family because they thought that they had a right to
her fortune; and the temptations offered, by which they hoped to
draw her into her duty, were a beggarly title and an old coach! No!
The visions of sacrificial duty were all dispelled. There was doubt
before, but now there was no doubt.
"I think I will go to bed, aunt," she said very calmly, "and I will
write to John from Littlebath."
"And cannot you put me out of my suspense?"
"If you wish it, yes. I know that I must refuse him. I wish that I
had told him so at once, as then there would have been an end of it."
"You don't mean that you have made up your mind?"
"Yes, aunt, I do. I should be wrong to marry a man that I do not
love; and as for the money, aunt, I must say that I think you are
mistaken."
"How mistaken?"
"You think that I am called upon to put right some wrong that you
think was done you by Sir John's brother. I don't think that I am
under any such obligation. Uncle Jonathan left his money to his
sister's children instead of to his brother's children. If his money
had come to John, you would not have admitted that we had any claim,
because we were nephews and nieces."
"The whole thing would have been different."
"Well, aunt, I am very tired, and if you'll let me, I'll go to bed."
"Oh, certainly."
Then, with anything but warm affection, the aunt and niece parted,
and Miss Mackenzie went to her bed with a firm resolution that she
would not become Lady Ball.
It had been arranged for some time back that Mr Ball was to accompany
his cousin up to London by the train; and though under the present
circumstances that arrangement was not without a certain amount of
inconvenience, there was no excuse at hand for changing it. Not a
word was said at breakfast as to the scenes of last night. Indeed, no
word could very well have been said, as all the family was present,
including Jack and the girls. Lady Ball was very quiet, and very
dignified; but Miss Mackenzie perceived that she was always called
"Margaret," and not "my dear," as had been her aunt's custom. Very
little was said by any one, and not a great deal was eaten.
"Well; when are we to see you back again?" said Sir John, as Margaret
arose from her chair on being told that the carriage was there.
"Perhaps you and my aunt will come down some day and see me at
Littlebath?" said Miss Mackenzie.
"No; I don't think that's very likely," said Sir John.
Then she kissed all the children, till she came to Jack.
"I am going to kiss you, too," she said to him.
"No objection in life," said Jack. "I sha'n't complain about that."
"You'll come and see me at Littlebath?" said she.
"That I will if you'll ask me."
Then she put her face to her aunt, and Lady Ball permitted her cheek
to be touched. Lady Ball was still not without hope, but she thought
that the surest way was to assume a high dignity of demeanour, and
to exhibit a certain amount of displeasure. She still believed that
Margaret might be frightened into the match. It was but a mile and a
half to the station, and for that distance Mr Ball and Margaret sat
together in the carriage. He said nothing to her as to his proposal
till the station was in view, and then only a word.
"Think well of it, Margaret, if you can."
"I fear I cannot think well of it," she answered. But she spoke so
low, that I doubt whether he completely heard her words. The train
up to London was nearly full, and there he had no opportunity of
speaking to her. But he desired no such opportunity. He had said all
that he had to say, and was almost well pleased to know that a final
answer was to be given to him, not personally, but by letter. His
mother had spoken to him that morning, and had made him understand
that she was not well pleased with Margaret; but she had said nothing
to quench her son's hopes.
"Of course she will accept you," Lady Ball had said, "but women like
her never like to do anything without making a fuss about it."
"To me, yesterday, I thought she behaved admirably," said her son.
At the station at London he put her into the cab that was to take her
to Gower Street, and as he shook hands with her through the window,
he once more said the same words:
"Think well of it, Margaret, if you can."