Mr Slow's Chambers
She came down late to breakfast on the following morning, not being
present at prayers, and when she came down she wore a bonnet.
"I got myself ready, John, for fear I should keep you waiting."
Her aunt spoke to her somewhat more graciously than on the preceding
evening, and accepted her apology for being late.
Just as she was about to start Lady Ball took her apart and spoke one
word to her.
"No one can tell you better what you ought to do than your cousin
John; but pray remember that he is far too generous to say a word for
himself."
Margaret made no answer, and then she and her cousin started on foot
across the grounds to the station. The distance was nearly a mile,
and during the walk no word was said between them about the money.
They got into the train that was to take them up to London, and sat
opposite to each other. It happened that there was no passenger in
either of the seats next to him or her, so that there was ample
opportunity for them to hold a private conversation; but Mr Ball said
nothing to her, and she, not knowing how to begin, said nothing to
him. In this way they reached the London station at Waterloo Bridge,
and then he asked her what she proposed to do next.
"Shall we go to Mr Slow's at once?" she asked.
To this he assented, and at her proposition they agreed to walk to
the lawyer's chambers. These were on the north side of Lincoln's Inn
Fields, near the Turnstile, and Mr Ball remarked that the distance
was again not much above a mile. So they crossed the Strand together,
and made their way by narrow streets into Drury Lane, and then under
a certain archway into Lincoln's Inn Fields. To Miss Mackenzie, who
felt that something ought to be said, the distance and time occupied
seemed to be very short.
"Why, this is Lincoln's Inn Fields!" she exclaimed, as she came out
upon the west side.
"Yes; this is Lincoln's Inn Fields, and Mr Slow's chambers are over
there."
She knew very well where Mr Slow's chambers were situated, but she
paused on the pavement, not wishing to go thither quite at once.
"John," she said, "I thought that perhaps we might have talked over
all this before we saw Mr Slow."
"Talked over all what?"
"About the money that I want to give to my brother's family. Did not
my aunt tell you of it?"
"Yes; she told me that you and she had differed."
"And she told you what about?"
"Yes," said he, slowly; "she told me what about."
"And what ought I to do, John?"
As she asked the question she caught hold of the lappet of his coat,
and looked up into his face as though supplicating him to give her
the advantage of all his discretion and all his honesty.
They were still standing on the pavement, where the street comes out
from under the archway. She was gazing into his face, and he was
looking away from her, over towards the inner railings of the square,
with heavy brow and dull eye and motionless face. She was very eager,
and he seemed to be simply patient, but nevertheless he was working
hard with his thoughts, striving to determine how best he might
answer her. His mother had told him that he might model this woman to
his will, and had repeated to him that story which he had heard so
often of the wrong that had been done to him by his uncle Jonathan.
It may be said that there was no need for such repetition, as John
Ball had himself always thought quite enough of that injury. He had
thought of it for the last twenty years, almost hourly, till it was
graven upon his very soul. He had been a ruined, wretched, moody man,
because of his uncle Jonathan's will. There was no need, one would
have said, to have stirred him on that subject. But his mother, on
this morning, in the ten minutes before prayer-time, had told him
of it all again, and had told him also that the last vestige of his
uncle's money would now disappear from him unless he interfered to
save it.
"On this very day it must be saved; and she will do anything you tell
her," said his mother. "She regards you more than anyone else. If you
were to ask her again now, I believe she would accept you this very
day. At any rate, do not let those people have the money."
And yet he had not spoken to Margaret on the subject during the
journey, and would now have taken her to the lawyer's chambers
without a word, had she not interrupted him and stopped him.
Nevertheless he had been thinking of his uncle, and his uncle's will,
and his uncle's money, throughout the morning. He was thinking of it
at that moment when she stopped him--thinking how hard it all was,
how cruel that those people in the New Road should have had and spent
half his uncle's fortune, and that now the remainder, which at one
time had seemed to be near the reach of his own children, should also
go to atone for the negligence and fraud of those wretched Rubbs.
We all know with how strong a bias we regard our own side of any
question, and he regarded his side in this question with a very
strong bias. Nevertheless he had refrained from a word, and would
have refrained, had she not stopped him.
When she took hold of him by the coat, he looked for a moment into
her face, and thought that in its trouble it was very sweet. She
leaned somewhat against him as she spoke, and he wished that she
would lean against him altogether. There was about her a quiet
power of endurance, and at the same time a comeliness and a womanly
softness which seemed to fit her altogether for his wants and
wishes. As he looked with his dull face across into the square, no
physiognomist would have declared of him that at that moment he was
suffering from love, or thinking of a woman that was dear to him. But
it was so with him, and the physiognomist, had one been there, would
have been wrong. She had now asked him a question, which he was bound
to answer in some way:--"What ought I to do, John?"
He turned slowly round and walked with her, away from their
destination, round by the south side of the square, and then up along
the blank wall on the east side, nearly to the passage into Holborn,
and back again all round the enclosed space. She, while she was
speaking to him and listening to him, hardly remembered where she was
or whither she was going.
"I thought," said he, in answer to her question, "that you intended
to ask Mr Slow's advice?"
"I didn't mean to do more than tell him what should be done. He is
not a friend, you know, John."
"It's customary to ask lawyers their advice on such subjects."
"I'd rather have yours, John. But, in truth, what I want you to say
is, that I am right in doing this,--right in keeping my promise to my
brother, and providing for his children."
"Like most people, Margaret, you want to be advised to follow your
own counsel."
"God knows that I want to do right, John. I want to do nothing else,
John, but what's right. As to this money, I care but little for it
for myself."
"It is your own, and you have a right to enjoy it."
"I don't know much about enjoyment. As to enjoyment, it seems to me
to be pretty much the same whether a person is rich or poor. I always
used to hear that money brought care, and I'm sure I've found it so
since I had any."
"You've got no children, Margaret."
"No; but there are all those orphans. Am I not bound to look upon
them as mine, now that he has gone? If they don't depend on me, whom
are they to depend on?"
"If your mind is made up, Margaret, I have nothing to say against it.
You know what my wishes are. They are just the same now as when you
were last with us. It isn't only for the money I say this, though,
of course, that must go a long way with a man circumstanced as I am;
but, Margaret, I love you dearly, and if you can make up your mind to
be my wife, I would do my best to make you happy."
"I hadn't meant you to talk in that way, John," said Margaret.
But she was not much flurried. She was now so used to these overtures
that they did not come to her as much out of the common way. And she
gave herself none of that personal credit which women are apt to take
to themselves when they find they are often sought in marriage. She
looked upon her lovers as so many men to whom her income would be
convenient, and felt herself to be almost under an obligation to
them for their willingness to put up with the incumbrance which was
attached to it.
"But it's the only way I can talk when you ask me about this," said
he. Then he paused for a moment before he added, "How much is it you
wish to give to your brother's widow?"
"Half what I've got left."
"Got left! You haven't lost any of your money have you, Margaret?"
Then she explained to him the facts as to the loan, and took care
to explain to him also, very fully, the compensatory fact of the
purchase by the railway company. "And my promise to him was made
after I had lent it, you know," she urged.
"I do think it ought to be deducted; I do indeed," he said. "I am
not speaking on my own behalf now, as for the sake of my children,
but simply as a man of business. As for myself, though I do think I
have been hardly used in the matter of my uncle's money, I'll try to
forget it. I'll try at any rate to do without it. When I first knew
you, and found--found that I liked you so much, I own that I did have
hopes. But if it must be, there shall be an end of that. The children
don't starve, I suppose."
"Oh, John!"
"As for me, I won't hanker after your money. But, for your own sake,
Margaret--"
"There will be more than enough for me, you know; and, John--"
She was going to make him some promise; to tell him something of her
intention towards his son, and to make some tender of assistance to
himself; being now in that mind to live on the smallest possible
pittance, of which I have before spoken, when he ceased speaking or
listening, and hurried her on to the attorney's chambers.
"Do what you like with it. It is your own," said he. "And we shall do
no good by talking about it any longer out here."
So at last they made their way up to Mr Slow's rooms, on the first
floor in the old house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and were informed
that that gentleman was at home. Would they be pleased to sit down in
the waiting-room?
There is, I think, no sadder place in the world than the waiting-room
attached to an attorney's chambers in London. In this instance it was
a three-cornered room, which had got itself wedged in between the
house which fronted to Lincoln's Inn Fields, and some buildings in a
narrow lane that ran at the back of the row. There was no carpet in
it, and hardly any need of one, as the greater part of the floor was
strewed with bundles of dusty papers. There was a window in it, which
looked out from the point of the further angle against the wall of
the opposite building. The dreariness of this aspect had been thought
to be too much for the minds of those who waited, and therefore the
bottom panes had been clouded, so that there was in fact no power of
looking out at all. Over the fireplace there was a table of descents
and relationship, showing how heirship went; and the table was very
complicated, describing not only the heirship of ordinary real and
personal property, but also explaining the wonderful difficulties of
gavelkind, and other mysteriously traditional laws. But the table was
as dirty as it was complicated, and the ordinary waiting reader could
make nothing of it. There was a small table in the room, near the
window, which was always covered with loose papers; but these loose
papers were on this occasion again covered with sheets of parchment,
and a pale-faced man, of about thirty, whose beard had never yet
attained power to do more than sprout, was sitting at the table, and
poring over the parchments. Round the room, on shelves, there was a
variety of iron boxes, on which were written the names of Mr Slow's
clients,--of those clients whose property justified them in having
special boxes of their own. But these boxes were there, it must be
supposed, for temporary purposes,--purposes which might be described
as almost permanently temporary,--for those boxes which were allowed
to exist in absolute permanence of retirement, were kept in an iron
room downstairs, the trap-door into which had yawned upon Miss
Mackenzie as she was shown into the waiting-room. There was, however,
one such box open, on the middle of the floor, and sundry of the
parchments which had been taken from it were lying around it.
There were but two chairs in the room besides the one occupied by the
man at the table, and these were taken by John Ball and his cousin.
She sat herself down, armed with patience, indifferent to the delay
and indifferent to the dusty ugliness of everything around her, as
women are on such occasions. He, thinking much of his time, and
somewhat annoyed at being called upon to wait, sat with his chin
resting on his umbrella between his legs, and as he did so he allowed
his eyes to roam around among the names upon the boxes. There was
nothing on any one of those up on the shelves that attracted him.
There was the Marquis of B----, and Sir C. D----, and the Dowager
Countess of E----. Seeing this, he speculated mildly whether Mr Slow
put forward the boxes of his aristocratic customers to show how well
he was doing in the world. But presently his eye fell from the shelf
and settled upon the box on the floor. There, on that box, he saw the
name of Walter Mackenzie.
This did not astonish him, as he immediately said to himself that
these papers were being searched with reference to the business on
which his cousin was there that day; but suddenly it occurred to him
that Margaret had given him to understand that Mr Slow did not expect
her. He stepped over to her, therefore, one step over the papers, and
asked her the question, whispering it into her ear.
"No," said she, "I had no appointment. I don't think he expects me."
He returned to his seat, and again sitting down with his chin on
the top of his umbrella, surveyed the parchments that lay upon the
ground. Upon one of them, that was not far from his feet, he read the
outer endorsements written as such endorsements always are, in almost
illegible old English letters--
"Jonathan Ball, to John Ball, junior--Deed of Gift."
But, after all, there was nothing more than a coincidence in this.
Of course Mr Slow would have in his possession all the papers
appertaining to the transfer of Jonathan Ball's property to the
Mackenzies; or, at any rate, such as referred to Walter's share of
it. Indeed, Mr Slow, at the time of Jonathan Ball's death, acted for
the two brothers, and it was probable that all the papers would be
with him. John Ball had known that there had been some intention
on his uncle's part, before the quarrel between his father and his
uncle, to make over to him, on his coming of age, a certain property
in London, and he had been told that the money which the Mackenzies
had inherited had ultimately come from this very property. His uncle
had been an eccentric, quarrelsome man, prone to change his mind
often, and not regardful of money as far as he himself was concerned.
John Ball remembered to have heard that his uncle had intended him to
become possessed of certain property in his own right the day that
he became of age, and that this had all been changed because of the
quarrel which had taken place between his uncle and his father. His
father now never spoke of this, and for many years past had seldom
mentioned it. But from his mother he had often heard of the special
injury which he had undergone.
"His uncle," she had said, "had given it, and had taken it back
again,--had taken it back that he might waste it on those
Mackenzies."
All this he had heard very often, but he had never known anything of
a deed of gift. Was it not singular, he thought, that the draft of
such a deed should be lying at his foot at this moment.
He showed nothing of this in his face, and still sat there with his
chin resting on his umbrella. But certainly stronger ideas than usual
of the great wrongs which he had suffered did come into his head as
he looked upon the paper at his feet. He began to wonder whether he
would be justified in taking it up and inspecting it. But as he was
thinking of this the pale-faced man rose from his chair, and after
moving among the papers on the ground for an instant, selected this
very document, and carried it with him to his table. Mr Ball, as
his eyes followed the parchment, watched the young man dust it and
open it, and then having flattened it with his hand, glance over it
till he came to a certain spot. The pale-faced clerk, accustomed
to such documents, glanced over the ambages, the "whereases," the
"aforesaids," the rich exuberance of "admors.," "exors.," and
"assigns," till he deftly came to the pith of the matter, and then
he began to make extracts, a date here and a date there. John Ball
watched him all the time, till the door was opened, and old Mr Slow
himself appeared in the room.
He stepped across the papers to shake hands with his client, and then
shook hands also with Mr Ball, whom he knew. His eye glanced at once
down to the box, and after that over towards the pale-faced clerk.
Mr Ball perceived that the attorney had joined in his own mind the
operation that was going on with these special documents, and the
presence of these two special visitors; and that he, in some measure,
regretted the coincidence. There was something wrong, and John Ball
began to consider whether the old lawyer could be an old scoundrel.
Some lawyers, he knew, were desperate scoundrels. He said nothing,
however; but, obeying Mr Slow's invitation, followed him and his
cousin into the sanctum sanctorum of the chambers.
"They didn't tell me you were here at first," said the lawyer, in a
tone of vexation, "or I wouldn't have had you shown in there."
John Ball thought that this was, doubtless, true, and that very
probably they might not have been put in among those papers had Mr
Slow known what was being done.
"The truth is," continued the lawyer, "the Duke of F----'s man of
business was with me, and they did not like to interrupt me."
Mr Slow was a grey-haired old man, nearer eighty than seventy,
who, with the exception of a fortnight's holiday every year which
he always spent at Margate, had attended those same chambers in
Lincoln's Inn Fields daily for the last sixty years. He was a stout,
thickset man, very leisurely in all his motions, who walked slowly,
talked slowly, read slowly, wrote slowly, and thought slowly; but
who, nevertheless, had the reputation of doing a great deal of
business, and doing it very well. He had a partner in the business,
almost as old as himself, named Bideawhile; and they who knew them
both used to speculate which of the two was the most leisurely. It
was, however, generally felt that, though Mr Slow was the slowest in
his speech, Mr Bideawhile was the longest in getting anything said.
Mr Slow would often beguile his time with unnecessary remarks; but Mr
Bideawhile was so constant in beguiling his time, that men wondered
how, in truth, he ever did anything at all. Of both of them it may be
said that no men stood higher in their profession, and that Mr Ball's
suspicions, had they been known in the neighbourhood of Lincoln's
Inn, would have been scouted as utterly baseless. And, for the
comfort of my readers, let me assure them that they were utterly
baseless. There might, perhaps, have been a little vanity about Mr
Slow as to the names of his aristocratic clients; but he was an
honest, painstaking man, who had ever done his duty well by those who
had employed him.
Is it not remarkable that the common repute which we all give to
attorneys in the general is exactly opposite to that which every man
gives to his own attorney in particular? Whom does anybody trust so
implicitly as he trusts his own attorney? And yet is it not the case
that the body of attorneys is supposed to be the most roguish body in
existence?
The old man seemed now to be a little fretful, and said something
more about his sorrow at their having been sent into that room.
"We are so crowded," he said, "that we hardly know how to stir
ourselves."
Miss Mackenzie said it did not signify in the least. Mr Ball said
nothing, but seated himself with his chin again resting on his
umbrella.
"I was so sorry to see in the papers an account of your brother's
death," said Mr Slow.
"Yes, Mr Slow; he has gone, and left a wife and very large family."
"I hope they are provided for, Miss Mackenzie."
"No, indeed; they are not provided for at all. My brother had not
been fortunate in business."
"And yet he went into it with a large capital,--with a large capital
in such a business as that."
John Ball, with his chin on the umbrella, said nothing. He said
nothing, but he winced as he thought whence the capital had come. And
he thought, too, of those much-meaning words: "Jonathan Ball to John
Ball, junior--Deed of gift."
"He had been unfortunate," said Miss Mackenzie, in an apologetic
tone.
"And what will you do about your loan?" said Mr Slow, looking over
to John Ball when he asked the question, as though inquiring whether
all Miss Mackenzie's affairs were to be talked over openly in the
presence of that gentleman.
"That was a gift," said Miss Mackenzie.
"A deed of gift," thought John Ball to himself. "A deed of gift!"
"Oh, indeed! Then there's an end of that, I suppose," said Mr Slow.
"Exactly so. I have been explaining to my cousin all about it. I hope
the firm will be able to pay my sister-in-law the interest on it, but
that does not seem sure."
"I am afraid I cannot help you there, Miss Mackenzie."
"Of course not. I was not thinking of it. But what I've come about is
this." Then she told Mr Slow the whole of her project with reference
to her fortune; how, on his death-bed, she had promised to give half
of all that she had to her brother's wife and family, and how she had
come there to him, with her cousin, in order that he might put her in
the way of keeping her promise.
Mr Slow sat in silence and patiently heard her to the end. She,
finding herself thus encouraged to speak, expatiated on the solemnity
of her promise, and declared that she could not be comfortable till
she had done all that she had undertaken to perform. "And I shall
have quite enough for myself afterwards, Mr Slow, quite enough."
Mr Slow did not say a word till she had done, and even then he
seemed to delay his speech. John Ball never raised his face from his
umbrella, but sat looking at the lawyer, whom he still suspected of
roguery. And if the lawyer were a rogue, what then about his cousin?
It must not be supposed that he suspected her; but what would come of
her, if the fortune she held were, in truth, not her own?
"I have told my cousin all about it," continued Margaret, "and I
believe that he thinks I am doing right. At any rate, I would do
nothing without his knowing it."
"I think she is giving her sister-in-law too much," said John Ball.
"I am only doing what I promised," urged Margaret.
"I think that the money which she lent to the firm should, at any
rate, be deducted," said John Ball, speaking this with a kind of
proviso to himself, that the words so spoken were intended to be
taken as having any meaning only on the presumption that that
document which he had seen in the other room should turn out to be
wholly inoperative and inefficient at the present moment. In answer
to these side-questions or corollary points as to the deduction or
non-deduction of the loan, Mr Slow answered not a word; but when
there was silence between them, he did make answer as to the original
proposition.
"Miss Mackenzie," he said, "I think you had better postpone doing
anything in this matter for the present."
"Why postpone it?" said she.
"Your brother's death is very recent. It happened not above a
fortnight since, I think."
"And I want to have this settled at once, so that there shall be no
distress. What's the good of waiting?"
"Such things want thinking of, Miss Mackenzie."
"But I have thought of it. All I want now is to have it done."
A slight smile came across the puckered grey face of the lawyer as he
felt the imperative nature of the instruction given to him. The lady
had come there not to be advised, but to have her work done for her
out of hand. But the smile was very melancholy, and soon passed away.
"Is the widow in immediate distress?" asked Mr Slow.
Now the fact was that Miss Mackenzie herself had been in good funds,
having had ready money in her hands from the time of her brother
Walter's death; and for the last year she had by no means spent her
full income. She had, therefore, given her sister-in-law money, and
had paid the small debts which had come in, as such small debts will
come in, directly the dead man's body was under ground. Nay, some had
come in and had been paid while the man was yet dying. She exclaimed,
therefore, that her sister-in-law was not absolutely in immediate
want.
"And does she keep the house?" asked the lawyer.
Then Miss Mackenzie explained that Mrs Tom intended, if possible, to
keep the house, and to take some lady in to lodge with her.
"Then there cannot be any immediate hurry," urged the lawyer; "and
as the sum of money in question is large, I really think the matter
should be considered."
But Miss Mackenzie still pressed it. She was very anxious to make him
understand--and of course he did understand at once--that she had
no wish to hurry him in his work. All that she required of him was
an assurance that he accepted her instructions, and that the thing
should be done with not more than the ordinary amount of legal delay.
"You can pay her what you like out of your own income," said the
lawyer.
"But that is not what I promised," said Margaret Mackenzie.
Then there was silence among them all. Mr Ball had said very little
since he had been sitting in that room, and now it was not he who
broke the silence. He was still thinking of that deed of gift, and
wondering whether it had anything to do with Mr Slow's unwillingness
to undertake the commission which Margaret wished to give him. At
last Mr Slow got up from his chair, and spoke as follows:
"Mr Ball, I hope you will excuse me; but I have a word or two to say
to Miss Mackenzie, which I had rather say to her alone."
"Certainly," said Mr Ball, rising and preparing to go.
"You will wait for me, John," said Miss Mackenzie, asking this favour
of him as though she were very anxious that he should grant it.
Mr Slow said that he might be closeted with Miss Mackenzie for some
little time, perhaps for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes. John
Ball looked at his watch, and then at his cousin's face, and then
promised that he would wait. Mr Slow himself took him into the outer
office, and then handed him a chair; but he observed that he was not
allowed to go back into the waiting-room.
There he waited for three-quarters of an hour, constantly looking at
his watch, and thinking more and more about that deed of gift. Surely
it must be the case that the document which he had seen had some
reference to this great delay. At last he heard a door open, and a
step along a passage, and then another door was opened, and Mr Slow
reappeared with Margaret Mackenzie behind him. John Ball's eyes
immediately fell on his cousin's face, and he could see that it was
very pale. The lawyer's wore that smile which men put on when they
wish to cover the disagreeable seriousness of the moment.
"Good morning, Miss Mackenzie," said he, pressing his client's hand.
"Good morning, sir," said she.
The lawyer and Mr Ball then touched each other's hands, and the
former followed his cousin down the steps out into the square.