Showing How the Third Lover Behaved
"What has that man been here for?" Those were the first words which
Mr Ball spoke to his cousin after shutting the hall-door behind
Mr Rubb's back. When the door was closed he turned round and saw
Margaret as she was coming out of the dining-room, and in a voice
that sounded to her as though he were angry, asked her the above
question.
"He came to see me, John," said Miss Mackenzie, going back into the
dining-room. "He was my brother's partner."
"He said he came upon business; what business could he have?"
It was not very easy for her to tell him what had been Mr Rubb's
business. She had no wish to keep anything secret from her cousin,
but she did not know how to describe the scene which had just taken
place, or how to acknowledge that the man had come there to ask her
to marry him.
"Does he know anything of this matter of your money?" continued Mr
Ball.
"Oh yes; he knows it all. He was in Gower Street when I told my
sister-in-law."
"And he came to advise you about it?"
"Yes; he did advise me about it. But his advice I shall not take."
"And what did he advise?"
Then Margaret told him that Mr Rubb had counselled her to fight it
out to the last, in order that a compromise might at any rate be
obtained.
"If it has no selfish object in view I am far from saying that he is
wrong," said John Ball. "It is what I should advise a friend to do
under similar circumstances."
"It is not what I shall do, John."
"No; you are like a lamb that gives itself up to the slaughterer. I
have been with one lawyer or the other all day, and the end of it
is that there is no use on earth in your going to London to-morrow,
nor, as far as I can see, for another week to come. The two lawyers
together have referred the case to counsel for opinion,--for an
amicable opinion as they call it. From what they all say, Margaret,
it seems to me clear that the matter will go against you."
"I have expected nothing else since Mr Slow spoke to me."
"But no doubt you can make a fight, as your friend says."
"I don't want to fight, John; you know that."
"Mr Slow won't let you give it up without a contest. He suggested
a compromise,--that you and I should divide it. But I hate
compromises." She looked up into his face but said nothing. "The
truth is, I have been so wronged in the matter, the whole thing has
been so cruel, it has, all of it together, so completely ruined me
and my prospects in life, that were it any one but you, I would
sooner have a lawsuit than give up one penny of what is left." Again
she looked at him, but he went on speaking of it without observing
her. "Think what it has been, Margaret! The whole of this property
was once mine! Not the half of it only that has been called yours,
but the whole of it! The income was actually paid for one half-year
to a separate banking account on my behalf, before I was of age. Yes,
paid to me, and I had it! My uncle Jonathan had no more legal right
to take it away from me than you have to take the coat off my back.
Think of that, and of what four-and-twenty thousand pounds would have
done for me and my family from that time to this. There have been
nearly thirty years of this robbery!"
"It was not my fault, John."
"No; it was not your fault. But if your brothers could pay me back
all that they really owe me, all that the money would now be worth,
it would come to nearly a hundred thousand pounds. After that, what
is a man to say when he is asked to compromise? As far as I can see,
there is not a shadow of doubt about it. Mr Slow does not pretend
that there is a doubt. How they can fail to see the justice of it is
what passes my understanding!"
"Mr Slow will give up at once, I suppose, if I ask him?"
"I don't want you to ask him. I would rather that you didn't say a
word to him about it. There is a debt too from that man Rubb which
they advise me to abandon."
In answer to this, Margaret could say nothing, for she knew well that
her trust in the interest of that money was the only hope she had of
any maintenance for her sister-in-law.
After a few minutes' silence he again spoke to her. "He desires to
know whether you want money for immediate use."
"Who wants to know?"
"Mr Slow."
"Oh no, John. I have money at the bankers', but I will not touch it."
"How much is there at the bankers?"
"There is more than three hundred pounds; but very little more;
perhaps three hundred and ten."
"You may have that."
"John, I don't want anything that is not my own; not though I had to
walk out to earn my bread in the streets to-morrow."
"That is your own, I tell you. The tenants have been ordered not to
pay any further rents, till they receive notice. You can make them
pay, nevertheless, if you wish it; at least, you might do so, till
some legal steps were taken."
"Of course, I shall do nothing of the kind. It was Mr Slow's people
who used to get the money. And am I not to go up to London
to-morrow?"
"You can go if you choose, but you will learn nothing. I told Mr Slow
that I would bid you wait till I heard from him again. It is time now
for us to get ready for dinner."
Then, as he was going to leave the room, she took him by the coat and
held him again,--held him as fast as she had done on the pavement in
Lincoln's Inn Fields. There was a soft, womanly, trusting weakness in
the manner of her motion as she did this, which touched him now as it
had touched him then.
"John," she said, "if there is to be so much delay, I must not stay
here."
"Why not, Margaret?"
"My aunt does not like my staying; I can see that; and I don't think
it is fair to do so while she does not know all about it. It is
something like cheating her out of the use of the house."
"Then I will tell her."
"What, all? Had I not better go first?"
"No; you cannot go. Where are you to go to? I will tell her
everything to-night. I had almost made up my mind to do so already.
It will be better that they should both know it,--my father and my
mother. My father probably will be required to say all that he knows
about the matter."
"I shall be ready to go at once if she wishes it," said Margaret.
To this he made no answer, but went upstairs to his bedroom, and
there, as he dressed, thought again, and again, and again of his
cousin Margaret. What should he do for her, and in what way should he
treat her? The very name of the Mackenzies he had hated of old, and
their names were now more hateful to him than ever. He had correctly
described his own feelings towards them when he said, either truly or
untruly, that they had deprived him of that which would have made his
whole life prosperous instead of the reverse. And it seemed as though
he had really thought that they had been in fault in this,--that they
had defrauded him. It did not, apparently, occur to him that the only
persons he could blame were his uncle Jonathan and his own lawyers,
who, at his uncle's death, had failed to discover on his behalf what
really were his rights. Walter Mackenzie had been a poor creature
who could do nothing. Tom Mackenzie had been a mean creature who had
allowed himself to be cozened in a petty trade out of the money which
he had wrongfully acquired. They were odious to him, and he hated
their memories. He would fain have hated all that belonged to them,
had he been able. But he was not able to hate this woman who clung to
him, and trusted him, and felt no harsh feelings towards him, though
he was going to take from her everything that had been hers. She
trusted him for advice even though he was her adversary! Would he
have trusted her or any other human being under such circumstances?
No, by heavens! But not the less on that account did he acknowledge
to himself that this confidence in her was very gracious.
That evening passed by very quietly as far as Miss Mackenzie was
concerned. She had some time since, immediately on her last arrival
at the Cedars, offered to relieve her aunt from the trouble of making
tea, and the duty had then been given up to her. But since Lady
Ball's affair in obtaining possession of her niece's secret, the post
of honour had been taken away.
"You don't make it as your uncle likes it," Lady Ball had said.
She made her little offer again on this evening, but it was rejected.
"Thank you, no; I believe I had better do it myself," had been the
answer.
"Why can't you let Margaret make tea? I'm sure she does it very
well," said John.
"I don't see that you can be a judge, seeing that you take none," his
mother replied; "and if you please, I'd rather make the tea in my own
house as long as I can."
This little allusion to her own house was, no doubt, a blow at her
son, to punish him in that he had dictated to her in that matter of
the continued entertainment of her guest; but Margaret also felt it
to be a blow at her, and resolved that she would escape from the
house with as little further delay as might be possible. Beyond this,
the evening was very quiet, till Margaret, a little after tea, took
her candle and went off wearily to her room.
But then the business of the day as regarded the Cedars began; for
John Ball, before he went to bed, told both his father and his
mother the whole story,--the story, that is, as far as the money
was concerned, and also as far as Margaret's conduct to him was
concerned; but of his own feelings towards her he said nothing.
"She has behaved admirably, mother," he said; "you must acknowledge
that, and I think that she is entitled to all the kindness we can
show her."
"I have been kind to her," Lady Ball answered.
This had taken place in Lady Ball's own room, after they had left Sir
John. The tidings had taken the old man so much by surprise, that he
had said little or nothing. Even his caustic ill-nature had deserted
him, except on one occasion, when he remarked that it was like his
brother Jonathan to do as much harm with his money as was within his
reach.
"My memory in such a matter is worth nothing,--absolutely nothing,"
the old man had said. "I always supposed something was wrong. I
remember that. But I left it all to the lawyers."
In Lady Ball's room the conversation was prolonged to a late hour of
the night, and took various twists and turns, as such conversations
will do.
"What are we to do about the young woman?" That was Lady Ball's main
question, arising, no doubt, from the reflection that the world would
lean very heavily on them if they absolutely turned her out to starve
in the streets.
John Ball made no proposition in answer to this, having not as yet
made up his mind as to what his own wishes were with reference to the
young woman. Then his mother made her proposition.
"Of course that money due by the Rubbs must be paid. Let her take
that." But her son made no reply to this other than that he feared
the Rubbs were not in a condition to pay the money.
"They would pay her the interest at any rate," said Lady Ball, "till
she had got into some other way of life. She would do admirably for a
companion to an old lady, because her manners are good, and she does
not want much waiting upon herself."
On the next morning Miss Mackenzie trembled in her shoes as she came
down to breakfast. Her uncle, whom she feared the most, would not be
there; but the meeting with her aunt, when her aunt would know that
she was a pauper and that she had for the last week been an impostor,
was terrible to her by anticipation. But she had not calculated that
her aunt's triumph in this newly-acquired wealth for the Ball family
would, for the present, cover any other feeling that might exist. Her
aunt met her with a gracious smile, was very urbane in selecting a
chair for her at prayers close to her own, and pressed upon her a
piece of buttered toast out of a little dish that was always prepared
for her ladyship's own consumption. After breakfast John Ball again
went to town. He went daily to town during the present crisis; and,
on this occasion, his mother made no remark as to the urgency of his
business. When he was gone Lady Ball began to potter about the house,
after her daily custom, and was longer in her pottering than was
usual with her. Miss Mackenzie helped the younger children in their
lessons, as she often did; and when time for luncheon came, she
had almost begun to think that she was to be allowed to escape any
conversation with her aunt touching the great money question. But
it was not so. At one she was told that luncheon and the children's
dinner was postponed till two, and she was asked by the servant to go
up to Lady Ball in her own room.
"Come and sit down, my dear," said Lady Ball, in her sweetest voice.
"It has got to be very cold, and you had better come near the fire."
Margaret did as she was bidden, and sat herself down in the chair
immediately opposite to her aunt.
"This is a wonderful story that John has told me," continued her
aunt--"very wonderful."
"It is sad enough for me," said Margaret, who did not feel inclined
to be so self-forgetful in talking to her aunt as she had been with
her cousin.
"It is sad for you, Margaret, no doubt. But I am sure you have within
you that conscientious rectitude of purpose that you would not wish
to keep anything for yourself that in truth belongs to another."
To this Margaret answered nothing, and her aunt went on.
"It is a great change to you, no doubt; and, of course, that is the
point on which I wish to speak to you most especially. I have told
John that something must be done for you."
This jarred terribly on poor Margaret's feelings. Her cousin had said
nothing, not a word as to doing anything for her. The man who had
told her of his love, and asked her to be his wife, not twelve months
since,--who had pressed her to be of all women the dearest to him
and the nearest,--had talked to her of her ruin without offering her
aid, although this ruin to her would enrich him very greatly. She
had expected nothing from him, had wanted nothing from him; but by
degrees, when absent from him, the feeling had grown upon her that he
had been hard to her in abstaining from expressions of commiseration.
She had yielded to him in the whole affair, assuring him that nothing
should be done by her to cause him trouble; and she would have been
grateful to him if in return he had said something to her of her
future mode of life. She had intended to speak to him about the
hospital; but she had thought that she might abstain from doing so
till he himself should ask some question as to her plans. He had
asked no such question, and she was now almost determined to go
away without troubling him on the subject. But if he, who had once
professed to love her, would make no suggestion as to her future
life, she could ill bear that any offer of the kind should come from
her aunt, who, as she knew, had only regarded her for her money.
"I would rather," she replied, "that nothing should be said to him on
the subject."
"And why not, Margaret?"
"I desire that I may be no burden to him or anybody. I will go away
and earn my bread; and even if I cannot do that, my relations shall
not be troubled by hearing from me."
She said this without sobbing, but not without that almost hysterical
emotion which indicates that tears are being suppressed with pain.
"That is false pride, my dear."
"Very well, aunt. I daresay it is false; but it is my pride. I may be
allowed to keep my pride, though I can keep nothing else."
"What you say about earning your bread is very proper; and I and John
and your uncle also have been thinking of that. But I should be glad
if some additional assistance should be provided for you, in the
event of old age, you know, or illness. Now, as to earning your
bread, I remarked to John that you were peculiarly qualified for
being a lady's companion."
"For being what, aunt?"
"For being companion to some lady in the decline of life, who would
want to have some nice mannered person always with her. You have the
advantage of being ladylike and gentle, and I think that you are
patient by disposition."
"Aunt," said Miss Mackenzie, and her voice as she spoke was hardly
gentle, nor was it indicative of much patience. Her hysterics also
seemed for the time to have given way to her strong passionate
feeling. "Aunt," she said, "I would sooner take a broom in my hand,
and sweep a crossing in London, than lead such a life as that. What!
make myself the slave of some old woman, who would think that she had
bought the power of tyrannising over me by allowing me to sit in the
same room with her? No, indeed! It may very likely be the case that I
may have to serve such a one in the kitchen, but it shall be in the
kitchen, and not in the drawing-room. I have not had much experience
in life, but I have had enough to learn that lesson!"
Lady Ball, who during the first part of the conversation had been
unrolling and winding a great ball of worsted, now sat perfectly
still, holding the ball in her lap, and staring at her niece. She was
a quick-witted woman, and it no doubt occurred to her that the great
objection to living with an old lady, which her niece had expressed
so passionately, must have come from the trial of that sort of
life which she had had at the Cedars. And there was enough in Miss
Mackenzie's manner to justify Lady Ball in thinking that some such
expression of feeling as this had been intended by her. She had
never before heard Margaret speak out so freely, even in the days
of her undoubted heiress-ship; and now, though she greatly disliked
her niece, she could not avoid mingling something of respect and
something almost amounting to fear with her dislike. She did not
dare to go on unwinding her worsted, and giving the advantage of her
condescension to a young woman who spoke out at her in that way.
"I thought I was advising you for the best," she said, "and I hoped
that you would have been thankful."
"I don't know what may be for the best," said Margaret, again
bordering upon the hysterical in the tremulousness of her voice, "but
that I'm sure would be for the worst. However, I've made up my mind
to nothing as yet."
"No, my dear; of course not; but we all must think of it, you know."
Her cousin John had not thought of it, and she did not want any one
else to do so. She especially did not want her aunt to think of it.
But it was no doubt necessary that her aunt should consider how long
she would be required to provide a home for her impoverished niece,
and Margaret's mind at once applied itself to that view of the
subject. "I have made up my mind that I will go to London next week,
and then I must settle upon something."
"You mean when you go to Mr Slow's?"
"I mean that I shall go for good. I have a little money by me, which
John says I may use, and I shall take a lodging till--till--till--"
Then she could not go on any further.
"You can stay here, Margaret, if you please;--that is till something
more is settled about all this affair."
"I will go on Monday, aunt. I have made up my mind to that." It was
now Saturday. "I will go on Monday. It will be better for all parties
that I should be away." Then she got up, and waiting no further
speech from her aunt, took herself off to her own room.
She did not see her aunt again till dinner-time, and then neither of
them spoke to each other. Lady Ball thought that she had reason to
be offended, and Margaret would not be the first to speak. In the
evening, before the whole family, she told her cousin that she had
made up her mind to go up to London on Monday. He begged her to
reconsider her resolution, but when she persisted that she would do
so, he did not then argue the question any further. But on the Sunday
he implored her not to go as yet, and did obtain her consent to
postpone her departure till Tuesday. He wished, he said, to be at
any rate one day more in London before she went. On the Sunday she
was closeted with her uncle who also sent for her, and to him she
suggested her plan of becoming nurse at a hospital. He remarked that
he hoped that would not be necessary.
"Something will be necessary," she said, "as I don't mean to eat
anybody's bread but my own."
In answer to this he said that he would speak to John, and then that
interview was over. On the Monday morning John Ball said something
respecting Margaret to his mother which acerbated that lady more than
ever against her niece. He had not proposed that anything special
should be done; but he had hinted, when his mother complained of
Margaret, that Margaret's conduct was everything that it ought to be.
"I believe you would take anybody's part against me," Lady Ball had
said, and then as a matter of course she had been very cross. The
whole of that day was terrible to Miss Mackenzie, and she resolved
that nothing said by her cousin should induce her to postpone her
departure for another day.
In order to insure this by a few minutes' private conversation with
him, and also with the view of escaping for some short time from the
house, she walked down to the station in the evening to meet her
cousin. The train by which he arrived reached Twickenham at five
o'clock, and the walk occupied about twenty minutes. She met him just
as he was coming out of the station gate, and at once told him that
she had come there for the sake of walking back with him and talking
to him. He thanked her, and said that he was very glad to meet her.
He also wanted to speak to her very particularly. Would she take his
arm?
She took his arm, and then began with a quick tremulous voice to tell
him of her sufferings at the house. She threw no blame on her aunt
that she could avoid, but declared it to be natural that under such
circumstances as those now existing her prolonged sojourn at her
aunt's house should be unpleasant to both of them. In answer to all
this, John Ball said nothing, but once or twice lifted up his left
hand so as to establish Margaret's arm more firmly on his own. She
hardly noticed the motion, but yet she was aware that it was intended
for kindness, and then she broke forth with a rapid voice as to her
plan about the hospital. "I think we can manage better than that, at
any rate," said he, stopping her in the path when this proposal met
his ear. But she went on to declare that she would like it, that she
was strong and qualified for such work, that it would satisfy her
aspirations, and be fit for her. And then, after that, she declared
that nothing should induce her to undertake the kind of life that had
been suggested by her aunt. "I quite agree with you there," said he;
"quite. I hate tabbies as much as you do."
They had now come to a little gate, of which John Ball kept a key,
and which led into the grounds belonging to the Cedars. The grounds
were rather large, and the path through them extended for half a
mile, but the land was let off to a grazier. When inside the wall,
however, they were private; and Mr Ball, as soon as he had locked
the gate behind him, stopped her in the dark path, and took both her
hands in his. The gloom of the evening had now come round them, and
the thick trees which formed the belt of the place, joined to the
high wall, excluded from them nearly all what light remained.
"And now," said he, "I will tell you my plan."
"What plan?" said she; but her voice was very low.
"I proposed it once before, but you would not have it then."
When she heard this, she at once drew both her hands from him, and
stood before him in an agony of doubt. Even in the gloom, the trees
were going round her, and everything, even her thoughts, were obscure
and misty.
"Margaret," said he, "you shall be my wife, and the mother of my
children, and I will love you as I loved Rachel before. I loved you
when I asked you at Christmas, but I did not love you then as I love
you now."
She still stood before him, but answered him not a word. How often
since the tidings of her loss had reached her had the idea of such
a meeting as this come before her! how often had she seemed to
listen to such words as those he now spoke to her! Not that she had
expected it, or hoped for it, or even thought of it as being in truth
possible; but her imagination had been at work, during the long hours
of the night, and the romance of the thing had filled her mind, and
the poetry of it had been beautiful to her. She had known--she had
told herself that she knew--that no man would so sacrifice himself;
certainly no such man as John Ball, with all his children and his
weary love of money! But now the poetry had come to be fact, and the
romance had turned itself into reality, and the picture formed by her
imagination had become a living truth. The very words of which she
had dreamed had been spoken to her.
"Shall it be so, my dear?" he said, again taking one of her hands.
"You want to be a nurse; will you be my nurse? Nay; I will not ask,
but it shall be so. They say that the lovers who demand are ever the
most successful. I make my demand. Tell me, Margaret, will you obey
me?"
He had walked on now, but in order that his time might be sufficient,
he led her away from the house. She was following him, hardly knowing
whither she was going.
"Susanna," said he, "shall come and live with the others; one more
will make no difference."
"And my aunt?" said Margaret.
It was the first word she had spoken since the gate had been locked
behind her, and this word was spoken in a whisper.
"I hope my mother may feel that such a marriage will best conduce
to my happiness; but, Margaret, nothing that my mother can say will
change me. You and I have known something of each other now. Of you,
from the way in which things have gone, I have learned much. Few men,
I take it, see so much of their future wives as I have seen of you.
If you can love me as your husband, say so at once honestly, and then
leave the rest to me."
"I will," she said, again whispering; and then she clung to his hand,
and for a minute or two he had his arm round her waist. Then he took
her, and kissed her lips, and told her that he would take care of
her, and watch for her, and keep her, if possible, from trouble.
Ah, me, how many years had rolled by since last she had been kissed
in that way! Once, and once only, had Harry Handcock so far presumed,
and so far succeeded. And now, after a dozen years or more, that game
had begun again with her! She had boxed Harry Handcock's ears when he
had kissed her; but now, from her lover of to-day, she submitted to
the ceremony very tamely.
"Oh, John," she said, "how am I to thank you?" But the thanks were
tendered for the promise of his care, and not for the kiss.
I think there was but little more said between them before they
reached the door-step. When there, Mr Ball, speaking already with
something of marital authority, gave her his instructions.
"I shall tell my mother this evening," he said, "as I hate mysteries;
and I shall tell my father also. Of course there may be something
disagreeable said before we all shake down happily in our places, but
I shall look to you, Margaret, to be firm."
"I shall be firm," she said, "if you are."
"I shall be firm," was the reply; and then they went into the house.