Mr Maguire Goes to London on Business
Mr Maguire made up his mind to go to London, to look after his
lady-love, but when he found himself there he did not quite know what
to do. It is often the case with us that we make up our minds for
great action,--that in some special crisis of our lives we resolve
that something must be done, and that we make an energetic start; but
we find very soon that we do not know how to go on doing anything. It
was so with Mr Maguire. When he had secured a bed at a small public
house near the Great Western railway station,--thinking, no doubt
that he would go to the great hotel on his next coming to town,
should he then have obtained the lady's fortune,--he scarcely knew
what step he would next take. Margaret's last letter had been written
to him from the Cedars, but he thought it probable that she might
only have gone there for a day or two. He knew the address of the
house in Gower Street, and at last resolved that he would go boldly
in among the enemy there; for he was assured that the family of the
lady's late brother were his special enemies in this case. It was
considerably past noon when he reached London, and it was about three
when, with a hesitating hand, but a loud knock, he presented himself
at Mrs Mackenzie's door.
He first asked for Miss Mackenzie, and was told that she was not
staying there. Was he thereupon to leave his card and go away? He had
told himself that in this pursuit of the heiress he would probably be
called upon to dare much, and if he did not begin to show some daring
at once, how could he respect himself, or trust to himself for future
daring? So he boldly asked for Mrs Mackenzie, and was at once shown
into the parlour. There sat the widow, in her full lugubrious weeds,
there sat Miss Colza, and there sat Mary Jane, and they were all busy
hemming, darning, and clipping; turning old sheets into new ones; for
now it was more than ever necessary that Mrs Mackenzie should make
money at once by taking in lodgers. When Mr Maguire was shown into
the room each lady rose from her chair, with her sheet in her hands
and in her lap, and then, as he stood before them, at the other side
of the table, each lady again sat down.
"A gentleman as is asking for Miss Margaret," the servant had said;
that same cook to whom Mr Grandairs had been so severe on the
occasion of Mrs Mackenzie's dinner party. The other girl had been
unnecessary to them in their poverty, and had left them.
"My name is Maguire, the Rev. Mr Maguire, from Littlebath, where I
had the pleasure of knowing Miss Mackenzie."
Then the widow asked him to take a chair, and he took a chair.
"My sister-in-law is not with us at present," said Mrs Mackenzie.
"She is staying for a visit with her aunt, Lady Ball, at the Cedars,
Twickenham," said Mary Jane, who had contrived to drop her sheet, and
hustle it under the table with her feet, as soon as she learned that
the visitor was a clergyman.
"Lady Ball is the lady of Sir John Ball, Baronet," said Miss Colza,
whose good nature made her desirous of standing up for the honour of
the family with which she was, for the time, domesticated.
"I knew she had been at Lady Ball's," said the clergyman, "as I heard
from her from thence; but I thought she had probably returned."
"Oh dear, no," said the widow, "she ain't returned here, nor don't
mean. We haven't the room for her, and that's the truth. Have we,
Mary Jane?"
"That we have not, mamma; and I don't think aunt Margaret would think
of such a thing."
Then, thought Mr Maguire, the Balls must have got hold of the
heiress, and not the Mackenzies, and my battle must be fought at the
Cedars, and not here. Still, as he was there, he thought possibly he
might obtain some further information; and this would be the easier,
if, as appeared to be the case, there was enmity between the Gower
Street family and their relative.
"Has Miss Mackenzie gone to live permanently at the Cedars?" he
asked.
"Not that I know of," said the widow.
"It isn't at all unlikely, mamma, that it may be so, when you
consider everything. It's just the sort of way in which they'll most
likely get over her."
"Mary Jane, hold your tongue," said her mother; "you shouldn't say
things of that sort before strangers."
"Though I may not have the pleasure of knowing you and your amiable
family," said Mr Maguire, smiling his sweetest, "I am by no means a
stranger to Miss Mackenzie."
Then the ladies all looked at him, and thought they had never seen
anything so terrible as that squint.
"Miss Mackenzie is making a long visit at the Cedars," said Miss
Colza, "that is all we know at present. I am told the Balls are
very nice people, but perhaps a little worldly-minded; that's to be
expected, however, from people who live out of the west-end from
London. I live in Finsbury Square, or at least, I did before I came
here, and I ain't a bit ashamed to own it. But of course the west-end
is the nicest."
Then Mr Maguire got up, saying that he should probably do himself the
pleasure of calling on Miss Mackenzie at the Cedars, and went his
way.
"I wonder what he's after," said Mrs Mackenzie, as soon as the door
was shut.
"Perhaps he came to tell her to bear it all with Christian
resignation," said Miss Colza; "they always do come when anything's
in the wind like that; they like to know everything before anybody
else."
"It's my belief he's after her money," said Mrs Mackenzie.
"With such a squint as that!" said Mary Jane; "I wouldn't have him
though he was made of money, and I hadn't a farthing."
"Beauty is but skin deep," said Miss Colza.
"And it's manners to wait till you are asked," said Mrs Mackenzie.
Mary Jane chucked up her head with disdain, thereby indicating that
though she had not been asked, and though beauty is but skin deep,
still she held the same opinion.
Mr Maguire, as he went away to a clerical advertising office in the
neighbourhood of Exeter Hall, thought over the matter profoundly.
It was clear enough to him that the Mackenzies of Gower Street were
not interfering with him; very probably they might have hoped and
attempted to keep the heiress among them; that assertion that there
was no room for her in the house--as though they were and ever had
been averse to having her with them--seemed to imply that such was
the case. It was the natural language of a disappointed woman. But
if so, that hope was now over with them. And then the young lady had
plainly exposed the suspicions which they all entertained as to the
Balls. These grand people at the Cedars, this baronet's family at
Twickenham, must have got her to come among them with the intention
of keeping her there. It did not occur to him that the baronet or the
baronet's son would actually want Miss Mackenzie's money. He presumed
baronets to be rich people; but still they might very probably be as
dogs in the manger, and desirous of preventing their relative from
doing with her money that active service to humanity in general which
would be done were she to marry a deserving clergyman who had nothing
of his own.
He made his visit to the advertising office, and learned that
clergymen without cures were at present drugs in the market. He
couldn't understand how this should be the case, seeing that the
newspapers were constantly declaring that the supply of university
clergymen were becoming less and less every day. He had come from
Trinity, Dublin and after the success of his career at Littlebath,
was astonished that he should not be snapped at by the retailers of
curacies.
On the next day he visited Twickenham. Now, on the morning of that
very day Margaret Mackenzie first woke to the consciousness that
she was the promised wife of her cousin John Ball. There was great
comfort in the thought.
It was not only, nor even chiefly, that she who, on the preceding
morning, had awakened to the remembrance of her utter destitution,
now felt that all those terrible troubles were over. It was not
simply that her great care had been vanquished for her. It was this,
that the man who had a second time come to her asking for her love,
had now given her all-sufficient evidence that he did so for the sake
of her love. He, who was so anxious for money, had shown her that he
could care for her more even than he cared for gold. As she thought
of this, and made herself happy in the thought, she would not rise
at once from her bed, but curled herself in the clothes and hugged
herself in her joy.
"I should have taken him before, at once, instantly, if I could have
thought that it was so," she said to herself; "but this is a thousand
times better."
Then she found that the pillow beneath her cheek was wet with her
tears.
On the preceding evening she had been very silent and demure, and her
betrothed had also been silent. There had been no words about the
tea-making, and Lady Ball had been silent also. As far as she knew,
Margaret was to go on the following day, but she would say nothing on
the subject. Margaret, indeed, had commenced her packing, and did not
know when she went to bed whether she was to go or not. She rather
hoped that she might be allowed to go, as her aunt would doubtless
be disagreeable; but in that, and in all matters now, she would of
course be guided implicitly by Mr Ball. He had told her to be firm,
and of her own firmness she had no doubt whatever. Lady Ball, with
all her anger, or with all her eloquence, should not talk her out of
her husband. She could be firm, and she had no doubt that John Ball
could be firm also.
Nevertheless, when she was dressing, she did not fail to tell herself
that she might have a bad time of it that morning,--and a bad time of
it for some days to come, if it was John's intention that she should
remain at the Cedars. She was convinced that Lady Ball would not
welcome her as a daughter-in-law now as she would have done when the
property was thought to belong to her. What right had she to expect
such welcome? No doubt some hard things would be said to her; but
she knew her own courage, and was sure that she could bear any hard
things with such a hope within her breast as that which she now
possessed. She left her room a little earlier than usual, thinking
that she might thus meet her cousin and receive his orders. And in
this she was not disappointed; he was in the hall as she came down,
and she was able to smile on him, and press his hand, and make her
morning greetings to him with some tenderness in her voice. He looked
heavy about the face, and almost more careworn than usual, but he
took her hand and led her into the breakfast-room.
"Did you tell your mother, John?" she said, standing very close to
him, almost leaning upon his shoulder.
He, however, did not probably want such signs of love as this, and
moved a step away from her.
"Yes," said he, "I told both my father and my mother. What she says
to you, you must hear, and bear it quietly for my sake."
"I will," said Margaret.
"I think that she is unreasonable, but still she is my mother."
"I shall always remember that, John."
"And she is old, and things have not always gone well with her. She
says, too, that you have been impertinent to her."
Margaret's face became very red at this charge, but she made no
immediate reply.
"I don't think you could mean to be impertinent."
"Certainly not, John; but, of course, I shall feel myself much more
bound to her now than I was before."
"Yes, of course; but I wish that nothing had occurred to make her so
angry with you."
"I don't think that I was impertinent, John, though perhaps it might
seem so. When she was talking about my being a companion to a lady,
I perhaps answered her sharply. I was so determined that I wouldn't
lead that sort of life, that, perhaps I said more than I should have
done. You know, John, that it hasn't been quite pleasant between us
for the last few days."
John did know this, and he knew also that there was not much
probability of pleasantness for some days to come. His mother's last
words to him on the preceding evening, as he was leaving her after
having told his story, did not give much promise of pleasantness for
Margaret. "John," she had said, "nothing on earth shall induce me to
live in the same house with Margaret Mackenzie as your wife. If you
choose to break up everything for her sake, you can do it. I cannot
control you. But remember, it will be your doing."
Margaret then asked him what she was to do, and where she was to
live. She would fain have asked him when they were to be married, but
she did not dare to make inquiry on that point. He told her that, for
the present, she must remain at the Cedars. If she went away it would
be regarded as an open quarrel, and moreover, he did not wish that
she should live by herself in London lodgings. "We shall be able to
see how things go for a day or two," he said. To this she submitted
without a murmur, and then Lady Ball came into the room.
They were both very nervous in watching her first behaviour, but were
not at all prepared for the line of conduct which she adopted. John
Ball and Margaret had separated when they heard the rustle of her
dress. He had made a step towards the window, and she had retreated
to the other side of the fire-place. Lady Ball, on entering the room,
had been nearest to Margaret, but she walked round the table away
from her usual place for prayers, and accosted her son.
"Good-morning, John," she said, giving him her hand.
Margaret waited a second or two, and then addressed her aunt.
"Good-morning, aunt," she said, stepping half across the rug.
But her aunt, turning her back to her, moved into the embrasure of
the window. It had been decided that there was to be an absolute cut
between them! As long as she remained in that house Lady Ball would
not speak to her. John said nothing, but a black frown came upon his
brow. Poor Margaret retired, rebuked, to her corner by the chimney.
Just at that moment the girls and children rushed in from the study,
with the daily governess who came every morning, and Sir John rang
for the servants to come to prayers.
I wonder whether that old lady's heart was at all softened as she
prayed? whether it ever occurred to her to think that there was any
meaning in that form of words she used, when she asked her God to
forgive her as she might forgive others? Not that Margaret had in
truth trespassed against her at all; but, doubtless, she regarded
her niece as a black trespasser, and as being quite qualified for
forgiveness, could she have brought herself to forgive. But I fear
that the form of words on that occasion meant nothing, and that she
had been delivered from no evil during those moments she had been on
her knees. Margaret sat down in her accustomed place, but no notice
was taken of her by her aunt. When the tea had been poured out, John
got up from his seat and asked his mother which was Margaret's cup.
"My dear," said she, "if you will sit down, Miss Mackenzie shall have
her tea."
"I will take it to her," said he.
"John," said his mother, drawing her chair somewhat away from the
table, "if you flurry me in this way, you will drive me out of the
room."
Then he had sat down, and Margaret received her cup in the usual way.
The girls and children stared at each other, and the governess, who
always breakfasted at the house, did not dare to lift her eyes from
off her plate.
Margaret longed for an opportunity of starting with John Ball, and
walking with him to the station, but no such opportunity came in her
way. It was his custom always to go up to his father before he left
home, and on this occasion Margaret did not see him after he quitted
the breakfast table. When the clatter of the knives and cups was
over, and the eating and drinking was at an end, Lady Ball left the
room and Margaret began to think what she would do. She could not
remain about the house in her aunt's way, without being spoken to,
or speaking. So she went to her room, resolving that she would not
leave it till the carriage had taken off Sir John and her aunt. Then
she would go out for a walk, and would again meet her cousin at the
station.
From her bedroom window she could see the sweep before the front of
the house, and at two o'clock she saw and heard the lumbering of the
carriage as it came to the door, and then she put on her hat to be
ready for her walk; but her uncle and aunt did not, as it seemed,
come out, and the carriage remained there as a fixture. This had been
the case for some twenty minutes, when there came a knock at her own
door, and the maid-servant told her that her aunt wished to see her
in the drawing-room.
"To see me?" said Margaret, thoroughly surprised, and not a little
dismayed.
"Yes, Miss; and there's a gentleman there who asked for you when he
first come."
Now, indeed, she was dismayed. Who could be the gentleman? Was it Mr
Slow, or a myrmidon from Mr Slow's legal abode? Or was it Mr Rubb
with his yellow gloves again? Whoever it was there must be something
very special in his mission, as her aunt had, in consequence,
deferred her drive, and was also apparently about to drop her purpose
of cutting her niece's acquaintance in her own house.
But we will go back to Mr Maguire. He had passed the evening and the
morning in thinking over the method of his attack, and had at last
resolved that he would be very bold. He would go down to the Cedars,
and claim Margaret as his affianced bride. He went, therefore, down
to the Cedars, and in accordance with his plan as arranged, he gave
his card to the servant, and asked if he could see Sir John Ball
alone. Now, Sir John Ball never saw any one on business, or, indeed,
not on business; and, after a while, word was brought out to Mr
Maguire that he could see Lady Ball, but that Sir John was not well
enough to receive any visitors. Lady Ball, Mr Maguire thought, would
suit him better than Sir John. He signified his will accordingly, and
on being shown into the drawing-room, found her ladyship there alone.
It must be acknowledged that he was a brave man, and that he was
doing a bold thing. He knew that he should find himself among
enemies, and that his claim would be ignored and ridiculed by the
persons whom he was about to attack; he knew that everybody, on first
seeing him, was affrighted and somewhat horrified; he knew too,--at
least, we must presume that he knew,--that the lady herself had given
him no promise. But he thought it possible, nay, almost probable,
that she would turn to him if she saw him again; that she might own
him as her own; that her feelings might be strong enough in his
favour to induce her to throw off the thraldom of her relatives, and
that he might make good his ground in her breast, even if he could
not bear her away in triumph out of the hands of his enemies.
When he entered the room Lady Ball looked at him and shuddered.
People always did shudder when they saw him for the first time.
"Lady Ball," said he, "I am the Rev. Mr Maguire, of Littlebath."
She was holding his card in her hand, and having notified to him that
she was aware of the fact he had mentioned, asked him to sit down.
"I have called," said he, taking his seat, "hoping to be allowed to
speak to you on a subject of extreme delicacy."
"Indeed," said Lady Ball, thinking to catch his eye, and failing in
the effort.
"I may say of very extreme delicacy. I believe your niece, Miss
Margaret Mackenzie, is staying here?" In answer to this, Lady Ball
acknowledged that Miss Mackenzie was now at the Cedars.
"Have you any objection, Lady Ball, to allowing me to see her in your
presence?"
Lady Ball was a quick-thinking, intelligent, and, at the same time,
prudent old lady, and she gave no answer to this before she had
considered the import of the question. Why should this clergyman want
to see Margaret? And would his seeing her conduce most to her own
success, or to Margaret's? Then there was the fact that Margaret was
of an age which entitled her to the right of seeing any visitor who
might call on her. Thinking over all this as best she could in the
few moments at her command, and thinking also of this clergyman's
stipulation that she was to be present at the interview, she
said that she had no objection whatever. She would send for Miss
Mackenzie.
She rose to ring the bell, but Mr Maguire, also rising from his
chair, stopped her hand.
"Pardon me for a moment," said he. "Before you call Margaret to come
down I would wish to explain to you for what purpose I have come
here."
Lady Ball, when she heard the man call her niece by her Christian
name, listened with all her ears. Under no circumstances but one
could such a man call such a woman by her Christian name in such
company.
"Lady Ball," he said, "I do not know whether you may be aware of it
or no, but I am engaged to marry your niece."
Lady Ball, who had not yet resumed her seat, now did so.
"I had not heard of it," she said.
"It may be so," said Mr Maguire.
"It is so," said Lady Ball.
"Very probably. There are many reasons which operate upon young
ladies in such a condition to keep their secret even from their
nearest relatives. For myself, being a clergyman of the Church of
England, professing evangelical doctrines, and therefore, as I had
need not say, averse to everything that may have about it even a
seeming of impropriety, I think it best to declare the fact to you,
even though in doing so I may perhaps give some offence to dear
Margaret."
It must, I think, be acknowledged that Mr Maguire was true to
himself, and that he was conducting his case at any rate with
courage.
Lady Ball was doubtful what she would do. It was on her tongue to
tell the man that her niece's fortune was gone. But she remembered
that she might probably advance her own interests by securing an
interview between the two lovers of Littlebath in her own presence.
She never for a moment doubted that Mr Maguire's statement was true.
It never occurred to her that there had been no such engagement.
She felt confident from the moment in which Mr Maguire's important
tidings had reached her ears that she had now in her hands the means
of rescuing her son. That Mr Maguire would cease to make his demand
for his bride when he should hear the truth, was of course to be
expected; but her son would not be such an idiot, such a soft fool,
as to go on with his purpose when he should learn that such a secret
as this had been kept back from him. She had refused him, and taken
up with this horrid, greasy, evil-eyed parson when she was rich; and
then, when she was poor,--even before she had got rid of her other
engagement, she had come back upon him, and, playing upon his pity,
had secured him in her toils. Lady Ball felt well inclined to thank
the clergyman for coming to her relief at such a moment.
"It will be best that I should ask my niece to come down to you,"
said she, getting up and walking out of the room.
But she did not go up to her niece. She first went to Sir John and
quieted his impatience with reference to the driving, and then, after
a few minutes' further delay for consideration, she sent the servant
up to her niece. Having done this she returned to the drawing-room,
and found Mr Maguire looking at the photographs on the table.
"It is very like dear Margaret, very like her, indeed," said he,
looking at one of Miss Mackenzie. "The sweetest face that ever my
eyes rested on! May I ask you if you have just seen your niece, Lady
Ball?"
"No, sir, I have not seen her; but I have sent for her."
There was still some little delay before Margaret came down. She
was much fluttered, and wanted time to think, if only time could be
allowed to her. Perhaps there had come a man to say that her money
was not gone. If so, with what delight would she give it all to her
cousin John! That was her first thought. But if so, how then about
the promise made to her dying brother? She almost wished that the
money might not be hers. Looking to herself only, and to her own
happiness, it would certainly be better for her that it should not be
hers. And if it should be Mr Rubb with the yellow gloves! But before
she could consider that alternative she had opened the door, and
there was Mr Maguire standing ready to receive her.
"Dearest Margaret!" he exclaimed. "My own love!" And there he stood,
with his arms open, as though he expected Miss Mackenzie to rush into
them. He was certainly a man of very great courage.
"Mr Maguire!" said she, and she stood still near the door. Then she
looked at her aunt, and saw that Lady Ball's eyes were keenly fixed
upon her. Something like the truth, some approximation to the facts
as they were, flashed upon her in a moment, and she knew that she had
to bear herself in this difficulty with all her discretion and all
her fortitude.
"Margaret," exclaimed Mr Maguire, "will you not come to me?"
"What do you mean, Mr Maguire?" said she, still standing aloof from
him, and retreating somewhat nearer to the door.
"The gentleman says that you are engaged to marry him," said Lady
Ball.
Margaret, looking again into her aunt's face, saw the smile of
triumph that sat there, and resolved at once to make good her ground.
"If he has said that, he has told an untruth,--an untruth both
unmanly and unmannerly. You hear, sir, what Lady Ball has stated. Is
it true that you have made such an assertion?"
"And will you contradict it, Margaret? Oh, Margaret! Margaret! you
cannot contradict it."
The reader must remember that this clergyman no doubt thought and
felt that he had a good deal of truth on his side. Gentlemen when
they make offers to ladies, and are told by ladies that they may
come again, and that time is required for consideration, are always
disposed to think that the difficulties of the siege are over. And
in nine cases out of ten it is so. Mr Maguire, no doubt, since
the interview in question, had received letters from the lady
which should at any rate have prevented him from uttering any such
assertion as that which he had now made; but he looked upon those
letters as the work of the enemy, and chose to go back for his
authority to the last words which Margaret had spoken to him. He knew
that he was playing an intricate game,--that all was not quite on the
square; but he thought that the enemy was playing him false, and that
falsehood in return was therefore fair. This that was going on was a
robbery of the Church, a spoiling of Israel, a touching with profane
hands of things that had already been made sacred.
"But I do contradict it," said Margaret, stepping forward into the
room, and almost exciting admiration in Lady Ball's breast by her
demeanour. "Aunt," said she, "as this gentleman has chosen to come
here with such a story as this, I must tell you all the facts."
"Has he ever been engaged to you?" asked Lady Ball.
"Never."
"Oh, Margaret!" again exclaimed Mr Maguire.
"Sir, I will ask you to let me tell my aunt the truth. When I was at
Littlebath, before I knew that my fortune was not my own,"--as she
said this she looked hard into Mr Maguire's face--"before I had
become penniless, as I am now,"--then she paused again, and still
looking at him, saw with inward pleasure the elongation of her
suitor's face, "this gentleman asked me to marry him."
"He did ask you?" said Lady Ball.
"Of course I asked her," urged Mr Maguire. "There can be no denying
that on either side."
He did not now quite know what to do. He certainly did not wish to
impoverish the Church by marrying Miss Mackenzie without any fortune.
But might it not all be a trick? That she had been rich he knew, and
how could she have become poor so quickly?
"He did ask me, and I told him that I must take a fortnight to
consider of it."
"You did not refuse him, then?" said Lady Ball.
"Not then, but I have done so since by letter. Twice I have written
to him, telling him that I had nothing of my own, and that there
could be nothing between us."
"I got her letters," said Mr Maguire, turning round to Lady Ball. "I
certainly got her letters. But such letters as those, if they are
written under dictation--"
He was rather anxious that Lady Bell should quarrel with him. In the
programme which he had made for himself when he came to the house, a
quarrel to the knife with the Ball family was a part of his tactics.
His programme, no doubt, was disturbed by the course which events had
taken, but still a quarrel with Lady Ball might be the best for him.
If she were to quarrel with him, it would give him some evidence that
this story about the loss of the money was untrue. But Lady Ball
would not quarrel with him. She sat still and said nothing. "Nobody
dictated them," said Margaret. "But now you are here, I will tell you
the facts. The money which I thought was mine, in truth belongs to my
cousin, Mr John Ball, and I--"
So far she spoke loudly, With her face raised, and her eyes fixed
upon him. Then as she concluded, she dropped her voice and eyes
together. "And I am now engaged to him as his wife."
"Oh, indeed!" said Mr Maguire.
"That statement must be taken for what it is worth," said Lady Ball,
rising from her seat. "Of what Miss Mackenzie says now, I know
nothing. I sincerely hope that she may find that she is mistaken."
"And now, Margaret," said Mr Maguire, "may I ask to see you for one
minute alone?"
"Certainly not," said she. "If you have anything more to say I will
hear it in my aunt's presence." She waited a few moments, but as he
did not speak, she took herself back to the door and made her escape
to her own room.
How Mr Maguire took himself out of the house we need not stop to
inquire. There must, I should think, have been some difficulty in the
manoeuvre. It was considerably past three when Sir John was taken
out for his drive, and while he was in the carriage his wife told him
what had occurred.