Miss Mackenzie Part 30

"If that could be arranged, Rubb would give up to Sarah during his father's life all the proceeds of the business, after paying the old man. And when he dies, and he is very old now, the five hundred a-year would be continued to her. Think what that would be, Margaret."

"But, Tom, she shall have what will make her comfortable without waiting for any old man's death. It shall be quite half of my income.

If that is not enough it shall be more. Will not that do for her?"

Then her brother strove to explain as best he could that the mere money was not all he wanted. If his sister did not like this man, if she had no wish to become a married woman, of course, he said, the plan must fall to the ground. But if there was anything in Mr Rubb's belief that she was not altogether indifferent to him, if such an arrangement could be made palatable to her, then he would be able to think that he, by the work of his life, had left something behind him to his wife and family.

"And Sarah would be more comfortable," he pleaded. "Of course, she is grateful to you, as I am, and as we all are. But given bread is bitter bread, and if she could think it came to her, of her own right--"

He said ever so much more, but that ever so much more was quite unnecessary. His sister understood the whole matter. It was desirable that she, by her fortune, should enable the widow and orphans of her brother to live in comfort; but it was not desirable that this dependence on her should be plainly recognised. She did not, however, feel herself to be angry or hurt. It would, no doubt, be better for the family that they should draw their income in an apparently independent way from their late father's business than that they should owe their support to the charity of an aunt. But then, how about herself? A month or two ago, before the Maguire feature in her career had displayed itself so strongly, an overture from Mr Rubb might probably not have been received with disfavour. But now, while she was as it were half engaged to another man, she could not entertain such a proposition. Her womanly feeling revolted from it.

No doubt she intended to refuse Mr Maguire. No doubt she had made up her mind to that absolutely, during the ceremony of tearing up her verses. And she had never had much love for Mr Maguire, and had felt some--almost some, for Mr Rubb. In either case she was sure that, had she married the man,--the one man or the other,--she would instantly have become devoted to him. And I, who chronicle her deeds and endeavour to chronicle her thoughts, feel equally sure that it would have been so. There was something harsh in it, that Mr Maguire's offer to her should, though never accepted, debar her from the possibility of marrying Mr Rubb, and thus settling all the affairs of her family in a way that would have been satisfactory to them and not altogether unsatisfactory to her; but she was aware that it did so.

She felt that it was so, and then threw herself back for consolation upon the security which would still be hers, and the want of security which must attach itself to a marriage with Mr Rubb. He might make ducks, and drakes, and oilcloth of it all; and then there would be nothing left for her, for her sister-in-law, or for the children.

"May I tell him to speak to yourself?" her brother asked, while she was thinking of all this.

"No, Tom; it would do no good."

"You do not fancy him, then."

"I do not know about fancying; but I think it will be better for me to remain as I am. I would do anything for you and Sarah, almost anything; but I cannot do that."

"Then I will say nothing further."

"Don't ask me to do that."

And he did not ask her again, but turned his face from her and thought of the bitterness of his death-bed.

That evening, when she went down to tea, she met Samuel Rubb standing at the drawing-room door.

"There is no one here," he said; "will you mind coming in? Has your brother spoken to you?"

She had followed him into the room, and he had closed the door as he asked the question.

"Yes, he has spoken to me."

She could see that the man was trembling with anxiety and eagerness, and she almost loved him that he was anxious and eager. Mr Maguire, when he had come a wooing, had not done it badly altogether, but there had not been so much reality as there was about Sam Rubb while he stood there shaking, and fearing, and hoping.

"Well," said he, "may I hope--may I think it will be so? may I ask you to be mine?"

He was handsome in her eyes, though perhaps, delicate reader, he would not have been handsome in yours. She knew that he was not a gentleman; but what did that matter? Neither was her sister-in-law Sarah a lady. There was not much in that house in Gower Street that was after the manner of gentlemen and ladies. She was ready to throw all that to the dogs, and would have done so but for Mr Maguire. She felt that she would like to have allowed herself to love him in spite of the tearing of the verses. She felt this, and was very angry with Mr Maguire. But the facts were stern, and there was no hope for her.

"Mr Rubb," she said, "there can be nothing of that kind."

"Can't there really, now?" said he.

She a.s.sured him in her strongest language, that there could be nothing of that kind, and then went down to the dining-room.

He did not venture to follow her, but made his way out of the house without seeing anyone else.

Another fortnight went by, and then, towards the close of September, came the end of all things in this world for poor Tom Mackenzie. He died in the middle of the night in his wife's arms, while his sister stood by holding both their hands. Since the day on which he had endeavoured to arrange a match between his partner and his sister he had spoken no word of business, at any rate to the latter, and things now stood on that footing which she had then attempted to give them.

We all know how silent on such matters are the voices of all in the bereft household, from the hour of death till that other hour in which the body is consigned to its kindred dust. Women make mourning, and men creep about listlessly, but during those few sad days there may be no talk about money. So it was in Gower Street. The widow, no doubt, thought much of her bitter state of dependence, thought something, perhaps, of the chance there might be that her husband's sister would be less good than her word, now that he was gone--meditated with what amount of submission she must accept the generosity of the woman she had always hated; but she was still mistress of that house till the undertakers had done their work; and till that work had been done, she said little of her future plans.

"I'd earn my bread, if I knew how," she began, putting her handkerchief up to her eyes, on the afternoon of the very day on which he was buried.

"There will be no occasion for that, Sarah," said Miss Mackenzie, "there will be enough for us all."

"But I would if I knew how. I wouldn't mind what I did; I'd scour floors rather than be dependent, I've that spirit in me; and I've worked, and moiled, and toiled with those children; so I have."

Miss Mackenzie then told her that she had solemnly promised her brother to divide her income with his widow, and informed her that she intended to see Mr Slow, the lawyer, on the following day, with reference to the doing of this.

"If there is anything from the factory, that can be divided too,"

said Miss Mackenzie.

"But there won't. The Rubbs will take all that; of course they will.

And Tom put into it near upon ten thousand pounds!"

Then she began to cry again, but soon interrupted her tears to ask what was to become of Susanna. Susanna, who was by, looked anxiously up into her aunt's eyes.

"Susanna and I," said the aunt, "have thrown in our lot together, and we mean to remain so; don't we, dear?"

"If mamma will let me."

"I'm sure it's very good of you to take one off my hands," said the mother, "for even one will be felt."

Then came a note to Miss Mackenzie from Lady Ball, asking her to spend a few days at the Cedars before she returned to Littlebath,--that is, if she did return,--and she consented to do this. While she was there Mr Slow could prepare the necessary arrangements for the division of the property, and she could then make up her mind as to the manner and whereabouts of her future life.

She was all at sea again, and knew not how to choose. If she were a Romanist, she would go into a convent; but Protestant convents she thought were bad, and peculiarly unfitted for the followers of Mr Stumfold. She had nothing to bind her to any spot, and something to drive her from every spot of which she knew anything.

Before she went to the Cedars Mr Rubb came to Gower Street and bade her farewell.

"I had allowed myself to hope, Miss Mackenzie," said he, "I had, indeed; I suppose I was very foolish."

"I don't know as to being foolish, Mr Rubb, unless it was in caring about such a person as me."

"I do care for you, very much; but I suppose I was wrong to think you would put up with such as I am. Only I did think that perhaps, seeing that we had been partners with your brother so long-- All the same, I know that the Mackenzies are different from the Rubbs."

"That has nothing to do with it; nothing in the least."

"Hasn't it now? Then, perhaps, Miss Mackenzie, at some future time--"

Miss Mackenzie was obliged to tell him that there could not possibly be any other answer given to him at any future time than that which she gave him now. He suggested that perhaps he might be allowed to try again when the first month or two of her grief for her brother should be over; but she a.s.sured him that it would be useless. At the moment of her conference with him, she did this with all her energy; and then, as soon as she was alone, she asked herself why she had been so energetical. After all, marriage was an excellent state in which to live. The romance was doubtless foolish and wrong, and the tearing of the papers had been discreet, yet there could be no good reason why she should turn her back upon sober wedlock. Nevertheless, in all her speech to Mr Rubb she did do so. There was something in her position as connected with Mr Maguire which made her feel that it would be indelicate to entertain another suitor before that gentleman had received a final answer.

As she went away from Gower Street to the Cedars she thought of this very sadly, and told herself that she had been like the a.s.s who starved between two bundles of hay, or as the boy who had fallen between two stools.

CHAPTER XVI

Lady Ball's Grievance