Miss Mackenzie Part 47

"Yesterday morning they would have counted for everything; but not this morning."

"And why not, Margaret?"

This was a question to which it was so difficult to find a reply, that she left it unanswered. They both walked on in silence for some paces, and then she spoke again.

"You said yesterday that you had been with Mr Slow, and that you had something to tell me. If you still wish to tell me anything, perhaps you can do so now."

"Everything seems to be so much changed," said he, speaking very gloomily.

"Yes," said she; "things are changed. But my confidence in Mr Slow, and in you, is not altered. If you like it, you can settle everything about the money without consulting me. I shall agree to anything about that."

"I was going to propose that your brother's family should have the debt due by the Rubbs. Mr Slow thinks he might so manage as to secure the payment of the interest."

"Very well; I shall be delighted that it should be so. I had hoped that they would have had more, but that of course is all over. I cannot give them what is not mine."

But this arrangement, which would have been pleasant enough before,--which seemed to be very pleasant when John Ball was last in Mr Slow's chambers, telling that gentleman that he was going to make everything smooth by marrying his cousin,--was not by any means so pleasant now. He had felt, when he was mentioning the proposed arrangement to Margaret, that the very naming of it seemed to imply that Mr Maguire and his visit were to go for nothing. If Mr Maguire and his visit were to go for much--to go for all that which Lady Ball wished to make of them--then, in such a case as that, the friendly arrangement in question would not hold water. If that were to be so, they must all go to work again, and Mr Slow must be told to do the best in his power for his own client. John Ball was by no means resolved to obey his mother implicitly and make so much of Mr Maguire and his visit as all this; but how could he help doing so if Margaret would go away? He could not as yet bring himself to tell her that Mr Maguire and the visit should go altogether for nothing. He shook his head in his trouble, and pished and pshawed.

"The truth is, Margaret, you can't go to-day."

"Indeed I shall, John," said she, smiling. "You would hardly wish to keep me a prisoner, and the worst you could do would be to keep my luggage from me."

"Then I must say that you are very obstinate."

"It is not very often that I resolve to have my own way; but I have resolved now, and you should not try to balk me."

They had now come round nearly to the house, and she showed, by the direction that she took, that she was going in.

"You will go?" said he.

"Yes," said she; "I will go. My address will be at the old house in Arundel Street. Shall I see you again before I go?" she asked him, when she stood on the doorstep. "Perhaps you will be busy, and I had better say goodbye."

"Good-bye," said he, very gloomily; but he took her hand.

"I suppose I had better not disturb my uncle. You will give him my love. And, John, you will tell some one about my luggage; will you not?"

He muttered some affirmative, and then went round from the front of the house, while she entered the hall.

It was now half-past eleven, and she intended to start at half-past twelve. She went into the drawing-room and not finding her aunt, rang the bell. Lady Ball was with Sir John, she was told. She then wrote a note on a sc.r.a.p of paper, and sent it in:

DEAR AUNT,

I leave here at half-past twelve. Perhaps you would like to see me before I go.

M. M.

Then, while she was waiting for an answer, she went into the school room, and said good-bye to all the children.

"But you are coming back, aunt Meg," said the youngest girl.

Margaret stooped down to kiss her, and, when the child saw and felt the tears, she asked no further questions.

"Lady Ball is in the drawing-room, Miss," a servant said at that moment, and there she went to fight her last battle!

"What's the meaning of this, Margaret?" said her aunt.

"Simply that I am going. I was to have gone on Monday, as you will remember."

"But it was understood that you were to stop."

For a moment or two Margaret said nothing.

"I hate these sudden changes," said Lady Ball; "they are hardly respectable. I don't think you should leave the house in this way, without having given notice to any one. What will the servants think of it?"

"They will probably think the truth, aunt. They probably thought that, when they saw that you did not speak to me yesterday morning.

You can hardly imagine that I should stay in the house under such circ.u.mstances as that."

"You must do as you like, of course."

"In this instance I must, aunt. I suppose I cannot see my uncle?"

"It is quite out of the question."

"Then I will say good-bye to you. I have said good-bye to John.

Good-bye, aunt," and Margaret put out her hand.

But Lady Ball did not put out hers.

"Good-bye, Margaret," she said. "There are circ.u.mstances under which it is impossible for a person to make any expression of feeling that may be taken for approbation. I hope a time may come when these things shall have pa.s.sed away, and that I may be able to see you again." Margaret's eyes, as she made her way out of the room were full of tears, and when she found herself outside the hall door, and at the bottom of the steps, she was obliged to put her handkerchief up to them. Before her on the road was a boy with a donkey cart and her luggage. She looked round furtively, half-fearing, half hoping--hardly expecting, but yet thinking, that she might again see her cousin. But he did not show himself to her as she walked down to the railway station by herself. As she went she told herself that she was right; she applauded her own courage, but what, oh! what was she to do? Everything now was over for her. Her fortune was gone. The man whom she had learned to love had left her. There was no place in the world on which her feet might rest till she had made one for herself by the work of her hands. And as for friends--was there a single being in the world whom she could now call her friend?

CHAPTER XXIII

The Lodgings of Mrs Buggins, Nee Protheroe

It was nearly the end of October when Miss Mackenzie left the Cedars and at that time of the year there is not much difficulty in getting lodgings in London. The house which her brother Walter occupied in Arundel Street had, at his death, remained in the hands of an old servant of his, who had bought her late master's furniture with her savings, and had continued to live there, letting out the house in lodgings. Her former mistress had gone to see her once or twice during the past year, and it had been understood between them, that if Miss Mackenzie ever wanted a room for a night or two in London, she could be accommodated at the old house. She would have preferred to write to Hannah Protheroe,--or Mrs Protheroe, as she was now called by brevet rank since she had held a house of her own,--had time permitted her to do so. But time and the circ.u.mstances did not permit this, and therefore she had herself driven to Arundel Street without any notice.

Mrs Protheroe received her with open arms, and with many promises of comfort and attendance,--as was to be expected, seeing that Mrs Protheroe was, as she thought, receiving into her house the rich heiress. She proffered at once the use of her drawing-room and of the best bedroom, and declared that as the house was now empty, with the exception of one young gentleman from Somerset House upstairs, she would be able to devote herself almost exclusively to Miss Mackenzie.

Things were much changed from those former days in which Hannah Protheroe used frequently to snub Margaret Mackenzie, being almost of equal standing in the house with her young mistress. And now Margaret was called upon to explain, that low as her standing might have been then, at this present moment it was even lower. She had indeed the means of paying for her lodgings, but these she was called upon to husband with the minutest economy. The task of telling all this was difficult. She began it by declining the drawing-room, and by saying that a bedroom upstairs would suffice for her.

"You haven't heard, Hannah, what has happened to me," she said, when Mrs Protheroe expressed her surprise at this decision. "My brother's will was no will at all. I do not get any of his property. It all goes under some other will to my cousin, Mr John Ball."

By these tidings Hannah was of course prostrated, and driven into a state of excitement that was not without its pleasantness as far as she was concerned. Of course she objected that the last will must be the real will, and in this way the matter came to full discussion between them.

"And, after all, that John Ball is to have everything!" said Mrs Protheroe, holding up both her hands. By this time Hannah Protheroe had got herself comfortably into a chair, and no doubt her personal pleasure in the evening's occupation was considerably enhanced by the unconscious feeling that she was the richer woman of the two. But she behaved very well, and I am inclined to think, in preparing b.u.t.tered m.u.f.fins for her guest, she was more particular in the toasting, and more generous with the b.u.t.ter, than she would have been had she been preparing the dainty for drawing-room use. And when she learned that Margaret had eaten nothing since breakfast, she herself went out and brought in a sweetbread with her own hand, though she kept a servant whom she might have sent to the shop. And, for the honour of lodging-house keepers, I protest that that sweetbread never made its appearance in any bill.