Part 1 (2/2)
Tom Mackenzie had communicated the contents of the will to his sister, who had declined to be in the room when it was opened. ”He has left you everything,--just everything,” Tom had said. If Margaret made any word of reply, Tom did not hear it. ”There will be over eight hundred a year, and he has left you all the furniture,” Tom continued. ”He has been very good,” said Margaret, hardly knowing how to express herself on such an occasion. ”Very good to you,” said Tom, with some little sarcasm in his voice. ”I mean good to me,” said Margaret. Then he told her that Harry Handc.o.c.k had been named as executor. ”There is no more about him in the will, is there?” said Margaret. At the moment, not knowing much about executors, she had fancied that her brother had, in making such appointment, expressed some further wish about Mr Handc.o.c.k. Her brother explained to her that the executor was to have two hundred pounds and a gold watch, and then she was satisfied.
”Of course, it's a very sad look-out for us,” Tom said; ”but I do not on that account blame you.”
”If you did you would wrong me,” Margaret answered, ”for I never once during all the years that we lived together spoke to Walter one word about his money.”
”I do not blame you,” the brother rejoined; and then no more had been said between them.
He had asked her even before the funeral to go up to Gower Street and stay with them, but she had declined. Mrs Tom Mackenzie had not asked her. Mrs Tom Mackenzie had hoped, then--had hoped and had inwardly resolved--that half, at least, of the dying brother's money would have come to her husband; and she had thought that if she once enc.u.mbered herself with the old maid, the old maid might remain longer than was desirable. ”We should never get rid of her,” she had said to her eldest daughter, Mary Jane. ”Never, mamma,” Mary Jane had replied. The mother and daughter had thought that they would be on the whole safer in not pressing any such invitation. They had not pressed it, and the old maid had remained in Arundel Street.
Before Tom left the house, after the reading of the will, he again invited his sister to his own home. An hour or two had intervened since he had told her of her position in the world, and he was astonished at finding how composed and self-a.s.sured she was in the tone and manner of her answer. ”No, Tom, I think I had better not,”
she said. ”Sarah will be somewhat disappointed.”
”You need not mind that,” said Tom.
”I think I had better not. I shall be very glad to see her if she will come to me; and I hope you will come, Tom; but I think I will remain here till I have made up my mind what to do.” She remained in Arundel Street for the next three months, and her brother saw her frequently; but Mrs Tom Mackenzie never went to her, and she never went to Mrs Tom Mackenzie. ”Let it be even so,” said Mrs Tom; ”they shall not say that I ran after her and her money. I hate such airs.”
”So do I, mamma,” said Mary Jane, tossing her head. ”I always said that she was a nasty old maid.”
On that same day,--the day on which the will was read,--Mr Handc.o.c.k had also come to her. ”I need not tell you,” he had said, as he pressed her hand, ”how rejoiced I am--for your sake, Margaret.”
Then she had returned the pressure, and had thanked him for his friends.h.i.+p. ”You know that I have been made executor to the will,” he continued. ”He did this simply to save you from trouble. I need only promise that I will do anything and everything that you can wish.”
Then he left her, saying nothing of his suit on that occasion.
Two months after this,--and during those two months he had necessarily seen her frequently,--Mr Handc.o.c.k wrote to her from his office in Somerset House, renewing his old proposals of marriage. His letter was short and sensible, pleading his cause as well, perhaps, as any words were capable of pleading it at this time; but it was not successful. As to her money he told her that no doubt he regarded it now as a great addition to their chance of happiness, should they put their lots together; and as to his love for her, he referred her to the days in which he had desired to make her his wife without a s.h.i.+lling of fortune. He had never changed, he said; and if her heart was as constant as his, he would make good now the proposal which she had once been willing to accept. His income was not equal to hers, but it was not inconsiderable, and therefore as regards means they would be very comfortable. Such were his arguments, and Margaret, little as she knew of the world, was able to perceive that he expected that they would succeed with her.
Little, however, as she might know of the world, she was not prepared to sacrifice herself and her new freedom, and her new power and her new wealth, to Mr Harry Handc.o.c.k. One word said to her when first she was free and before she was rich, would have carried her. But an argumentative, well-worded letter, written to her two months after the fact of her freedom and the fact of her wealth had sunk into his mind, was powerless on her. She had looked at her gla.s.s and had perceived that years had improved her, whereas years had not improved Harry Handc.o.c.k. She had gone back over her old aspirations, aspirations of which no whisper had ever been uttered, but which had not the less been strong within her, and had told herself that she could not gratify them by a union with Mr Handc.o.c.k. She thought, or rather hoped, that society might still open to her its portals,--not simply the society of the Handc.o.c.ks from Somerset House, but that society of which she had read in novels during the day, and of which she had dreamed at night. Might it not yet be given to her to know clever people, nice people, bright people, people who were not heavy and fat like Mr Handc.o.c.k, or sick and wearisome like her poor brother Walter, or vulgar and quarrelsome like her relatives in Gower Street?
She reminded herself that she was the niece of one baronet, and the first-cousin once removed of another, that she had eight hundred a year, and liberty to do with it whatsoever she pleased; and she reminded herself, also, that she had higher tastes in the world than Mr Handc.o.c.k. Therefore she wrote to him an answer, much longer than his letter, in which she explained to him that the more than ten years' interval which had elapsed since words of love had pa.s.sed between them had--had--had--changed the nature of her regard. After much hesitation, that was the phrase which she used.
And she was right in her decision. Whether or no she was doomed to be disappointed in her aspirations, or to be partially disappointed and partially gratified, these pages are written to tell. But I think we may conclude that she would hardly have made herself happy by marrying Mr Handc.o.c.k while such aspirations were strong upon her.
There was nothing on her side in favour of such a marriage but a faint remembrance of auld lang syne.
She remained three months in Arundel Street, and before that period was over she made a proposition to her brother Tom, showing to what extent she was willing to burden herself on behalf of his family.
Would he allow her, she asked, to undertake the education and charge of his second daughter, Susanna? She would not offer to adopt her niece, she said, because it was on the cards that she herself might marry; but she would promise to take upon herself the full expense of the girl's education, and all charge of her till such education should be completed. If then any future guardians.h.i.+p on her part should have become incompatible with her own circ.u.mstances, she should give Susanna five hundred pounds. There was an air of business about this which quite startled Tom Mackenzie, who, as has before been said, had taught himself in old days to regard his sister as a poor creature. There was specially an air of business about her allusion to her own future state. Tom was not at all surprised that his sister should think of marrying, but he was much surprised that she should dare to declare her thoughts. ”Of course she will marry the first fool that asks her,” said Mrs Tom. The father of the large family, however, p.r.o.nounced the offer to be too good to be refused.
”If she does, she will keep her word about the five hundred pounds,”
he said. Mrs Tom, though she demurred, of course gave way; and when Margaret Mackenzie left London for Littlebath, where lodgings had been taken for her, she took her niece Susanna with her.
CHAPTER II
Miss Mackenzie Goes to Littlebath
I fear that Miss Mackenzie, when she betook herself to Littlebath, had before her mind's eye no sufficiently settled plan of life. She wished to live pleasantly, and perhaps fas.h.i.+onably; but she also desired to live respectably, and with a due regard to religion. How she was to set about doing this at Littlebath, I am afraid she did not quite know. She told herself over and over again that wealth entailed duties as well as privileges; but she had no clear idea what were the duties so entailed, or what were the privileges. How could she have obtained any clear idea on the subject in that prison which she had inhabited for so many years by her brother's bedside?
She had indeed been induced to migrate from London to Littlebath by an accident which should not have been allowed to actuate her. She had been ill, and the doctor, with that solicitude which doctors sometimes feel for ladies who are well to do in the world, had recommended change of air. Littlebath, among the Tantivy hills, would be the very place for her. There were waters at Littlebath which she might drink for a month or two with great advantage to her system. It was then the end of July, and everybody that was anybody was going out of town. Suppose she were to go to Littlebath in August, and stay there for a month, or perhaps two months, as she might feel inclined.
The London doctor knew a Littlebath doctor, and would be so happy to give her a letter. Then she spoke to the clergyman of the church she had lately attended in London who also had become more energetic in his a.s.sistance since her brother's death than he had been before, and he also could give her a letter to a gentleman of his cloth at Littlebath. She knew very little in private life of the doctor or of the clergyman in London, but not the less, on that account, might their introductions be of service to her in forming a circle of acquaintance at Littlebath. In this way she first came to think of Littlebath, and from this beginning she had gradually reached her decision.
<script>