Miss Mackenzie Part 27

CHAPTER XIV

Tom Mackenzie's Bed-Side

There was a Stumfoldian edict, ultra-Median-and-Persian in its strictness, ordaining that no Stumfoldian in Littlebath should be allowed to receive a letter on Sundays. And there also existed a coordinate rule on the part of the Postmaster-General,--or, rather, a privilege granted by that functionary,--in accordance with which Stumfoldians, and other such sects of Sabbatarians, were empowered to prohibit the letter-carriers from contaminating their special knockers on Sunday mornings. Miss Mackenzie had given way to this easily, seeing nothing amiss in the edict, and not caring much for her Sunday letters. In consequence, she received on the Monday mornings those letters which were due to her on Sundays, and on this special Monday morning she received a letter, as to which the delay was of much consequence. It was to tell her that her brother Tom was dying, and to pray that she would be up in London as early on the Monday as was practicable. Mr Samuel Rubb, junior, who had written the letter in Gower Street, had known nothing of the Sabbatical edicts of the Stumfoldians.

"It is an inward tumour," said Mr Rubb, "and has troubled him long, though he has said nothing about it. It is now breaking, and the doctor says he can't live. He begs that you will come to him, as he has very much to say to you. Mrs Tom would have written, but she is so much taken up, and is so much beside herself, that she begs me to say that she is not able; but I hope it won't be less welcome coming from me. The second pair back will be ready for you, just as if it were your own. I would be waiting at the station on Monday, if I knew what train you would come by."

This she received while at breakfast on the Monday morning, having sat down a little earlier than usual, in order that the tea-things might be taken away so as to make room for Mr Maguire.

Of course she must go up to town instantly, by the first practicable train. She perceived at once that she would have to send a message by telegraph, as they would have expected to hear from her that morning.

She got the railway guide, and saw that the early express train had already gone. There was, however, a mid-day train which would reach Paddington in the afternoon. She immediately got her bonnet and went off to the telegraph office, leaving word with the servant, that if any one called "he" was to be told that she had received sudden tidings which took her up to London. On her return she found that "he" had not been there yet, and now she could only hope that he would not come till after she had started. It would, of course, be impossible, at such a moment as this, to make any answer to such a proposition as Mr Maguire's.

He came, and when the servant gave him the message at the door, he sent up craving permission to see her but for a moment. She could not refuse him, and went down to him in the drawing-room, with her shawl and bonnet.

"Dearest Margaret," said he, "what is this?" and he took both her hands.

"I have received word that my brother, in London, is very ill,--that he is dying, and I must go to him."

He still held her hands, standing close to her, as though he had some special right to comfort her.

"Cannot I go with you?" he said. "Let me; do let me."

"Oh, no, Mr Maguire; it is impossible. What could you do? I am going to my brother's house."

"But have I not a right to be of help to you at such a time?" he asked.

"No, Mr Maguire; no right; certainly none as yet."

"Oh! Margaret."

"I'm sure you will see that I cannot talk of anything of that sort now."

"But you will not be back for ever so long."

"I cannot tell."

"Oh! Margaret; you will not leave me in suspense? After bidding me wait a fortnight, you will not go away without telling me that you will be mine when you come back? One word will do it."

"Mr Maguire, you really must excuse me now."

"One word, Margaret; only one word," and he still held her.

"Mr Maguire," she said, tearing her hand from him, "I am astonished at you. I tell you that my brother is dying and you hold me here, and expect me to give you an answer about nonsense. I thought you were more manly."

He saw that there was a flash in her eye as he stepped back; so he begged her pardon, and muttering something about hoping to hear from her soon, took his leave. Poor man! I do not see why she should not have accepted him, as she had made up her mind to do so. And to him, with his creditors, and in his present position, any certainty in this matter would have made so much difference!

At the Paddington station Miss Mackenzie was met by her other lover, Mr Rubb. Mr Rubb, however, had never yet declared himself as holding this position, and did not do so on the present occasion. Their conversation in the cab was wholly concerning her brother's state, or nearly so. It seemed that there was no hope. Mr Rubb said that very clearly. As to time the doctor would say nothing certain; but he had declared that it might occur any day. The patient could never leave his bed again; but as his const.i.tution was strong, he might remain in his present condition some weeks. He did not suffer much pain, or, at any rate, did not complain of much; but was very sad. Then Mr Rubb said one other word.

"I am afraid he is thinking of his wife and children."

"Would there be nothing for them out of the business?" asked Miss Mackenzie.

The junior partner at first shook his head, saying nothing. After a few minutes he did speak in a low voice. "If there be anything, it will be very little,--very little."

Miss Mackenzie was rejoiced that she had given no definite promise to Mr Maguire. There seemed to be now a job for her to do in the world which would render it quite unnecessary that she should look about for a husband. If her brother's widow were left penniless, with seven children, there would be no longer much question as to what she would do with her money. Perhaps the only person in the world that she cordially disliked was her sister-in-law. She certainly knew no other woman whose society would be so unpalatable to her. But if things were so as Mr Rubb now described them, there could be no doubt about her duty. It was very well indeed that her answer to Mr Maguire had been postponed to that Monday.

She found her sister-in-law in the dining-room, and Mrs Mackenzie, of course, received her with a shower of tears. "I did think you would have come, Margaret, by the first train."

Then Margaret was forced to explain all about the letter and the Sunday arrangements at Littlebath; and Mrs Tom was stupid and wouldn't understand, but persisted in her grievance, declaring that Tom was killing himself with disappointment.

"And there's Dr Slumpy just this moment gone without a word to comfort one,--not even to say about when it will be. I suppose you'll want your dinner before you go up to see him. As for us we've had no dinners, or anything regular; but, of course, you must be waited on."

Miss Mackenzie simply took off her bonnet and shawl, and declared herself ready to go upstairs as soon as her brother would be ready to see her.

"It's fret about money has done it all, Margaret," said the wife.

"Since the day that Walter's shocking will was read, he's never been himself for an hour. Of course he wouldn't show it to you; but he never has."

Margaret turned short round upon her sister-in-law on the stairs.

"Sarah," said she, and then she stopped herself. "Never mind; it is natural, no doubt, you should feel it; but there are times and places when one's feelings should be kept under control."

"That's mighty fine," said Mrs Mackenzie; "but, however, if you'll wait here, I'll go up to him."

In a few minutes more Miss Mackenzie was standing by her brother's bedside, holding his hand in hers.

"I knew you would come, Margaret," he said.

"Of course I should come; who doubted it? But never mind that, for here I am."

"I only told her that we expected her by the earlier train," said Mrs Tom.

"Never mind the train as long as she's here," said Tom. "You've heard how it is with me, Margaret?"

Then Margaret buried her face in the bed-clothes and wept, and Mrs Tom, weeping also, hid herself behind the curtains.

There was nothing said then about money or the troubles of the business, and after a while the two women went down to tea. In the dining-room they found Mr Rubb, who seemed to be quite at home in the house. Cold meat was brought up for Margaret's dinner, and they all sat down to one of those sad sick-house meals which he or she who has not known must have been lucky indeed. To Margaret it was nothing new. All the life that she remembered, except the last year, had been spent in nursing her other brother; and now to be employed about the bed-side of a sufferer was as natural to her as the air she breathed.

"I will sit with him to-night, Sarah, if you will let me," she said; and Sarah a.s.sented.

It was still daylight when she found herself at her post. Mrs Mackenzie had just left the room to go down among the children, saying that she would return again before she left him for the night.

To this the invalid remonstrated, begging his wife to go to bed.

"She has not had her clothes off for the last week," said the husband.

"It don't matter about my clothes," said Mrs Tom, still weeping. She was always crying when in the sick room, and always scolding when out of it; thus complying with the two different requisitions of her nature. The matter, however, was settled by an a.s.surance on her part that she would go to bed, so that she might be stirring early.

There are women who seem to have an absolute pleasure in fixing themselves for business by the bedside of a sick man. They generally commence their operations by laying aside all fict.i.tious feminine charms, and by arraying themselves with a rigid, unconventional, unenticing propriety. Though they are still gentle,--perhaps more gentle than ever in their movements,--there is a decision in all they do very unlike their usual mode of action. The sick man, who is not so sick but what he can ponder on the matter, feels himself to be like a baby, whom he has seen the nurse to take from its cradle, pat on the back, feed, and then return to its little couch, all without undue violence or tyranny, but still with a certain consciousness of omnipotence as far as that child was concerned. The vitality of the man is gone from him, and he, in his prostrate condition, debarred by all the features of his condition from spontaneous exertion, feels himself to be more a woman than the woman herself. She, if she be such a one as our Miss Mackenzie, arranges her bottles with precision; knows exactly how to place her chair, her lamp, and her teapot; settles her cap usefully on her head, and prepares for the night's work certainly with satisfaction. And such are the best women of the world,--among which number I think that Miss Mackenzie has a right to be counted.