Showing How Mr Rubb, Junior, Progressed at Littlebath

A full week had passed by after Mrs Stumfold’s tea-party before Mr Rubb called again at the Paragon; and in the meantime Miss Mackenzie had been informed by her lawyer that there did not appear to be any objection to the mortgage, if she liked the investment for her money.

“You couldn’t do better with your money, ­you couldn’t indeed,” said Mr Rubb, when Miss Mackenzie, meaning to be cautious, started the conversation at once upon matters of business.

Mr Rubb had not been in any great hurry to repeat his call, and Miss Mackenzie had resolved that if he did come again she would treat him simply as a member of the firm with whom she had to transact certain monetary arrangements.  Beyond that she would not go; and as she so resolved, she repented herself of the sherry and biscuit.

The people whom she had met at Mr Stumfold’s had been all ladies and gentlemen; she, at least, had supposed them to be so, not having as yet received any special information respecting the wife of the retired coachbuilder.  Mr Rubb was not a gentleman; and though she was by no means inclined to give herself airs, ­though, as she assured herself, she believed Mr Rubb to be quite as good as herself, ­yet there was, and must always be, a difference among people.  She had no inclination to be proud; but if Providence had been pleased to place her in one position, it did not behove her to degrade herself by assuming a position that was lower.  Therefore, on this account, and by no means moved by any personal contempt towards Mr Rubb, or the Rubbs of the world in general, she was resolved that she would not ask him to take any more sherry and biscuits.

Poor Miss Mackenzie!  I fear that they who read this chronicle of her life will already have allowed themselves to think worse of her than she deserved.  Many of them, I know, will think far worse of her than they should think.  Of what faults, even if we analyse her faults, has she been guilty?  Where she has been weak, who among us is not, in that, weak also?  Of what vanity has she been guilty with which the least vain among us might not justly tax himself?  Having been left alone in the world, she has looked to make friends for herself; and in seeking for new friends she has wished to find the best that might come in her way.

Mr Rubb was very good-looking; Mr Maguire was afflicted by a terrible squint.  Mr Rubb’s mode of speaking was pleasant to her; whereas she was by no means sure that she liked Mr Maguire’s speech.  But Mr Maguire was by profession a gentleman.  As the discreet young man, who is desirous of rising in the world, will eschew skittles, and in preference go out to tea at his aunt’s house ­much more delectable as skittles are to his own heart ­so did Miss Mackenzie resolve that it would become her to select Messrs Stumfold and Maguire as her male friends, and to treat Mr Rubb simply as a man of business.  She was denying herself skittles and beer, and putting up with tea and an old aunt, because she preferred the proprieties of life to its pleasures.  Is it right that she should be blamed for such self-denial?  But now the skittles and beer had come after her, as those delights will sometimes pursue the prudent youth who would fain avoid them.  Mr Rubb was there, in her drawing-room, looking extremely well, shaking hands with her very comfortably, and soon abandoning his conversation on that matter of business to which she had determined to confine herself.  She was angry with him, thinking him to be very free and easy; but, nevertheless, she could not keep herself from talking to him.

“You can’t do better than five per cent,” he had said to her, “not with first-class security, such as this is.”

All that had been well enough.  Five per cent and first-class security were, she knew, matters of business; and though Mr Rubb had winked his eye at her as he spoke of them, leaning forward in his chair and looking at her not at all as a man of business, but quite in a friendly way, yet she had felt that she was so far safe.  She nodded her head also, merely intending him to understand thereby that she herself understood something about business.  But when he suddenly changed the subject, and asked her how she liked Mr Stumfold’s set, she drew herself up suddenly and placed herself at once upon her guard.

“I have heard a great deal about Mr Stumfold,” continued Mr Rubb, not appearing to observe the lady’s altered manner, “not only here and where I have been for the last few days, but up in London also.  He is quite a public character, you know.”

“Clergymen in towns, who have large congregations, always must so be, I suppose.”

“Well, yes; more or less.  But Mr Stumfold is decidedly more, and not less.  People say he is going in for a bishopric.”

“I had not heard it,” said Miss Mackenzie, who did not quite understand what was meant by going in for a bishopric.

“Oh, yes, and a very likely man he would have been a year or two ago.  But they say the prime minister has changed his tap lately.”

“Changed his tap!” said Miss Mackenzie.

“He used to draw his bishops very bitter, but now he draws them mild and creamy.  I dare say Stumfold did his best, but he didn’t quite get his hay in while the sun shone.”

“He seems to me to be very comfortable where he is,” said Miss Mackenzie.

“I dare say.  It must be rather a bore for him having to live in the house with old Peters.  How Peters scraped his money together, nobody ever knew yet; and you are aware, Miss Mackenzie, that old as he is, he keeps it all in his own hands.  That house, and everything that is in it, belongs to him; you know that, I dare say.”

Miss Mackenzie, who could not keep herself from being a little interested in these matters, said that she had not known it.

“Oh dear, yes! and the carriage too.  I’ve no doubt Stumfold will be all right when the old fellow dies.  Such men as Stumfold don’t often make mistakes about their money.  But as long as old Peters lasts I shouldn’t think it can be quite serene.  They say that she is always cutting up rough with the old man.”

“She seemed to me to behave very well to him,” said Miss Mackenzie, remembering the carriage of the tea-cup.

“I dare say it is so before company, and of course that’s all right; it’s much better that the dirty linen should be washed in private.  Stumfold is a clever man, there’s no doubt about that.  If you’ve been much to his house, you’ve probably met his curate, Mr Maguire.”

“I’ve only been there once, but I did meet Mr Maguire.”

“A man that squints fearfully.  They say he’s looking out for a wife too, only she must not have a father living, as Mrs Stumfold has.  It’s astonishing how these parsons pick up all the good things that are going in the way of money.”  Miss Mackenzie, as she heard this, could not but remember that she might be regarded as a good thing going in the way of money, and became painfully aware that her face betrayed her consciousness.

“You’ll have to keep a sharp look out,” continued Mr Rubb, giving her a kind caution, as though he were an old familiar friend.

“I don’t think there’s any fear of that kind,” said Miss Mackenzie, blushing.

“I don’t know about fear, but I should say that there is great probability; of course I am only joking about Mr Maguire.  Like the rest of them, of course, he wishes to feather his own nest; and why shouldn’t he?  But you may be sure of this, Miss Mackenzie, a lady with your fortune, and, if I may be allowed to say so, with your personal attractions, will not want for admirers.”

Miss Mackenzie was very strongly of opinion that Mr Rubb might not be allowed to say so.  She thought that he was behaving with an unwarrantable degree of freedom in saying anything of the kind; but she did not know how to tell him either by words or looks that such was the case.  And, perhaps, though the impertinence was almost unendurable, the idea conveyed was not altogether so grievous; it had certainly never hitherto occurred to her that she might become a second Mrs Stumfold; but, after all, why not?  What she wanted was simply this, that something of interest should be added to her life.  Why should not she also work in the vineyard, in the open quasiclerical vineyard of the Lord’s people, and also in the private vineyard of some one of the people’s pastors?  Mr Rubb was very impertinent, but it might, perhaps, be worth her while to think of what he said.  As regarded Mr Maguire, the gentleman whose name had been specially mentioned, it was quite true that he did squint awfully.

“Mr Rubb,” said she, “if you please, I’d rather not talk about such things as that.”

“Nevertheless, what I say is true, Miss Mackenzie; I hope you don’t take it amiss that I venture to feel an interest about you.”

“Oh! no,” said she; “not that I suppose you do feel any special interest about me.”

“But indeed I do, and isn’t it natural?  If you will remember that your only brother is the oldest friend that I have in the world, how can it be otherwise?  Of course he is much older than me, and very much older than you, Miss Mackenzie.”

“Just twelve years,” said she, very stiffly.

“I thought it had been more, but in that case you and I are nearly of an age.  As that is so, how can I fail to feel an interest about you?  I have neither mother, nor sister, nor wife of my own; a sister, indeed, I have, but she’s married at Singapore, and I have not seen her for seventeen years.”

“Indeed.”

“No, not for seventeen years; and the heart does crave for some female friend, Miss Mackenzie.”

“You ought to get a wife, Mr Rubb.”

“That’s what your brother always says.  ‘Samuel,’ he said to me just before I left town, ’you’re settled with us now; your father has as good as given up to you his share of the business, and you ought to get married.’  Now, Miss Mackenzie, I wouldn’t take that sort of thing from any man but your brother; it’s very odd that you should say exactly the same thing too.”

“I hope I have not offended you.”

“Offended me! no, indeed, I’m not such a fool as that.  I’d sooner know that you took an interest in me than any woman living.  I would, indeed.  I dare say you don’t think much of it, but when I remember that the names of Rubb and Mackenzie have been joined together for more than twenty years, it seems natural to me that you and I should be friends.”

Miss Mackenzie, in the few moments which were allowed to her for reflection before she was obliged to answer, again admitted to herself that he spoke the truth.  If there was any fault in the matter the fault was with her brother Tom, who had joined the name of Mackenzie with the name of Rubb in the first instance.  Where was this young man to look for a female friend if not to his partner’s family, seeing that he had neither wife nor mother of his own, nor indeed a sister, except one out at Singapore, who was hardly available for any of the purposes of family affection?  And yet it was hard upon her.  It was through no negligence on her part that poor Mr Rubb was so ill provided.  “Perhaps it might have been so if I had continued to live in London,” said Miss Mackenzie; “but as I live at Littlebath ­” Then she paused, not knowing how to finish her sentence.

“What difference does that make?  The distance is nothing if you come to think of it.  Your hall door is just two hours and a quarter from our place of business in the New Road; and it’s one pound five and nine if you go by first-class and cabs, or sixteen and ten if you put up with second-class and omnibuses.  There’s no other way of counting.  Miles mean nothing now-a-days.”

“They don’t mean much, certainly.”

“They mean nothing.  Why, Miss Mackenzie, I should think it no trouble at all to run down and consult you about anything that occurred, about any matter of business that weighed at all heavily, if nothing prevented me except distance.  Thirty shillings more than does it all, with a return ticket, including a bit of lunch at the station.”

“Oh! and as for that ­”

“I know what you mean, Miss Mackenzie, and I shall never forget how kind you were to offer me refreshment when I was here before.”

“But, Mr Rubb, I hope you won’t think of doing such a thing.  What good could I do you?  I know nothing about business; and really, to tell the truth, I should be most unwilling to interfere ­that is, you know, to say anything about anything of the kind.”

“I only meant to point out that the distance is nothing.  And as to what you were advising me about getting married ­”

“I didn’t mean to advise you, Mr Rubb!”

“I thought you said so.”

“But, of course, I did not intend to discuss such a matter seriously.”

“It’s a most serious subject to me, Miss Mackenzie.”

“No doubt; but it’s one I can’t know anything about.  Men in business generally do find, I think, that they get on better when they are married.”

“Yes, they do.”

“That’s all I meant to say, Mr Rubb.”

After this he sat silent for a few minutes, and I am inclined to think that he was weighing in his mind the expediency of asking her to become Mrs Rubb, on the spur of the moment.  But if so, his mind finally gave judgment against the attempt, and in giving such judgment his mind was right.  He would certainly have so startled her by the precipitancy of such a proposition, as to have greatly endangered the probability of any further intimacy with her.  As it was, he changed the conversation, and began to ask questions as to the welfare of his partner’s daughter.  At this period of the day Susanna was at school, and he was informed that she would not be home till the evening.  Then he plucked up courage and begged to be allowed to come again, ­just to look in at eight o’clock, so that he might see Susanna.  He could not go back to London comfortably, unless he could give some tidings of Susanna to the family in Gower Street.  What was she to do?  Of course she was obliged to ask him to drink tea with them.  “That would be so pleasant,” he said; and Miss Mackenzie owned to herself that the gratification expressed in his face as he spoke was very becoming.

When Susanna came home she did not seem to know much of Mr Rubb, junior, or to care much about him.  Old Mr Rubb lived, she knew, near the place of business in the New Road, and sometimes he came to Gower Street, but nobody liked him.  She didn’t remember that she had ever seen Mr Rubb, junior, at her mother’s house but once, when he came to dinner.  When she was told that Mr Rubb was very anxious to see her, she chucked up her head and said that the man was a goose.

He came, and in a very few minutes he had talked over Susanna.  He brought her a little present, ­a work-box, ­which he had bought for her at Littlebath; and though the work-box itself did not altogether avail, it paved the way for civil words, which were more efficacious.  On this occasion he talked more to his partner’s daughter than to his partner’s sister, and promised to tell her mamma how well she was looking, and that the air of Littlebath had brought roses to her cheeks.

“I think it is a healthy place,” said Miss Mackenzie.

“I’m quite sure it is,” said Mr Rubb.  “And you like Mrs Crammer’s school, Susanna?”

She would have preferred to have been called Miss Mackenzie, but was not disposed to quarrel with him on the point.

“Yes, I like it very well,” she said.  “The other girls are very nice; and if one must go to school, I suppose it’s as good as any other school.”

“Susanna thinks that going to school at all is rather a nuisance,” said Miss Mackenzie.

“You’d think so too, aunt, if you had to practise every day for an hour in the same room with four other pianos.  It’s my belief that I shall hate the sound of a piano the longest day that I shall live.”

“I suppose it’s the same with all young ladies,” said Mr Rubb.

“It’s the same with them all at Mrs Crammer’s.  There isn’t one there that does not hate it.”

“But you wouldn’t like not to be able to play,” said her aunt.

“Mamma doesn’t play, and you don’t play; and I don’t see what’s the use of it.  It won’t make anybody like music to hear four pianos all going at the same time, and all of them out of tune.”

“You must not tell them in Gower Street, Mr Rubb, that Susanna talks like that,” said Miss Mackenzie.

“Yes, you may, Mr Rubb.  But you must tell them at the same time that I am quite happy, and that Aunt Margaret is the dearest woman in the world.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them that,” said Mr Rubb.  Then he went away, pressing Miss Mackenzie’s hand warmly as he took his leave; and as soon as he was gone, his character was of course discussed.

“He’s quite a different man, aunt, from what I thought; and he’s not at all like old Mr Rubb.  Old Mr Rubb, when he comes to drink tea in Gower Street, puts his handkerchief over his knees to catch the crumbs.”

“There’s no great harm in that, Susanna.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any harm in it.  It’s not wicked.  It’s not wicked to eat gravy with your knife.”

“And does old Mr Rubb do that?”

“Always.  We used to laugh at him, because he is so clever at it.  He never spills any; and his knife seems to be quite as good as a spoon.  But this Mr Rubb doesn’t do things of that sort.”

“He’s younger, my dear.”

“But being younger doesn’t make people more ladylike of itself.”

“I did not know that Mr Rubb was exactly ladylike.”

“That’s taking me up unfairly; isn’t it, aunt?  You know what I meant; and only fancy that the man should go out and buy me a work-box.  That’s more than old Mr Rubb ever did for any of us, since the first day he knew us.  And, then, didn’t you think that young Mr Rubb is a handsome man, aunt?”

“He’s all very well, my dear.”

“Oh; I think he is downright handsome; I do, indeed.  Miss Dumpus, ­that’s Mrs Crammer’s sister, ­told us the other day, that I was wrong to talk about a man being handsome; but that must be nonsense, aunt?”

“I don’t see that at all, my dear.  If she told you so, you ought to believe that it is not nonsense.”

“Come, aunt; you don’t mean to tell me that you would believe all that Miss Dumpus says.  Miss Dumpus says that girls should never laugh above their breath when they are more than fourteen years old.  How can you make a change in your laughing just when you come to be fourteen?  And why shouldn’t you say a man’s handsome, if he is handsome?”

“You’d better go to bed, Susanna.”

“That won’t make Mr Rubb ugly.  I wish you had asked him to come and dine here on Sunday, so that we might have seen whether he eats his gravy with his knife.  I looked very hard to see whether he’d catch his crumbs in his handkerchief.”

Then Susanna went to her bed, and Miss Mackenzie was left alone to think over the perfections and imperfections of Mr Samuel Rubb, junior.

From that time up to Christmas she saw no more of Mr Rubb; but she heard from him twice.  His letters, however, had reference solely to business, and were not of a nature to produce either anger or admiration.  She had also heard more than once from her lawyer; and a question had arisen as to which she was called upon to trust to her own judgment for a decision.  Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie had wanted the money at once, whereas the papers for the mortgage were not ready.  Would Miss Mackenzie allow Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie to have the money under these circumstances?  To this inquiry from her lawyer she made a rejoinder asking for advice.  Her lawyer told her that he could not recommend her, in the ordinary way of business, to make any advance of money without positive security; but, as this was a matter between friends and near relatives, she might perhaps be willing to do it; and he added that, as far as his own opinion went, he did not think that there would be any great risk.  But then it all depended on this: ­did she want to oblige her friends and near relatives?  In answer to this question she told herself that she certainly did wish to do so; and she declared, ­also to herself, ­that she was willing to advance the money to her brother, even though there might be some risk.  The upshot of all this was that Messrs Rubb and Mackenzie got the money some time in October, but that the mortgage was not completed when Christmas came.  It was on this matter that Mr Rubb, junior, had written to Miss Mackenzie, and his letter had been of a nature to give her a feeling of perfect security in the transaction.  With her brother she had had no further correspondence; but this did not surprise her, as her brother was a man much less facile in his modes of expression than his younger partner.

As the autumn had progressed at Littlebath, she had become more and more intimate with Miss Baker, till she had almost taught herself to regard that lady as a dear friend.  She had fallen into the habit of going to Mrs Stumfold’s tea-parties every fortnight, and was now regarded as a regular Stumfoldian by all those who interested themselves in such matters.  She had begun a system of district visiting and Bible reading with Miss Baker, which had at first been very agreeable to her.  But Mrs Stumfold had on one occasion called upon her and taken her to task, ­as Miss Mackenzie had thought, rather abruptly, ­with reference to some lack of energy or indiscreet omission of which she had been judged to be guilty by that highly-gifted lady.  Against this Miss Mackenzie had rebelled mildly, and since that things had not gone quite so pleasantly with her.  She had still been honoured with Mrs Stumfold’s card of invitation, and had still gone to the tea-parties on Miss Baker’s strenuously-urged advice; but Mrs Stumfold had frowned, and Miss Mackenzie had felt the frown; Mrs Stumfold had frowned, and the retired coachbuilder’s wife had at once snubbed the culprit, and Mr Maguire had openly expressed himself to be uneasy.

“Dearest Miss Mackenzie,” he had said, with charitable zeal, “if there has been anything wrong, just beg her pardon, and you will find that everything has been forgotten at once; a more forgiving woman than Mrs Stumfold never lived.”

“But suppose I have done nothing to be forgiven,” urged Miss Mackenzie.

Mr Maguire looked at her, and shook his head, the exact meaning of the look she could not understand, as the peculiarity of his eyes created confusion; but when he repeated twice to her the same words, “The heart of man is exceeding treacherous,” she understood that he meant to condemn her.

“So it is, Mr Maguire, but that is no reason why Mrs Stumfold should scold me.”

Then he got up and left her, and did not speak to her again that evening, but he called on her the next day, and was very affectionate in his manner.  In Mr Stumfold’s mode of treating her she had found no difference.

With Miss Todd, whom she met constantly in the street, and who always nodded to her very kindly, she had had one very remarkable interview.

“I think we had better give it up, my dear,” Miss Todd had said to her.  This had been in Miss Baker’s drawing-room.

“Give what up?” Miss Mackenzie had asked.

“Any idea of our knowing each other.  I’m sure it never can come to anything, though for my part I should have been so glad.  You see you can’t serve God and Mammon, and it is settled beyond all doubt that I’m Mammon.  Isn’t it, Mary?”

Miss Baker, to whom this appeal was made, answered it only by a sigh.

“You see,” continued Miss Todd, “that Miss Baker is allowed to know me, though I am Mammon, for the sake of auld lang syne.  There have been so many things between us that it wouldn’t do for us to drop each other.  We have had the same lovers; and you know, Mary, that you’ve been very near coming over to Mammon yourself.  There’s a sort of understanding that Miss Baker is not to be required to cut me.  But they would not allow that sort of liberty to a new comer; they wouldn’t, indeed.”

“I don’t know that anybody would be likely to interfere with me,” said Miss Mackenzie.

“Yes, they would, my dear.  You didn’t quite know yourself which way it was to be when you first came here, and if it had been my way, I should have been most happy to have made myself civil.  You have chosen now, and I don’t doubt but what you have chosen right.  I always tell Mary Baker that it does very well for her, and I dare say it will do very well for you too.  There’s a great deal in it, and only that some of them do tell such lies I think I should have tried it myself.  But, my dear Miss Mackenzie, you can’t do both.”

After this Miss Mackenzie used to nod to Miss Todd in the street, but beyond that there was no friendly intercourse between those ladies.

At the beginning of December there came an invitation to Miss Mackenzie to spend the Christmas holidays away from Littlebath, and as she accepted this invitation, and as we must follow her to the house of her friends, we will postpone further mention of the matter till the next chapter.