The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson
Page 7
CHAPTER VII.
MISS BROWN PLEADS HER OWN CASE, AND MR. ROBINSON WALKS ON BLACKFRIARSBRIDGE.
At the time of Mrs. McCockerell's death Robinson and Maryanne Brownwere not on comfortable terms with each other. She had twitted himwith being remiss in asserting his own rights in the presence of hisrival, and he had accused her of being fickle, if not actually false.
"I shall be just as fickle as I please," she said. "If it suits meI'll have nine to follow me; but there shan't be one of the nine whowon't hold up his head and look after his own."
"Your conduct, Maryanne--."
"George, I won't be scolded, and that you ought to know. If you don'tlike me, you are quite welcome to do the other thing." And then theyparted. This took place after Mr. Brown's adherence to the Robinsoninterest, and while Brisket was waiting passively to see if that fivehundred pounds would be forthcoming.
Their next meeting was in the presence of Mr. Brown; and on thatoccasion all the three spoke out their intentions on the subject oftheir future family arrangements, certainly with much plain language,if not on every side with positive truth. Mr. Robinson was at thehouse in Smithfield, giving counsel to old Mr. Brown as to thecontest which was then being urged between him and his son-in-law.At that period the two sisters conceived that their joint pecuniaryinterests required that they should act together; and it must beacknowledged that they led poor Mr. Brown a sad life of it. He andRobinson were sitting upstairs in the little back room looking outinto Spavinhorse Yard, when Maryanne abruptly broke in upon them.
"Father," she said, standing upright in the middle of the room beforethem, "I have come to know what it is that you mean to do?"
"To do, my dear?" said old Mr. Brown.
"Yes; to do. I suppose something is to be done some day. We ain'talways to go on shilly-shallying, spending the money, and ruining thebusiness, and living from hand to mouth, as though there was no endto anything. I've got myself to look to, and I don't mean to go intothe workhouse if I can help it!"
"The workhouse, Maryanne!"
"I said the workhouse, father, and I meant it. If everybody had whatwas justly their own, I shouldn't have to talk in that way. But asfar as I can see, them sharks, the lawyers, will have it all. Now,I'll tell you what it is--"
Hitherto Robinson had not said a word; but at this moment he thoughtit right to interfere. "Maryanne!" he said,--and, in pronouncing thewell-loved name, he threw into it all the affection of which hisvoice was capable,--"Maryanne!"
"'Miss Brown' would be a deal properer, and also much more pleasing,if it's all the same to you, sir!"
How often had he whispered "Maryanne" into her ears, and the deargirl had smiled upon him to hear herself so called! But he couldnot remind her of this at the present moment. "I have your father'ssanction," said he--
"My father is nothing to me,--not with reference to what young man Ilet myself be called 'Maryanne' by. And going on as he is going on, Idon't suppose that he'll long be much to me in any way."
"Oh, Maryanne!" sobbed the unhappy parent.
"That's all very well, sir, but it won't keep the kettle a-boiling!"
"As long as I have a bit to eat of, Maryanne, and a cup to drink of,you shall have the half."
"And what am I to do when you won't have neither a bit nor a cup?That's what you're coming to, father. We can all see that. What's theuse of all them lawyers?"
"That's Jones's doing," said Robinson.
"No; it isn't Jones's doing. And of course Jones must look afterhimself. I'm not partial to Jones. Everybody knows that. When SarahJane disgraced herself, and went off with him, I never said a word inher favour. It wasn't I who brought a viper into the house and warmedit in my bosom." It was at this moment that Jones was behaving withthe most barefaced effrontery, as well as the utmost cruelty, towardsthe old man, and Maryanne's words cut her father to the very soul."Jones might have been anywhere for me," she continued; "but there heis downstairs, and Sarah Jane is with him. Of course they are lookingfor their own."
"And what is it you want, Maryanne?"
"Well; I'll tell you what I want. My dear sainted mother's last wishwas that--I should become Mrs. Brisket!"
"And do you mean to say," said Robinson--"do you mean to say thatthat is now your wish?" And he looked at her till the audacity evenof her eyes sank beneath the earnestness of his own. But though forthe moment he quelled her eye, nothing could quell her voice.
"I mean to say," said she, speaking loudly, and with her arms akimbo,"that William Brisket is a very respectable young man, with atrade,--that he's got a decent house for a young woman to live in,and a decent table for her to sit at. And he's always been broughtup decent, having been a regular 'prentice to his uncle, and allthat sort of thing. He's never been wandering about like a vagrant,getting his money nobody knows how. William Brisket's as well knownin Aldersgate Street as the Post Office. And moreover," she added,after a pause, speaking these last words in a somewhat milderbreath--"And moreover, it was my sainted mother's wish!"
"Then go to him!" said Robinson, rising suddenly, and stretching outhis arm against her. "Go to him, and perform your--sainted mother'swish! Go to the--butcher! Revel in his shambles, and grow fat andsleek in his slaughter-house! From this moment George Robinson willfight the world alone. Brisket, indeed! If it be accounted manlinessto have killed hecatombs of oxen, let him be called manly!"
"He would have pretty nigh killed you, young man, on one occasion, ifyou hadn't made yourself scarce."
"By heavens!" exclaimed Robinson, "if he'll come forth, I'll fighthim to-morrow;--with cleavers, if he will!"
"George, George, don't say that," exclaimed Mr. Brown. "'Let dogsdelight to bark and bite.'"
"You needn't be afraid," said Maryanne. "He doesn't mean fighting,"and she pointed to Robinson. "William would about eat him, you know,if they were to come together."
"Heaven forbid!" said Mr. Brown.
"But what I want to know is this," continued the maiden; "how is itto be about that five hundred pounds which my mother left me?"
"But, my dear, your mother had not five hundred pounds to leave."
"Nor did she make any will if she had," said Robinson.
"Now don't put in your oar, for I won't have it," said the lady. "Andyou'd show a deal more correct feeling if you wasn't so much aboutthe house just at present. My darling mamma,"--and then she put herhandkerchief up to her eyes--"always told William that when he and Ibecame one, there should be five hundred pounds down;--and of coursehe expects it. Now, sir, you often talk about your love for yourchildren."
"I do love them; so I do. What else have I?"
"Now's the time to prove it. Let me have that sum of five hundredpounds, and I will always take your part against the Joneses. Fivehundred pounds isn't so much,--and surely I have a right to someshare. And you may be sure of this; when we're settled, Brisket isnot the man to come back to you for more, as some would do." And thenshe gave another look at Robinson.
"I haven't got the money; have I, George?" said the father.
"That question I cannot answer," replied Robinson. "Nor can I say howfar it might be prudent in you to debar yourself from all furtherprogress in commerce if you have got it. But this I can say; do notlet any consideration for me prevent you from giving a dowry withyour daughter to Mr. Brisket; if she loves him--"
"Oh, it's all bother about love," said she; "men and women must eat,and they must have something to give their children, when they come."
"But if I haven't got it, my dear?"
"That's nonsense, father. Where has the money gone to? Whatever youdo, speak the truth. If you choose to say you won't--"
"Well, then, I won't," said he, roused suddenly to anger. "I nevermade Brisket any promise!"
"But mother did; she as is now gone, and far away; and it was hermoney,--so it was."
"It wasn't her money;--it was mine!" said Mr. Brown.
"And that's all the answer I'm to get? Very well. Then I shall knowwhere t
o look for my rights. And as for that fellow there, I didn'tthink it of him, that he'd be so mean. I knew he was a cowardalways."
"I am neither mean nor a coward," said Robinson, jumping up, andspeaking with a voice that was audible right across Spavinhorse Yard,and into the tap of the "Man of Mischief" public-house opposite. "Asfor meanness, if I had the money, I would pour it out into your lap,though I knew that it was to be converted into beef and mutton forthe benefit of a hated rival. And as for cowardice, I repel thecharge, and drive it back into the teeth of him who, doubtless, madeit. I am no coward."
"You ran away when he bid you!"
"Yes; because he is big and strong, and had I remained, he wouldhave knocked me about, and made me ridiculous in the eyes of thespectators. But I am no coward. If you wish it, I am ready to fighthim."
"Oh, dear, no. It can be nothing to me."
"He will make me one mash of gore," said Robinson, still holding outhis hand. "But if you wish it, I care nothing for that. His brutestrength will, of course, prevail; but I am indifferent as to that,if it would do you a pleasure."
"Pleasure to me! Nothing of the kind, I can assure you."
"Maryanne, if I might have my wish, it should be this. Let us bothsit down, with our cigars lighted,--ay, and with tapers in ourhands,--on an open barrel of gunpowder. Then let him who will sitthere longest receive this fair hand as his prize." And as hefinished, he leaned over her, and took up her hand in his.
"Laws, Robinson!" she said; but she did not on the moment withdrawher hand. "And if you were both blew up, what'd I do then?"
"I won't hear of such an arrangement," said Mr. Brown. "It would bevery wicked. If there's another word spoke about it, I'll go to thepolice at once!"
On that occasion Mr. Brown was quite determined about the money; and,as we heard afterwards, Mr. Brisket expressed himself as equallyresolute. "Of course, I expect to see my way," said he; "I can't doanything of that sort without seeing my way." When that overtureabout the gunpowder was repeated to him, he is reported to havebecome very red. "Either with gloves or without, or with the sticks,I'm ready for him," said he; "but as for sitting on a barrel ofgunpowder, it's a thing as nobody wouldn't do unless they was inBedlam."
When that interview was over, Robinson walked forth by himself intothe evening air, along Giltspur Street, down the Old Bailey, and soon by Bridge Street, to the middle of Blackfriars Bridge; and as hewalked, he strove manfully to get the better of the passion which wasdevouring the strength of his blood, and the marrow of his bones.
"If she be not fair for me," he sang to himself, "what care I howfair she be?" But he did care; he could not master that passion.She had been vile to him, unfeminine, untrue, coarsely abusive; shehad shown herself to be mercenary, incapable of true love, a scold,fickle, and cruel. But yet he loved her. There was a gallant feelingat his heart that no misfortune could conquer him,--but one; thatmisfortune had fallen upon him,--and he was conquered.
"Why is it," he said as he looked down into the turbid stream--"whyis it that bloodshed, physical strife, and brute power are dear tothem all? Any fool can have personal bravery; 'tis but a sign offolly to know no fear. Grant that a man has no imagination, and hecannot fear; but when a man does fear, and yet is brave--" Then forawhile he stopped himself. "Would that I had gone at his throat likea dog!" he continued, still in his soliloquy. "Would that I had!Could I have torn out his tongue, and laid it as a trophy at herfeet, then she would have loved me." After that he wandered slowlyhome, and went to bed.