Ovington's Bank

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XX

  The money for Arthur's share in the bank had been paid over in theearly part of June, but the transaction had not gone through with thesmoothness which he had anticipated. He had found himself up against athing which he had not taken into his reckoning; the jealousy withwhich the old and the rich are apt to guard the secret of theirwealth, a jealousy in the Squire's case aggravated by his blindness.Arthur had felt the check and was forced to own, with some alarm, thathigh as he stood in favor, a little thing might upset him.

  He had written to the brokers, requesting them to sell sufficientIndia Stock to bring in a sum of six thousand pounds. They had repliedthat they could not carry out the order unless they had theparticulars of the Stock and of the amount standing in the Squire'sname at the India House. But when Arthur took the letter to theSquire's room and read it to him, the outcome surprised him. The oldman sat up in bed and confounded him by the vigor of his answer. "Wantto know how much I hold?" he cried. "D--n their impudence! Thenthey'll not know! Want to look at my books and see what I'm worth!What next? What is it to them what I hold? You bid 'em sell--" beatingthe counterpane with his stick--"you bid 'em sell two thousand twohundred pounds--at two hundred and seventy-five, that's near the mark!That's all they've got to do, the impudent puppies! Do you write,d'you hear, and tell 'em to do it!"

  Arthur cursed the old man's unreasonableness, and wondered what he wasto do. If there was going to be all this difficulty about theparticulars, what about the certificates? How was he to get them? Forthe Squire as he sat erect, thrusting forward his bandaged head, andclutching the stick that lay beside him, grew almost threatening. Hewas in arms in defence of his moneybags and his secrets, and hisnephew saw that it would take a bolder man than himself to cross him.

  He hesitated. "I am afraid, sir," he ventured at last, "there's adifficulty here that I had not foreseen. The certificates----"

  "They don't want the certificates--yet! Don't they say so? Plain as apikestaff!"

  "Perhaps, sir," doubtfully. "If Welshes have got them----"

  "Welshes have not got them!"

  Arthur did not know what to say to that. At last, in a tone asreasonable as he could compass, "I am afraid the difficulty is, sir,"he said, "that they cannot make out a transfer until they have theparticulars; which I fancy we can only get from the certificates."

  "Then they may go to blazes!" the Squire replied, and he lay down withhis face to the wall. Not he! There might be officials at the IndiaHouse who knew this or that and Welshes, who had acted for him inmaking one purchase or another, might know a part. But to no livingman had he ever entrusted the secret of his fortune, or the result ofthose long years of stinting and sparing and saving that had clearedthe mortgaged estate, and had been continued because habit was strongand age is penurious. No, to no man living! That was his secret whilethe breath was in him. Afterwards--but he was not going to give it upyet.

  Presently he bade Arthur go, and Arthur went, troubled in his mind,and much less assured of his position than he had been an hour before.He thanked his stars that he had not given way to the temptation tocut loose from the bank. It would never have done, he saw that now.And how was he going to extract his money, his six thousand, from thisunreasonable old dotard--for so he styled him in his wrath?

  However, the riddle solved itself before many hours had passed.

  That afternoon he was absent, and Jos, about whom Miss Peacock wasgrowing anxious, had gone out to take the air. The butler, left onguard, occupied himself with laying the table in the dining-room,where, if the Squire tapped the floor, he could hear him. He heard nosummons, but presently as he went about his work he heard someonemoving upstairs and he pricked up his ears. Surely the Squire was notgetting out of bed? Weak and blind as he was--but again he heard heavyfootsteps, and, thoroughly alarmed, the man lost no time. He hurriedup the stairs, and entered his master's room. The Squire was out ofbed. He was on his feet, clinging to the post at the foot of the bed,and feeling helplessly about him with the other hand.

  "Lord, ha' mercy!" Calamy cried, eying the gaunt figure with dismay.He hastened forward to support it.

  The Squire collapsed on the bed as soon as he was touched. "I canna doit," he groaned, "I canna do it. It's going round wi' me. Who is it?"

  "Calamy, sir," the butler answered, and added bluntly, "If you want toget into your coffin, master, you're going the right way to do it!"

  "Anyway, I canna do it," the Squire repeated, and remained motionlessfor a moment. "I couldn't manage the stairs if 'twere ever so."

  "You'd manage 'em one way. You'd fall down 'em. You get to bed, sir.You get to bed. There, I'll heave you up."

  "I'm weaker than I thought," the Squire muttered. He suffered himselfto be put into bed.

  "You've lost blood, sir, that's what it is," the butler said. "And atyour age it's not to be replaced in a week, nor a fortnight. You liestill, sir. Maybe in a month you'll be tramping the stairs. Butblindfold--it's the Lord's mercy as you didn't fall and only stop inKingdom Come! For if fall you did, I don't know where else you'dstop."

  "I'm afraid so. Anyway I canna do it!"

  "Only feet foremost."

  The Squire sighed and turned himself to the wall, perhaps to hide thetear that helplessness forced from old eyes. He couldn't do it, and hemust put up with the consequences. He could not any longer besufficient to himself. It was a sad thought, but apparently he made uphis mind to it, for twenty-four hours later, when Jos and Arthur werewith him, he sent the girl away. When she had gone he sought under thepillow for his keys, and after handling them for a time, "Is the doorshut? And no one here but you?"

  "We are quite alone, sir."

  "No one within hearing, lad?"

  "Not a soul, sir."

  "It's not that I mistrust the wench," the Squire muttered. "She's aGriffin and a good girl, a good girl. But she's a tongue like otherwomen." By this time he had found what he wanted, and holding thebunch by one of the keys he offered it to Arthur. "That's the key. Nowyou listen to me. Go down to the dining-room, and don't you doanything till you've locked the door and seen there's no one at thewindows. The panel, right side of the fireplace--are you minding me?Ay? Well, pass your hand down the moulding next the hearth and you'llfeel a crack across it, and, an inch below, another. They're so smallyou as good as can't see them, when you know they're there. Twist thatbit, top part to the right, and you'll see a key-hole. Turn the keyand pull, and the panel comes open, and you'll see a cupboard doorbehind it. Same key unlocks it. Are you minding me?"

  "I am, sir, I quite understand."

  "Well, on the middle shelf--you'll see a box. The key to that box isthe next on the bunch. Open it and you will have the India StockCertificates." The Squire sighed and for a moment was silent. "There'sone for two thousand two hundred, which will do it. Bring it here. Youneedn't," drily, "go routing among the others, once you've found it.Then lock up, and slip the moulding into place. But be sure, lad,before you do aught, that the door is locked."

  "I will be careful," Arthur assured him. "I quite understand, sir."

  "It's not that I distrust Jos," the Squire repeated--as if he defendedhimself against an accusation. "But tell a secret to a woman, and youtell it to the parish."

  "Shall I do it now, sir?"

  "Ay. And bring back the keys. Don't let 'em out of your hands."

  Arthur went downstairs, and as he descended the shallow steps hesmiled. Men, even the sharpest of men, were easy to manage if you hadpatience.

  The afternoon was drawing in. The corners in the hall were growingdim. The sky seen through the open door was pale green. The air camein from the garden, sweet but chilly, laden with the scent of lilacand gilly flowers. A single rook cawed. The peace of the country wasupon all. He could hear his mother and Josina talking somewhere withinthe house.

  He slipped into the dining-room and, locking himself in, looked roundhim. The paint on the panelled walls was faded, blistered in places bythe s
un, or soiled where elbows had rubbed it or the butler's traystanding against it through long years, had marked it. The panels werelarge, dating from Dutch William or Anne, of chestnut and set in heavymouldings.

  Arthur glanced at the windows to make sure that he was unseen, then hestepped to the hearth and felt for and found the bit of moulding, infront of which, though he had forgotten to mention it, the Squire hadhung an old almanac. Arthur twisted the upper end to the right,uncovered the key-hole, and within a minute had the inner door open.

  It masked a cupboard, contrived in the thickness of thechimney-breast, perhaps at the time when the open shaft had beenclosed and a smaller fireplace had been inserted. Inside, two shelvesformed three receptacles. In the uppermost were parcels of old letterssecured with dusty and faded ribands, and piled at random one onanother--the relics of the love-letters or law-letters of pastgenerations. In the lowest compartment were bigger bundles securedwith straps, which Arthur judged to contain leases and farmagreements, and the like. Some were of late date--he took up one ortwo bundles and looked at the endorsements--none of them appeared tobe very old.

  The middle space displayed a row of old ledgers and farm books, andstanding alone before them a small iron box. It was with this no doubtthat his business lay and he tried his key in it. The key fitted. Heopened the box.

  It contained three certificates and, though he had been bidden not torout among them, he felt it his duty to ascertain--for he wouldprobably have to inform the brokers--what was the total of theSquire's holding. They all three represented India Stock, and Arthur'seyes glistened as he noted the amount and figured up the value in hismind. One, as the Squire had said, was for two thousand two hundred,the other two were for two thousand five hundred each. Arthurcalculated that at the price of the day they were worth little shortof twenty thousand pounds. He withdrew the smallest certificate andlocked the box. He had done his errand, but as he went about to closethe cupboard-door he paused. He had seen old letters, and modernagreements and the like. But no old deeds. Where did the Squire keepthe title deeds of Garth? They were not here.

  At Welshes? Perhaps.

  Arthur glanced at the other side of the fireplace. There, preciselycorresponding with the almanac which he had removed, hung anold-fashioned silver sconce with a flat back serving for a reflector.A pair of snuffers flanked the candle-holder on one side, anextinguisher on the other. It was a piece which Arthur had admired forits age but had never seen in use. He stared at it, and as he closedthe cupboard and panel by which he stood, and replaced the bit ofmoulding, he hesitated. With the keys in his hand he cast a glance atthe windows, then he crossed the hearth, took down the sconce, and ranhis fingers down the moulding.

  Yes, here were the cracks, barely to be discovered by the fingers andnot at all by the eye. The bit of moulding, when he twisted it, movedstiffly, but it moved. With another glance over his shoulder heinserted the key, then he listened. All was quiet in the house.Outside, a wood-pigeon coo'd in a neighboring tree while a solitaryrook uttered a shrill "Bah-doo! Bah-doo!" not the common caw, but acry that he had often heard.

  Something in the stealthiness of his movements and the stillness ofthe house, whispered a warning to him, and he paused, his arm raised.Yet--why not? What could come of it? Knowledge was always useful, andif his business had lain with this second cupboard his uncle wouldhave sent him to it as freely as to the other. With an effort he shookoff his scruples, and to satisfy himself that he was doing no wrong helaughed. He turned the key and swung back the panel. He unlocked andopened the inner door.

  Here there were but two divisions. The lower one was piled high withplate; with a part, of a dinner-service, cups, bowls, candlesticks,wine-jugs, salt-cellers--a collection that, tarnished and dull as thepieces were, made Arthur's mouth water. Among them lay half a dozenleather cases which he fancied held jewellery, and more than a dozenbulky parcels--spoons and forks and the like. They had not beendisturbed, it was plain, for years, and he dared not touch them.

  On the shelf were two iron boxes, and arrayed before them four parcelsof deeds, old and discolored, with ends of green riband hanging fromthem, and here and there a great seal--one seal was of lead. They gaveout a damp, sour smell, the odor of slowly decaying sheepskin. Threeof the parcels related to farms which the Squire had bought withinArthur's memory. The fourth and largest bundle, in a coarse wrapper,neatly bound about with straps, had a label attached to it, "The TitleDeeds of the Garth Estate," and thrust under one of the straps was afolded slip of parchment. Arthur opened this and saw that it was amemorandum, dated fifty years before, of the deposit of the deeds tosecure the repayment of thirty-eight thousand pounds and interest.Below were receipts for instalments repaid at intervals of years, andopposite the last receipt appeared, in the Squire's hand "Cancelledand deeds returned--Thank God for His mercies!"

  Arthur felt a thrill of sympathy as he read the words. He returned theslip to its place and softly closed the door. He swung back the paneland secured it. He replaced the silver sconce.

  But though two inches of wood now intervened, he retained a vision ofthe bundle of deeds. It was not large, he could have carried it underhis arm. But it meant, that little parcel, power, wealth, position,the Garth Estate! It spoke to Arthur the banker--for whom wealth layin broad acres themselves, the farms and water-mills, the pieces ofpaper, not in gold and silver--as eloquently as the coverts anddingles, the wide-flung hill-side that he loved, spoke to the Squire.For the first time Arthur coveted Garth, valuing it not as the Squiredid for what it was, hill and dale spread under heaven, but for whatit was worth, for what might be made of it, for the uses to which itmight be put.

  "He has added to it. One could raise fifty thousand on it," hethought. And with fifty thousand what could one not do? With fiftythousand pounds, free money, added to the bank's resources, what mightnot be done? It was a golden vision that he saw, as he stood in theevening stillness with the scent of roses stealing into the room, andthe wood-pigeon cooing softly in the tree outside. Ay, what might henot do!

  But the Squire might be growing suspicious. He roused himself, sawthat all was as he had found it, and unlocking the door, he wentupstairs.

  "You've been a long time about it, young man," the Squire grumbled."What's amiss?"

  But Arthur was ready with his answer. "You told me to go about itquietly, sir. So I waited until the coast was clear. It's a capitalhiding-place. It's not to be found in a minute even when you knowwhere it is."

  "Ay, ay. It would take a clever rogue to find it," complacently.

  "I suppose it's old, sir?"

  "My grandfather put it in when the Scots were at Derby. And, mark ye,no one knows of it but Frederick Welsh--and now you. D'you be carefuland keep your mouth shut, lad. You ha' got the certificate?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, go about the business and get it done. And now do you send Josto me."

  Arthur made a mental note that the old man was changing at last--waslosing that hard grip on all about him which he had maintained forhalf a century; and he was confirmed in this idea by the ease withwhich the India Stock transaction presently went through. The brokersshowed themselves unusually complaisant. They wrote that, as thematter was personal to him, they were anxious that nothing should gowrong; and, as his customer was blind, they were forwarding with thetransfer on which the particulars had been inserted a duplicate inblank, in order that if the former were spoiled in the execution delaymight be avoided. This was irregular, but if the duplicate were notneeded, it could be returned and no harm done.

  Arthur thought this polite of them, and was flattered; he felt that hewas a client of value. But as it turned out the duplicate was notneeded; the Squire made nothing of the formality. His hand oncedirected to the proper place, he signed his name boldly andplainly--as he did most things; and Arthur and Jos added theirsignatures as witnesses. Ten days later the money was received, andfive-sixths of it was paid over to the bank. The duplicate transfer,overlooked at the moment, lay on the S
quire's bureau until it did notseem worth while to return it. Then Arthur, tired of coming upon itevery day, thrust it out of sight in a pigeonhole.

  He had other things to think of, indeed, for he was in high feather inthese days, while the summer sun climbed slowly to the zenith andbegan again to sink. He had two-fold interests. After a long dayspent in the bank he would ride out of town in the cool of theevening, and passing down the winding streets under the gables of theold black and white houses, he would cross the West Bridge. Bucketinghis horse up the rise that led from the river, he would leave the townbehind and see before him the road running straight and dusty towardsthe sunset-glow, which still shone above the Welsh hills. From thefields on either side came the sharp sound of the scythe-stone, thelaughter of hay-makers, the call of the wagoner to his team, thecreaking of the laden wheels over the turf. Partridges dustingthemselves in the road scuttled out of his way and presently tookwing; rabbits watched him from the covert-edge. The corncrake'spersistent note spoke rather of the hot hours that were past thanof the evening air that cooled his cheek. An aged simpleton in asmocked frock, the clown of the country-side, danced a jig before anale-house; a stray bullock gazed patiently at him from a pound. Thecountry-side lay quiet about him, and despite himself he owned thecharm of peace, the fall of night, the end of labor.

  But his thoughts still dwelt on the day's work. There had been adiscussion over Wolley's account. Wolley had been behaving ill.Ignoring the claim of the bank he had assigned a number of his railwayshares to meet a bill discounted elsewhere. The natural course wouldhave been to insist on the lien and to retain the shares. But theconsequences, as Ovington saw, might be serious. The step might notonly involve the bank in a loss, which he still hoped to avoid, but itmight imply taking over the mill--and it is not the business ofbankers to run mills. Arthur, on the other hand, who did not like theman, would have cut the knot and sent him to the devil.

  In the end Ovington had decided against Arthur. "We must be careful,"the banker had said. "Credit is like a house of cards. You take onecard away, you do not know how many may fall."

  "But if we don't teach him a lesson now?"

  "Quite true, lad. But--well, I will see him. If, as Rodd thinks, he isdrawing bills on men of straw, whose acceptances are worthless----"

  "That would be the devil!"

  "There will be an end of him--but not of him only. We must go warily,lad. To throw him down now----" the banker shook his head. "No, wewill give him one more chance. I will talk to him."

  "I should not have the patience."

  "That is one of the things you have to learn."

  Arthur reviewed the conversation as he rode, and retained his ownopinion. He thought Ovington too apprehensive. He would himself haveplayed a bolder game and cut Wolley and his losses, if losses theremust be. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he dismissed the matter andallowed his thoughts to go before him to Garth, to the old man, to hisfavor, and the path it opened to Josina. Yes, Josina. He was not doingmuch there, but there was no hurry, and despite the charms of Garth hehad not quite made up his mind. When he did, he anticipated nodifficulty.

  Still something was due to her, were it only as a matter of form; andshe was pale and sweet and appealing. A little love-making would notbe unpleasant these summer evenings, though he had so far held off,haunted by a foolish hankering after Betty: Betty with her sparkle andcolor, her wit and high spirit, ay, and her very temper, mutinouslittle rebel as she was--her temper which, manlike, he longed to tame.

  Ten minutes later saw him in the Squire's room, entertaining him withscraps of county gossip and the latest news from town. Into the dullroom, with its drab hanging and shadowy portraits, where the old mansat by his fireless grate, he came like a gleam of sunshine, his laughlighting up the dim places, his voice expelling the tedium of the longday. He brought with him the new Quarterly, or the last _MorningPost_. He had news of what Sir Harry had lost at Goodwood, of Mytton'slast scrape, of the poaching affray at my lord's. He had a joke forJosina and a teasing word for Miss Peacock--who idolized him.

  And he had tact. He could listen as well as talk. He heard withinterest who had called to ask after the Squire, whose landau andoutriders had turned on the narrow sweep, and whose curricle; whathumbler visitors had left their respects at the stables or thebackdoor, and what was Calamy's last scrap of dolefulness.

  He was the universal favorite. He had taken the length of the Squire'sfoot; it had been an easier matter than he had anticipated. But evenin his cup there was a sour drop. He had his occasional misgivings andnow and then he suffered a shock. One day it was, "What about yourcoat, lad?"

  "My coat?" Arthur stared at the old man. He did not understand.

  "Ay. You thought that I'd forgotten it. But I'm not that shaken. Whatabout it?"

  Now, between the darkness of the night and the confusion, Arthur hadnot noticed the damage done to Clement's overcoat. Consequently hecould make nothing of the Squire's words and he tried to pass thematter off. "Oh, it's all right, sir," he said. He waited forsomething to enlighten him.

  "Can you wear it?"

  "Oh yes."

  "The deuce you can!" The Squire was surprised. "Then all I can say is,you've found a d--d good cleaner, lad. If you got that blood off--butas you did, all's well. I was afeared I'd owe you a new coat, my boy.I'd not forgotten it, but I knew that you'd not be wearing it thisweather, and I thought in another week or two I'd be getting thisbandage off. Then I'd see how it was, and what we could do with it."

  Arthur understood then, and a thrill of alarm ran through him. What ifthe Squire began--but no, the danger was over, and as quickly aspossible he rid himself of fear. He was not a fool to start atshadows. Things were going so well with him that he had no mind tospare for trifles, and no time to look aside.