by Anne Moore
Billy soon caught up with him, breathless and delighted. ‘There, see, that was a good thing to do with your money. And you can afford it, Mr Scrooge, can't you?'
Scrooge could barely speak, hardly breathe. ‘Yes, yes,’ he gasped. The word came out as he exhaled, for he was struggling to find the strength.
After another half a street he had regained some of his composure, and he was able to glance down at Billy, who was trotting along beside him.
'The trouble is, Billy,’ he said, ‘there are a lot of poor people in London. And a lot more in the industrial north. Believe me, I have seen them. And for that matter there is grinding poverty in the countryside too. If I gave a pound to each and every one of those people, my money would soon be gone, but none of them would be all that much better off. So while I do not begrudge that poor woman my money, Billy, I'm not sure that's the answer.'
CHAPTER 10
When Scrooge arrived back at his office he was told that a letter had been delivered by hand. A young woman had brought it, Cratchit said.
Scrooge opened the envelope and discovered that it contained a note from Mrs Bannister, the local Vicar's wife. Would he care to call on her for coffee, at about ten-thirty a.m.? Today.
Well, normally Scrooge would have dispatched such a note to the waste-paper basket in short order. ‘Humbug!’ he would have said. Social frippery and time-wasting! Ignore it. Get back to work! Why should a man of business take coffee with a lady, when he should be marching ever onward, earning ever more and more pounds—pounds to be spent on.... Well, spent on what?
Yes, that was the problem. The old Scrooge would have had no truck with such an invitation. But the new Scrooge was a somewhat different man. He sighed when he read the note, and sat down heavily at his desk.
He remembered Mrs Bannister very well from their meeting on Christmas Day. He remembered her sister too, the widow of Pewsey. Both of them were well-rounded, good-looking women, and Scrooge was not immune to the charms of such ladies. If truth were told, he was rather fond of their company. It was just that, in the past, there had been more pressing matters to attend to than taking coffee with them of a morning. There was always money to be made if a man was on the spot, in the ‘Change, ears pricked and eyes wary.
Although tempted, the new Scrooge was still cautious about accepting this invitation. To begin with, there was the question of what the lady wanted. For she would assuredly want something: she was not inviting him round to her house just because she liked the cut of his jib. Dear me no. Respectable ladies who were married to vicars did not indulge in dalliance. Especially not with elderly and not very prepossessing bachelors, even if they were well heeled. So if he accepted a cup or two of Mrs Bannister's coffee he would undoubtedly be stung for some good cause or other.
Scrooge sighed again, and hesitated. But then he thought, well, dammit, why not? I can afford it.
He put his hat and coat back on and moved into the outer office.
'Going out,’ he called to Cratchit and Billy. ‘Won't be long.'
The Reverend Mr Bannister's vicarage was a modest town-house. It was part of a terrace located quite close to the church, and it was no different on the outside from a score of other houses in the street.
Scrooge rang the doorbell and was admitted by a maid. Pretty girl. Called him by his name too, so she had evidently been briefed to expect him. Sure of herself, this Mrs Bannister.
The maid led the way down the short hall and showed Scrooge into one of the front rooms.
Mrs Bannister was there already. She rose to greet him and they exchanged the usual pleasantries.
While Scrooge was following his hostess's suggestion that he should make himself comfortable, he made a quick and discreet survey of his surroundings.
This was a lady's room, by the look of it—the female equivalent of a man's study. There were bits of sewing scattered here and there; a table which evidently functioned as a desk, with correspondence upon it; and a good warm fire. The chairs were well cushioned, and the two windows were tall and wide, with almost dazzling light reflected up from the street outside.
'Just the pair of us, then?’ inquired Scrooge, when he was seated.
Mrs Bannister smiled. ‘Just us two, Mr Scrooge. Do you feel the need of a chaperone?'
Scrooge smiled back. ‘I think our reputations will survive intact without one.'
Mrs Bannister came straight to the point. ‘Mr Scrooge, I understand from Mr Redmayne that when he called on you yesterday afternoon, you gave him a most generous check in support of his charitable work.'
Ah yes. Redmayne. The plump fellow.
'Yes, I believe I did,’ said Scrooge. ‘It made me hand tremble something shocking, but I managed to sign the check in the end. After my clerk had assured me I could afford it. Several times. I was rude to Redmayne on Christmas Eve, do you see. He called on me then with a friend, another portly fellow, and I'm afraid I was less than polite. So when I saw him later, in the street, I apologized and said I would make good my omission. Which I did.'
'Good. Splendid.'
'I suppose the word has now got around that Scrooge has gone soft in his old age and is an easy touch.'
'No, no,’ said Mrs Bannister slowly. ‘No, I would not say that. In fact, the word is that you are seldom a generous donor.'
'Correct.'
'But why not? You are a Christian.'
'I wouldn't call myself a Christian.'
'You came to church.'
'True. But then I've walked into a stable from time to time, and that doesn't make me a horse.'
Immediately Scrooge regretted his sharp tone.
'I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘I apologize for that uncalled-for remark.'
Mrs Bannister laughed good-humoredly. ‘Never fear, Mr Scrooge. Your reputation for plain speaking has preceded you.'
'In any case,’ Scrooge continued, ‘what I say is true. I was brought up in the Church of England, as you would expect, but when I was a youth I began to have doubts about religion, and nowadays I believe scarcely a word of it.'
Mrs Bannister smiled again, which took Scrooge somewhat by surprise. ‘Perhaps it is just that you have not yet found the right religion,’ she suggested.
Before Scrooge could reply to that, there was a knock on the door and the maid came in to serve them coffee.
There was a pause in the conversation while the maid carried out her duties. She was a girl of about eighteen, fair-haired with blue eyes, and it was Scrooge's impression that she looked at him very directly, as if anxious to discern what sort of a man it was who was taking refreshment with her mistress. Could he be entirely trusted? Was he a suitable sort of companion? Was her mistress safe with him? Those seemed to be the questions she was asking herself, and her eyes were frank and faintly alarming.
Scrooge distracted himself by taking a closer look at his hostess.
Mrs Bannister was in her mid-thirties, he estimated. Well dressed, but without ostentation. She had no airs and graces, and indeed had the look of a woman who was quite willing to undertake domestic chores from time to time. On a table beside her was some sewing work in progress, and Scrooge sensed that, had she not thought it discourteous, she would have carried on with her sewing while talking to him.
When the maid had left the room, Scrooge decided to take a direct approach himself. ‘Tell me, Mrs Bannister, why have you invited me to see you? The church roof, is it? Or is there some other scheme which requires support?'
Mrs Bannister evidently took no offense at the suggestion that she had an ulterior motive. ‘I have no immediate request to make of you, Mr Scrooge. But on Christmas Day, when we spent some time together at your nephew's house, I formed the impression that you were in need of someone to talk to.'
Scrooge was astonished.
'Talk to?'
'Yes.'
'What about?'
'Mr Scrooge, one can see at a glance that you are a troubled man. A man who is dissatisfied with his life, and is thi
nking of change.'
Scrooge gave a nervous laugh. ‘How on earth can you tell that?'
'I was born on Halloween, and therefore have the second sight. Well known for it. Besides, reading people's minds from their faces is a gift that runs in my family. My sister, who is a witch, is even better at it than I. We can see things which others are blind to.'
Scrooge assumed that all this was a joke, and he chuckled politely. But Mrs Bannister was serious.
'Come now. Is it or is it not the case that you are wrestling with a problem? Something which perturbs you. Which causes you to sigh and frown so severely, and disturbs your sleep.'
This was so perceptive an analysis of his situation that Scrooge found himself quite unable to dissemble.
'Well, yes,’ he mumbled. ‘Yes, since you put it to me so plainly, I have to agree, that is pretty much my position.'
At first he was disinclined to say more, to be as taciturn and surly as usual. But then he thought, well dammit, in for a penny, in for a pound. If he did not talk to this lady he would soon feel the need to talk to someone else.
'It is true,’ he began haltingly, ‘that in these past few months I have come to understand that I don't want to go on as I am. I am not really very good at putting my feelings into words, ma'am, but I have been thinking about my future for some time. Since my fiftieth birthday, in fact. And it has made me bad-tempered—more than usually bad-tempered—and I have found myself dreaming peculiar dreams. At Christmas-time the whole thing seemed to come to a head. All that goodwill to all men stuff—I can't tell you how irritating I found it. And then I remembered Marley, my old business partner, for he died on Christmas Eve, do you see, seven years ago. And I knew for sure that I did not want to die as Marley did. He was a very rich man, yet he died alone. And miserable. He was known to all as foul-tempered, stingy, and mean. In his last year or two he found no satisfaction in anything, not even his work. And there was not a friend at his funeral, save me.'
'A nasty fate,’ agreed Mrs Bannister. ‘So you are unhappy, Mr Scrooge.'
Scrooge couldn't quite accept that. ‘Not unhappy, I would say, as such. But not happy, either. For many years my work was sufficient to fill my day, and to give me a sense of purpose. But now.... Now the work no longer seems enough.'
Mrs Bannister poured him another cup of coffee.
'Tell me about your work.'
The old Scrooge would have snarled back. Without even trying to be polite he would have told the lady to mind her own business. But today he paused, gathered his thoughts, and sought to summarize his activities in as brief a form as he could.
'These days,’ he said, ‘I deal almost entirely in money. In former years, when Marley and I first started together, we bought and sold goods. Had a warehouse to store them in. But as the years passed, and certainly since Marley died, I have got rid of all that, and today I simply buy and sell money.'
'You will have to be a little more precise. For we vicars’ wives know little of the world of commerce.'
Scrooge was beginning to doubt that, but he willingly explained.
'The way it works is like this. For part of each working day, I sit in the Royal Exchange, and men of business come and talk to me, much as I am talking to you now. They seek support for a business—either an existing business or a new one which they intend to start. They tell me a story, show me papers and plans. And they ask me to lend them money to create or extend that business. I either say yes, or no. If I say yes, we discuss terms. How much money do they want, and how long for? And at what rate of interest, for there must be interest—that is society's decision, not mine. Other cultures do not permit usury, but ours does. And what security can they offer for the loan? For there must be security—again, that is society's decision, not mine alone. It is a custom and practice of the world of business as a whole.'
'And is it your own money that you lend?'
'Some of it is, but not all, by any means. Over the years I have acquired some reputation as a man of good judgment. So there are certain individuals and certain institutions which have authorized me to act on their behalf. From them I can borrow money at a lower rate than it would be available to others. And I therefore have a high responsibility to those lenders, for they in turn look after the interests of some vulnerable members of society—the widows and orphans.'
'And if you approve the business plans that are put to you, what then?'
Scrooge moved rapidly on. He was at ease now, dealing with matters which were second nature to him.
'Well, when all the details are settled, the loan is made and business commences. And that is the basis on which our national welfare rests, of course. It rests on the efforts of businessmen and manufacturers, buying and selling and creating wealth. So in my darkest hours I remind myself that the work which I do is worthwhile work. A serious and thoughtful man might call it moral and noble work, though to hear some speak you would think it was a form of robbery.'
'These loans that you make—are they long-term or short-term?'
Interesting question from a woman, thought Scrooge. But then, the more he spoke to her, the more unusual and the better-informed this lady appeared.
'I never lend for more than three years, and often for less. And with luck, and much hard work and effort, each business that I support will prosper, the loan will be repaid, and the cycle begins again.'
Mrs Bannister thought for a moment. ‘And what if the business does not prosper?'
'Why then I must call in the security that was offered.'
'And it is this, I suppose—this calling-in of security as you describe it—which has created your reputation as a hard man of business, Mr Scrooge.'
Once again, Scrooge was taken aback to find that a vicar's wife should appear to know so much of his reputation. Judging by her comment, she had heard him spoken of in less than complimentary terms. But he struggled to give a reasoned reply.
'Yes, indeed,’ he admitted. ‘If I have, as you say, as reputation as a hard man—and I would like to think that I have a reputation as a fair man—then that is its source. But I make no apology for it. I have to be able to function. When repayments are due, I demand repayment. If I advance the capital for a venture, and the venture fails, despite my hopes and the best efforts of the entrepreneur, then I need that capital back to finance other and better schemes. That is in society's interest as well as my own.'
'And for that some call you hard.'
'So be it. But I am no harder than life. This morning, for example, my doctor told me about a young man who had died unexpectedly. Now that is a bitter blow for his wife and family. It is unforeseen, unexpected. But my blows, if blows they be, are seen far off. They arise from arrangements freely made and willingly entered into. A man who borrows from me or through me knows what to expect. He knows my reputation or he would not come to me. I may, as you say, have a reputation as a hard man, but I am also known as a good judge of a business proposition. If I refuse a plan, the applicant knows that his proposal is flawed. It gives him reason to rethink his ideas. And that advice comes free.'
'I see. So much for what you do, Mr Scrooge, and have been doing for many years. But what is it about this situation that troubles you?'
'Ah. Well now.’ Scrooge leaned back in his chair. ‘What troubles me is that the work has ceased to be interesting. Ceased to be rewarding, in and of itself. For many years it was a satisfaction and a pleasure to use my wits in the world of business—to pick winners and reject losers. I reveled in my work, Mrs Bannister, reveled in it. Weekends were a tedious interruption—holidays unthinkable. And the profit and loss account provided a handy measure of how well or how badly I was doing. It was a measure of how far I was fulfilling my ambition. And, please note, the account was a measure not of personal greed, but of how far I was able to help others and benefit the community. But now—well, somehow, the work has lost its relish. Now, it seems to be just the same old thing, day after day.'
'But what else can you d
o with your time?'
'Exactly. You are very percipient. For the truth is, I have no other interests. What is more, I have built up a considerable sum in capital—my own money, and the money which was left to me by Marley—and if I do not continue to operate as a money broker then I have to ask myself what is to be done with it.'
'So we are back to charity and philanthropy, are we?'
Scrooge sighed yet again and immediately asked forgiveness for doing so.
'I apologize for seeming impatient. The question is a fair one, a proper one, and I should not appear to be irritated by it. Yes, indeed, we are back to the possibility of charity, and philanthropy. But it is against my instincts just to hand over money without much thought of how it is to be used. As I have explained to you, my whole life has been involved in investing, and that, I think, is what I wish to continue to do, but in a different way. For instance, within the last few days I have made the acquaintance of a young boy.'
'Billy.'
'Yes, Billy.’ At this stage in the conversation he was not remotely surprised that she knew the name. ‘When I came across him, Billy was homeless and jobless, and without help he would probably have come to a bad end. But with the assistance of my housekeeper and clerk I have picked this boy off the streets. I have bathed him, clothed him, had him checked over by a doctor, and have given him a modest job at a modest wage. That is an investment, Mrs Bannister. An investment, if you will, in human capital. And I think I could be persuaded to do more of the same.'
Mrs Bannister nodded and seemed very thoughtful. ‘It is as I suspected, Mr Scrooge. You have acted in respect of the boy in much the same way as I have acted in regard to some girls. And like all investments, some succeed better than others. But is it true to say that, subject to certain qualifications, you are no longer a man in search of good businesses, but a man in search of good works which require financial support?'
Scrooge thought about it. ‘Subject to qualifications—yes.'
Mrs Bannister nodded. ‘Good....'