CHAPTER XII
But as the Squire turned to the left by the Stalls he saw his lawyer,Frederick Welsh--rather above most lawyers were the Welsh brothers,by-blows it was said of a great house--and Welsh stopped him. "You'rewanted at the Bench, Squire, if you please," he said. "His lordship isthere, and they are waiting for you."
"But it's not time--by an hour, man!"
"No, but it's a special case, and will take all day, I'm afraid. Hislordship says that he won't begin until you come. It's that caseof----" the lawyer whispered a few words. "And the Chief Constabledoes not quite trust--you understand? He's anxious that you should bethere."
The Squire resigned himself, "Very well, I'll come," he said.
He could go to the bank afterwards, but he might not have complied soreadily if his vanity had not been tickled. The Justices of that daybore a heavier burden than their successors--_hodie nominis umbrae_.With no police force they had to take the initiative in the detectionas well as in the punishment of crime. Marked men, belonging to aprivileged class, they had to do invidious things and to enforceobnoxious laws. They represented the executive, and they shared alikeits odium and its fearlessness. For hardly anything is more remarkablein the history of that time than the courage of the men who held thereins. Unpopular, assailed by sedition, undermined by conspiracy, andpressed upon by an ever-growing public feeling, the few held onunblenching, firm in the belief that repression was the only policy,and doubting nothing less than their right to rule. They dined anddrank, and presented a smiling face to the world, but great and smallthey ran their risks, and that they did not go unscathed, the fate ofPerceval and of Castlereagh, the collapse of Liverpool, and theshortened lives of many a lesser man gave proof.
But even among the firm there are degrees, and in all bodies it is onthe shoulders of one or two that the onus falls. Of the one or two inAldshire, the Squire was one. My lord might fill the chair, SirCharles might assent, but it was to Griffin that their eyes wanderedwhen an unpleasant decision had to be taken or the public showed itsteeth. And the old man knew that this was so, and was proud of it.
To-day, however, as he watched the long hand move round the clock, hehad less patience than usual. Because he must be at the bank before itclosed, everything seemed to work against him. The witnesses weresullen, the evidence dragged, Acherley went off on a false scent, andbeing whipped back, turned crusty. The Squire fidgeted and scowled,and then, twenty minutes before the bank closed, and when with hiseyes on the clock he was growing desperate, the chairman suggestedthat they should break off for a quarter of an hour. "Confound me, ifI can sit any longer," he said. "I must have a mouthful of something,Griffin."
The Squire seldom took more than a hunch of bread at mid-day and coulddo without that, but he was glad to agree, and a minute later he wascrossing the Market Place towards the bank. It happened that businesswas brisk at the moment. Rodd, at a side desk, was showing a customerhow to draw a cheque. At the main counter a knot of farmers wereproducing, with protruding tongues and hunched shoulders, somethingwhich might pass for a signature. Two clerks were aiding them, and fora moment the Squire stood unseen and unregarded. Impatiently he tappedthe counter with his stick, on which Rodd saw him, and, deserting histask, came hurriedly to him.
The Squire thrust his cheque across the counter. "In gold," he said.
The cashier scanned the cheque, his hand in the till. "Four, seven,six-ten," he murmured. Then his face grew serious, and withoutglancing at the Squire he consulted a book which lay beside him."Four, seven, six-ten," he repeated. "I am afraid--one moment, if youplease, sir!" Breaking off he made two steps to a door behind him anddisappeared through it.
He returned a moment later, followed by Ovington himself. The banker'sface was grave, but his tone retained its usual blandness. "Good day,Mr. Griffin," he said. "You are drawing the whole of your balance, Isee. I trust that that does not mean that you are--making any change?"
"That is what it does mean, sir," the Squire answered.
"Of course, it is entirely your affair----"
"Entirely."
"But we are most anxious to accommodate you. If there is anything thatwe can put right, any cause of dissatisfaction----"
"No," said the Squire grimly. "There is nothing that you can putright. It is only that I do not choose to do business with my family."
The banker bowed with dignity. The incident was not altogetherunexpected. "With most people, a connection of the kind would be inour favor," he said.
"Not with me. And as my time is short----"
The banker bowed. "In gold, I think? May we not send it for you? Itwill be no trouble."
"No, I thank you," the Squire grunted, hating the other for hiscourtesy. "I will take it, if you please."
"Put it in a strong bag, Mr. Rodd," Ovington said. "I shall stillhope, Mr. Griffin, that you will think better of it." And, bowing, hewished the Squire "Good day," and retired.
Rodd was a first-class cashier, but he felt the Squire eyes boringinto him, and he was twice as long in counting out the gold as heshould have been. The consequence was that when the Squire left thebank, the hour had struck, Dean's was closed, and the Bench waswaiting for him. He paused on the steps considering what he should do.He could not leave so large a sum unguarded in the Justices' room, norcould he conveniently take it with him into the Court.
At that moment his eyes fell on Purslow, the draper, who was standingat the door of his shop, and he crossed over to him. "Here, man, putthis in your safe and turn the key on it," he said. "I shall call forit in an hour or two."
"Honored, I am sure," said the gratified tradesman, as he took thebag. But when he felt its weight and guessed what was in it, "Excuseme, sir. Hadn't you better seal it, sir?" he said. "It seems to be alarge sum."
"No need. I shall call for it in an hour. Lock it up yourself,Purslow. That's all."
Purslow, as pleased as if the Squire had given him a large order,assured him that he would do so, and the old man stalked across to thecourt, where business kept him, fidgeting and impatient, until hard onseven. Nor did he get away then without unpleasantness.
For unluckily Acherley, who had been charged to approach him aboutthe Railroad, had been snubbed in the course of the day. Always anill-humored man, he saw his way to pay the Squire out, and chose thismoment to broach the delicate subject. He did it with as little tactas temper.
"'Pon my honor, Griffin, you know--about this Railroad," he said,tackling the old man abruptly, as they were putting on their coats."You really must open your eyes, man, and move with the times. Thedevil's in it if we can stand still always. You might as well go backto your old tie-wig, you know. You are blocking the way, and if youwon't think of your own interests, you ought to think of the town. Ican tell you," bluntly, "you are making yourself d--d unpopularthere."
Very seldom of late had anyone spoken to the Squire in that tone, andhis temper was up in a minute. "Unpopular? I don't understand you," hesnapped.
"Well, you ought to!"
"Unpopular? What's that? Unpopular, sir! What the devil have we inthis room to do with popularity? I make my horse go my way, I don't gohis, nor ask if he likes it. Damn your popularity!"
Acherley had his answer on his tongue, but Woosenham interposed."But, after all, Griffin," he said mildly, "we must move with thetimes--even if we don't give way to the crowd. There's no man whoseopinion I value more than yours, as you know, but I think you do us aninjustice."
"An injustice?" the Squire sneered. "Not I! The fact is, Woosenham,you are letting others use you for a stalking horse. Some are fools,and some--I leave you to put a name to them! If you'd give twothoughts to this Railroad yourself, you'd see that you have nothing togain by it, except money that you can do without! While you stand tolose more than money, and that's your good name!"
Sir Charles changed color. "My good name?" he said, bristling feebly."I don't understand you, Griffin."
One of the others, seeing a quarrel
in prospect, intervened. "There,there," he said, hoping to pour oil on the troubled waters. "Griffindoesn't mean it, Woosenham. He doesn't mean----"
"But I do mean it," the old man insisted. "I mean every word of it."He felt that the general sense was against him, but that was nothingto him. Wasn't he the oldest present, and wasn't it his duty to stopthis folly if he could? "I tell you plainly, Woosenham," he continued,"it isn't only your affair, if you lend your name to this business.You take it up, and a lot of fools who know nothing about it, who knowless, by G--d, than you do, will take it up too! And will put theirmoney in it and go daundering up and down quoting you as if you wereSolomon! And that tickles you! But what will they say of you if theaffair turns out to be a swindle--another South Sea Bubble, by G--d!And half the town and half the country are ruined by it! What'll theysay of you then--and of us?"
Acherley could be silent no longer. "Nobody's going to be ruined byit!" he retorted--he saw that Sir Charles looked much disturbed."Nobody! If you ask me, I think what you're saying is d--d nonsense."
"It may be," the Squire said sternly. "But just another word, please.I want you to understand, Woosenham, that this is not your affaironly. It touches every one of us. What are we in this room? If weare those to whom the administration of this county is entrusted, letus act as such--and keep our hands clean. But if we are a set ofmoney-changers and bill-mongers," with contempt, "stalking horses forsuch men as Ovington the banker, dirtying our hands with all thetricks of the money market--that's another matter. But I warn you--youcan't be both. And for my part--we don't any longer wear swords toshow we are gentlemen, but I'm hanged if I'll wear an apron or haveanything to do with this business. A railroad? Faugh! As if horses'legs and Telford's roads aren't good enough for us, or as iftea-kettles will ever beat the Wonder coach--fifteen hours to London."
Acherley had been restrained with difficulty, and he now broke loose."Griffin," he cried, "you're damned offensive! If you wore a sword asyou used to----"
"Pooh! Pooh!" said the Squire and shrugged his shoulders, while SirCharles, terribly put out both by the violence of the scene and by thepicture which the Squire had drawn, put in a feeble protest. "I mustsay," he said, "I think this uncalled for, Griffin. I think you mighthave spared us this. You may not agree with us----"
"But damme if he shall insult us!" Acherley cried, trembling withpassion.
"Pooh, pooh!" said the Squire again. "I'm an old man, and it isuseless to talk to me in that strain. I've spoken my mind, and----"
"Ay, and you horse two of the coaches!" Acherley retorted. "And make aprofit by that, dirty or no! But where'd your profit be, if yourfather who rode post to London had stood pat where he was? And sethimself against coaches as you set yourself against the railroad?"
That was a shrewd hit and the Squire did not meet it. Instead, "Well,right or wrong," he said, "that's my opinion. And right or wrong, norailroad crosses my land, and that's my last word!"
"We'll see about that," Acherley answered, bubbling with rage. "Thereare more ways than one of cooking a goose."
"Just so. But----," with a steady look at him, "which is the cook andwhich is the goose, Acherley? Perhaps you'll find that out some day."And the Squire clapped on his hat--he had already put on his shabbyold driving coat. But he had still a word to say. "I'm the oldest manhere," he said, looking round upon them, "and I may take a liberty andask no man's pleasure. You, Woosenham, and you gentlemen, let thisrailroad alone. If you are going to move at twenty-five miles an hour,then, depend upon it, more things will move than you wot of, and morethan you'll like. Ay, you'll have movement--movement enough andchanges enough if you go on! So I say, leave it alone, gentlemen.That's my advice."
He went out with that and stamped down the stairs. He had not soughtthe encounter, and, now that he was alone, his knees shook a littleunder him. But he had held his own and spoken his mind, and on thewhole he was content with himself.
The same could not be said of those whom he had warned. Acherley,indeed, abused him freely, but the majority were impressed, and SirCharles, who respected his opinion, was sorely shaken. He put no trustin Acherley, whose debts and difficulties were known, and Ovington wasnot there to reassure him. He valued the good opinion of his world,and what, he reflected, if the Squire were right? What if in goinginto this scheme he had made a mistake? The picture that Griffin haddrawn of town and country pointing the finger at him rose like anightmare before him, and would, he knew, accompany him home anddarken his dinner-table. And Ovington? Ovington was doubtless a cleverman and, as a banker, well versed in these enterprises. ButFauntleroy--Fauntleroy, with whose name the world had rung thesetwelve months past, he, too, had been clever and enterprising andplausible. Yet what a fate had been his, and what losses had befallenall who had trusted him, all who had been involved with him!
Sir Charles went home an unhappy man. He wished that Griffin had notwarned him, or that he had warned him earlier. Of what use was awarning when his lot was cast and he was the head and front of thematter, President of the Company, Chairman of the Board?
Meanwhile the Squire stood on the steps of the Court House, cursinghis man. The curricle was not there, Thomas was not there, it wasgrowing dark, and a huge pile of clouds, looming above the roofs towestward, threatened tempest. The shopkeepers were putting up theirshutters, the packmen binding up their bundles, stall-keepers hurryingaway their trestles, and the Market Place, strewn with the rubbish anddebris of the day, showed dreary by the failing light. In the HighStreet there was still some traffic, and in the lanes and alleysaround candles began to shine out. A one-legged sailor, caterwaulingon a crazy fiddle, had gathered a small crowd before one of thetaverns.
"Hang the man! Where is he?" the Squire muttered, looking about himwith a disgusted eye, and wishing himself at home. "Where is therogue?"
Then Thomas, driving slowly and orating to a couple of men who walkedbeside the carriage, came into view. The Squire roared at him, andThomas, taken by surprise, whipped up his horses so sharply that heknocked over a hawker's basket. Still storming at him the old manclimbed to his seat and took the reins. He drove round the corner intoBride Hill, and stopped at Purslow's door.
The draper was at the carriage wheel before it stopped. He had the bagin his hand, but he did not at once hand it up. "Excuse me, excuse theliberty, sir," he said, lowering his voice and glancing at Thomas,"but it's a large sum, sir, and it's late. Hadn't I better keep ittill morning?"
The Squire snapped at him. "Morning? Rubbish, man! Put it in." He maderoom for the bag at his feet.
But the draper still hesitated. "It will be dark in ten minutes, sir,and the road--it's true, no one has been stopped of late, but----"
"I've never been stopped in my life," the Squire rejoined. "Put it in,man, and don't be a fool. Who's to stop me between here and Garth?"
Purslow muttered something about the safe side, but he complied. Hehanded in the bag, which gave out a clinking sound as it settleditself beside the Squire's feet. The old man nodded his thanks andstarted his horses.
He drove down Bride Hill, and by the Stalls, where the taps werehumming, and the inns were doing a great business. Passing one or twobelated carts, he turned to the right and descended to the bridge, theold houses with their galleries and gables looming above him as forthree centuries they had loomed above the traveller by the Welsh road.He rumbled over the bridge, the wide river flowing dark below him.Then he trotted sharply up Westwell, passing by the inns that in olddays had served those who arrived after the gates were closed.
Now he faced the open country and the wet west wind, and he settledhimself down in his seat and shook up his horses. As he did so hisfoot touched the bag, and again the gold gave out a clinking sound.