Ovington's Bank

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER IV

  In remote hamlets a few churches still recall the fashion ofGarthmyle. It was a wide church of two aisles having clear windows,through which a flood of cold light fell on the whitewashed walls, andon the maze of square pews, some colored drab, some a pale blue,through which narrow alleys, ending in culs-de-sac, wound at random.The Griffin memorials, though the earliest were of Tudor date, weresmall and mean, and the one warm scrap of color in the church wasfurnished by the faded red curtain which ran on iron rods round theSquire's pew and protected his head from draughts. That curtain waswatched with alarm by many, for at a certain point in the service itwas the Squire's wont to draw it aside, and to stand for a time withhis back to the east while his hard eyes roved over the congregation.Woe to the absentees! His scrutiny completed, with a grunt whichcarried terror to the hearts of their families, he would draw thecurtain, turn about again, and compose himself to sleep.

  In its severity and bleakness the church fairly matched the man, who,old and gaunt and grey, was its central figure; who, like it,embodied, meagrely and plainly as he dressed, the greatness of oldassociations, and like it, if in a hard and forbidding way, owned andexacted an unchanging standard of duty.

  For he was the Squire. Whatever might be done elsewhere, nothing wasdone in that parish without him. The parson, aged and apathetic, knewbetter than to cross his will--had he not to get in his tithes? Thefarmers were his tenants, the overseers rested in the hollow of hishand. Hardly a man was hired and no man was relieved, no old wife sentback to her distant settlement, no lad apprenticed, but as he pleased.He was the Squire.

  On Sundays the tenants waited in the churchyard until he arrived, andit was this which deceived Arthur when, Mrs. Bourdillon feelingunequal to the service, he reached the church next morning. He foundthe porch empty, and concluding that his uncle had entered, he madehis way to the Cottage pew, which was abreast of the great man's. Butin the act of sitting down he saw, glancing round the red curtain,that Josina was alone. It struck him then that it would be pleasant tosit beside her and entertain himself with her conscious face, and hecrossed over and let himself into the Squire's pew. He had thesatisfaction of seeing the blood mount swiftly to her cheeks, but thenext moment he found the old man--who had that morning sent word thathe would be late--at his elbow, in the act of entering behind him.

  It was too late to retreat, and with a face as hot as Josina's hestumbled over the straw-covered footstool and sat down on her otherhand. He knew that the Squire would resent his presence after what hadhappened, and when he stood up his ears were tingling. But he soonrecovered himself. He saw the comic side of the situation, and longbefore the sermon was over, he found himself sufficiently at ease toenjoy some of the _agrements_ which he had foreseen.

  Carved roughly with a penknife on the front of the pew was a heartsurmounting two clasped hands. Below each hand were initials--his ownand Josina's; and he never let the girl forget the August afternoon,three years before, when he had induced her to do her share. She hadrefused many times; then, like Eve in the garden, she had succumbed ona drowsy afternoon when they had had the pew to themselves and thedrone of the preacher's voice had barely risen above the hum of thebees. She had been little more than a child at the time, and eversince that day the apple had been to her both sweet and bitter. Forshe was not a child now, and, a woman, she rebelled against Arthur'spower to bring the blood to her cheeks and to play--with looks ratherthan words, for of these he was chary--upon feelings which she couldnot mask.

  Of late resentment had been more and more gaining the upper hand withher. But to-day she forgave. She feared that which might pass betweenhim and his uncle at the close of the service, and she had not theheart to be angry. However, when the dreaded moment came she waspleasantly disappointed. When they reached the porch, "Take my seat,take my meat," the Squire said grimly. "Are you coming up?"

  "If I may, sir?

  "I want a word with you."

  This was not promising, but it might have been worse, and little morewas said as the three passed, the congregation standing uncovered,down the Churchyard Walk and along the road to Garth.

  The Squire, always taciturn, strode on in silence, his eyes on hisfields. The other two said little, feeling trouble in the air.Fortunately at the early dinner there was a fourth to mend matters inthe shape of Miss Peacock, the Squire's housekeeper. She was a distantrelation who had spent most of her life at Garth; who considered theSquire the first of men, his will as law, and who from Josina'searliest days had set her an example of servile obedience. To ask whatMr. Griffin did not offer, to doubt where he had laid down the law,was to Miss Peacock flat treason; and where a stronger mind might havemoulded the girl to a firmer shape, the old maid's influence hadwrought in the other direction. A tall meagre spinster, a weak replicaof the Squire, she came of generations of women who had been ruled bytheir men and trained to take the second place. The Squire's twowives, his first, whose only child had fallen, a boy-ensign, atAlexandria, his second, Josina's mother, had held the same tradition,and Josina promised to abide by it.

  When the Peacock rose Jos hesitated. The Squire saw it. "Do you go,girl," he said. "Be off!"

  For once she wavered--she feared what might happen between the two.But "Do you hear?" the Squire growled. "Go when you are told."

  She went then, but Arthur could not restrain his indignation. "PoorJos!" he muttered.

  Unluckily the Squire heard the words, and "Poor Jos!" he repeated,scowling at the offender. "What the devil do you mean, sir? Poor Jos,indeed? Confound your impudence! What do you mean?"

  Arthur quailed, but he was not lacking in wit. "Only that women like asecret, sir," he said. "And a woman, shut out, fancies that there is asecret."

  "Umph! A devilish lot you know about women!" the old man snarled. "Butnever mind that. I saw your mother yesterday."

  "So she told me, sir."

  "Ay! And I dare say you didn't like what she told you! But I want youto understand, young man, once for all, that you've got to choosebetween Aldersbury and Garth. Do you hear? I've done my duty. I keptthe living for you, as I promised your father, and whether you take itor not, I expect you to do yours, and to live as the Griffins havelived before you. Who the devil is this man Ovington? Why do you wantto mix yourself up with him? Eh? A man whose father touched his hat tome and would no more have thought of sitting at my table than mybutler would! There, pass the bottle."

  "Would you have no man rise, sir?" Arthur ventured.

  "Rise?" The Squire glared at him from under his great bushy eyebrows."It's not to his rise, it's to your fall I object, sir. A d--d sillyscheme this, and one I won't have. D'you hear, I won't have it."

  Arthur kept his temper, oppressed by the other's violence. "Still, youmust own, sir, that times are changed," he said.

  "Changed? Damnably changed when a Griffin wants to go into trade inAldersbury."

  "But banking is hardly a trade."

  "Not a trade? Of course it's a trade--if usury is a trade! Ifpawn-broking is a trade! If loan-jobbing is a trade! Of course it's atrade."

  The gibe stung Arthur and he plucked up spirit. "At any rate, it is alucrative one," he rejoined. "And I've never heard, sir, that you wereindifferent to money."

  "Oh! Because I'm going to charge your mother rent? Well, isn't theCottage mine? Or because fifty years ago I came into a cumbered estateand have pinched and saved and starved to clear it? Saved? I havesaved. But I've saved out of the land like a gentleman, and like myfathers before me, and not by usury. Not by money-jobbing. And if youexpect to benefit--but there, fill your glass, and let's hear yourtongue. What do you say to it?"

  "As to the living," Arthur said mildly, "I don't think you consider,sir, that what was a decent livelihood no longer keeps a gentleman asa gentleman. Times are changed, incomes are changed, men are richer. Isee men everywhere making fortunes by what you call trade, sir; makingfortunes and buying estates and founding houses."

  "An
d shouldering out the old gentry? Ay, damme, and I see it too," theSquire retorted, taking the word out of his mouth. "I see plenty ofit. And you think to be one of them, do you? To join them and beanother Peel, or one of Pitt's money-bag peers? That's in your mind,is it? A Mr. Coutts? And to buy out my lord and drive your coach andfour into Aldersbury, and splash dirt over better men than yourself?"

  "I should be not the less a Griffin."

  "A Griffin with dirty hands!" with contempt. "That's what you'd be.And vote Radical and prate of Reform and scorn the land that bred you.And talk of the Rights of Men and money-bags, eh? That's your notion,is it, by G--d?"

  "Of course, sir, if you look at it in that way----"

  "That's the way I do look at it!" The Squire brought down his hand onthe table with a force that shook the glasses and spilled some of hiswine. "And it's the way you've got to look at it, or there won't bemuch between you and me--or you and mine. Or mine, do you hear! I'llhave no tradesman at Garth and none of that way of thinking. So you'dbest give heed before it's too late. You'd best look at it all ways."

  "Very well, sir."

  "Any more wine?"

  "No, thank you." Arthur's head was high. He did not lack spirit.

  "Then hear my last word. I won't have it! That's plain. That's plain,and now you know. And, hark ye, as you go out, send Peacock to me."

  But before Arthur had made his way out, the Squire's voice was heard,roaring for Josina. When Miss Peacock presented herself, "Not you! Whothe devil wants you?" he stormed. "Send the girl! D'you hear? Send thegirl!"

  And when Josina, scared and trembling, came in her turn, "Shut thedoor!" he commanded. "And listen! I've had a talk with that puppy, whothinks that he knows more than his betters. D--n his impertinence,coming into my pew when he thought I was elsewhere! But I know verywell why he came, young woman, sneaking in to sit beside you and makesheep's eyes when my back was turned. Now, do you listen to me. You'llkeep him at arm's length. Do you hear, Miss? You'll have nothing tosay to him unless I give you leave. He's got to do with me now, and itdepends on me whether there's any more of it. I know what he wants,but by G--d, I'm your father, and if he does not mend his manners, hegoes to the right-about. So let me hear of no more billing and cooingand meeting in pews, unless I give the word! D'you understand, girl?"

  "But I think you're mistaken, sir," poor Jos ventured. "I don't thinkthat he means----"

  "I know what he means. And so do you. But never you mind! Till I saythe word there's an end of it. The puppy, with his Peels and hispeers! Men my father wouldn't have--but there, you understand now, andyou'll obey, or I'll know the reason why!"

  "Then he's not to come to Garth, sir?"

  But the Squire checked at that. Family feeling and the pride ofhospitality were strong in him, and to forbid his only nephew thefamily house went beyond his mind at present.

  "To Garth?" angrily. "Who said anything about Garth? No, Miss, butwhen he comes, you'll stand him off. You know very well how to do it,though you look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth! You'll seethat he keeps his distance. And let me have no tears, or--d----n thefellow, he's spoiled my nap. There, go! Go! I might as well have aswarm of wasps about me as such folks! Pack o' fools and idiots! Gointo a bank, indeed!"

  Jos did go, and shutting herself up in her room would not open to MissPeacock, who came fluttering to the door to learn what was amiss. Andshe cried a little, but it was as much in humiliation as grief. Herfather was holding her on offer, to be given or withheld, as hepleased, while all the time she doubted, and more than doubted, if heto whom she was on offer, he from whom she was withheld, wanted her.There was the rub.

  For Arthur, ever since he had begun to attend at the bank, had beenstrangely silent. He had looked and smiled and teased her, had pressedher hand or touched her hair, but in sport rather than in earnest,meaning little. And she had been quick to see this, and with thewomanly pride, of which, gentle and timid as she was, she had hershare, she had schooled herself to accept the new situation. Now, herfather had taken Arthur's suit for granted and humbled her. So Joscried a little. But they were not very bitter tears.