Ovington's Bank

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXXII

  If the news which Arthur had conveyed to the bank on that Mondaymorning had been much to Clement, it had been more to his father. Ithad brought to Ovington immense relief at the moment when he had leastreason to expect it. The banker had not hidden the position from thosewho must needs work with him; but even to them he had not imparted thefull measure of his fears, much less the extent of the suffering whichthose fears occasioned him. The anxiety that kept him sleepless, thecalculations that tormented his pillow, the regret with which hereviewed the past, the responsibility for the losses of others thatdepressed him--he had kept these things to himself, or at most haddropped but a hint of them to his beloved Betty.

  But they had been very real to him and very terrible. The spectre ofbankruptcy--with all the horror which it connoted for the mercantilemind--had loomed before him for weeks past, had haunted and menacedhim; and its sudden exorcism on this Monday morning meant a reliefwhich he dared not put into words to others and shrank from admittingeven to himself. He who had held his head so high--no longer need heanticipate the moment when he would be condemned as a recklessadventurer, whose fall had been as rapid as his rise, and whom thewiseacres of Aldersbury had doomed to failure from the first! That hadbeen the bitterest drop in his cup, and to know that he need not drainit, was indeed a blessed respite.

  Still, he had received the news with composure, and through the day hehad moved to and fro doing his work with accuracy. But it was in apleasant dream that he had followed his usual routine, and many a timehe paused to tell himself that the thing was a fact, that Dean's wouldnot now triumph over him, nor his enemies now scoff at him. On thecontrary, he might hope to emerge from the tempest stronger thanbefore, and with his credit enhanced by the stress through which hehad ridden. Business was business, but in the midst of it the bankerhad more than once to stand and be thankful.

  And with reason. For if he who has inherited success and lives to seeit threatened suffers a pang, that pang is as nothing besides thehumiliation of the man who has raised himself; who has outstripped hisfellows, challenged their admiration, defied their jealousy, trampledon their pride; who has been the creator of his own greatness, and nowsees that greatness in ruins. He had escaped that. He had escapedthat, thank God! More than once the two words passed his lips; and insecret his thoughts turned to the great chief of men to whom in hisown mind and with a rather absurd vanity he had compared himself.Thank God that his own little star had not sunk like his intodarkness!

  It was relief, it was salvation. And that evening, as the banker satafter his five o'clock dinner and sipped his fourth and last glass ofport and basked in the genial heat of the fire, while his daughterknitted on the farther side of the hearth, he owned himself ahappy man. He measured the danger, he winced at the narrow marginby which he had escaped it--but he had escaped! Dean's, staid,long-established, slow-going Dean's, which had viewed his notesaskance, had doubted his stability and predicted his failure, Dean'swhich had slyly put many a spoke in his wheel, would not triumph. Nay,after this, would not he, too, rank as sound and staid and wellestablished, he who had also ridden out the storm? For in crises menand banks age rapidly; they are measured rather by events than byyears. Those who had mistrusted him would mistrust him no longer;those who had dubbed him new would now count him old. As he stretchedhis legs to meet the genial heat and sank lower in his chair he couldhave purred in his thankfulness. Things had fallen out well, afterall; he saw rosy visions in the fire. Schemes which had lain dormantin his mind awoke. His London agents had failed, but others wouldcompete for his business, and on better terms. The Squire who had somarvellously come to his aid would bring back his account, and hisexample would be followed. He would extend, opening branches atBretton and Monk's Castle and Blankminster, and the railroad? He wasnot quite sure what he would do about the railroad; possibly he mightdecide that the time was not ripe for it, and in that case he mightwind up the company, return the money, and himself meet the expensesincurred. The loss would not be great, and the effect would beprodigious. It would be a Napoleonic stroke--he would consider it. Helost himself in visions of prosperity.

  And it would be all for Clement and Betty. He looked across the hearthat the girl who sat knitting under the lamp-light, and his eyescaressed her, his heart loved her. She would make a great match.Failing Arthur--and of late Arthur and she had not seemed to hit itoff--there would be others. There would be others, well-born, whowould be glad to take her and her dowry. He saw her driving into townin her carriage, with a crest on the panels.

  It was she who cut short his thoughts. She looked at the clock. "Ican't think where Clement is," she said. "You don't think that thereis anything wrong, dad?"

  "Wrong? No," he answered. "Why should there be!"

  "But he disappeared so strangely. He said nothing about missing hisdinner."

  "He was to check some figures with Rodd this evening. He may have goneto his rooms."

  "But--without his dinner?"

  But the banker was not in the mood to trouble himself about trifles.The lamp shone clear and mellow, the fire crackled pleasantly, a warmcomfort wrapped him round, the port had a flavor that he had notperceived in it of late. Instead of replying to Betty's question hemeasured the decanter with his eye, decided that it was a specialoccasion, and filled himself another glass. "Ovington's Bank," he saidas he raised it to his lips. But that to which he really drank was thehome that he saw about him, saved from rain, made secure.

  Betty smiled. "You're relieved to-night, dad."

  "Well, I am, Betty," he admitted. "Yes, I am--and thankful."

  "And that queer old man! I wonder," as she turned her knitting on herknee, "why he did it."

  "I suppose for Arthur's sake. He'd have lost pretty heavily--for him."

  "But you didn't expect that Mr. Griffin would come forward?"

  The banker allowed it. "No," he said. "I don't know that I everexpected anything less. Such things don't happen, my girl, very often.But he will be no loser, and I suppose Arthur convinced him of that.He is shrewd, and, once convinced, he would see that it was the onlything to do."

  "But not many people would have been convinced?"

  "No, perhaps not."

  Betty knitted awhile. "I thought that he hated the bank?" she said, asshe paused to rub her chin with a needle.

  "He does--and me. But he loves his money, my dear."

  "Still it isn't his. It is Arthur's."

  "True. But he's a man who cannot bear to see money lost. He thinks agood deal of it."

  "He is not alone in that," Betty exclaimed. "Sometimes I feel that Ihate money! People grow so fond of it. They think only of themselves,even when you've been ever so good to them."

  "Well, it's human nature," the banker replied equably. "I don't knowwho it is that you have in your mind, my dear, but it applies to mostpeople." He was going to say more when the door opened.

  "Mr. Rodd is here, asking for Mr. Clement, sir," the maid said. "Hewas to meet him at half after six, and----"

  "Ask Mr. Rodd to come in."

  The cashier entered shyly. In his dark suit, with his black stock andstiff carriage, he made no figure, where Arthur, or even Clement,would have shone. But there were women in Aldersbury who said that hehad fine eyes, eyes with something of a dog's gentleness in them; andArthur so far agreed that he dubbed him a dull, mechanical dog, andoften made fun of him as such. But perhaps Arthur did not always seeto the bottom of things.

  Ovington pushed the decanter and a glass towards him. "A glass ofwine, Rodd," he said genially. He was not of those who undervalued hiscashier, though he knew his limitations. "The bank!" he said.

  "And those who have stood by it!" Betty added softly.

  Rodd drank the toast with a muttered word.

  "Mr. Rodd has not the same reason to be thankful that we have," Bettycontinued carelessly, holding her knitting up to the lamp.

  "Why not?" Her father did not understand.

&
nbsp; "Why," innocently, as she lowered the knitting again, "he does notstand to lose anything, does he?"

  "Except his place," the cashier objected, his eyes on his glass.

  "Just so," the banker rejoined. "And in that event," moved to unusualfrankness, "we should have been all out together. And Rodd might nothave been the worst off, my girl.

  "Exactly," Betty said. "I'm sure that he would take care of that."

  The cashier opened his mouth to speak, but checked himself, and drankoff his wine. Then, as he rose, "If you know where Mr. Clement is,sir----"

  "I don't. I can't think what has become of him," the banker explained."He went out about four, and since then--hallo! That's some one in ahurry. It sounds like a fire."

  A vehicle had burst in on the evening stillness. It came clattering ata reckless pace up Bride Hill. It passed the bank, it rattled noisilyaround the corner of the Market Place, and pounded away down the HighStreet.

  "More likely some one hastening to get out of danger," said Betty. "_Asauve qui peut_, Mr. Rodd--if you know what that means."

  The clerk, with a flushed cheek, avoided the question. "It might besome one trying to catch the seven o'clock coach, sir," he said.

  "Very likely. And if so he's failed, for he's coming back again. Ay,here he comes, and he stopping here, by Jove! I hope that nothing'swrong."

  The vehicle had, indeed, stopped abruptly before the house. They heardsome one alight on the pavement, a latchkey was thrust into the door."It's Clement!" the banker exclaimed, his eyes on the door. "I hope hedoes not bring bad news! Well, lad?" as Clement in his overcoat, hishat on his head, appeared in the doorway. "What is it? Is anythingwrong?"

  "Very much wrong!" his son replied curtly, and he closed the doorbehind him. He was pale, and his splashed coat and neck-shawl tiedawry, no less than his agitated face, confirmed their fears.

  "Out with it, lad! What is it? his father asked, fearing he knew notwhat.

  "Bad news, sir!" was the answer. "I'm sorry to say I bring very badnews!"

  "What?"

  "That loan of Mr. Griffin's----"

  "The twelve thousand? Yes?"--anxiously--"well?"

  "It's a fraud, sir! A cursed fraud!"

  There was a tense silence. Then, "Impossible!" the banker exclaimed.But he grasped a chair to steady himself. His face had turned grey.

  "The Squire knows nothing of it!" Clement struck his open hand on theback of a chair. "He never signed the transfer! He never gave anyauthority for the loan!"

  "No, no, that's impossible!" Ovington straightened himself with a sighof relief. What mare's nest, what bee in the bonnet, was this? The ladwas dreaming--must be dreaming. "Impossible!" he repeated. "I saw it,man, and read it! And I know the old man's signature as well as I knowmy own. You must be dreaming."

  "I am not, sir!" Clement answered, and added bitterly, "It was Arthurwho was dreaming! Dreaming or worse, d--n him!"--the pent-upexcitement of the evening finding vent at last, and the sight of hisfather's stricken face whetting his rage. "He has robbed, ay, robbedhis uncle, and dishonored us! That is what he has done, sir. I am notdreaming! I wish to heaven I were!"

  The banker no longer protested. "Well--tell us!" he said weakly.

  "It's hard on you, sir----"

  "Never mind me! Tell me what you know." They stood round Clement,amazed and shocked, fearing the worst and yet incredulous, while he,his weary face and travel-stained figure at odds with the lighted roomand the comfort about him, told his story. The banker listened. Hestill hoped, hoped to detect some flaw, to perceive somemisunderstanding--so much, so very much, hung upon it. But even on hismind the truth at last forced itself, and monstrous as the story,incredible as Arthur's action still appeared, he had at last to acceptit and its consequences--its consequences!

  He seemed to grow years older as he listened, but when Clement haddone, and the whole shameful story was told, he made no comment. Theposition, indeed, was no worse than it had been twenty-four hoursbefore. He might still hope against hope, that, by putting a bold faceon matters, and by a dexterous use of his resources, he might ride outthe storm. But the reaction from a triumphant confidence was sosudden, the failure of his recent expectations so overwhelming, thateven his firm spirit yielded. He sank into his chair. Betty laid herhand on his shoulder and whispered some word of comfort in his ear,but he said nothing.

  It was Clement who spoke the first word. "I am going after him," hesaid, his tone hard and practical. "I have thought it out, and byposting all night I may be in London by noon to-morrow, and I mayintercept him either at the brokers' or at the India House before hehas sold the stock. In that case I may be in time to stop him."

  "Why?" the banker asked, looking up. "What have we to do with him? Whyshould we stop him?"

  "For our own sakes as well as his," Clement answered firmly. "For ourown good name, which is bound up with his. Think, think, sir, of theharm it will do us if there is a prosecution--and the old man swearsthat he will not acknowledge the signature! Besides I have promised tostop him--if I can. If I am too late to do that, and he has sold thestock, I can still get possession of the money, and it must be ourbusiness to return it to the owner without the loss of an hour. Of anhour, sir!" Clement repeated earnestly. "We must repudiate thistransaction from the outset. We must wash our hands of it at once, ifit be only to clear our own name."

  The banker looked dazed. "But," he said, as if his mind were beginningto work again, "why should we--take all this trouble?" He hesitated,then he began again. "We have done nothing. We are innocent. Whyshould we----"

  "Stop him?"

  "Ay, or be in such a hurry to return the money? It is no fault of oursif it does come to our hands. And, remember, if it lies with us only aweek"--he looked at his son, his face troubled--"only a week, theposition is such----"

  "No! no!" Clement cried, and for once he spoke preemptorily. "Not fora day, father, not for an hour! And when you have thought it over as Ihave, when you have had time to think it over, you will see that. Youwill be the first, the very first, to see that, and to say that wemust have no part or share with Bourdillon in this; that if we must godown we will go down with clean hands. To avail ourselves of thismoney, even for a day, and though it would save the bank twice over,would be to make us accomplices----"

  The banker stood up. "Right!" he said firmly. "You are right, lad!" Hedrew a deep breath, the color returned to his face. He laid his handon Clement's shoulder. "You are quite right, my boy, and I wasn'tmyself when I said that. You shall have no reason to blush for yourfather. You are quite right. We will repudiate the transaction fromthe first. We will have neither art nor part in it. We will return themoney the moment it comes into your hands!"

  "Thank God, sir, that you see it as I do."

  "I do, I do! The money shall be paid over at once, though the shuttersgo up the next hour. And we will fight our battle as we must havefought it if this had never happened."

  "With clean hands, at any rate, sir."

  "Yes, lad, with clean hands."

  "Oh, father, that's splendid!" Betty cried, and she pressed herselfagainst him. "But as for Clement going, he must be worn out. Could notMr. Rodd go?"

  "Rodd will be of more use to you here," Clement said. "You will beshort-handed as it is."

  "We shall pay out the more slowly," the banker answered with grimhumor.

  "And I doubt, besides," said Clement, "if Bourdillon would listen toRodd."

  "Will he listen to you?"

  "He will have to, or face the consequences!" And Clement looked as ifhe meant it: a hard Clement this, with a new note in his voice. "Fromthe India House to Bow Street is not very far, and he will certainlygo to Bow Street--or the Mansion House--if he does not see reason. Buthe will."

  "He may, if you are with him before he parts with the securities. Butfrom this to noon to-morrow you will not do it in that time, my lad,at night? Winter time, too? You'll never do it!"

  But Clement averred that he would--in fourteen hours, with good l
uck.It was for that reason that he had gone straight to the Lion andordered a chaise for eight o'clock and sent on word by the seveno'clock coach for a relay to be ready at the Heygate Inn. He had alsoasked the Lion to pass on word by any chaise starting in front of him."So I hope for two or three stages I shall find the horses ready.Betty, pack up some food for me, that's a good girl. I've only twentyminutes."

  "And your travelling cloak?" she cried. "I'll air it."

  "You must eat something before you start," said his father.

  "Yes, I will. And, Rodd, do you get me the bank pistols--and see thatthey are loaded!"

  The banker nodded. "Yea, you'd better take them," he said. "It's animmense sum--if you bring it back. It would be a terrible business ifyou were robbed."

  "Ay, for then we should share the blame," Clement answered drily."That wouldn't do, would it? But let me get the money, and I'll not berobbed, sir."

  They parted, hurrying to and fro on their several errands, the bankerfetching money for the journey, Rodd loading the pistols, Bettysetting food before the traveller and cutting sandwiches for thejourney, Clement himself making some change in his dress. For tenminutes a cheerful stir reigned in the house. But Ovington, though heyielded to this and watched his son at his meal and filled his glass,and played his part, did but feign. He knew that within a few minutesthe door would close on Clement, the house would relapse into silence,the lights would go out, and he would be left to face the failure ofall the hopes, the plans and expectations which he had entertainedthrough the day. The odds against him, which had not seemedoverwhelming twenty-four hours before, now appeared invincible and notto be resisted. He felt that the fates were opposed to him. He had hadhis chance, and it had been withdrawn. As he climbed the stairs tobed, climbed them slowly and with heavy feet, he read ruin in theflame of his candle. As he undressed he heard the voices of revellerspassing the house at midnight, on their way from the Raven or theTalbot, and he suspected derision in their tones. He fancied that theywere talking of him, jeering at him, rejoicing in his fall. In bed helay long awake, calculating, and trying to make of four, five. Couldhe hold out till Wednesday? Till Thursday? Or would panic runningthrough the town on the morrow, like fire amid tinder, kindle thecrowd and hurl it, inflamed with greed and fear, upon his slenderdefences?

  He was buying honesty at a great price. But he thought of Clement andBetty, and towards morning he fell asleep.