A Country Wooing

by Joan Smith

  “Now,” Albion said blissfully, “if we was to put your goods on one hand and your debts on t’other, just where would you stand?’’ A pair of eyes of a daunting craftiness regarded his lordship sharply.

  “We would stand pretty well on one foot,” Penholme said. “The wrong one, I fear. But Robin is better situated than I.”

  “We’ll start with the Hall—only ten thousand clear there, and another ten thousand in furnishings, I make it. So there’s twenty thousand on the right side—the credit side.”

  Penholme brightened to hear such a high estimate placed on his chattels. Another five thousand was consigned to the right side by the unseen furnishings in the London house. “It is the custom to assess the town furnishings at fifty percent of country goods,” Albion mentioned. Penholme was too cheered to quibble. He owned up manfully to the London mortgage. “I feared I might be right on that score,” Albion said modestly.

  Penholme did not feel it necessary to say he owed Exmore close to five thousand.

  “Then there’s the holdings assembled by the late lords of Penholme,” Albion rattled on.

  Feeling any holdings Charles had a hand in were more likely to have been disbursed than assembled, Penholme spoke reluctantly. “I haven’t gone through my brother’s papers. I have them in my room to look over tonight.”

  Albion stared at such a dilatory way of going on. “There’ll be holdings there,” he said hopefully. It was not mentioned that the holdings were mostly in a worthless shipbuilding company. “You have a while to run an eye over them before dinnertime,” Albion added impatiently.

  There would clearly be no hiding anything from this inquisitor, but the burden was Alex’s, not Robin’s. For that matter, Albion might be the very one to advise him how to go on. “Would you like to have a look at them now, sir?” he suggested.

  Albion’s broad smile hardly required any verbal confirmation, but he said, “I’d be happy to have a glance at them with you.”

  “I have to wash up, but if ...”

  “I daresay I could work faster alone.”

  The boxes of bills and “holdings” were handed over to the merchant, who settled into Penholme’s study with a smile of anticipation at getting such exact and voluminous information to play with. He was given a box of cigars and a pot of tea, for Albion never befuddled his mind with spirits when he was ciphering. “You needn’t bother holding dinner for me. A chop on a plate here at the desk will do fine,” he said, rubbing his hands in pleasure at the delightful evening ahead of him.

  The meal was a happy one in spite of Albion’s absence. Robin was radiant, and Miss Maggie in alt. Miss Anglin foresaw a considerable increase in the new beaux to whom she would be exposed as a result of her sister’s alliance, and even Mrs. Anglin said without a word of prompting that she was very happy for the match, very happy indeed. And so she was. Lord Robin was very easy to talk to when he wasn’t with his family. He rattled on so merrily that she hardly had to say a word.

  After the customary gulping of the port, Penholme and Robin joined the ladies in the gold saloon, but still Albion remained shut up in the smoky office, nodding his head as he toted up long columns. The Misses Anglin helped pass the evening by playing and singing for the family, and the twins brought down their war trophies to be admired. Mrs. Anglin sought company in the young girls, Loo and Babe, and became quite talkative for the half hour they were allowed to visit. At nine, the children were sent to bed, but still no word came from the study.

  Penholme became apprehensive when the clock showed ten and still silence prevailed from that quarter. He feared Albion had changed his mind and disliked to tell him. Unable to control his curiosity longer, he went to the study door on the pretext of seeing if his guest wanted fresh tea. He could scarcely see Albion for the smoke, but amid the blue clouds, the grizzled head still leaned over ruler-straight columns of figures, with a pencil flying up and down at an incredible speed.

  “I’ll be with ye shortly,” Albion said without looking up. He certainly wore a frown, but whether of horror or merely concentration, Alex could not ascertain.

  The Anglin ladies and Aunt Tannie retired at eleven, and with a yawn, Robin said he, too, was ready for the tick. Penholme took a cigar out to the garden. The lights of Rosedale were visible in the distance, nestled there in the valley. From the nettles beyond, the sweet song of nightingales echoed. He watched silently as the lights were extinguished one by one, first downstairs, then above. Annie’s was the last to go out. He smiled sadly in the warm darkness, his heart tender to think of her offering him her five thousand pounds and even a home at Rosedale. The four children would have to sleep in the attic—and what would the whole countryside think? No, it was impossible, but the offer touched him.

  He might let Penholme Hall and hire a smaller place, though. If Albion’s conclusion was very bad, he could do that. He stayed for some time in the garden, thanking God he was home safe, if not quite sound. His shoulder was healing quickly now. How fortunate he hadn’t let that Spanish sawbones hack off his arm. A shiver convulsed him with the memory of that period. What was being bankrupt compared with that? At length he returned to the saloon and had a glass of wine while waiting for the verdict.

  It was five minutes to twelve when Albion came, carrying in his fingers a clutch of figured papers. “Your brother was an expensive lad,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard a harsh word against him, but he was shockingly dear.”

  Alex’s throat constricted. “Yes,” he said in a high, unnatural tone. It was disaster, then.

  Albion laid the papers on a table and rubbed his hands in satisfaction at a job well done. “I daresay you’re anxious to know what you’re worth if you was to be sold up,” he said.

  “Very anxious.” So much so that his palms were moist and his tongue was bone-dry.

  “I make it fifty thousand even,” Albion announced.

  Penholme stared in disbelief. “Fifty thousand! There must be some mistake.”

  “I don’t make mistakes,” Albion said, not boasting but simply stating an immutable fact. “It’s your holdings that have led you astray. You thought you was good for a little more, I daresay, but your shipping stocks—worth nothing. He lost a tidy sum on that one. Ten thousand three hundred pounds and some odd shillings and pence. Six shillings, four pence, if you want the exact sum.” He didn’t even have to consult his ciphering to come up with it. “I could have warned him away from shipping. However ...”

  “Fifty thousand, you say?” Penholme asked, still unable to believe it.

  “Aye, fifty-five at today’s quotation, less the five in duns from London merchants. Actually four thousand, five hundred. It’s a great pity about the shipping outfit. He should have known with a brother in the army that war’s no time for shipping stocks. But that’s the way with the market: you win some: you lose some.”

  Penholme looked for enlightenment. It seemed some considerable sum had been won to have pulled him out of debt. “How about the other holdings?” he asked.

  “It’s your gas company stocks that saved your bacon. Without your Gas, Light and Coke Company shares, you’d be in the suds for sure. He doubled his investment there, from fifteen thousand to thirty. It more than makes up for your shipping shares. A great pity to think of that waste. If he’d put the lot into the gas shares—but it’s done. Too late to cry over it now.” He looked ready to shed a tear all the same.

  “Gas company stocks?” Penholme said, feeling like one in a dream, afraid to think lest he should awaken.

  “Aye, I’m into them heavily myself. I’m just wondering whether it isn’t time to divest and get into something else. The fast, easy money has been made, though they might be good for a boost awhile yet. Do you plan to hold on to yours, Penholme?”

  “No.”

  “I figured if I myself was in your boots I’d sell out and pay down those mortgages. Stocks are for money you don’t need, for as sure as ever you have to cash them in, they’ll be dow
n. Not to say you ought to pay off the whole mortgage. What I’d do if I was you is knock Penholme down to a manageable size—say, twenty—and hold on to a bit of blunt to look after work that needs doing. Your tenant farms, for instance, are . . . depreciating,” he said with an unusual discretion. “But don’t let yourself run right up against the wall. Keep a sum on hand, for if you invest it all, you’ll discover a sudden need for cash, and pay out a stiff interest for it. Now, as to your London place, will you be wanting the use of it right away?’’

  Penholme, storing up every golden syllable, said, “No. Do you think I should sell?”

  Albion stared. “Oh, sell? Never sell such a sterling investment as that. Berkeley Square—money in the bank. It’ll do nothing but become more valuable with the passing of the years. If the roof fell in, the land it stands on alone would be worth a fortune. I’m looking out for a couple of properties in the West End myself. But if you won’t be using it, what you could do to cut a corner is let it furnished to some decent soul that won’t destroy it on you. Let strangers pay off your mortgage with their rents. As good a way as any to build up a tidy sum. What I do myself is put a down payment on a place just big enough that the rents cover the mortgage and upkeep, then I sit back and let others buy my houses for me. As simple as A, B, C. I don’t know why more folks don’t do the same.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Alex said, seeing that some reply was wanted and saying what required the least effort. In his heart, he was not standing in the saloon with Albion at all. He was tearing down the hill to Rosedale to tell Annie the news. He thought she might be lying in her bed this very minute, worrying, as indeed she was.

  “Now as to Lord Robin and that chit of mine,” Albion said, “I’ll pay off his little mortgage so that he and Maggie ain’t strapped starting off. Not that it would do them a bit of harm. Me and Minnie lived in a cold garret for two years while we were saving up our nest egg, and thrived like a patch of weeds. When Marilla came along, it was time to move into one of our houses.”

  That a man should live in a cold garret with his wife while he apparently owned better establishments was a way of proceeding that brought Penholme to interested attention. “Really?” he asked.

  “Aye, we agreed to it beforehand. But with your brother being a lord, it won’t be his way of going on, and not in the least necessary, either. With no mortgage, he’ll be able to keep his income of three thousand, and with Maggie’s dowry—I plan to make it twenty-five thousand, if ye’ve no objection, they’ll be able to handle their simple needs.”

  “I have no objection,” Penholme said promptly.

  “I thought you might want a trifle more. If Lord Robin objects ...”

  “He won’t.”

  “Ye’ll not be bear-leading the lad much longer. But no doubt ye’ve talked it over together. It’s only natural. Twenty-five, I figure, is a fair price for a younger son. It’s the going rate, at least. Now, if it was you we was discussing, of course, the figure would be somewhat higher. Say, fifty thousand ...”

  Penholme swallowed a smile to hear Robin being bought up so disinterestedly, as though he were a horse or bull. He hastily assured Albion that he himself was not for sale, though, of course, he worded it more discreetly and made sure to add a word of praise on Miss Anglin.

  “Yer sister, the duchess, mentioned a match between you and my chit. I couldn’t help noticing myself you was making mighty large eyes at the Wickfield lady. She’d have a tidy dowry, I daresay.”

  “Not large,” Penholme confessed, seeing there would be no keeping any financial secrets from this in-law. “There has been an understanding between us for some time.”

  “No need to apologize, milord. None in the least. I daresay you was only the younger son when your da arranged the deal, but being a man of honor, you’ll stand by it. We’ve got the connection with the family now, and my daughter will be meeting any number of fine lords. Happen you’d have one to recommend, a cousin or what will you?”

  “My sister is the one to advise you. She would be delighted to do it.”

  “I’ll keep an eye peeled as well. Marilla’s getting on. Nearly twenty, though she don’t like me saying so. It’ll go against the pluck, Maggie beating her to the altar, but it’s for the best. It’ll throw her on to the right path. Just between you and me and the stovepipe, I do think she’s got a touch more class than Maggie. She speaks proper and all that, wouldn’t you say?”

  “An unexceptionable girl. Lady!” Penholme assured his guest.

  Albion smiled in benign contentment. “She is, nearly.” He smiled.

  “This calls for a toast,” Penholme said, beaming from ear to ear and wanting to shout and laugh for pure joy.

  Albion thought the matter for jubilation was the marriage, for it would never have occurred to him that a man would know by less than three or four pounds what he was worth. Penholme forgot, in his joy, that Albion didn’t drink wine, and Albion manfully held his breath and drank a swallow without complaint.

  “We forgot to include your wine cellar, by Jove!” was his comment. “I daresay this is considered a good brew.”

  “The Penholme cellars are famous. Both my father and my brother paid a good deal of attention to them. I must own I haven’t been downstairs since I came home.”

  “You certainly ought to have a look!” Albion said rather testily. “I daresay there are family jewels and such things we ought to have included, too.”

  “Yes, some rather fine heirlooms, but they are entailed.”

  “I only made a rough estimate.” He mentally added ten thousand to the proper side of the ledger. He didn’t want to declare his new connections as being worth a penny less than they were when he spread the word in London of the match he had arranged. The first merger would set the basis for the second, and it was important that the next set of in-laws measure up to the Penholmes.

  “We’ll hop over to Sawburne tomorrow, if you don’t mind. I’m anxious to look the place over. Then we’ll arrange the wedding party. Maggie will want a stylish do. I’ll rig her out fine as a star. Don’t be backward in asking any of your family and friends to it. The more the merrier. It will throw Marilla in the way of worthwhile suitors. I daresay the duchess is the very one could give Minnie a hand with the spread. Could she be lured to my mansion to pay us a visit, do you think? We’d do up the food and all just as she orders. She could bring any number of servants so she’d feel at home.”

  Rosalie approved of the match, and might very well enjoy such a novel holiday as visiting the Anglins. In any case, he was able to assure Albion that his sister would not miss the wedding.

  Albion soon retired to his chamber, to tell this news to his wife, who was terrified to hear it. “Ye’ll have to take yourself by the scruff of the neck and face it, love,” he told her kindly. “It’s what we agreed between us we wanted for the girls. Ye’ll get on to their ways in no time. They’re not at all a bad lot when you get to know them. Why, you and Lord Robin are already as friendly as thieves, and you like Penholme, too, when you talk to him. Besides, it ain’t him we’ll be visiting but our own Maggie and Lord Robin, and he is a jolly young gumboil.”

  Minnie squared her thin shoulders to this new task. She saw no injustice in having worked and saved all her life, to have in her declining years the privilege of paying hard cash for a life she dreaded, amid people who frightened her half to death. She had been beguiled by Lord Robin some weeks ago, and she thought that with his help she could face the rest of the family.

  Penholme took his guest’s sheets of accounting and the precious boxes of holdings to his room and went over them closely, to assure himself it was not a dream. There were sheafs and sheafs—a whole box of documents—relating to the Gas, Light, and Coke Company. Charles had actually done some research before investing. It was odd he hadn’t told Rosalie about these shares, but she would have insisted he sell them to pay Exmore—or possibly tried to cadge some of the money from him. Yes, it was wise to keep the secret. Th
e date of the purchase was shortly after Alex had left for the Peninsula. Charles had felt some remorse, then—the argument and the awful decision to leave had borne some good fruit. A further investigation showed the mortgage on the London residence was used to buy the ship stocks. Charles must have borrowed the rest, which accounted for some of his huge expenditures.

  With all this before him, Alex was able to forgive his brother a good deal. He quit hating Charles that night and felt a stab of regret that they had parted on such bad terms. Though if they hadn’t fought... It was typical of Charles that he would try to recoup the family fortune by a risky investment, but at least one of his schemes had come through, and it was impossible to hate him after that.

  Alex didn’t even try to sleep till after two. It was past three when he finally closed his eyes. He had, in the interim, told Annie the news, gotten engaged, married, and moved her into Penholme—all in his mind. The only future part of his life not decided upon was what to do with Aunt Alice. Whether she should come to Penholme with them or stay on at Rosedale must be her own decision. How pleasant it was, that two suitable alternatives should be available to Anne’s mother.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anne returned from the meeting with Alex completely unstrung. She told her mother what had happened, then went to her room for a short, violent bout of tears. By dinner, she had assumed a veneer of composure that allowed her to move the food about on her plate; swallowing was impossible. They went together to the saloon to discuss the situation, with Mrs. Wickfield assuring her daughter that it was by no means hopeless. If worse came to worst, the whole family could move into Rosedale, and that would be a deal better than Alex going abroad as an ambassador.

  Anne thought so, too, but the memory of that chin squaring up and the determined light in Alex’s eye when he declared he would do whatever he had to to keep Penholme unnerved her. There was Miss Anglin at the Hall, and Alex liked her. With Robin marrying Miss Maggie, a second marriage in the same family would be easy to slip into. Really from every aspect except her own romantic one, it was the wise thing to do. Her mother poo-pooed the notion, but in her heart Anne was afraid the inevitable would occur. Not today, not tomorrow—Alex was too considerate for that—but eventually he would marry Miss Anglin.