His father-in-law had the right to ask him such a question, but it still grated on Dick.
“No, sir. If Louise should produce a boy, then the provisions of my father’s Will come into effect and I shall pocket one hundred and forty thousand pounds. Should we have a daughter, then I will be less endowed with cash, obviously, but will still be able to find twenty thousand. I have liquidated my assets in America, to a significant extent, intending to remain in England for the foreseeable future and so I am well off for cash at the moment.”
“I wish I could say the same, Sir Richard!”
It was a very few weeks before Quarter Day, when the farmers would pay their rents for the next three months.
“Mr Parkinson, who is creating my park, has agreed to become agent to the acreage if I buy it, and he will seek to make all those changes necessary to bring the land into profit. I do not believe that wheat will be planted on those farms ever again.”
“But… It might well be said that farmers must grow wheat, Sir Richard! Bread, after all, is the ‘Staff of Life’, so the Good Book tells us, and it might be seen as impious to cease to provide it.”
“The war in America is ended, Mr Sudbury, and men are being released from the Colours in their tens of thousands. Many of them will go West and will break the soil of the Prairies. I do not know how many tons of wheat they will be able to produce, but I would imagine that we might be talking in the millions. The production of beef will also grow massively. Farming in England must change to allow for the new circumstance, sir.”
The lawyer did not approve of the very concept of change; his was a world of permanence, of statutes existing time out of mind. How could there be a rule of law if change was permitted?
“Perhaps, Sir Richard, we should accept that it was an error to repeal the Corn Laws – indeed, it is rarely wise to repeal any law! Laws are created from the accumulated wisdom of ages and it is rash indeed simply to throw them away; at most, they might occasionally be suspended.”
“I cannot agree with you, sir. The Corn Laws impoverished the whole country for the sole benefit of a few thousand farmers and landlords. The price of bread would rise four and five times over was there to be an effective ban on the importation of wheat, and that surely cannot be justified.”
“The gain to agricultural stability would be very great, Sir Richard.”
“The loss to industry would be vast, Mr Sudbury!”
It was possible, Sudbury supposed, but there was too much of this industrial sort of thing going on in the country, in his humble opinion.
Mr Meridew paid Dick a visit next day, suggesting that Mr Sudbury had been very busy on the previous afternoon. He must have ridden out as soon as Dick had left him.
Dick wondered why; he would ask Briggs later.
“I am forced to come cap in hand as it were, Sir Richard, begging for a favour.”
“We may all be overtaken by misfortune, Mr Meridew.”
“We may indeed, Sir Richard. I find myself forced to sell my land, Sir Richard, and the house of my family.”
Dick had not considered the question of the Meridew mansion; he had no use for it, he thought.
“It could make you a Dower House, Sir Richard, always a useful thing to have.”
“You may well be right, Mr Meridew, but not for another thirty or so years, I trust.”
“One never can tell, Sir Richard! ‘In the midst of life…’, after all.”
“The Book of Common Prayer has much to offer us all, Mr Meridew, but not quite yet, perhaps. You may, however, be right. I have little doubt but that my lady wife may discover a relative who would be happy to occupy the house until it becomes needed.”
The Meridew house was of no vast size, twelve or fourteen bedrooms, Dick supposed, but it was probably larger than a widow would wish to keep up from her jointure. That was a problem that could be dealt with easily, provided no excuse, no way out.
“Do you intend to sell the whole of your land, Mr Meridew?”
“Nine hundred and seven acres, Sir Richard, with the house and fixtures and the farmyards and all they contain. My foolish son plunged on the Stock Exchange, and lost heavily in railway stock; he then endeavoured to recoup his losses by dint of purchasing shares in a company floated for the purpose of bringing Egyptian cotton to the Lancashire market. The promoter of the company set off overseas in the ship the company had bought, and carrying the company’s funds with him in gold, and has never been seen since. By this time the foolish young man was in hock for ten thousand and more, so what do you think he did, Sir Richard?”
“Borrowed more money, probably offering false security, and proceeded to throw that away on a wild speculation? Let me see, Mr Meridew… he has lost on railway shares, as so many others have before him; he has thrown money away on a wild endeavour to profit from the shortage of cotton; he should next have purchased a gold mine?”
“Silver, actually, Sir Richard. Recently discovered and not yet in the newspapers; in the Rocky Mountains of Canada, far in the West yet soon to be in reach of the railways. He knew it was true, for he was given a bar of silver, an ingot, no less, and stamped with the mark of the assay house in Vancouver!”
“Poor lad! Did he think to discover whether there was an assay in Vancouver? And, if so, what its mark actually looked like?”
“No, Sir Richard, he did not. He found seven thousand pounds, no less, and handed the whole sum over in banknotes.”
“An extremely expensive bar of silver?”
“Very much so, Sir Richard, for he will see nothing else for his money. Ha! His money, I say!”
“Have the police anything to say?”
“They investigated, as they must when a complaint is laid. They found the proprietors of the company to have used false names and also to have left the country. They discovered four other victims who had also purchased, as they thought, a controlling interest in the non-existent mine. The police are of the opinion that the tricksters made off with more than twenty thousands; they say it was one of the biggest frauds of recent years. They were almost admiring! They arrested my son.”
“I presume they discovered him to have uttered a forged set of documents purporting to be collateral for his loan.”
“Just so, Sir Richard. I have been forced to redeem the loan myself, paying a high rate of interest, so that the bank would withdraw its complaint. He has forced me to stump up very nearly eighteen thousand pounds in total, and that I must repay before December coming.”
“You are therefore asking me to pay some twenty pounds an acre for your land, Mr Meridew. That would be a fair price for the rich lands of the Fens, perhaps, those acres of Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire which are the best farming land in the whole of England. It is, to put it mildly, steep for Dorsetshire!”
“It is to include the House and four farms, Sir Richard.”
“And all of them run down, I suspect.”
Meridew admitted that there was work to be done.
There was no gain to arguing; he was committed to aid the sorry little man. It occurred to him that if he really wished to do Meridew a favour he would discover his son and put a pistol to his head.
“Eighteen thousand five hundred pounds, Mr Meridew, paid in cash on completion of the contract for vacant possession. What of the tenancies, sir?”
“Four farms, Sir Richard, each on one year lets.”
Short tenancies, the farmers with no security and no incentive to look after the land. They would have taken all they could and put nothing back into their holdings. They would have paid a higher rent on a short tenancy and would have gone a long way towards destroying the fertility of the land.
“My Mr Parkinson will deal with them, if you agree to sell.”
It was a better offer than any other Meridew could possibly obtain. He accepted on the spot.
“I shall send my two younger boys out to Singapore, Sir Richard. My brother has interests there – he went out thirty years ago and now has a par
t share in a trading company. He has written that he will put the boys in the way of managing plantations, if they are willing. I can do no better for them.”
“They will have the chance to make a good life for themselves, Mr Meridew.”
“George, my eldest, is another matter, of course.”
“He is indeed, Mr Meridew.”
“I had wondered, Sir Richard, whether you might not have contacts in government who could find a place for him.”
“No, sir. I have a reputation for probity and that is dear to me. I could not put forward the name of a young man for whom I have very little to say.”
“I feared that might be your answer. What I am to do with him, I know not!”
“Give him one hundred pounds and put him out of the door is one answer, sir. An alternative is to take him to Ireland with you and seek a place for him in the Constabulary; I am given to understand that many a young Inspector of Police there has little in the way of qualifications for the post.”
Meridew did not think he could do that; a policeman, by his very nature, could not be a gentleman. It was not appropriate.
“Then I wish you luck in finding something proper for the young man, sir.”
Book Three: The Making
of a Man Series
Chapter Eight
“How old is your brother, Louise?”
“Jonathan? Eighteen months my junior. He is seventeen.”
“He is not at school, it seems.”
“No. He was found ‘unsuitable’, some few years ago; he spent a few weeks at the school near Dorchester but it was decided he would do better elsewhere. Exactly why, I do not know, for it did not occur to me to ask at the time; I accepted all that Mama said to me. She believed the poor boy to have been very hardly used; he was beaten, it would seem. He has studied at home ever since, or so Mama assures me, though I cannot really recall him minding his book.”
“Will he seek to go up, do you think? If he sat his terms at Oxford, he could become a vicar.”
“To Oxford? I cannot imagine so, Sir Richard. He must pass some sort of examination, one understands, and I rather doubt that he might achieve so much.”
“Little Go, of course. It is really quite simple – a few basic questions in Classics and Mathematics. It is designed so that even the most deficient son of a lord may pass!”
She intimated that Jonathan had probably not achieved any academic distinction from his tuition.
“He is not to take a commission? It sounds as if he is ideally suited to become a cornet of cavalry.”
“The soldier’s life is not for him, one understands, sir. Mama does not consider him to be sufficiently robust, and, besides, does not wish him to enter bad company.”
That probably described most cavalry regiments rather well, Dick thought.
“Your father wishes perhaps to breed him to the Law? To follow in his own footsteps? One does not always have to have attended the University.”
“One is, however, given to believe that a certain degree of literacy is preferred for that profession, Sir Richard. Prolixity is not in itself quite sufficient.”
That seemed to exhaust the normal set of possibilities for a young gentleman. He could not become a farmer, his father not having the thousands necessary to purchase for him.
“His brothers grace the Law and the Church, I believe, my dear.”
“They do, Sir Richard. They could not provide for him; they are not yet rich.”
“He must seek a profitable marriage, it would seem.”
“I doubt he possesses the skills of making himself agreeable to the female sex, sir. I can see very little for him, I must say.”
“America?”
“He can ride, of course, and has learned to handle a gun. What have you in mind, sir?”
“To purchase him a ticket to New York and then set him on the cars to, where should we say? Kansas City or farther West? With a hundred dollars in his pocket he could find a job of sorts, much as I did a few years ago. Then, he could, as they say, sink or swim!”
“It is probably all that he can hope for, Sir Richard. What will you say if my Papa should ask whether you have anything for him?”
“A grave headshake, I fear, my dear. I have no room in my enterprises for young men of no observable skill.”
“I had thought that to be the case. I intimated as much to Mama yesterday, suggesting that a manager in any one of your concerns must be a man of displayed intelligence and understanding. She was quite upset, believing that Jonathan’s ability should be obvious to all.”
“It is, my dear!”
She laughed, then caught herself up, rather ashamed that she should mock her dear young brother.
“Could Hilda perhaps come to stay with us for a while, Sir Richard? I would quite like to have her company for a month or two, particularly in my present condition.”
“This is your house, my dear, and you are at liberty to invite guests. Your sister is always welcome, as is any member of your family, and it is wholly in your hands whether she should stay, and for how long. Your brother as well, of course, though in his case do tell me in advance and I shall find the need to visit Liverpool or London for some part of the time.”
Hilda arrived, pleased to escape from her overpowering mother even if only for a few weeks; she discovered the bathroom and hot water on tap and found she had no desire ever to leave.
“I am so worried about dear Jonathan, Louise!”
“One should be worried about Jonathan, sister.”
Hilda was not a blue-stocking perhaps, but she was sharp enough to pick up the edge of satire in Louise’s voice.
“I am sure he will find a place in life, Louise!”
“It seems highly likely that he will, sister. I do not doubt that he will achieve everything that he deserves. Have you been practising on the pianoforte lately?”
The abrupt turn of the conversation was sufficient; the topic of Jonathan’s future was not raised again.
“What is this of Bills, in London, Sir Richard? I have read the newspaper, but must confess I do not quite comprehend the question. Why is the country to be at a stand?”
“It is a disaster, my dear. The market for Bills has failed. The great bulk of the country’s trade is financed by Bills of Exchange, which you might call pledges to pay a sum of money at a future date.”
“Why? What is wrong with sovereigns or five pound notes?”
“The buyer may not have enough of them at the time of purchase. Say that I wished to buy a hundred crates of Mrs Boswell’s Tonic to send to the States. When they sell, I shall have more than a thousand dollars in my pocket and they will have cost me no more than four hundred. I shall have a profit after shipping of about five hundred dollars. So, not having the four hundred just now, I issue a Bill of Exchange, promising to pay a little bit more in six months when the sale has been completed. Say a Bill for four hundred and twenty dollars – the extra as a payment for credit of ten per cent for a year.”
Louise took up pencil and paper, agreed his figures after a minute.
“So, the seller has a Bill of Exchange which will be worth four hundred and twenty in six months when I pay it. But what if the seller wants his money now?”
“He cannot have it.”
“Unless he sells the Bill of Exchange for a little bit less to another firm, or to a bank who will hold it until it comes due, or possibly even sell it on again after a month or two. This is called ‘discounting Bills’. One bank, Overend Gurney, was the biggest of them all, paying out hundreds of thousands in some months; it would buy Bills and sell them on or sometimes hold them to redeem on their due date, depending on the market. Last month it paid out its hundreds of thousands to sellers of Bills but found very few buyers, as sometimes happens; it did not have the cash it had paid out to hand and could not itself borrow; it was bankrupted.”
“How? What exactly happened?”
“They would buy their Bills, promising to pay out on one of
the fixed days, once a fortnight, when actual cash would be moved from bank to bank.”
“I suppose that makes sense. One might otherwise pay tens of thousands out one day only to have them come back the next – very unsafe on London’s streets, one might think.”
“That was the original reason. It is simpler and safer to write the sums in a book and swap that information each day than to send actual money. Tidying up every fourteen days led to much smaller actual sums on the streets. But, it works on trust. Fail to pay and the whole system breaks down. The only way to be sure is to keep reserves, to have a few hundreds of thousands in cash tucked away in the vaults against need, money that might be lent out at interest otherwise. Overend Gurney became careless and let its reserves grow too low. It is always a temptation to banks. They failed to pay, and a hundred other banks and firms ran short of cash, and many of them failed in their turn. We have a Depression, as a result. Wages will be cut and men will be thrown out of work for months or years. Luckily, and it is no more than pure chance, I had not yet decided what I should do with my cash brought back from America and it is in my accounts in Liverpool and locally, in banks that have not failed.”
“So, one careless, or even reckless, bank and the whole country may be damaged?”
“Quite correct! There are great advantages to our banking system, my dear. We could not run industry without the banks. They are necessary. But I do think it should be made law that the directors and managers of any bank that fails should be hanged without appeal. That would remind them to be prudent!”
The lawyers proceeded in their dilatory fashion and the contract of sale for the Meridew estate was eventually written and a date was agreed. Mr Parkinson met the four tenants and handed them written confirmation that their annual tenancy agreement would not be renewed. They had suspected as much and offered no argument, concerned essentially that here should be no discussion of dilapidations, no demand that they should make good the holes in barn roofs or the broken fences that they had ignored.
An Uncertain Peace (The Making of a Man Series, Book 3) Page 18
