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CHAPTER XI - A BLOT FROM THE BLUE
So by the cleverness of two girls a dark cloud was thinned away and
turned into sunshine. Over one of them, alas, another cloud was
gathering, which could not be so easily dispersed. Of these three
households which fate had thrown together, two had already been united
by ties of love. It was destined, however, that a bond of another sort
should connect the Westmacotts with the Hay Denvers.
Between the Admiral and the widow a very cordial feeling had existed
since the day when the old seaman had hauled down his flag and changed
his opinions; granting to the yachts-woman all that he had refused to
the reformer. His own frank and downright nature respected the same
qualities in his neighbor, and a friendship sprang up between them which
was more like that which exists between two men, founded upon esteem and
a community of tastes.
"By the way, Admiral," said Mrs. Westmacott one morning, as they walked
together down to the station, "I understand that this boy of yours in
the intervals of paying his devotions to Miss Walker is doing something
upon 'Change."
"Yes, ma'am, and there is no man of his age who is doing so well. He's
drawing ahead, I can tell you, ma'am. Some of those that started with
him are hull down astarn now. He touched his five hundred last year,
and before he's thirty he'll be making the four figures."
"The reason I asked is that I have small investments to make myself from
time to time, and my present broker is a rascal. I should be very glad
to do it through your son."
"It is very kind of you, ma'am. His partner is away on a holiday, and
Harold would like to push on a bit and show what he can do. You know
the poop isn't big enough to hold the lieutenant when the skipper's on
shore."
"I suppose he charges the usual half per cent?"
"Don't know, I'm sure, ma'am. I'll swear that he does what is right and
proper."
"That is what I usually pay--ten shillings in the hundred pounds. If
you see him before I do just ask him to get me five thousand in New
Zealands. It is at four just now, and I fancy it may rise."
"Five thousand!" exclaimed the Admiral, reckoning it in his own mind.
"Lemme see! That's twenty-five pounds commission. A nice day's work,
upon my word. It is a very handsome order, ma'am."
"Well, I must pay some one, and why not him?"
"I'll tell him, and I'm sure he'll lose no time."
"Oh, there is no great hurry. By the way, I understand from what you
said just now that he has a partner."
"Yes, my boy is the junior partner. Pearson is the senior. I was
introduced to him years ago, and he offered Harold the opening. Of
course we had a pretty stiff premium to pay."
Mrs. Westmacott had stopped, and was standing very stiffly with her Red
Indian face even grimmer than usual.
"Pearson?" said she. "Jeremiah Pearson?"
"The same."
"Then it's all off," she cried. "You need not carry out that
investment."
"Very well, ma'am."
They walked on together side by side, she brooding over some thought of
her own, and he a little crossed and disappointed at her caprice and the
lost commission for Harold.
"I tell you what, Admiral," she exclaimed suddenly, "if I were you I
should get your boy out of this partnership."
"But why, madam?"
"Because he is tied to one of the deepest, slyest foxes in the whole
city of London."
"Jeremiah Pearson, ma'am? What can you know of him? He bears a good
name."
"No one in this world knows Jeremiah Pearson as I know him, Admiral. I
warn you because I have a friendly feeling both for you and for your
son. The man is a rogue and you had best avoid him."
"But these are only words, ma'am. Do you tell me that you know him
better than the brokers and jobbers in the City?"
"Man," cried Mrs. Westmacott, "will you allow that I know him when I
tell you that my maiden name was Ada Pearson, and that Jeremiah is my
only brother?"
The Admiral whistled. "Whew!" cried he. "Now that I think of it, there
is a likeness."
"He is a man of iron, Admiral--a man without a heart. I should shock
you if I were to tell you what I have endured from my brother. My
father's wealth was divided equally between us. His own share he ran
through in five years, and he has tried since then by every trick of a
cunning, low-minded man, by base cajolery, by legal quibbles, by brutal
intimidation, to juggle me out of my share as well. There is no
villainy of which the man is not capable. Oh, I know my brother
Jeremiah. I know him and I am prepared for him."
"This is all new to me, ma'am. 'Pon my word, I hardly know what to say
to it. I thank you for having spoken so plainly. From what you say,
this is a poor sort of consort for a man to sail with. Perhaps Harold
would do well to cut himself adrift."
"Without losing a day."
"Well, we shall talk it over. You may be sure of that. But here we are
at the station, so I will just see you into your carriage and then home
to see what my wife says to the matter."
As he trudged homewards, thoughtful and perplexed, he was surprised to
hear a shout behind him, and to see Harold running down the road after
him.
"Why, dad," he cried, "I have just come from town, and the first thing I
saw was your back as you marched away. But you are such a quick walker
that I had to run to catch you."
The Admiral's smile of pleasure had broken his stern face into a
thousand wrinkles. "You are early to-day," said he.
"Yes, I wanted to consult you."
"Nothing wrong?"
"Oh no, only an inconvenience."
"What is it, then?"
"How much have we in our private account?"
"Pretty fair. Some eight hundred, I think."
"Oh, half that will be ample. It was rather thoughtless of Pearson."
"What then?"
"Well, you see, dad, when he went away upon this little holiday to Havre
he left me to pay accounts and so on. He told me that there was enough
at the bank for all claims. I had occasion on Tuesday to pay away two
cheques, one for L80, and the other for L120, and here they are returned
with a bank notice that we have already overdrawn to the extent of some
hundreds."
The Admiral looked very grave. "What's the meaning of that, then?" he
asked.
"Oh, it can easily be set right. You see Pearson invests all the spare
capital and keeps as small a margin as possible at the bank. Still it
was too bad for him to allow me even to run a risk of having a cheque
returned. I have written to him and demanded his authority to sell out
some stock, and I have written an explanation to these people. In the
meantime, however, I have had to issue several cheques; so I had better
transfer part of our private account to meet them."
"Quite so, my boy. All that's mine is yours. But who do you think this
Pearson is? He is Mrs. Westmacott's brother."
"Really. What a singular thing! Well, I can see a likeness now that
you mention it. They have both the same hard type of face."
"She has been warning me against him--says he is the rankest pirate in
London. I hope that it is all right, boy, and that we may not find
ourselves in broken water."
Harold had turned a little pale as he heard Mrs. Westmacott's opinion of
his senior partner. It gave shape and substance to certain vague fears
and suspicions of his own which had been pushed back as often as they
obtruded themselves as being too monstrous and fantastic for belief.
"He is a well-known man in the City, dad," said he.
"Of course he is--of course he is. That is what I told her. They would
have found him out there if anything had been amiss with him. Bless
you, there's nothing so bitter as a family quarrel. Still it is just as
well that you have written about this affair, for we may as well have
all fair and aboveboard."
But Harold's letter to his partner was crossed by a letter from his
partner to Harold. It lay awaiting him upon the breakfast table next
morning, and it sent the heart into his mouth as he read it, and caused
him to spring up from his chair with a white face and staring eyes.
"My boy! My boy!"
"I am ruined, mother--ruined!" He stood gazing wildly in front of him,
while the sheet of paper fluttered down on the carpet. Then he dropped
back into the chair, and sank his face into his hands. His mother had
her arms round him in an instant, while the Admiral, with shaking
fingers, picked up the letter from the floor and adjusted his glasses to
read it.
"My DEAR DENVER," it ran. "By the time that this reaches you I shall be
out of the reach of yourself or of any one else who may desire an
interview. You need not search for me, for I assure you that this
letter is posted by a friend, and that you will have your trouble in
vain if you try to find me. I am sorry to leave you in such a tight
place, but one or other of us must be squeezed, and on the whole I
prefer that it should be you. You'll find nothing in the bank, and
about L13,000 unaccounted for. I'm not sure that the best thing you can
do is not to realize what you can, and imitate your senior's example.
If you act at once you may get clean away. If not, it's not only that
you must put up your shutters, but I am afraid that this missing money
could hardly be included as an ordinary debt, and of course you are
legally responsible for it just as much as I am. Take a friend's advice
and get to America. A young man with brains can always do something out
there, and you can live down this little mischance. It will be a cheap
lesson if it teaches you to take nothing upon trust in business, and to
insist upon knowing exactly what your partner is doing, however senior
he may be to you.
"Yours faithfully,
"JEREMIAH PEARSON."
"Great Heavens!" groaned the Admiral, "he has absconded."
"And left me both a bankrupt and a thief."
"No, no, Harold," sobbed his mother. "All will be right. What matter
about money!"
"Money, mother! It is my honor."
"The boy is right. It is his honor, and my honor, for his is mine.
This is a sore trouble, mother, when we thought our life's troubles were
all behind us, but we will bear it as we have borne others." He held
out his stringy hand, and the two old folk sat with bowed grey heads,
their fingers intertwined, strong in each other's love and sympathy.
"We were too happy," she sighed.
"But it is God's will, mother."
"Yes, John, it is God's will."
"And yet it is bitter to bear. I could have lost all, the house, money,
rank--I could have borne it. But at my age--my honor--the honor of an
admiral of the fleet."
"No honor can be lost, John, where no dishonor has been done. What have
you done? What has Harold done? There is no question of honor."
The old man shook his head, but Harold had already called together his
clear practical sense, which for an instant in the presence of this
frightful blow had deserted him.
"The mater is right, dad," said he. "It is bad enough, Heaven knows,
but we must not take too dark a view of it. After all, this insolent
letter is in itself evidence that I had nothing to do with the schemes
of the base villain who wrote it."
"They may think it prearranged."
"They could not. My whole life cries out against the thought. They
could not look me in the face and entertain it."
"No, boy, not if they have eyes in their heads," cried the Admiral,
plucking up courage at the sight of the flashing eyes and brave, defiant
face. "We have the letter, and we have your character. We'll weather
it yet between them. It's my fault from the beginning for choosing such
a land-shark for your consort. God help me, I thought I was finding
such an opening for you."
"Dear dad! How could you possibly know? As he says in his letter, it
has given me a lesson. But he was so much older and so much more
experienced, that it was hard for me to ask to examine his books. But
we must waste no time. I must go to the City."
"What will you do?"
"What an honest man should do. I will write to all our clients and
creditors, assemble them, lay the whole matter before them, read them
the letter and put myself absolutely in their hands."
"That's it, boy--yard-arm to yard-arm, and have it over."
"I must go at once." He put on his top-coat and his hat. "But I have
ten minutes yet before I can catch a train. There is one little thing
which I must do before I start."
He had caught sight through the long glass folding door of the gleam of
a white blouse and a straw hat in the tennis ground. Clara used often
to meet him there of a morning to say a few words before he hurried away
into the City. He walked out now with the quick, firm step of a man who
has taken a momentous resolution, but his face was haggard and his lips
pale.
"Clara," said he, as she came towards him with words of greeting, "I am
sorry to bring ill news to you, but things have gone wrong in the City,
and--and I think that I ought to release you from your engagement."
Clara stared at him with her great questioning dark eyes, and her face
became as pale as his.
"How can the City affect you and me, Harold?"
"It is dishonor. I cannot ask you to share it."
"Dishonor! The loss of some miserable gold and silver coins!"
"Oh, Clara, if it were only that! We could be far happier together in a
little cottage in the country than with all the riches of the City.
Poverty could not cut me to the heart, as I have been cut this morning.
Why, it is but twenty minutes since I had the letter, Clara, and it
seems to me to be some old, old thing which happened far away in my past
life, some horrid black cloud which shut out all the freshness and the
peace from it."
"But what is it, then? What do you fear worse than poverty?"
"To have debts that I cannot meet. To be hammered upon 'Change and
declared a bankrupt. To know that others have a just claim upon me and
to feel that I dare not meet their eyes. Is not that worse than
poverty?"
"Yes, Harold, a thousand fold worse! But all this may be got over. Is
there nothing more?"
"My partner has fled and left me responsible for heavy debts, and in
such a position that I may be required by the law to produce some at
least of this missing money. It has been confided to him to invest, and
he has embezzled it. I, as his partner, am liable for it. I have
brought misery on all whom I love--my father, my mother. But you at
least shall not be under the shadow. You are free, Clara. There is no
tie between us."
"It takes two to make such a tie, Harold," said she, smiling and putting
her hand inside his arm. "It takes two to make it, dear, and also two
to break it. Is that the way they do business in the City, sir, that a
man can always at his own sweet will tear up his engagement?"
"You hold me to it, Clara?"
"No creditor so remorseless as I, Harold. Never, never shall you get
from that bond."
"But I am ruined. My whole life is blasted."
"And so you wish to ruin me, and blast my life also. No indeed, sir, you
shall not get away so lightly. But seriously now, Harold, you would
hurt me if it were not so absurd. Do you think that a woman's love is
like this sunshade which I carry in my hand, a thing only fitted for the
sunshine, and of no use when the winds blow and the clouds gather?"
"I would not drag you down, Clara."
"Should I not be dragged down indeed if I left your side at such a time?
It is only now that I can be of use to you, help you, sustain you. You
have always been so strong, so above me. You are strong still, but then
two will be stronger. Besides, sir, you have no idea what a woman of
business I am. Papa says so, and he knows."
Harold tried to speak, but his heart was too full. He could only press
the white hand which curled round his sleeve. She walked up and down by
his side, prattling merrily, and sending little gleams of cheeriness
through the gloom which girt him in. To listen to her he might have
thought that it was Ida, and not her staid and demure sister, who was
chatting to him.
"It will soon be cleared up," she said, "and then we shall feel quite
dull. Of course all business men have these little ups and downs. Why,
I suppose of all the men you meet upon 'Change, there is not one who has
not some such story to tell. If everything was always smooth, you know,
then of course every one would turn stockbroker, and you would have to
hold your meetings in Hyde Park. How much is it that you need?"
"More than I can ever get. Not less than thirteen thousand pounds."
Clara's face fell as she heard the amount. "What do you purpose doing?"
"I shall go to the City now, and I shall ask all our creditors to meet
me to-morrow. I shall read them Pearson's letter, and put myself into
their hands."
"And they, what will they do?"
"What can they do? They will serve writs for their money, and the firm
will be declared bankrupt."
"And the meeting will be to-morrow, you say. Will you take my advice?"
"What is it, Clara?"
"To ask them for a few days of delay. Who knows what new turn matters
may take?"
"What turn can they take? I have no means of raising the money."
"Let us have a few days."
"Oh, we should have that in the ordinary course of business. The legal
formalities would take them some little time. But I must go, Clara, I
must not seem to shirk. My place now must be at my offices."
"Yes, dear, you are right. God bless you and guard you! I shall be
here in The Wilderness, but all day I shall be by your office table at
Throgmorton Street in spirit, and if ever you should be sad you will
hear my little whisper in your ear, and know that there is one client
whom you will never be able to get rid of--never as long as we both
live, dear."
Content of CHAPTER XI - A BLOT FROM THE BLUE [Arthur Conan Doyle's novel: Beyond the City]
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