“Ah, debt presses on us, Joanna. And the creditors have no pity. The old words mean nothing to them: ‘Blessed are the merciful’. But our courage will not fail us. If our home passes to other hands, we will witness it, dumb and dry-eyed. If strangers cast on it appraising eyes and utter belittling words, we will stand aside and be silent.”
“Are they really as bad as that? When the house was in danger before, they said such nice things about it. And about what they would make of it, when it was theirs. I hardly knew its possibilities. I was quite sorry they could not have it.”
“Well, I was not,” said Sir Michael Egerton. “I was glad we could keep it. Because what would happen to us without it I am at a loss to say. It would be the end of our world.”
The old house in question was large and beautiful and shabby, but only the last to any unusual degree. It had the appeal of a place where lack of means had prevented the addition of new things, and ensured care of the old. The land about it stretched to a fair distance, and in the past had provided its support.
“The end of the world never comes. And there are always people who expect it.”
“Well, it may not come, my wife. Matters may adjust themselves. They have done so before.”
“I don’t think they have. It has had to be done for them. It will be done for them again. I can’t say that Hereward will do it. It might seem that I was taking it as a matter of course.”
“I hope we are not, Joanna. I hope we have not sunk so far. What would you say, Galleon? I know you have not missed a word.”
“Well, Sir Michael,” said the butler, who had not done so, “would it not be giving credit where credit is due?”
“Rendering to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s. Well, I suppose it would. It has come to be our part.”
“And it must be nice to be Caesar,” said Joanna. “I think Hereward must like it. I am sure I should.”
“Ah, Joanna, I am forced to lean where once I led. It goes against the grain. It would be at once better and worse to have no dear ones.”
“For us it would be worse. I don’t know what to say about them. I suppose we are their dear ones. We have to assume we are. Well, they say that all love has its sad side.”
“Ah, ha, well, I suppose it has. We are looking to them, I admit. Well, we must be worthy of them. We must not bring faint hearts to the stress of life. We must face our indebtedness, shoulder the burden and carry it with us. We will not bend beneath it, heavy in its way though it be. Is not that our own victory?”
“Yes, it is. We can be sure it would not be anyone else’s.”
“What would you call it, Galleon?”
“I can hardly say, Sir Michael.”
“Ah, the humble part is the hard one. Gratitude is the rare thing to give. In a sense it is a gift. If we can give it, nothing is beyond us. To render it is the way to be unvanquished by it.”
“It must be difficult to be vanquished,” said Joanna. “I hardly see how anyone could be.”
“Ah, you can smile to yourself, Galleon. That is always your line. You don’t know the cost of some of the stresses of life. I can only think you have escaped them.”
“These would hardly arise in my situation, Sir Michael.”
“They come from things that are common to us all.”
“It is the degree in which those are held, that is not common to us, Sir Michael. But I have no claim to them. It falls to me to observe them in other hands. And I think there may be news of some of them. The post is here, and, if I am right, a lawyer’s letter. I am familiar with their aspect.”
“Yes, no doubt you are. And so am I. I am sure I wish I was not. You are right. I wish you were wrong. It is a lawyer’s letter. And from Messrs Blount and Middleman, names that strike a chill to my soul. Middleman! It is the right word. Something between ourselves and human good. Now what a profession to choose! One that brings trouble and anxiety to innocent people. And does little else as far as I can see. Except cause threats and mysteries where there is none. It must be an odd man who wants it. I would rather bring a little peace and goodwill myself. Well, Messrs Blount and Middleman, and what have you to say? Is it my fault that tithes and rents fall, and expenses rise? What have I done to cause it? Nothing but lead a simple life and harm no one. Well, let us read your letter. The courage it needs! I declare I am without it. Strong man that I am, I have not enough to open it.”
“Perhaps her ladyship could be of help to you, Sir Michael.”
“No, she could not. I should not ask it of her. I am not a man who talks about the courage of women. It is for a man to show courage himself. So here is the moment. My Joanna, be prepared. It is the last straw that may break us. But we will show our mettle. We come of stock that has it. Come here and read it with me. I can’t put a hand on my glasses.”
“Your hand happens to be on them, Sir Michael.”
“Yes, so it does. So I can read it myself. And I don’t care what it is. It cannot be laid to my account. — So the land by the river is sold. The piece that has been on the market. The figures of the sale are here. And the expenses and the agent’s commission. They would not be left out. Come and look at them, Joanna. Figures are out of my line. I have come to be afraid of them. Messrs Blount and the other have frightened me. I shudder at the thought of them. — What? Is that what it is? Money and a real sum of it! Enough to mean something! I don’t know how to believe it. I will not believe it for the time. I will let it soak in. I will savour it. I will have some moments of relief. They do not come too often. Well, if money is the root of all evil, it is the root of other things too. There is no evil here that I can see. This delivers us, Joanna. This opens up our path. Forward can be our watchword. Forward, with heads up, eyes on the future, strong in heart.”
“If I may say so, Sir Michael, the money is capital, and should be seen and used as such.”
“Well, you may not say so. Who do you think you are? Messrs Blount and Middleman? One example of them is enough. A douche of cold water is not what we want at the moment. You should know that at your age. A man of forty should be equal to it. And money is money, capital or not. You can’t get away from it.”
“Is capital exactly money?” said Joanna. “If it was, it could be spent. It is a large amount, that brings in small ones without getting any less. And the small ones are spent; and their being so small leads people into debt. But it seems kind and clever of capital. We should not ask any more.”
“True, my lady,” said Galleon. “We must not kill the thing we love.”
“Do I love capital? I suppose I do. It is dreadful to love money. I did not know I did. But capital is so kind to us. I am sure anyone would love it. And it is sad if it is sometimes killed. It makes me love it more.”
“Well, what I love is a little ease,” said Sir Michael, leaning back as if to enjoy it. “I am a man of sixty, and it is time I had it. And I want it for you as much as for myself. More, of course; I want it chiefly for you. And for all the people in whose debt we are. Ah, I have thought of them, Joanna. My mind has not been only on myself. I have pictured them in want of what was theirs. I have not been blind to their claims. Because what is owed to them is theirs in a way. I have recognised it.”
“They have recognised it too. You and they seem to be alike. But it seems somehow inconsistent of them. Thinking it is theirs, when it is spent! They seem to love money as much as I do. And not to be ashamed of it. It makes me quite ashamed for them. They might have behaved nobly, and they have not.”
“Ah, we do not meet that, Joanna. We must not look for it, my wife. Self is what it is in their minds, self and little else. But they have been in mine. In it and on it, day and night. Sleeping and waking, I have had them in my thought. I have had to hold myself from dwelling on them. It was all I could do.”