Mr. Blair. "Wells was content with my note of hand; this man requires
security on my goods. It is a mere matter of form in my case, he says.
As I am doing well, and there's no fear of my not keeping the interest
paid up, I suppose it is. In two or three years from this, all being
well, the debt itself will be wiped off."
"Oh yes; I hope so. The school is prosperous."
Her tone was anxious, and Mr. Blair detected it. But for considering
that she ought to know it, he would rather have kept this trouble to
himself. And he was not sure upon another point: whether, in giving
this bill of sale upon the furniture, Mr. Gavity might deem it essential
to come in and take a list, article by article, bed by bed, table by
table. If so, it would not have been possible to conceal it from her.
He mentioned this. She, with himself, could not understand the necessity
of their furniture being brought into the transaction at all, seeing
that there could be no doubt as to their ability to repay. The one knew
just as much about bills of sale and the rights they gave, as the other:
and, that, was nothing.
And now that the communication to his wife was off his mind--for in
that had lain the chief weight--Mr. Blair was more at ease. As they sat
talking together, discussing the future in all its aspects, the shadow
lifted itself, and things looked brighter. It did not seem to either of
them so formidable a matter after all. It was only changing one creditor
for another, and paying a little higher interest.
The transaction was accomplished. Gavity advanced the money, and took
the bill of sale upon the furniture. He shot up the expenses--as
money-lenders of his stamp generally do--and brought up the loan to a
hundred and eighty, instead of a hundred and fifty. Still, taking things
for all in all, the position was perhaps as fair and hopeful a one as
can be experienced under debt. It was but a temporary clog; Mr. and Mrs.
Blair both knew that. The school was flourishing; their prospects were
good; they were young, and healthy, and hopeful. And though Mr. Gavity
would of course exact his rights to the uttermost farthing, he had no
intention of playing the rogue. In all candour let it be avowed, the
gentleman money-lender did not see that it was a case affording scope
for it.
* * * * *
I had to tell that much as well as I could, seeing that it only came to
me by hearsay in the future.
And now to go back a little while, and to ourselves at Dyke Manor.
After their marriage the Squire did not lose sight of Mr. and Mrs.
Blair. A basket of things went up now and then, and the second Christmas
they were invited to come down; but Mary wrote to decline, on account
of Joe, the baby. "Let them leave Joe at home," cried Tod; but Mrs.
Todhetley, shaking her head, said the dear little infant would come
to sad grief without its mother. Soon after that, when the Squire was
in London, he took the omnibus and went to see them, and told us how
comfortably they were getting on.
Years went round to another Christmas, when the exacting Joe would be
some months over two years old. In the passing of time you are apt to
lose sight of interests, unless they are close ones; and for some months
we had heard nothing of the Blairs. Mrs. Todhetley spoke of it one
evening.
"Send them a Christmas hamper," said the Squire.
The Christmas hamper went. With a turkey and ham, and a brace of
pheasants in it; some bacon and apples to fill up, and sweet herbs and
onions. Lena put in her favourite doll, dressed as a little mother, for
young Joe. It had a false arm; and no legs, so to say: Hugh cut the feet
off one day, and Hannah had to sew the stumps up. We hoped they would
enjoy it all, including the doll, and drank good luck to them on
Christmas Day.
A week and a half went on, and no news came. Mrs. Todhetley grew uneasy
about the hamper, feeling sure it had been confiscated by the railway.
Mary Blair had always written so promptly to acknowledge everything sent
to them.
One January day the letter came in by the afternoon post. We knew Mary's
handwriting. The Squire and Madam were at the Sterlings', and it was
nine o'clock at night when they drove in. Mrs. Todhetley's face ached,
which was quite usual she had a white handkerchief tied round it. When
they were seated round the fire, I remembered the letter, and gave it to
her.
"Now to hear the fate of the hamper!" she exclaimed, carrying it to the
lamp. But, what with the face-ache, and what with her eyes, which were
not so good by candle-light as they used to be, Mrs. Todhetley could not
read the contents readily. She looked at the writing, page after page,
and then gave a short scream of dismay. Something was wrong.
"Those thieves have grabbed the hamper!" cried the Squire.
"No; I think the Blairs have had the hamper. I fear it is something
worse," she said faintly. "Perhaps you will read it aloud."
The Squire put his spectacles on as he took the letter. We gathered
round the table, waiting. Mrs. Todhetley sat with her head aside,
nursing her cheek; and Tod, who had been reading, put his book down. The
Squire hammered a good deal over the writing, which was not so legible
as Mary's was in general. She appeared to have meant it for Mrs.
Todhetley and the Squire jointly.
"'MY VERY DEAR FRIENDS,
"'If I have delayed writing to you it was not for want of
in-ingredients'"----
"Ingredients!" cried one of us.
"It must be gratitude," corrected the Squire. "Don't interrupt."
"'Gratitude for your most welcome and liberal present, but because
my heart and hands have alike shrunk from the ex--ex--explanation
it must entail. Alas! a series of very terrible misfortunes have
overwormed--overwhelmed us. We have had to give up our school and our
prospects together, and to turn out of our once happy dome.'"
"Dome!" put in Tod.
"I suppose it's home," said the Squire. "This confounded lamp is as dim
as it can be to-night!" And he went on fractiously.
"'Through no fault of my husband's he had to borrow a hundred and
fifty pounds nearly twelve months ago. The man he had it from was a
money-lender, a Mr. Gavity; he charged a high rate of interest, and
brought the cost up to about thirty pounds; but we have no reason
to think he wished to act un--unfar--unfairly by us. He required
security--which I suppose was only reasonable. The Reverend Mr. Lockett
offered himself; but Gavity said parsons were slippers.'"
"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Todhetley.
"The word's slippery, I expect," cried the Squire with a frown. "One
would think she had emptied the water-bottle into the inkpot."
"'Gavity said parsons were slippery; meaning that they were often worth
no more than their word. He took, as security, a bill of sale on the
furnace. Stay,--furniture. Our school was quite prosperous; there was
not the slightest doubt that in a short time the whole of the debt could
be cleared off; so we had no hesitation in letting him have the bill
of sale. And no harm would have come of it, but for one dreadful
misfortune, which (as it seems) was a necessary part of the attendant
proceedings. My husband got put into _Jer--Jer--Jerry's Gazelle_.'"
"_Jerry's Gazelle?_"
"_Jerry's Gazette_," corrected the Squire.
"_Jerry's Gazette?_"
We all spoke at once. He stared at the letters and then at us. We stared
back again.
"It _is_ _Jerry's Gazette_--as I think. Come and see, Joe."
Tod looked over the Squire's shoulder. It certainly looked like
"_Jerry's Gazette_," he said; but the ink was pale.
"'_Jerry's Gazette._' Go on, father. Perhaps you'll find an explanation
further on."
"'This _Jerry's Gazette_, it appears, is circulated chiefly (and I
think privately) amongst comical men--commercial men; merchants, and
tradespeople. When they read its list of names, they know at once who
is in difficulties. Of course they saw my husband's name there, Pyefinch
Blair; unfortunately a name so peculiar as not to admit of any doubt.
I did not see the _Gazette_, but I believe the amount of the debt was
stated, and that Gavity (but I don't know whether he was mentioned by
name) had a bill of sale on our household furniture.'"
"What the dickens is _Jerry's Gazette_?" burst forth the Squire, giving
the letter a passionate flick. "I know but of one _Gazette_, into which
men of all conditions go, whether they are made lords or bankrupts.
What's this other thing?"
He put up his spectacles, and stared at us all again, as if expecting an
answer. But he might as well have asked it of the moon. Mrs. Todhetley
sat with the most hopeless look you ever saw on her face. So he went on
reading again.
"'We knew nothing about _Jerry's Gazette_ ourselves, or that there was
such a pub--pub--publication, or that the transaction had appeared in
it; and could not imagine why the school began to fall off. Some of the
pupils were taken away, _at once_, some at Lady-day; and by Midsummer
nearly every one had left. We used to lie awake night after night,
grieving and wondering what could be the matter, searching in vain for
any cause of offence, given unwittingly to the boys or their parents.
Often and often we got up in the morning to go about our day's work,
never having closed our eyes. At last, a gentleman, whose son had been
one of the first renewed--removed, told Pyefinch the truth: that he had
appeared in _Jerry's Gazette_. The fathers who subscribed to _Jerry's
Gazette_ had seen it for themselves; and they informed the others.'"
"The devil take _Jerry's Gazette_," interrupted Tod, deliberately. "This
reads like an episode of the Secret Inquisition, sir, in the days of the
French Revolution."
"It reads like a thing that an honest Englishman's ears ought to redden
to hear of," answered the Squire, as he put the lamp nearer, for his
outstretched arms were getting cramped.
"'Pyefinch went round to every one of the boy's fathers. Some
would not see him, some not hear him; but to those who did, he
imported--imparted--the whole circumstances; showing how it was that
he had had to borrow the money (or rather to re-borrow it, but I have
not time in this letter to go so far into detail), and that it could
not by any possibility injure the boys or touch their interests. Most
of them, he said, were very kind and sympathizing, so far as words
went, saying that in this case _Jerry's Gazette_ appeared to have been
the means of inflicting a cruel wrong; but they would not agree to
replace their sons with us. They either declined point-blank, or said
they'd consider of it; but you see the greater portion of the boys
were already placed at other schools. All of them told Pyefinch one
thing--that they were thoroughly satisfied with his treatment in every
respect, and but for this interruption would probably have left their
sons with him as long as they wanted intrusion--instruction. The long
and short of it was this, my dear friends: they did not choose to have
their sons educated by a man who was looked upon in the commercial
world as next door to a bankrupt. One of them delicately hinted as
much, and said Mr. Blair must be aware that he was liable to have his
house topped--stripped--at any moment under the bill of sale. We said
to ourselves that evening, as Pyefinch and I talked together, that
we might have removed boys of our own from a school under the same
circumstances.'"
"That's true enough," murmured Mrs. Todhetley.
"'My letter has grown very long and I must hasten to conclude it.
Just before the rent was due at Michaelmas (we paid it half-yearly, by
agreement) Gavity put the bill of sale into force. One morning several
men came in and swept off the furniture. We were turned out next: though
indeed to have attempted to remain in that large house were folly. The
landlord came in a passion, and told Pyefinch that he would put him in
prison if he were worth it; as he was not, he had better go out of the
pitch--place--forthwith, as another tenant was ready to take possession.
Since then we have been staying here, Pyefinch vainly seeking to
get some employment. What we hoped was, that he would obtain an
under-mastership to some public fool----"
"Fool, sir!"
"'School. But it seems difficult. He sends his best regards to you, and
bids me say that the reason you have not heard from us so long is, that
we could not bear to tell you the ill news after your former kindness to
us. The arrival of the hamper leaves us no resource.
"'Thank you for that. Thank you very truly. The people at the old house
have our address, and re-directed it here. We received it early on
Christmas Eve. How good the things were, you do not need to be told. I
stuffed the turkey--I shall make a famous cook in time--and sent it to
the backhouse--bakehouse. You should have seen the pill--picture--it
was when it came home. Believe me, my dear friends, we are both of us
grateful for all your kindness to us, past and present. Little Joe is so
delighted with the doll, he scarcely puts it out of his arms. Our best
love to all, including Hugh and Lena. Thank Johnny for the beautiful new
book he put in. I must apologize in conclusion for my writing; the ink
we get in these penny bottles is pale; and baby has been on my lap all
the time, never easy a minute. Do not say anything of all this, please,
should you be writing to Wales.
"'Ever most truly yours,
"'MARY BLAIR.
"'_13, Difford's Buildings, Paddington._'"
The Squire put the letter down and his spectacles on it, quite solemnly.
You might have heard a pin drop in that room.
"This is a thing that must be inquired into. I shall go up to-morrow."
"And I'd go too, sir, but for my engagement to the Whitneys," said Tod.
"She must mean, in speaking of a baby, that there's another," spoke Mrs.
Todhetley, in a frightened sort of whisper. "Besides little Joe. Dear
me!"
"I don't understand it," stamped the Squire, getting red. "Turned out of
house and home through _Jerry's Gazette_! Do we live in England, I'd
like to ask?--under English laws?--enjoying English rights and freedom?
_Jerry's Gazette?_ What the deuce _is_ _Jerry's Gazette_? Where does it
come from? What issues it? The Lord Chamberlain's Office?--or Scotland
Yard?--or some Patent society that we've not heard of, down here? The
girl must have been imposed upon: her statement won't hold water."
"It looks as though she had been, sir."
"_Looks_ like it, Johnny! It must be so," said the Squire, growing
warmer. "I have temporary need of a sum of money, and I borrow it
straightforwardly, honestly purposing and undertaking to pay it back
with good interest, but not exactly wanting my neighbours to know about
it; and you'd like me to believe that there's some association, or
publication, or whatever else it may be, that won't allow this to be
done privately, but must pounce upon the transaction, and take it down
in print, and send it round to the public, just as if it were a wedding
or a burying!"
The Squire had grown redder than a roost-cock. He always did when
tremendously put out, and the matter would not admit of calling in old
Jones the constable.
"Folly! Moonshine! Blair, poor fellow, has been slipping into some
disaster, had his furniture seized, and so invents this fable to appease
his wife, not liking to tell her the truth. _Jerry's Gazette!_ When I
was a youngster, my father took me to see an exhibition in Worcester
called 'Jerry's Dogs.' The worst damage you could get there was a cold,
from the holes in the canvas roof, or a pitch over the front into the
sawdust. But in _Jerry's Gazette_, according to this tale, you may be
damaged for life. Don't tell me! Do we live in Austria, or France, or
any of those places, where--as it's said--a man can't so much as put
on a pair of clean stockings in a morning, but its laid before high
quarters in black and white at mid-day by the secret police! No, you
need not tell me that."
"I never heard of _Jerry's Gazette_ in all my life; I don't know whether
it is a stage performance or something to eat; but I feel convinced Mary
Blair would not write this without having good grounds for it," said
Tod, bold as usual.
And do you know--though you may be slow to believe it--the Squire had
taken latterly to listen to him. He turned his red old face on him now,
and some of its fierceness went out of it.
"Then, Joe, all I can say is this--that English honour and English
notions have changed uncommonly from what they used to be. 'Live and let
live' was one of our mottoes; and most of us tried to act up to it. I
know no more of this," striking his hand on the letter, "than you know,
boys; and I cannot think but that she must have been under some
unaccountable mistake in writing it. Any way, I'll go up to London
to-morrow: and if you like, Johnny, you can go with me."
We went up. I did not feel sure of it until the train was off, for Tod
seemed three-parts inclined to give up the shooting at the Whitneys',
and start for London instead; in which case the Squire might not have
taken me. Tod and some more young fellows were invited to Whitney Hall
for three days, to a shooting-match.
It was dusk when we reached London, and as cold as charity. The Squire
turned into the railway hotel and had some chops served, but did not
wait for a regular dinner. When once he was in for impatience, he _was_
in for it.
"Difford's Buildings, Paddington," had been the address, so we thought
it would not be far to go. The Squire held on in his way along the
crowded streets, as if he were about to set things to rights, elbowing
the people, and asking the road at every turn. Some did not know
Difford's Buildings, and some directed us wrongly; but we got there at
last. It was in a narrow, quiet street; a row of what Londoners call
eight-roomed houses, with little gates opening to the square patches of
smoky garden, and "Difford's Buildings" written up as large as life at
the corner.
"Let's see," said the Squire, looking sideways at the windows. "Number
thirteen, was it not, Johnny?"
"Yes, sir."
Difford's Buildings were not well lighted, and there was no seeing the
numbers. The Squire stopped before the one he thought must be thirteen;
when some one came out at the house-door, shutting it behind him, and
met us at the gate. A youngish clergyman in a white necktie. He and the
Squire stood looking at each other in the gathering darkness.
"Can you tell me if Mr. Blair lives here?"
"Yes, he does," was the answer. "I think--I think I have the pleasure of
speaking to Mr. Todhetley."
The Squire knew him then--the Reverend Mr. Lockett. They had met when
Blair first took to the school.
"What _is_ all this extraordinary history?" burst forth the Squire,
seizing him by the button of his great-coat, and taking him a few yards
further on. "Mrs. Blair has been writing us a strange rigmarole, which
nobody can make head or tail of; about ruin, and sales, and something
she calls _Jerry's Gazette_."
"Ay," quietly answered the clergyman in a tone of pain, as he put his
arm inside the Squire's, and they paced slowly up and down. "It is one
of the saddest histories my experience has ever had to do with."
The Squire was near coming to an explosion in the open street. "Will you
be pleased to tell me, sir, whether there exists such a thing as
_Jerry's Gazette_, or whether it is a fable? I have heard of Jerry's
Performing Dogs; went to see 'em once: but I don't know what this other
invention can be."
"Certainly there is such a thing," said Mr. Lockett. "It is, I fancy, a
list of people who unfortunately get into difficulties; at least, people
who fall into difficulties seem to get shown up in it. I am told it is
meant chiefly for private circulation: which may imply, as I imagine
(but here I may be wrong) what may be called secret circulation. Blair
had occasion to borrow a little money, and _his_ name appeared in it.
From that moment he was a marked man, and his school fell off."
"Goodness bless my soul!" cried the Squire solemnly, completely taken
aback at hearing Mary's letter confirmed. "Who gives _Jerry's Gazette_
the right to do this?"
"I don't know about the right. It seems it has the power."
"It is a power I never heard of before, sir. We have a parson, down our
way, who tells us every Sunday the world's coming to an end. I think it
must be. I know it's getting too clever for me to understand. If a man
has the misfortune (perhaps after years of struggling that nobody knows
anything about but himself) to break up at last, he goes into the
country's _Gazette_ in a straightforward manner, and the public read it
over their breakfast-tables, and there's nothing underhand about it. But
as to this other thing--if I comprehend the matter rightly--Blair did
not as much as know of its existence, or that his name was going into
it."
"I am sure he did not; or I, either," said Mr. Lockett.
"I should like its meaning explained, then," cried the Squire, getting
hotter and angrier. "Is it a fair, upright, honest thing; or is it a
sort of Spanish Inquisition?"
"I cannot tell you," answered the parson, as they both stood still.
"Mr. Blair was informed by the father of one of his pupils that he
believed the sheet was first of all set up as a speculation, and was
found to answer so well that it became quite an institution. I do not
know whether this is true."
"I have heard of an institution for idiots, but I never heard of one for
selling up men's chairs and tables," stormed the Squire. "No, sir, and I
don't believe it now. I might take up my standing to-morrow on the top
of the Monument, and say to the public, 'Here I am, and I'll ferret out
what I can about you, and whisper it to one another of you;' and so
bring a serpent's trail on the unsuspecting heads, and altogether play
Old Gooseberry with the crowds below me. Do you suppose, sir, the Lord
Chancellor would wink his eye at me, stuck aloft there at my work, and
would tolerate such a spectacle?"
"I fear the Lord Chancellor has not much to do with it," said Mr.
Lockett, smiling at the Squire's random logic.
"Then suppose we say good men--public opinion--commercial justice and
honour? Come!"
He shook the frail railings, on which his hand was resting, until
they nearly came to grief. Mr. Lockett related the particulars of the
transaction from the beginning; the original debt, which Blair was
suddenly called upon to pay off, and the contraction of the one to
Gavity. He said that he himself had had as much to do with it as Blair,
in the capacity of friend and adviser, and felt almost as though he
were responsible for the turn affairs had taken; which had caused him
scarcely to enjoy an easy moment since. The Squire began to abuse
Gavity, but Mr. Lockett said the man did not appear to have had any
ill intention. As to his having sold off the goods--if he had not sold
them, the landlord would have done so.
"And what's Blair doing now?" asked Mr. Todhetley.
"Battling with illness for his life," said the clergyman. "I have just
been praying with him."
The Squire retreated towards the lamp-post, as if some one had given him
a blow. Mr. Lockett explained further.
It was in September that they had left their home. His own lodging and
the church of which he was curate were in Paddington, and he found rooms
for Blair and his wife in the same neighbourhood--two parlours in
Difford's Buildings. Blair (who had lost heart so terribly as to be good
for little) spared no time or exertion in seeking for something to do.
He tried to get into King's College; they liked his appearance and
testimonials, but at present had no vacancy: he tried private schools
for an ushership, but did did not get one: nothing seemed to be vacant
just then. Then he tried for a clerk's place. Day after day, ill or
well, rain or fine, feasting or fasting, he went tramping about London
streets. At last, one of those who had had sons at his school, gave him
some out-door employment--that of making known a new invention and
soliciting customers for it from shop to shop: Blair to be paid on
commission. Naturally, he did not let weather hinder him, and would come
home to Difford's Buildings at night, wet through. There had been a
great deal of rain in November and December. But he got wet once too
often, and was attacked with rheumatic fever. The fever was better now;
but the weakness it had left was dangerous.
"She did not say anything about this in her letter," interrupted the
Squire resentfully, when Mr. Lockett had explained so far.
"Blair told her not to do so. He thought if their position were revealed
to the friends who had once shown themselves so kind, it might look
almost like begging for help again."
"Blair's a fool!" roared the Squire.