THE SETTLEMENT.
The records of the next few days were agitated and full of excitement.
Day after day Catherine spent at the bank, immersed in calculations and
consultations with every one who could throw the slightest light upon
the matter. Everything oozed out by degrees, and it was said now that
Edward was being hunted down by detectives, now that he had escaped
altogether, now that his defalcations were so tremendous that nothing
but absolute ruin was possible for Vernon's, now that there was enough
left to make a fight upon if only the creditors would be merciful, and
give time, and have patience. The usual panic with which such news is
received was somehow tempered in this case. It was thought in the
district that Catherine Vernon was enormously rich, and independent of
the bank, and when it was known that she had not abandoned it, but in
her old age had come back, and was in the office every day, struggling
to retrieve affairs, there was nobody short of the financial authorities
of the place who did not believe that all was safe. Catherine Vernon
would not see any harm come to the bank; Catherine Vernon would see
everybody paid. This popular faith held up with a certainty of obstinate
prepossession which was worth so much solid capital to the tottering
house. Catherine herself placed everything she had in the world in the
common stock. She it was who took the lead in all the discussions. She
rejected the provisions for her own comfort which everybody concerned
was anxious to make. The prevailing feeling among all who had any power
was at first that the re-establishment of the whole concern was
hopeless, but that enough might be saved out of the wreck to enable
Catherine to end her days in peace. To this she opposed a determined
negative. She would have no arrangement made on her behalf. "Do you
think I want," she cried, "to end my days in peace? I am ready to die
fighting, on the contrary, rather than sacrifice the place my father
lived and died in and his father before him. Don't speak of peace to
me." It was when they perceived that she was immovable in this point and
was determined to denude herself of everything, that the old
contemporaries who had stood by her before in her gallant struggle, and
had been her competitors, and had lived to see themselves distanced by
Catherine, had felt it impossible to persevere in their refusal to help.
She would have no charity, she declared with a flushed cheek. Help for
Vernon's, yes, to set them on their feet again, with a certainty that
nobody should lose a penny in the long run--for that she would thank
them with a full heart; but help for herself, to keep her in a show of
comfort when the reality was gone, no! "not a farthing," she said. "I am
not afraid of the workhouse," said Catherine, with proud calm, "and I
have a right to a Vernon almshouse, the first that is vacant. Nobody
will deny that I am Redborough born, and of good reputation. I will not
take a penny. Do you think I could not live in a single room and eat my
rations like another? It is because you don't know Catherine Vernon
yet."
The old men who had known Catherine Vernon all her life could not
withstand this. "We must manage it for her, we must do it somehow," they
said. "Vernon's is an old name among us. There is no name in all the
district that the people have such confidence in. We must try, sir, we
must try," they began to say to each other, "to help her through." The
young men, many of them, were impatient, and would have refused to
consider the question at all. What had an old woman to do with business?
She ought to be thankful if she was allowed a maintenance, and to
terminate her days in comfort. But on this point there was not another
word to be said. The Grange and everything in it was to be sold, the
White House and the old furniture, part of which Mrs. John still
remembered so fondly. There was no question as to that. "We are prepared
to sacrifice everything," Catherine said. "What we desire is not to keep
up any false pretence, but to carry on our business and recover
ourselves by your help. Dismiss me from your mind. I will take my
chance; but think of Vernon's, which is not hopeless, which has life in
it yet." Old Mr. Rule on his side had pages upon pages of statements to
put before the gentlemen. The week was one of terrible suspense and
misery, but at the end, though with conditions that were very hard upon
the pride of the family, it was decided at last in favour of the bank.
Certain great capitalists came forward to prop it up, "new blood" was
put into it in the shape of an enterprising manager, who was to guide
Harry's steps. There were bitternesses, as there is in every cup that is
administered by strangers. But Catherine had gained her object, and she
made no complaint. Vernon's would continue, and Harry might have it in
his power still to retrieve the family fortunes. As for all the rest,
what did it matter? She was a woman who was, or thought herself, very
independent of material conditions. Whether she lived in the Grange or
one of the Vernon almshouses, what did it matter to her? She did not
care for fine eating or fine clothing. "Besides, my clothes will last
out my time," she said with a smile. The week's struggle had been good
for her. She had not forgotten the great and enduring grief which lay
behind all this. But she had not had time to think of it. She had put it
away out of her mind as a strong nature can, till her work was done. It
was waiting for her to overwhelm her: but in the meantime she was
strong.
Roland Ashton hurried down as soon as the terrible news reached him. He
was eager to tell her his own connection with it, to prove to her that
it was not he who had led Edward into speculation, that he had done his
utmost to restrain him, and had even in his anxiety been willing to
embark in what he felt to be a hazardous course in order to save Edward
from the rashness he feared. He came down with all his details ready and
a burning anxiety to set himself right. But when he reached the scene of
all their troubles, Roland never said a word to Catherine on the
subject. Such details were beyond the case. She had never willingly
spoken of Edward; when it was possible she ignored him altogether; the
investigations which had been set on foot, and which had revealed the
greater part of his secrets, she had been compelled to know of, but had
spoken to no one about them. Since the first day his name had scarcely
passed her lips. Harry only had been allowed to tell her that he had
baffled all the attempts made to find him, and had escaped. The search
after him had been indeed made rather to satisfy anxiety than with any
design of punishment, for the other partners in the bank were
responsible for everything, and it was on their shoulders that the
burden had to fall. He disappeared as if he had fallen into the sea or
been lost in a railway accident. The most wonderful complication of all,
the companionship in which he had left England, was not told to her
then. It threw to all the others a horrible mockery upon the whole
story. There was a bitter sort of smile upon Roland's face when he sat
with the old people, and told them all the investigations he had made,
the incredulous indignation with which he had received the first idea
that Emma's disappearance could be connected with that of Edward, the
growing certainty that it was so, and finally the receipt of her letter
which he brought them to read. The old people were very sad for their
beloved Catherine and little inclined to laugh, but the old captain
indulged in a tremulous roar which was half a groan, and the old lady,
who allowed that her sense of humour was small, gave a grieved smile
when it was read to her. This is what Emma said:--
"Dear Roland,--I think it my duty to let you know, as it was, so
to speak, in your house I was living at the time, how it is that
I had to make up my mind at a very short notice, and couldn't
even go through the form of referring Edward to you. I met him
in the train, as you will probably have heard. I was rather
sorry about leaving Redborough, and so was he too till he saw me
beside him. And then it turned out that he had been very much
struck with me at Ellen Merridew's parties, and would have
spoken then but for some entanglements that were of old
standing, and that he could not shake off. I need not mention
any names, but if I say it was some one that was quite out of
the question, some one that was detested at the Grange, you will
know. He told me he was leaving England for ever, and would I
come with him? You know I have always thought it my first duty
to get settled, being the youngest and without any fixed home.
So after thinking it over for an hour or two, and him being so
anxious to come to the point, which is generally just where
gentlemen are so slow, I thought it best to consent. We were
married before a registrar, but he says that is just as legal as
in church. It was at the registrar's in Holywood Street,
Trentham Square. We are going to travel, and may be moving about
for a good while; but when we settle I shall let you know. I am
glad to tell you that we shall be quite well off, and have
everything very handsome; and Edward never grudges me anything I
fancy. Give my love to them all, and let them know I am as happy
as possible, and that I am Mrs. Edward Vernon now, which is one
of the prettiest names I know.
Your affectionate sister,
"Emma."
This was the last that was heard of this strange pair for a number of
years. They discovered that Edward, after many losses, had made a sudden
successful venture which had brought him a sum so large as to turn his
head. He had been utterly demoralised by all the excitements he had
passed through, and the sense of a reckoning which he could never meet,
and he had not given himself time to think. He disappeared into the
unknown with his ill-gotten gains and the wife he had picked up in the
midnight train, and was seen no more. As for poor Algernon Merridew, who
was his victim, although only as his own eagerness and that of his wife
to get money anyhow, made him so, he had to descend, like all the rest,
from his temporary grandeur and gaiety. Old Merridew was as stern now as
he had been indulgent before, and Ellen, who had been almost worshipped
as one of the Vernons when she glorified the family by entering it, was
now the object of everybody's scoffs and accusations. But Ellen was a
girl of spirit, and equal to the circumstances. Algernon got a humble
place in the bank, and the little family lived with Harry, putting their
small means together until better days came; but adversity and a
determination at least not to let herself be insignificant had so
inspiring an effect upon Ellen, that she kept the impoverished household
as gay as the extravagant one had been, by cheaper and better means. The
Merridew girls, once so subservient, learned what she called "their
place" when she was poor more effectually than they had done when she
was rich. And her brother, always by her, who, though he had losses, was
still the chief partner in the bank, Catherine Vernon's nephew, and the
bearer of a name which commanded respect in all the district, kept the
balance even. When Vernon's flourished again Algernon became a partner,
and all the past grandeurs of the beginning were more than realised.
In the meantime, however, when it had just been decided that Vernon's,
bolstered up by a great deal of supplementary aid, was to go on again,
there was much commotion among all the dependents of the house. For one
thing it was decided that as the Grange was to be sold, the most natural
refuge for Catherine was at the Vernonry, her own house, from which some
of her dependents must go to make room for her. This was the one point
upon which she had made no personal decision, for it hurt her pride to
be obliged to dismiss one of those for whom she had provided shelter so
long. There had been a great effort made to make her retain the Grange,
and continue her life in its usual course, a little retrenched and pared
away, yet without any great disturbance of the habitual use and wont.
This she would not consent to, making the protest we have seen, that
external circumstances were nothing to her, that one of the Vernon
almshouses would be as good a shelter as any other for an old woman. But
she shrank from bidding any one of her pensioners to make room for her
in the Vernonry. It raised a wonderful commotion, as may be supposed, in
the house itself. All the dwellers on the garden side were disposed to
think that Mrs. Reginald, whose boys were now growing up, and two of
them in what their mother called "positions," was the right person to
go. But Mrs. Reginald herself was of opinion that her house, a good deal
battered and knocked about by the boys in the course of their bringing
up, was not in a fit state to receive Catherine Vernon, and that the
other side, which was the best, was the natural place for her. The Miss
Vernon-Ridgways could think or speak of nothing else.
"Our little place," they said, "is far too small for Catherine. She
could not turn round in it. Of course we would turn out in a moment; it
would be our duty. But dear Catherine, used to such large rooms, what
could she do in ours, which is the size of a pocket-handkerchief? And if
Mrs. Reginald will not budge, why there is Mrs. John. She is so intimate
with Catherine nowadays. Hester, that used to be such a rebel, and whom
Catherine, we all know, could not endure, is always there. Dear me, of
course there cannot be a doubt about it. Mrs. John's house is the right
thing; she must have that," which was a great relief to their minds.
Mr. Mildmay Vernon made a great many faces over his newspaper as he sat
in the summer-house. He reflected that the hot water-pipes would be sure
to get out of order in winter, and who would now repair them? He did not
commit himself by any remark, but he thought the more. When Mrs. John
told him of the opinion of the sisters, and consulted him with a
troubled countenance, he only shook his head.
"I am sure I would do anything for Catherine," Mrs. John said,
"especially now when she is in trouble; but we cannot go far from here,
for Hester is so much with her; and where are we to get a house? There
is nothing within reach but that little cottage on the road. I am sure,
if I were Mrs. Reginald, with no particular tie, and her boys in town,
such a long way to come, I don't think I should have any doubt as to
what my duty was."
It was a question which Hester at last solved in her hasty way,
declaring that wherever they lived Catherine must have the best place in
her own house--a principle to which her mother was obliged to make a
faltering adhesion. But while every one was thus resisting, Mr. Mildmay
Vernon was carrying on his reflections about the hot water-pipes.
"She put me next the trees on account of my rheumatism," he said to
himself. "I know she did, and I shall never live through a winter if the
apparatus gets out of gear. And I can't afford to pay for the fire,
that's clear." The result of which reflection was that Mr. Mildmay
Vernon made it known that he had received a legacy which would make a
little addition to his income, and he could not think any longer of
taking up room which he believed was wanted. "Besides, one may accept a
favour from one's cousin," he said, "especially when it is not much of a
favour, being the damp part of the house which few people would have
taken had they been paid for doing so--but to be indebted to a firm of
bankrupts is impossible," Mr. Mildmay Vernon said.
He took his departure in the beginning of the winter, just when the want
of the hot water-pipes would be beginning to make itself felt. And it
was almost without consulting her mother that Hester made arrangements
for removing their few household goods into his house, to leave their
own free for the mistress of all. Mrs. John consented to the
arrangement, but not without a few tears.
"It is not that I mind the difference," she said, "in the size of the
rooms, or anything of that sort. But it feels like coming down in the
world."
"We have all come down in the world," said Hester; "and Catherine most
of all."
And then Mrs. John cried for Catherine, as she had first done for
herself, and resisted no more.