THE TONTINE.
The tontine. If the reader only knew how important a share the
tontine--with its results--holds in this little history, he would
enter on it with interest.
Tontines may be of different arrangement. In fact they are so. This
one was as follows. It had been instituted at Whitborough. Ten
gentlemen put each an equal sum into a common fund, and invested the
whole in the joint names of ten children all under a year old. This
money was to accumulate at compound interest, until only one of these
children should be living: the last survivor would then receive the
whole of the money unconditionally.
Of these ten children whose names were inscribed on the parchment
deed, Oliver Rane and Bessy North alone survived. Mr. North had been
wont to call it an unlucky tontine, for its members had died off
rapidly one after another. For several years only three had been left;
and now one of them, George Massey, had followed in the wake of those
who were gone. Under ordinary circumstances, the tontine would have
excited no comment whatever, but have gone on smoothly to the end:
that is, until one of the two survivors had collapsed. The other would
have had the money paid him; and nothing would have been thought about
it, except that he was a fortunate man.
But this case was exceptional. The two survivors were man and wife.
For the good fortune to lapse to one of them, the other must die. It
was certainly a curious position, and it excited a great deal of
comment in the neighbourhood. Dallory, as prone to gossip as other
places, made of it that oft-quoted thing, a nine-days' wonder. In the
general stagnation caused by the strike, people took up the tontine as
a source of relief.
Practically the tontine was of no further use to the two remaining
members: that is, to the two combined. They were one, so to say; and
so long as they continued to be so, the money could not lapse to
either. If Bessy died, Dr. Rane would take it; if Dr. Rane died, she
would take it. Nothing more could be made of it than this. It had been
accumulating now just one-and-thirty years; how much longer it would
be left to accumulate none could foresee. For one-and-thirty years to
come, in all human probability; for Dr. Rane and his wife appeared to
possess sound and healthy constitutions. Nay, they might survive ten
or twenty years beyond that, and yet not be very aged. And so, there
it was; and Dallory made the matter its own, with unceremonious
freedom.
But not as Dr. and Mrs. Rane did. They had need of money, and this
huge sum--huge to them--lying at the very threshold of their door, but
forbidden to enter, was more tantalizing than pen can describe.
Richard North had not been far wrong in his computation: and the
amount, as it stood at present, was considerably over two thousand
pounds. The round sum, however, was sufficient to reckon by, without
counting the odds and ends. Two thousand pounds! Two thousand pounds
theirs of right, and yet they might not touch it because both of them
were living!
How many hours they spent discussing the matter with each other could
never be told. As soon as twilight came on, wherever they might be and
whatever the occupation, the theme was sure to be drifted into. In the
dining-room when it grew too dark for Dr. Rane to pursue his writing;
in the drawing-room, into which Bessy would wile him, and sing to him
one of her simple songs; walking together, arm within arm, in the
garden paths, the stars in the summer sky above them, the waving trees
round about them, the subject of the tontine would be taken up: the
tontine; nothing but the tontine. No wonder that they grew to form
plans of what they would do if the money were theirs: we all know how
apt we are to let imagination run away with us, and to indulge visions
that seem to become almost realities. Dr. Rane sketched a bright
future, With two thousand pounds in hand, he could establish himself
in a first-rate metropolitan locality, set up well, both
professionally and socially; and there would be plenty of money for
him and his wife to live upon whilst the practice was growing. Bessy
entered into it all as eagerly as he. Having become accustomed to the
idea of quitting Dallory, she never glanced at the possibility of
remaining there. _She_ thought his eager wish, his unalterable
determination to leave it, was connected only with the interests of
his profession; _he_ knew that the dread of a certain possible
discovery, ever haunting his conscience, made the place more
intolerable to him day by day. At any cost he must get away from it:
at any cost. There was a great happiness in these evening
conversations, in the glowing hopes presented by plans and projects.
But, where was the use of indulging in them, when the tontine
money--the pivot on which all was to turn--could never be theirs? As
often as this damping recollection brought them up with a check, Dr.
Rane would fall into gloomy silence. Gradually, by the very force of
thinking, he saw a way, or thought he saw a way, by which their hopes
might be accomplished. And that was to induce the trustees to advance
the money at once to him and his wife jointly.
Meanwhile the strike continued with unabated force. Not a man was at
work; every one refused to do a stroke unless he could be paid for it
what _he_ thought right, and left off his daily labour! when he chose.
One, might have supposed, by the independence of the demands, that the
men were the masters, North and Gass the servants. Privation was
beginning to reign, garments grow scanty, faces pale and pinched.
There was not so much as a sixpence for superfluities: and under that
head in troubled times must be classed the attendance of a medical
man. It will readily be understood, therefore, that this state of
affairs did not contribute to the income of Dr. Rane.
One day, Mr. North, sitting on the short green bench in front of his
choicest carnation bed, found two loving hands put round his neck from
behind. He had been three parts asleep, and woke up slightly
bewildered.
"Bessy, child, is it you?"
It was Mrs. Rane. Her footfall on the grass had not been heard. She
wore a cool print dress and a black silk mantle; and her plain straw
bonnet looked charming, around the pretty falling curls. Bessy looked
quiet and simple at all times: and always a lady.
"Did I startle you, papa?"
"No, my dear. When I felt the arms, I thought it was Mary Dallory. She
comes upon me without warning sometimes. Here's room, Bessy."
She sat down beside him. It was a very hot morning, and Bessy
unfastened the strings of her bonnet. There was a slight look of
weariness on her face as if she were just a little worried with home
cares. In truth she felt so: but all for Oliver's sake. If the money
did not come in so freely as to make matters easy, she did not mind it
for herself, but for him.
"Papa, I have come to talk to you," she began, laying one of her hands
affectionately on his knee. "It is about the tontine money. Oliver
thinks that it might be paid to us conjointly; that it ought to be."
"I know he does," replied Mr. North. "It can't be done, Bessy."
Her countenance fell a little. "Do you think not, papa?"
"I am sure not, child."
"Papa, I am here this morning to beg you to use your interest with Sir
Thomas Ticknell. Oliver knows nothing about my coming. He said last
night, when we were talking, that if you could be induced to throw
your influence into the scale, the bank might listen to you. So I
thought that I would come to you in the morning and ask."
"The bank won't listen to me, or to any one else, in this matter,
Bessy. It's illegal to pay the tontine money over while two of you are
living, and the Ticknells are too strict to risk it. I shouldn't do it
myself in their places."
"What Oliver says is this, papa. The money must, in the course of
events, come to either him or me, whichever of us survives the other.
We have therefore an equal interest in it, and possess at present an
equal chance of succeeding to it. No one else in the wide world, but
our two selves, has the smallest claim to it, or ever can have. We are
the only survivors of the ten; the rest are all dead. Why, then,
should the trustees not stretch a point and let us have the money
while it can be of use to us conjointly? Oliver says they ought to do
it."
"I know he does," remarked Mr. North.
"Has Oliver spoken to you, papa?"
"No," said Mr. North. "I heard about it from Dick. Dick happened to be
at the bank yesterday, and Thomas Ticknell mentioned to him that Dr.
Rane had been urging this request upon them. Dick said Sir Thomas
seemed quite horrified at the proposition; they had told Dr. Rane, in
answer, that if they could consent to such a thing it would be no
better than a fraud."
"So they did," replied Bessy. "When Oliver was relating it to me after
he came home, he could not help laughing--in spite of his vexation.
The money is virtually ours, so where would the fraud lie?"
"To be virtually yours is one thing, Bessy; to be legally yours is
another. You young women can't be expected to understand business
problems, my dear; but your husband understands them. Of course it
would be a great boon to get the two thousand pounds whilst you are
both together; but it would not be legal for the bankers to do it, and
they are right in refusing it."
"Then--do you think there is no chance for us, papa?"
"Not the least chance, child."
A silence ensued. Mr. North sat watching his carnations, Bessy
watching, with far-off gaze, the dark-blue summer sky. In spite of her
father's opinion, she thought the brothers, Thomas and William
Ticknell, unduly hard.
The Ticknells were the chief bankers of Whitborough. Upon the
institution of the tontines, the two brothers, then in their early
prime, had been made trustees to it, in conjunction with a gentleman
named Wilson. In the course of time, Mr. Wilson died: and Thomas and
William Ticknell grew into tolerably aged men; they wanted now not
much of the allotted three score years and ten. The elder brother had
gone up to court with some great local matter, and he came back Sir
Thomas. These two gentlemen had full power over the funds of the
tontine. They were straightforward, honourable men; of dispositions
naturally cautious; and holding very strict opinions in business.
Increasing years had not tended to lessen caution, or to soften strict
tenets: and when Dr. Rane, soliciting a private interview with the
brothers, presented himself before them with a proposition that they
should pay over the tontine money to him and his wife conjointly,
without waiting for the death of either, the few hairs remaining on
the old gentlemen's white heads rose up on end.
Truly it had seemed to them, this singular application, as touching
closely upon fraud. Dr. Rane argued the matter with them, putting it
in the most feasible and favourable light: and it must be acknowledged
that, to his mind, it appeared a thing not only that they might do,
but that it would be perfectly right and honest to do. All in vain;
they heard him with courtesy, but were harder than adamant. Richard
North happened to go in upon some business soon after the conclusion
of the interview, and the brothers--they were the bankers of North and
Gass--told him confidentially of the application. Richard imparted it
to his father: hence Mr. North heard Bessy without surprise.
Regarded from the narrow, legal point of view, of course the Messrs.
Ticknell might be right; but, taking it broadly and comprehensively,
there could be no doubt that it seemed hard upon Oliver Rane and his
wife. The chief question that had presented itself to Richard North's
mind was: if the money were handed over now, would the Messrs.
Ticknell be quite secure from ulterior consequences? They said _not_.
Upon Richard North's suggesting that a lawyer might be consulted on
the point, Sir Thomas Ticknell answered that, no matter what a lawyer
might say, they should never incur the responsibility of parting with
the tontine money so long as two of its members were living. "And I
think they must be right," Richard remarked afterwards to his father.
Turning to Bessy, sitting by him on the bench, Mr. North repeated
this. Bessy listened in dutiful silence, but shook her head.
"Papa, much as I respect Richard's judgment, clever as I know him to
be, I am sure he is wrong here. It is very strange that he should go
against me and Oliver."
"It is because of that same good judgment, my dear," replied Mr. North
simply. "I'd trust it against the world, on account of his
impartiality. When he has to decide between two opposite opinions, he
invariably puts himself, or tries to put himself, in either place,
weighs each side, and comes to an unbiassed conclusion. Look at this
present strike: Dick has been reproached with leaning to the men's
side, with holding familiar argument with them, for and against; a
thing that few masters would do: but it is because he sees they really
believe they have right on their side, and he would treat their
opinions with respect, however mistaken he may know them to be."
"Richard cannot think the men are not to blame!" exclaimed Mrs. Rane.
"He lays the blame chiefly where, as _he_ says, it is due--on the
Trade Union. The men were deluded into listening to it at first; and
they can't help obeying its dictates now. They have given themselves
over to it, body and soul, Bessy, and can no more escape from it than
a prisoner from a dungeon. That's Richard's view, mind; and it makes
him lenient; I'd try and bring them to their senses in a different
way, if I had the power and the means left me."
"In what way, papa?"
"Bessy, if I were what I once was--a wealthy man, independent of
business--I'd close the works for good: break them up: burn them if
necessary: anything but reopen them. The trade should go where it
would, and the men after it; or stay here and starve, just as they
chose. I would never have my peace of life worried out of me by these
strikes; or let men that I have employed and always done liberally by
dictate to me. They'll find it out, Bessy, to their cost, as sure as
that we two are sitting here."
Mr. North seized the hoe that was resting beside the bench, and struck
it lightly on the ground. Meaning no doubt to give emphasis to his
words. Bessy Rane passed from the subject of the strike to that which
more immediately concerned her.
"Richard is honest, papa; he would never say what he did not think;
but he may be mistaken sometimes. I _cannot_ understand how he can
think the Ticknells right in refusing to let us have the money. If
there were the slightest, smallest reason for their keeping it back,
it would be different: but there is none."
"See here, Bessy. If they go by the strict letter of the law, they
cannot do it. The tontine deed was drawn up as tightly as any deed can
be: it expressly says that nine of the members must be dead, and only
the tenth remaining, before the money can be withdrawn from its
investment. The Ticknells can't get over this."
"Papa--forgive me--you should not say can't, but won't," spoke Mrs.
Rane. "They can do it if they please; there is nothing to prevent it.
All power lies with them; they are responsible to none. If they paid
over the money to Oliver tomorrow, not an individual in the whole
world could call them to account for it. The strictest judge on the
bench could not say to them afterwards, You have paid away money that
you had no right to pay."
"Stop, Bessy--that's just where the weak point lies. The Ticknells say
that if they parted with the money now, they might be called upon
again for it at some future time."
Bessy sat in amazement. "Why! How could that be?"
"Dick put it somehow in this way, my dear: that is, Thomas Ticknell
put it to him. If you should die, Bessy, leaving your husband a
widower with children: or, for the matter of that, if he should die,
leaving you with some: those children might come upon the Ticknells
for the money over again. Or Rane might come upon them, if he were the
one left; or you, if you were. It was in that way, I think Dick said;
but my memory is not as clear as it used to be."
"As if we should be so dishonourable! Besides--there could be no
possibility of claiming the money twice over. Having received it once,
the Ticknells would hold our receipt for it."
Mr. North shook his head. "The law is full of quips and quibbles,
Bessy. If the trustees paid over this money to you and your husband
now, contrary to the provisions of the tontine deed, I suppose it is
at least a nice question whether the survivor could not compel them to
pay it again."
Bessy held her breath. "Do _you_ think they could be compelled, papa?"
"Well, I don't know, Bessy. I fancy perhaps they might be. Dick says
they are right, as prudent men, to refuse. One thing you and Oliver
may rest assured of, my dear--that, under the doubt, the Ticknells
will never be persuaded to do it as long as oak and ash grow."
Bessy Rane sighed, and began to tie her bonnet. She had no idea that
paying the money would involve the trustees in any liability, real or
fancied, and hope went out of her from that moment. By nature she was
as just as Richard; and she could not henceforth even wish that the
bankers should incur the risk.
"Dick's indoors, my dear, if you'd like to ask him what Thomas
Ticknell said; he would explain it to you better than I have. No hurry
now, to be off in a morning: there are no works open to go to."
"I have heard enough, papa; I quite understand it now," was Mrs.
Rane's answer. "It will be a dreadful disappointment to Oliver when he
hears that no chance, or hope, is left. It would have been--oh such a
help to us."
"He is not getting on very well, is he, Bessy?"
"No. Especially since the strike set in. The men can't pay."
"Seeley must feel it as well as Oliver."
"Not half as much; not a quarter. His practice chiefly lies amongst
the richer classes. Well, we must have patience. As Oliver says,
Fortune does not seem to smile upon us just now."
"If I could put a hundred-pound note, or so, into your hand, whilst
these bad times are being tided over, I'd do it, Bessy, with all my
heart. But I can't. Tell Oliver so. The strike is bringing us no end
of embarrassment, and I don't know where it will end. It was bad
enough before, as you remember, Bessy: but we always had Richard as a
refuge."
"Richard will take care of you still, papa; don't be troubled; in some
way or other, I am sure he will. As to ourselves, we are young, and
can wait for the good time coming."
Very cheerily she spoke. And perhaps felt so. Bessy's gentle nature
held a great deal of sunshine.
"I wonder Oliver's mother does not help him," remarked Mr. North.
"She would gladly do it, papa, but she lives up to every farthing of
her income: beyond it, I fancy, sometimes. She is accustomed to
luxuries, and her travelling about costs a good deal. Mrs. Cumberland
is not one to economize, or to put up with small lodgings and
discomforts on her different sojourns. Sometimes, as you know, she
posts: it is easier, she says; and that is expensive."
"You'll come in, won't you, Bessy?" said Mr. North as she rose. "Miss
Field and Matilda were sitting in the hall just now; it is the coolest
place in the house."
She hesitated for a moment, and then walked on by his side. Mrs.
Rane's visits to the Hall were rare. Madam had not been cordial with
her since her marriage; and she had never once condescended to enter
Bessy's home.
The hall was empty. Bessy was about to enter the drawing-room in
search of Matilda, when the door opened and madam appeared. Madam
started haughtily, stepped back, and shut the door in Bessy's face.
Next moment, a hand was extended over Bessy's shoulder, and threw it
wide.
"By your leave, madam," said Richard North calmly. "Room for my
sister."
He marshalled her in as though she had been a duchess. Madam, drawing
her lace shawl round her shoulders, swept majestically out,
vouchsafing neither word nor look. It was nothing more than the
contempt often dealt to Bessy: but Richard's blood went up in a boil.
That the trustees' refusal to part with the funds of the tontine was
irrevocable, there could be no doubt about: nevertheless, Oliver Rane
declined to see it. The matter got wind, as nearly everything else
seemed to do in Dallory, and many people took his part. It was a
frightful shame, they thought, that a man and his wife could not enjoy
together the money that was their due, but must wait for one or the
other's death before they received it. Jelly's tongue made itself
particularly busy. Dr. Rane was not a favourite of hers on the whole,
but she espoused his cause warmly in this.
"It's such a temptation," remarked Jelly to a select few, one night at
Ketler's, whither she had betaken herself to blow up the man for
continuing to keep out on strike, to which movement Jelly was a
determined foe.
"A temptation?" rejoined Tim Wilks respectfully, who made one of her
audience. "In what way, Miss Jelly?"
"In what way," retorted Jelly with scorn. "Why in the way of
_stealing_ the money, if it's to be got at; or of punching those two
old bankers' heads. When a man's kept out of his own through nothing
but some crotchet, it's enough to make him feel desperate, Tim Wilks."
"So it is," acquiesced meek Timothy.
"If my mistress withheld my wages from me--which is twenty pounds
a-year, and her left-off silks--I should fight, I know: perhaps take
them. And _this_ is two thousand pounds."
"Two thousand pounds!" ejaculated honest Ketler in low tones of
reverence, as he lifted his hands. "And for the doctor to be kept out
of it because his wife's not dead! It _is_ a shame."
"I wouldn't say, either, but it might bring another sort of temptation
to some men, besides those mentioned by Miss Jelly," put in Timothy
Wilks with hesitation.
"And pray what would that be?" demanded Jelly tartly--for she made it
a point to keep Timothy under before company.
"The putting his wife out of the way on purpose to get the money, Miss
Jelly," spoke Tim with deprecation. And the words caused a sudden
pause.
"You--you don't mean murdering her!" shrieked Mrs. Ketler, who was a
timid woman and given to being startled.
"Yes I did," replied Timothy Wilks. "Some might be found to do it. No
offence to Dr. Rane. I'm putting the possible case of a bad man; not
of him."