MURMURS; AND CURIOUS DOUBTS.
We hear now and again of banks breaking, and we give to the sufferers a
passing sympathy; but none can realize the calamity in its full and
awful meaning, except those who are eye-witnesses of the distress it
entails, or who own, unhappily, a personal share in it. When the
Reverend Mr. Hastings walked into the Bank of Godolphin, Crosse, and
Godolphin, he knew that the closing of the shutters, then in actual
process, was the symbol of a fearful misfortune, which would shake to
its centre the happy security of Prior's Ash. The thought struck him,
even in the midst of his own suspense and perplexity.
One of the first faces he saw was Mr. Hurde's. He made his way to him.
"I wish to draw my money out," he said.
The old clerk shook his head. "It's too late, sir."
Mr. Hastings leaned his elbow on the counter, and approached his face
nearer to the clerk's. "I don't care (comparatively speaking) for my own
money: that which you have held so long; but I must have refunded to me
what has been just paid in to my account, but which is none of mine. The
nine thousand pounds."
Mr. Hurde paused ere he replied, as if the words puzzled him. "Nine
thousand pounds!" he repeated. "There has been no nine thousand pounds
paid in to your account."
"There has," was the reply of Mr. Hastings, given in a sharp, distinct
tone. "I paid it in myself, and hold the receipt."
"Well, I don't know," said the clerk dubiously; "I had your account
under my eye this morning, sir, and saw nothing of it. But there's no
fear, Mr. Hastings, as I hope and trust," he added, confidentially. "We
have telegraphed for remittances, and expect a messenger down with them
before the day's out."
"You are closing the Bank," remarked Mr. Hastings in answering argument.
"We are obliged to do that. We had not an inexhaustible fountain of
funds here: and you see how people have been thronging in. On Monday
morning I hope the Bank will be open again; and in a condition to
restore full confidence."
Mr. Hastings felt a slight ray of reassurance. But he would have felt a
greater had the nine thousand pounds been handed to him, there and then.
He said so: in fact, he pressed the matter. How ineffectually, the next
words of the clerk told him.
"We have paid away all we had, Mr. Hastings," he whispered. "There's not
a farthing left in the coffers."
"You have paid the accounts of applicants in full, I presume?"
"Yes: up to the time that the funds, in hand, lasted to do it."
"Was that just?--to the body of creditors?" asked the Rector in a severe
tone.
"Where was the help for it?--unless we had stopped when the run began?"
"It would have been the more equable way--if you were to stop at all,"
remarked Mr. Hastings.
"But we did not know we should stop. How was it possible to foresee that
this panic was about to arise? Sir, all I can say is, I hope that Monday
morning will see you, and every other creditor, paid in full."
Mr. Hastings was pushed away from the counter. Panic-stricken creditors
were crowding in, demanding to be paid. Mr. Hastings elbowed his way
clear of the throng, and stood aside. Stood in the deepest perplexity
and care. What if that money, entrusted to his hands, should be _gone_?
His brow grew hot at the thought.
Not so hot as other brows there: brows of men gifted with less equable
temperaments than that owned by the Rector of All Souls'. One gentleman
came in and worked his way to the front, the perspiration pouring off
him, as from one in sharp agony.
"I want my money!" he cried. "I shall be a bankrupt next week if I can't
get my money."
"I want _my_ money!" cried a quieter voice at his elbow; and Mr.
Hastings recognized the speaker as Barnaby, the corn-dealer.
They received the same answer; the answer which was being reiterated in
so many parts of the large room, in return to the same demand. The Bank
had been compelled to suspend its payments for the moment. But
remittances were sent for, and would be down, if not that day, by Monday
morning.
"When I paid in my two thousand pounds a few days ago, I asked, before I
would leave it, whether it was all safe," said Mr. Barnaby, his tone one
of wailing distress, though quiet still. But, quiet as it was, it was
heard distinctly, for the people hushed their murmurs to listen to it.
The general feeling, for the most part, was one of exasperation: and any
downright good cause of complaint against the Bank and its management,
would have been half as welcome to the unfortunate malcontents as their
money. Mr. Barnaby continued:
"I had heard a rumour that the Bank wasn't right. I heard it at Rutt's.
And I came down here with the two thousand pounds in my hand, and saw
Mr. George Godolphin in his private room. He told me it was all right:
there was nothing the matter with the Bank: and I left my money. I am
not given to hard words; but, if I don't get it paid back to me, I shall
say I have been swindled out of it."
"Mr. George couldn't have told that there'd be this run upon the Bank,
sir," replied a clerk, giving the best answer he could, the most
plausible excuse: as all the clerks had to exert their wits to do, that
day. "The Bank _was_ all right then."
"If it was all right then, why isn't it all right now?" roared a chorus
of angry voices. "Banks don't get wrong in a day."
"Why did Mr. George Godolphin pass his word to me that it was safe?"
repeated Mr. Barnaby, as though he had not heard the refuting arguments.
"I should not have left my money here but for that."
The Rector of all Souls' stood his ground, and listened. But that George
Godolphin was his daughter's husband, he would have echoed the
complaint: that, but for his positive assertion of the Bank's solvency,
he should not have left _his_ money there--the trust-money of the little
Chisholms.
When the Bank had virtually closed, the order gone forth to put up the
shutters, Mr. Godolphin had retired to an inner room. These clamorous
people had pushed in since, in defiance of the assurance that business
for the day was over. Some of them demanded to see Mr. Godolphin. Mr.
Hurde declined to introduce them to him. In doing so, he was acting on
his own responsibility: perhaps to save that gentleman vexation, perhaps
out of consideration to his state of health. He knew that his master,
perplexed and astounded with the state of affairs, could only answer
them as he did--that on Monday morning, all being well, the Bank would
be open for business again. Did any undercurrent of doubt that this
would be the case, run in Mr. Hurde's own heart? If so, he kept it down,
refusing to admit it even to himself. One thing is certain until that
unpleasant episode of the previous day, when the rough, unknown man had
applied so loudly and inopportunely for money, Mr. Hurde would have been
ready to answer with his own life for the solvency of the house of
Godolphin. He had believed, not only in the ability of the house to meet
its demands and liabilities, but to meet them, if needed, twice over.
That man's words, reflecting upon Mr. George Godolphin, grated upon Mr.
Hurde's ears at the time, and they had grated on his memory ever since.
But, so far as he could do so, he had beaten them down.
The crowd were got rid of. They became at length aware that to stay
there would not answer their purpose in any way, would not do them good.
They were fain to content themselves with that uncertain assurance,
touching Monday morning, and went out, the doors being immediately
barred upon them. If the catastrophe of the day was unpleasant for the
principals, it was not much less unpleasant for the clerks: and they
lost no time in closing the entrance when the opportunity occurred. The
only man who had remained was the Rector of All Souls'.
"I must see Mr. Godolphin," said he.
"You can see him, sir, of course," was Mr. Hurde's answer. Mr. Hastings
was different from the mob just got rid of. He had, so to say, a right
of admittance to the presence of the principals in a three-fold sense:
as a creditor, as their spiritual pastor, and as a near connexion; a
right which Mr. Hurde would not presume to dispute.
"Mr. Godolphin will see you, I am sure, sir," he continued, leading the
way from the room towards Thomas Godolphin's. "He would have seen every
soul that asked for him, of those now gone out. I knew that, and that's
why I wouldn't let messages be taken to him. Of what use, to-day?"
Thomas Godolphin was sitting alone, very busily occupied, as it
appeared, with books. Mr. Hastings cast a rapid glance round the room,
but George was not in it.
It was not two minutes ago that George had left it, and Mr. Hastings had
escaped seeing him by those two minutes. George had stood there,
condoling with Thomas upon the untoward event of the day, apparently as
perplexed as Thomas was, to account for its cause: and apparently as
hopeful; nay, as positive; that ample funds would be down, ere the day
should close, to set all things right.
"Mr. Godolphin, I have been asking Hurde for my money," were the first
words uttered by the Rector. "Will you not give it me?"
Thomas Godolphin turned his earnest eyes, terribly sad then, on Mr.
Hastings, a strangely yearning look in their light. "I wish I could," he
answered. "But, even were it possible for us to do so--to give you a
preference over others--it is not in our power. All funds in hand are
paid out."
The Rector did not go over the old ground of argument, as he had to Mr.
Hurde--that it was unfair to give preference to the earlier comers. It
would answer no end now: and he was, besides, aware that he might have
been among those earlier applicants, but for some untoward fate, which
had taken him out of the way to the Pollard cottages, and restrained him
from speaking to Isaac, when he saw him fly past. Whether Mr. Hastings
would have had his nine thousand pounds is another matter. More
especially if--as had been asserted by Mr. Hurde--the fact of the
payment did not appear in the books.
"Where is George?" asked Mr. Hastings.
"He has gone to the telegraph office," replied Thomas Godolphin. "There
has been more than time for answers to arrive--to be brought here--since
our telegrams went up. George grew impatient, and has gone to the
station."
"I wish to ask him how he could so have deceived me," resumed the
Rector. "He assured me only yesterday, as it were, that the Bank was
perfectly safe."
"As he no doubt thought. Nothing would have been the matter, but for
this run upon it. There's quite a panic in Prior's Ash, I am told; but
what can have caused it, I know not. Some deeds of value belonging to
Lord Averil have been lost or mislaid, and the report may have got
about: but why it should have caused this fear, is to me utterly
incomprehensible. I would have assured you myself yesterday, had you
asked me, that we were perfectly safe and solvent. That we are so still,
will be proved on Monday morning."
Mr. Hastings bent forward his head. "It would be worse than ruin to me,
Mr. Godolphin. I should be held responsible for the Chisholms' money;
should be called upon to refund it; and I have no means of doing so. I
dare not contemplate the position."
"What are you talking of?" asked Thomas Godolphin. "I do not understand.
We hold no money belonging to the Chisholms."
"Indeed you do," was the reply. "You had it all. I paid in the proceeds
of the sale, nine thousand and forty-five pounds."
Mr. Godolphin paused at the assertion, looking at the Rector somewhat as
his head clerk had done. "When did you pay it in?" he inquired.
"A few days ago. I brought it in the evening, after banking hours.
Brierly came over from Binham and paid it to me in cash, and I brought
it here at once. It was a large sum to keep in the house. As things have
turned out, I wish I had kept it," concluded the Rector, speaking
plainly.
"Paid it to George?"
"Yes. Maria was present. I have his receipt for it, Mr. Godolphin,"
added the Rector. "You almost appear to doubt the fact. As Hurde did,
when I spoke to him just now. He said it did not appear in the books."
"Neither does it," replied Thomas Godolphin. "But I do not doubt you,
now that you tell me of the transaction. George must have omitted to
enter it."
That "omission" began to work in the minds of both, more than either
cared to tell. Thomas Godolphin was marvelling at his brother's
reprehensible carelessness: the Rector of All Souls' was beginning to
wonder whether "carelessness" was the deepest sin about to be laid open
in the conduct of George Godolphin. Very unpleasant doubts, he could
scarcely tell why, were rising up within him. His keen eye searched the
countenance of Thomas Godolphin: but he read nothing there to confirm
his doubts. On the contrary, that countenance, save for the great sorrow
and vexation upon it, was, as it ever was, clear and open as the day.
Not yet, not quite yet, had the honest faith of years, reposed by Thomas
Godolphin in his brother, been shaken. Very, very soon was it to come:
not the faith to be simply shaken, but rudely destroyed: blasted for
ever; as a tree torn up by lightning.
It was useless for Mr. Hastings to remain. All the satisfaction to be
obtained was--the confidently-expressed hope that Monday would set
things straight. "It would be utter ruin to me, you know," he said, as
he rose.
"It would be ruin to numbers," replied Thomas Godolphin. "I pray you, do
not glance at anything so terrible. There is no cause for it: there is
not indeed: our resources are ample. I can only say that I should wish I
had died long ago, rather than have lived to witness such ruin, brought
upon others, through us."
Lord Averil was asking to see Thomas Godolphin, and entered his presence
as Mr. Hastings left it. He came in, all impulse. It appeared that he
had gone out riding that morning after breakfast, and knew nothing of
the tragedy then being enacted in the town. Do you think the word too
strong a one--tragedy? Wait and see its effects. In passing the Bank on
his return, Lord Averil saw the shutters up. In the moment's shock, his
fears flew to Thomas Godolphin. He forgot that the death, even of the
principal, would not close a Bank for business. Lord Averil, having
nothing to do with business and its ways, may have been excused the
mistake.
He pulled short up, and sat staring at the Bank, his heart beating, his
face growing hot. Only the day before he had seen Thomas Godolphin in
health (comparatively speaking) and life; and now, could he be dead?
Casting his eyes on the stragglers gathered on the pavement before the
banking doors--an unusual number of stragglers, though Lord Averil was
too much occupied with other thoughts to notice the fact--he stooped
down and addressed one of them. It happened to be Rutt the lawyer, who
in passing had stopped to talk with the groups gathered there. Why _did_
groups gather there? The Bank was closed for the rest of the day,
nothing to be obtained from its aspect but blank walls and a blank door.
What good did it do to people to halt there and stare at it? What good
does it do them to halt before a house where murder has been committed,
and stare at that?
The Viscount Averil bent from his horse to Rutt the lawyer. "What has
happened? Is Mr. Godolphin dead?"
"It is not that, my lord. The Bank has stopped."
"The--Bank--has----stopped?" repeated Lord Averil, pausing between each
word, in his astonishment, and a greater pause before the last.
"Half an hour ago, my lord. There has been a run upon it this morning;
and now they have paid out all their funds, and are obliged to stop."
Lord Averil could not recover his consternation. "What occasioned the
run?" he asked.
"Well--your lordship must understand that rumours are abroad. I heard
them, days ago. Some say, now, that they have no foundation, and that
the Bank will resume business on Monday as usual, when remittances
arrive. The telegraph has been at work pretty well for the house the
last hour or so," concluded Mr. Rutt.
Lord Averil leaped from his horse, gave it to a lad to hold, and went
round to the private door. Thence he was admitted, as you have seen, to
the presence of Thomas Godolphin. Not of his own loss had he come to
speak--the sixteen thousand pounds involved in the disappearance of the
deeds--and which, if the Bank ceased its payments, might never be
refunded to him. No. Although he saw the premises closed, and heard that
the Bank had stopped, not a doubt crossed Lord Averil of its real
stability. That the run upon it had caused its temporary suspension, and
that all would be made right on the Monday, as Mr. Rutt had suggested,
he fully believed. The Bank held other deeds of Lord Averil's, and a
little money: not much; his present account was not great. The deeds
were safe; the money might be imperilled.
"I never heard of it until this moment," he impulsively cried, clasping
the hand of Thomas Godolphin. "In returning now from a ride, I saw the
shutters closed, and learned what had happened. There has been a run
upon the Bank, I understand."
"Yes," replied Thomas, in a subdued tone, that told of mental pain. "It
is a very untoward thing."
"But what induced it?"
"I cannot imagine. Unless it was the rumour, which has no doubt spread
abroad, of the loss of your deeds. I suppose it was that: magnified in
telling, possibly, into the loss of half the coffers of the Bank. Panics
have arisen from far slighter causes; as those versed in the money
market could tell you."
"But how foolish people must be!"
"When a panic arises, people are not themselves," remarked Thomas
Godolphin. "One takes up the fear from another, as they take an
epidemic. I wish our friends and customers had had more confidence in
us. But I cannot blame them."
"They are saying, outside, that business will be resumed."
"Yes. As soon as we can get remittances down. Sunday intervenes, and of
course nothing can be done until Monday."
"Well, now, my friend, can I help you?" rejoined Lord Averil. "I am a
richer man than the world gives me credit for; owing to the inexpensive
life I have led, since that one false step of mine, when I was in my
teens. I will give you my signature to any amount. If you can contrive
to make it known, it may bring people to their senses."
Thomas Godolphin's generous spirit opened to the proof of confidence: it
shone forth from his quiet dark-grey eyes as he gazed at Lord Averil.
"Thank you sincerely for the kindness. I shall gratefully remember it to
the last day of my life. An hour or two ago I do not know but I might
have availed myself of it: as it is, it is too late. The Bank is closed
for the day, and nothing more, good or bad, can be done until Monday
morning. Long before that, I expect assistance will have arrived."
"Very well. But if you want further assistance, you know where to come
for it," concluded Lord Averil. "I shall be in Prior's Ash. Do you
know," he continued, in a musing sort of tone, "since I renounced that
proposed sea expedition, I have begun to feel more like a homeless man
than I ever yet did. If there were a desirable place for sale in this
neighbourhood, I am not sure but I should purchase it, and settle down."
Thomas Godolphin gave only a slight answer. His own business was enough
for him to think of, for one day. Lord Averil suddenly remembered this,
and said something to the effect, but he did not yet rise to go. Surely
he could not, at that moment, contemplate speaking to Mr. Godolphin
about Cecil! Another minute, and Mr. Hurde had come into the room,
bearing a telegraphic despatch in his hand.
"Has Mr. George brought this?" Thomas inquired, as he took it.
"No, sir. It came by the regular messenger."
"George must have missed him then," was Thomas Godolphin's mental
comment.
He opened the paper. He cast his eyes over the contents. It was a short
message; only a few words in it, simple and easy to comprehend: but
Thomas Godolphin apparently could not understand it. Such at least was
the impression conveyed to Lord Averil and Mr. Hurde. Both were watching
him, though without motive. The clerk waited, for any orders there might
be to give him: Lord Averil sat on, as he had been sitting. Thomas
Godolphin read it three times, and then glanced up at Mr. Hurde.
"This cannot be for us," he remarked. "Some mistake must have been made.
Some confusion, possibly, in the telegraph office in town; and the
message, intended for us, has gone elsewhere."
"That could hardly be, sir," was Mr. Hurde's reply.
In good truth, Thomas Godolphin himself thought it could "hardly be."
But--if the message had come right--what did it mean? Mr. Hurde, racking
his brains to conjecture the nature of the message that was so evidently
disturbing his master, contrived to catch sight of two or three words at
the end: and they seemed to convey an ominous intimation that there were
no funds to be forthcoming.
Thomas Godolphin _was_ disturbed; and in no measured degree. His hands
grew cold and his brow moist, as he gazed at the despatch in its every
corner. According to its address, it was meant for their house, and in
answer to one of the despatches he had sent up that morning. But--its
contents! Surely _they_ could not be addressed to the good old house of
Godolphin, Crosse, and Godolphin!
A moment or two of wavering hesitation and then he drew to him a sheet
of paper, wrote a few words, and folded it. "Take this yourself with all
speed to the telegraph station," he said to Mr. Hurde. "Send the message
up at once, and wait there for the answer. It will not be long in
coming. And if you meet Mr. George, tell him I wish to see him."
"And now I dare say you will be glad to get rid of me," remarked Lord
Averil, as Mr. Hurde hastened out. "This is not a day to intrude upon
you for long: and I dare say the fellow to whom I intrusted my horse is
thinking something of the sort."
He shook hands cordially and went away, leaving Thomas Godolphin to
battle alone with his care. Ah me! no human aid, henceforth, could help
him, by so much as a passing word, with the terrible battle already set
in. God alone, who had been with Thomas Godolphin through life, could
whisper to him a word of comfort, could shed down a few drops of
sustaining strength, so that he might battle through and bear. That God
had been with him, in the midst of the deep sorrows He had seen fit to
cast upon him, Thomas knew: he knew that He would be with him always,
even unto the end.
"You had better accept my offer of assistance," Lord Averil turned back
to say.
"No," broke from Thomas Godolphin in a sharp tone of pain, very
different from the calm, if grateful, answer he had previously given to
the same proposition. "What sort of justice would it be, if I robbed you
to pay the claims of others?"
"You can refund me when the panic's over," returned the viscount,
somewhat surprised at the nature of the reply.
"Yes. But--but--it might be a risk," was the rejoinder, given with
unwonted hesitation. "In a crisis, such as this, it is, I believe,
impossible to foresee what the end may be. Thank you greatly, Averil,
all the same."
Mr. Hurde was not very long before he returned, bringing with him an
answer to the last message. Colder and moister became Thomas Godolphin's
brow as he read it; colder and colder grew his hand. It appeared to be
only a confirmation of the one received before.
"I cannot understand this," he murmured.
Mr. Hurde stood by. That some ominous fear had arisen, he saw. He was an
old and faithful servant of the house, entirely devoted to its
interests. His master said a few words of explanation to him.
They aroused Mr. Hurde's fears. Had some deep-laid treachery been at
work?--some comprehensive scheme of duplicity been enacting for some
time past, making a bankrupt house appear to be still a flourishing
concern? If so, it could only have been done by falsifying the books:
and that could only have been done by George Godolphin.
Mr. Hurde did not dare to give vent to his thoughts. Indeed, he did not
seriously contemplate that they could be realities. But, in the
uncertainty created, he deemed himself perfectly justified in mentioning
to Mr. Godolphin the untoward occurrence of the previous day; the rude
demand of the man for money, and the unpleasant expressions he had used
of the state of Mr. George Godolphin's affairs. He was clearing his
throat to begin in his usual slow fashion, when Mr. Godolphin spoke.
"I shall go to town by the first train, Hurde. The express. It will pass
through in half an hour."
Then Mr. Hurde told his tale. It did not tend to reassure Thomas
Godolphin.
He rang the bell. He caused George to be inquired for. But George was
not in the house. He had not returned since that errand of his,
ostensibly to the telegraph office.
Thomas could not wait. He wrote a note to George, and sealed it. He then
charged a servant with a message for Miss Godolphin at Ashlydyat, gave a
few directions to Mr. Hurde, proceeded on foot to the station without
further preparations, and started on his journey.
Started on his journey, strange doubts and fears making havoc of his
beating heart.