Next day she was too tired to get up for the morning service, but she
went to St. Saviour's church in the evening.
More and more she loved the quiet hours spent in church. Here, and only
here, she was safely shut up in the world of her own thoughts, and could
feel certain that the thread of ideas would not be snapped by a rough
voice, or her nerves be shaken by the unanticipated violence of some
fresh misfortune. And St. Saviour's was even more restful at night than
in the daytime.
She listened automatically to the beautiful opening prayer; and then she
retired deep into herself.
Except for the chancel, the building was dimly lighted. The roof and the
empty galleries were almost hidden by shadows; lamps reflected
themselves feebly from the dark wood-work; and the people, sitting wide
apart from one another in the sparsely occupied pews, seemed vague black
figures and not strong living men and women.
Each time that she rose, she looked from the semi-darkness towards the
brilliant light of the chancel--at the white surplices and the shining
faces of the choir, the golden tubes of the organ, and the soft radiance
that flashed from the brass of the altar rails. But all the while,
whether she sat down or stood up, her thoughts were struggling in
darkness and vainly seeking for the faintest glimmer of light.
She thought of her husband and of the shop. He was holding her, would
hold her as a tied and gagged prisoner surrounded with the dark chaos
that he had caused. How could she save herself--or him? He concealed
facts from her; he told her lies; he never let her hear of a difficulty
until it was too late to find any means of escape.
And she thought of the destruction of her whole lifework. She saw it
certainly approaching--the only possible end to such a partnership. All
that she had laboriously constructed was to be stupidly beaten down.
The splendid old business would infallibly be ruined. No business,
however firmly established, can withstand the double attack of gross
mismanagement and reckless depletion of its funds. As she thought of it,
those words of her inveterately active rival echoed and re-echoed. A
leak, and no chance of stopping the leak--disaster foreseen, but not to
be averted. The leak was too great. All hands at the pumps would not
save the ship.
A new and if possible more poignant bitterness filled her mind. It was
another long-drawn agony that lay before her; and it seemed to her,
looking back at the older pain, that this was almost worse. Confusion,
entanglement, darkness--no light, no hope, no chance of opening the
track that leads from chaos to security. Bitter, oh, most bitter--to
taste the failure one has not deserved, to work wisely and be frustrated
by folly, to watch passively while all that one has created and believed
to be permanent is slowly demolished and obliterated.
Quite automatically, she had stood up again, and was looking towards the
brightly illuminated choir. They were singing the appointed psalms now;
and, as half consciously she listened to each chanted verse, the words
wove themselves into the burden of her thoughts....
... "They have compassed me about also
... and fought against me without cause."
Altogether without cause. There was the pity of it. If only he would
curb his insensate greed, put some check or limit to his excesses, the
business would soon recover from the shaking he had given it; and then
there would be enough to maintain him in idleness for the rest of his
days. She would work for him, if he would but let her.
... "For the love that I had unto them, lo, they take now my contrary
part."
Yes, in all things he would frustrate her efforts.
... "Thus have they rewarded me evil for good; and hatred for my good
will."
The good will! How much value had he knocked off the good will already?
If they tried to turn themselves into a company to-morrow, what price
could they put down for it? Soon there would be no good will left.
"Set thou an ungodly man to be ruler over him; and let Satan stand at
his right hand."
Ah! There spoke the implacable voice of the Hebrew king. No mercy for
the ungodly.
"When sentence is given upon him, let him be condemned, and let his
prayer be turned into sin."
Ah! There again.
"Let his days be few; and let another take his office."
She listened now fully, as the verses of condemnation followed one
another in a dreadful sequence. That was the spirit of the Old
Testament. The God of those days was anthropomorphic, a god of battles,
a leader, a fighter: the friend of our friends, but the foe to our foes.
He taught one to fight against the most desperate odds--and not to
forgive enemies, but to punish them.
And to-night the spirit in her own breast responded to the ancient
barbarity of creed. That softer doctrine of the Gospel, with its
soothingly mystical miracles of forgiveness, was not substantial enough
for the stern facts of life. She felt too sore and too sick for the aid
that comes veiled with inscrutable symbolism, and seems to martyrize
when it seeks to save. All that faith was beautiful but dim, like the
unsubstantiality of these church columns ascending through the shadows
to the darkness that hid the roof. The reality was before her eyes,
where in the strong light those men stood firmly on their own feet, and,
singing the grand old psalm, craved swift retribution for the ungodly.
These harder thoughts soon faded. As always happened, the hour in church
did her good. Self-pity, except as the most transient emotion, was well
nigh impossible to her. Courage was always renewing itself, and she
could not long retard the heightening glow that succeeded each fit of
depression.
After all, she was in no worse a fix than when her first husband threw a
ruined business on her hands. While there's life there's hope.
To her surprise she found Mr. Prentice waiting for her outside the
church porch.
"Good evening, Mr. Prentice;" and she looked at him anxiously. "Nothing
wrong, I hope?"
"No, no," said Mr. Prentice jovially. "The fact is, my wife is on the
sick list again; and as I'm at a loose end, I've come round to ask if
you could give me a bit of supper."
The real fact was that earlier in the day he had seen Mr. Marsden
driving to the railway station with a valise and dressing-case on the
box of the fly. He knew that this gentleman was by now safe in London,
and he had grasped an opportunity of seeing his old friend alone. He
desired, and intended if possible, to cheer her up and put new heart
into her.
"Come along then." She was obviously pleased to accept his company. "But
I'm afraid there won't be much supper--because Richard is away
to-night."
"I'm not hungry. I over-ate myself at dinner--I always over-eat on
Sundays. Bread and cheese will do me grandly."
"We'll try to produce something better than that"; and Mrs. Marsden
bustled up the stairs, calling loudly for Yates.
Yates produced some cold meat; and Mr. Prentice said he thought it
delicious. Yates herself waited upon them. The cupboard that contained
the master's strong drink was of course locked; but there was a supply
of good soda water accessible, and Yates ran out and bought some
doubtful whisky. Mr. Prentice, however, declared that the whisky was
excellent. His kind face beamed; he chaffed Yates, and made her toss her
head and giggle as she filled his glass; he chatted gaily and easily
with his hostess;--he was so friendly, so genial, so thoroughly welcome,
that this was the happiest supper seen in St. Saviour's Court for a very
long time.
No fire had been lighted in the drawing-room, so when their meal was
done they sat together by the dining-room fire.
"What pleasant hours," said Mr. Prentice, looking round at the familiar
walls, "what pleasant, pleasant hours I've spent in this room. Those
autumn dinners--with Mears and the rest! How I used to enjoy them!"
"You helped us to enjoy them."
"You've discontinued them altogether--haven't you?"
"Yes. Not without regret, both my husband and I decided that we could
not keep up that little festival. Of course you know, we have been
obliged to cut down expenses wherever possible. The times are not very
good."
Of course he knew very well all about her difficulties in the house and
in the shop.
"Better times are coming," he said cheerily. "I hear on all sides of the
low ebb of trade. It's a regular commercial crisis. But things are going
to improve. The rotten enterprises will go down, and the really sound
ones will come out stronger than ever."
"Oh, I forgot. You like to smoke--but I'm afraid the cigars are locked
up, too."
"I've plenty in my pocket--if you're sure you don't mind."
She laughed amiably. "How can you ask? I'm quite smoke-dried. I let
Richard smoke all over the house."
While he cut his cigar and lit it, he thought how wonderful she
was--with the mingled pride and courage that allowed her always to speak
of her Richard as if he had been everything that a husband should be.
He sat smoking for a few minutes in a comfortable silence, while she,
with her hands placidly clasped upon her lap, gazed reflectively at the
fire.
"Now," he said, holding his cigar over the fender and gently tapping it
until the whitened ash fell, "there are one or two little things that
I'd like to talk to you about."
She raised her eyes, and looked at him attentively.
"Nothing really worrying," he said quickly. "And something which you'll
consider very much the reverse. But I'll keep that for the last.... I
had a call the other day from your son-in-law, Mr. Kenion."
"Did you?"
"Yes. Amongst other matters, he went for me about the marriage
settlement;" and Mr. Prentice laughed and nodded his head. "You know, he
says that Enid ought to have been given power to raise money for his
advancement in life. His friends had told him it is always done, when
the wife has the money; and he thought that the trustees ought to manage
it somehow--because he has been offered a great opening. You'll smile
when you hear what it was."
"What was it?"
"There was a fellow called Whitehouse who used to be Young's
riding-master; and it seems he has made some money in London, and set up
a smart livery stable--and he proposed that Mr. Kenion should join
forces with him. Mr. Kenion was to go about the country, buying
horses--and so on.... But I only mentioned this to amuse you. Of course
I said Bosh--not to be thought of."
"It does not sound very promising, or very reputable."
"Besides, where did Enid come in? Was she to accompany him, or to stay
moping at home by herself?... Do you see much of them out there?"
Mrs. Marsden confessed that she had not as yet ever seen the Kenions in
their home.
"It isn't that there's the least bad blood between us," she hastened to
add. "No, dear Enid and I are now the best of friends. Ever since her
marriage she has been sweet to me. But life rushes on so fast--and
married women are not free agents. When Richard is away, I consider
myself responsible in the shop."
"Just so." And Mr. Prentice, puffing out some smoke, looked at the
ceiling. "By the by, that's rather an awkward dispute that Mr. Marsden
has let himself into with those German people."
"What is the dispute?"
"Hasn't he told you about it?"
"I don't seem to remember--but no doubt he told me."
"Well, if he hasn't it's a good sign: because it probably means that he
intends to act on my advice after all."
Then he explained the odious mess that Marsden had made of his American
office equipments. It appeared that, when arranging to sell these
wretched things for a handsome commission, he had undertaken to send his
principals accurate monthly reports and immediately account for all
moneys received; and had further bound himself, in default of carrying
out the precise provisions of the agreement, to take over at catalogue
price the entire stock that had been entrusted to his care. But he had
sent no reports; he had forgotten all his undertakings; he had received
cash for three small articles and had never furnished any account; and
the Germans said the goods now belonged to him, and not to them.
Mr. Prentice declared that it was the most imprudent agreement he had
ever read; and, although speaking guardedly, he implied that in his
opinion no one but a fool would have signed it. But there it was, signed
and stamped; and he did not see how you could wriggle out of it.
"Your husband vowed that he wouldn't give in to them. But I told him,
from the first, that he hadn't a leg to stand on."
"I'll persuade him not to go to law about it."
"Yes, I'm sure it will be best to settle the wrangle. You see, he took
such a high tone with them that they've turned nasty--talk big about
obtaining goods under false pretences, and so on. But that's
bluster--they'll be glad enough to get their money."
She remembered her thoughts in church. It was hopeless. He kept her in
the dark. No business could stand it--the double attack: bleeding and
buffeting at the same time. He would destroy their credit too; these
continual blunders and the attempts to repudiate obligations would
become known; and the firm would acquire a bad name.
"Don't look so grave, my dear. Your husband must pay up, and make the
best of it.... And now for my _bonne bouche_." Mr. Prentice's eyes
twinkled with kindly merriment; and he spoke slowly, in immense
enjoyment of his words. "This is something from which you cannot fail to
derive benefit. It is what I have always been hoping for. It will
altogether relieve the pressure."
"What is it?"
"Well--immediately facing you there is a large and flourishing
organization, known to the world as--"
"O, Mr. Prentice!" Her face had brightened, but now it clouded once
more. "Don't say you are going to tell me again that Bence is smashing."
"Yes, my dear, I am. A most tremendous smash!"
And Mr. Prentice repeated the old story in a slightly altered form.
According to his certain knowledge, Archibald Bence was vainly striving
to raise money--was moving heaven and earth to obtain even a
comparatively small sum. About a year ago, one of Bence's bad brothers
had been bought out of the business; then the other brother died, and
Bence was compelled to satisfy the claims of the widow and children; and
since that period he had been drawing nearer and nearer to his
catastrophe. Now he was done for, unless he could get some capital to
replace what had been taken from him. For years he had been working with
the finest possible margin of cash to support his credit. At last he had
cut it too fine. The wholesale trade were tired of the risk they had run
in dealing with him. They would not supply him any further, unless he
showed them first his penny for each reel of cotton or yard of tape.
"But what makes you believe all this?"
"I am not free to mention the sources of my information. There is such a
thing as backstairs knowledge."
Mr. Prentice nodded his head, and smiled enigmatically, as he said this.
Then he went on to speak of the solicitors who acted for Bence. Messrs.
Hyde & Collins were held in supreme contempt by old-fashioned Mr.
Prentice. They were--as he never scrupled to say--sharp practitioners,
shady beggars, dirty dogs; and at the offices in the side street that
gives entrance to Trinity Square, they looked after the dubious affairs
of a lot of shabby clients. It was a bad sign when a Mallingbridge
citizen went to Hyde & Collins: it meant that his finances were shaky,
or that he had become involved in some disreputable transaction.
"It was enough for me," said Mr. Prentice, "to know that Bence was in
their hands. I guessed six years ago what would come of it."
"Yes, but guesses, guesses! What are guesses?"
"My dear, you have only to _look_ at Bence now. It is written in his
face--a desperate man."
And Mr. Prentice reminded Mrs. Marsden of the fact that from his office
windows he had an uninterrupted view down the side street to the front
door of Hyde & Collins. Well, every day, and two or three times a day,
Archibald Bence could be seen hurrying to his solicitors--a man driven
by despair, a gold-seeker amidst unyielding rocks, a poor famished
little rat scampering to and fro in quest of food.
"Of course," said Mr. Prentice, with a touch of pity in his voice, "it's
his brothers who have done for him. They have literally sucked him dry.
Really, if it wasn't for _you_, I could almost feel sorry for him. But
the dirty tricks he has played you put him out of court."
"I wonder," said Mrs. Marsden, thoughtfully looking into the fire.
"Don't wonder," said Mr. Prentice jovially. "Just wait and see. You
won't have long to wait."
"I wish you could find out for certain."
"I _am_ certain.... Well, you always get one's little secrets out of
one. I've no right to mention this. But Hyde & Collins recently
approached one of my own clients--to find out if he had more money than
brains. Coupled with the other information, that clinches it.... I stake
my reputation--for what it's worth--that unless Mr. Archibald procures
help within the next fortnight, he will have to put up his shutters."
"A fortnight," said Mrs. Marsden absently.
Then they talked of something else, and soon Mr. Prentice bade his
hostess good-night.
It had been a pleasant evening for her--a respite from the storm and
stress of the days. But when she slept, the respite was immediately
over; in dreams she fell back upon doubt and difficulty; in troubled and
confused dreams she was desperately fighting for life.