THE OFFER OF OWLEY
A position was defined and an understanding attained between husband
and wife, while the unconscious party to their difficulties knew
nothing. Thus Adam Winter, in absolute ignorance of the fact, stood
upon the brink of events for which he was not responsible--his life
being, as all lives, much at the mercy of his fellow-creatures.
Margery's pride kept her tongue still, for she would have endured
anything rather than confess the truth. The truth not only
stultified Jacob, but it would cast an unjust doubt upon herself if
revealed to any other. She knew that many husbands had cause for
jealousy and she guessed that, if she warned Winter of Jacob's
weakness, he might, while certainly taking no blame upon himself,
judge that no smoke existed without fire and imagine that, in some
quarter, she had given Bullstone a real cause for his emotion. She
valued the farmer's good opinion too highly to risk implanting any
such suspicion in his mind. She saw no reason why she should not be
fair to herself, and indeed little temptation to speak to anybody
longer existed. She had accepted Jacob's apology and the promise of
contrition, and since the latter presently took an active form, there
rose in her a genuine thankfulness that the long-drawn horror was
dispelled. She leapt to welcome the relief. She grew happier and
the sensation of increasing resentment, that she should be called to
endure his distrust--the sense of living under perpetual insult which
she had indicated to him in her anger--died completely.
Jacob himself made a supreme effort and performed actions that
presented great difficulties to him. He ruminated for days in
solitude and then took two steps, the one trivial, yet rich with
satisfaction for Margery; the other momentous. He hesitated long
concerning the latter; but opportunity for the first quickly offered
and he took it.
To the amazement of his family Bullstone announced a day of
pleasuring, and it was not such a day as he sometimes planned--no
picnic into the wastes of the Moor, or other excursion, which meant
little delight for anybody but himself and Auna. He proposed to take
them all to Totnes Races--a jollity beyond their utmost expectations.
The youngsters were openly incredulous, only Margery understood and
appreciated his sacrifice. The day passed without a cloud and, when
night came, his wife thanked Jacob in words that repaid him well.
"I'm not going to pretend to myself that you enjoyed it," she said;
"and I know, with your nature, you couldn't, my dear. The trains
were enough, without anything else. And yet I wouldn't have had you
away, and I wouldn't have gone without you. But you've given a mint
of pleasure to us all; and the children are grateful, and I'm more
than grateful."
"Let be," he said. "It was a well spent day and I'm none the worse
for it, if those I care most for are the better."
But greater things were in his mind and, when the news came that
Joseph Elvin was near his end, Bullstone took action. He hesitated
long, for he looked ahead and told himself that the cost of failure
would stir banked fires and waken evil fears he was fighting to
destroy for ever.
He designed a great proposition and everything depended upon another.
Immense good must result if the other could meet him, and a stroke
precious for his peace be accomplished; but should his suggestion be
opposed and declined, then more than passing disappointment would be
the result. He reached a point where a serious hitch delayed
decision. The man he proposed to approach was Adam Winter, and now,
labouring over every detail of the coming conversation, he tried to
look at it from Adam's point of view. Immediately his mind was up in
arms. Everything hinged on motive, and the great problem centred in
Winter's attitude and Winter's secret opinions of what inspired the
offer about to be made to him. Bullstone was almost minded to
abandon his project after viewing it from this standpoint. For,
though to any other man, his motive must be obvious enough and
grounded in Jacob's own advantage, to this particular man it was
possible it might appear in another light. For Jacob knew very
little of Winter and he could not dismiss the weight of past
prejudice. It seemed impossible that there had never been anything
whatever on the other side, and that his own accumulated tortures and
tribulations were all self-inflicted. Adam surely must have some
shadowy inkling that he was not a favourite of Bullstone's, and his
conscience must indicate the reason. Jacob had reached a point of
self-deception from which it was impossible that he could regard
Winter as absolutely innocent in thought. And that being so, might
not the master of Shipley suspect something lay hidden under the
problem to be presented and the offer to be made? Might he not, in
truth, guess at the vital reason for Bullstone's approach?
For some weeks Jacob delayed and wearied himself with this problem.
Had he submitted it to Margery, she had instantly solved it: that he
knew; and he knew how she would solve it. She would assure him that
the last shadows still haunting his mind were unworthy of him and
might well be dismissed. She would declare his suspicion absurd and
reiterate her assurance that he was putting into the mind of Adam
imaginary ideas which had never entered it. But along that road was
danger and he had no desire to reveal thoughts that would check
Margery's present happiness or suggest that he was going back on his
word. She believed him purged. Then a new fear crowded down upon
him. For Margery must presently hear of his offer to Adam, and how
would she take it? If Winter might read into it an inner motive, how
much more certainly would she do so.
Again he hung fire; and then Joseph Elvin died and the need arose for
decision. In the event of failure, he had already determined what he
would do. Indeed the alternative entirely satisfied him, and so far
as Owley Farm was concerned, he had very little real difficulty. All
interested in the matter believed that he was going to allow Robert
Elvin to succeed his father. If, therefore, Adam Winter declined his
offer of Owley, which was the great step he designed to take--it
would be handed to Robert, in whom Jacob felt complete trust. Now
one decision solved the problem of Margery, if she and Adam were
honest. Bullstone decided that none but Winter himself must know of
the offer. Thus, if he declined it, nobody need be any the wiser,
and things might take the course generally anticipated. From this
point another move struck upon Jacob's mind, calculated still further
to ensure secrecy so far as everybody but Adam was concerned. This
came out when the men met on the evening of Joe Elvin's funeral.
Winter, his aunt and many other neighbours, including the Huxams,
Jeremy and his wife, and the party from Red House, saw the dead man
lowered into his grave; and by appointment on the same night, Jacob
visited Shipley Farm to speak with Winter. He had determined to
offer him Owley and make the way smooth; but he had also determined
that the world must suppose the suggestion, if accepted, had come
from Adam and not himself. He had everything at his finger ends, and
had so ordered the matter that not Margery knew whither he was bound,
when he left Red House after supper.
Jacob felt confident that his proposals ought to be accepted, for
Owley was a far stronger and larger farm than Shipley. Its ground
was richer and cleaner, its flocks had direct access to some of the
finest grazing on the moor. Moreover the house was bigger and better
conditioned, while it stood nearer to Brent and the railway than Mr.
Winter's present habitation.
The men sat together and Jacob wasted no time. The vital points he
anticipated.
"As for rent," he said, after detailing his suggestions, "I should
will that to be the same as you pay here--no more and no less. There
are two conditions only: that you take on Bob Elvin, if he would like
you to do so; and that you let it be understood that this suggestion
came from you, not me. That may sound like craft in your ears; but
the point is this: young Elvin hoped that I would trust him to carry
on, and failing you, I should do so. I would, however, naturally
prefer a grown and experienced man; and if you come to me and offer
to go there, nobody could question my wisdom in putting you before
the lad. That's all there is to it; and if you like to go over next
spring, I should be glad."
Nothing but frank gratitude greeted Bullstone's offer. Adam, as the
rest of the world, knew him for a man who did good things in abrupt
and secret ways, and he regarded the suggestion, that he should
improve his state by taking Owley, as one prompted by nothing but the
good-will of the man who made it. That he should have put any other
interpretation upon it was impossible. A kindly man himself, only
prevented by circumstances from generosity, none could have been
quicker to weigh the significance of such a handsome proposal; and
when he replied, after half a minute's silence, he dwelt first on
what he conceived the spirit behind Jacob's speech.
"A mighty good offer and I value it," said Winter. "I'm over and
above pleased, because it shows your large heart, which didn't want
showing, I'm sure, and also your opinion of me. We much like to be
rated high by those we rate high ourselves; and you wouldn't have
said such a thing if you hadn't felt Owley was safe with me. I'm
proud of that."
"So much goes without saying, Winter. I know you'll do all that can
be done and look after it well enough. Here at Shipley, it's making
bricks without straw half your time--a thankless grind. You'd have
an easier and fruitfuller job there."
"I know all that. I was too set on showing my pleasure to go into
the thing for the minute, and if I had only myself to think on, I'd
take you. But there's my aunt and brother."
"Well, they'd be a lot more comfortable than at Shipley."
"Just the opposite. You know how people fit into a place. My old
woman could no more shift now than a snail out of its shell; and if
Sammy thought he'd got to leave Shipley, he'd have the house out of
windows and make a proper tantara. Such a thing would throw him over
altogether, I reckon. It was a terrible business getting him here;
but he was near twenty year younger then."
Jacob regarded him in astonishment. The objections appeared too
slight to be sincere.
"Surely Samuel would soon get used to the thought," he said.
"Not him," answered Adam. "His mind--so to call it--hates change
worse than anything; the leastest trifle altered makes him sulky and
wicked for a month. There's a dangerous side to him none knows but
me. I assure you I'm telling truth. I'd go, and mighty glad to do
so; but while Samuel lives, we can't leave here."
He was so definite that argument did not suggest itself to Bullstone.
His mind was soon burrowing in its accustomed channels; and, grasping
the fact that his offer had been declined, he fell into gloom. He
was full of suspicion at once. The reason for refusal had come so
pat that it seemed as though Adam were prepared with it. Yet he
submitted a most frivolous objection. Jacob had indirectly assured
Winter large increase of prosperity; and was it likely that any
practical man would decline such improved conditions on the plea of
discomfort for a weak-minded brother?
Bullstone began to grow fresh doubts. It was clear that Adam had no
mind to go beyond the immediate radius of Red House. Meantime Winter
spoke and reiterated his gratification.
"I shall always remember it," he said, "and I'd like to brag about
it, if I didn't know you'd deny me. Besides you say it mustn't be
known."
"To nobody," answered Jacob. "If you've turned down the offer once
for all, I can only say I'm sorry and a bit surprised--especially at
the reason you give. Your aunt wouldn't have made much fuss if she
knew you were a gainer, and your poor brother could have been
managed, as you well know how to manage him. However, you say 'no,'
so Bob Elvin shall have it. But not a word about this to anybody--to
anybody whatever. I'll ask you to promise that, please."
"Of course. My word's given."
"Not to any of my people either."
"I quite understand, Bullstone. And may the chance offer for me to
do you a good turn. I'd be glad to get it and take it."
"As for that, you've had your chance to-night, and won't take it,"
answered the other, rising. He refused a drink and went his way.
The night was dark and he dawdled in thought on Shipley Bridge for a
few moments with the din of the river in his ear and one white streak
of the fall, like a ghost, flickering up and down in the blackness of
the rocks beneath. He was disappointed. A thousand doubts and
dismays arose from this reverse. He worked himself into a turmoil
before he reached home, and his native weakness, resolutely opposed
of late, broke from restraint and moved along the old, tormenting
ways. One fact dominated the situation. Winter would not go farther
off, despite the immense advantages of so doing. It followed that to
remain in reality represented for him still greater privileges.
Jacob sank deeper and began to imagine maddening incidents as a
result of this refusal. He saw Winter secretly relating this story
to Margery. Perhaps she would laugh at it. Thus his own defeated
plan liberated the old, insensate terrors and freed a force that
threatened to destroy the fortifications he had lifted with such
toil. The citadel was undefended again. Yet, after the first
assault, he came in a measure back to his newer self and strove to
convince his mind that Adam Winter had told the truth. He tried
desperately hard to make himself believe it, and partially succeeded.
Life at this season demanded much attention. Special work of
preparation for a big dog show was in hand and John Henry would soon
leave his home for Bullstone Farm. Margery mourned the pending loss.
"The house won't be the same without him," she said. But the boy
comforted her. He was full of energy and hungry to begin serious
work, where some day he would reign as master.
"Don't you fret," he begged his mother. "I shall visit you of a
Sunday, and I've promised grandmother to go in to chapel very
regular, so we shall meet there, if not here."
They knew they would see but little of him at Red House, however, and
that moved Margery to sorrow. It was the first empty place, the
first nestling away. His sisters also regretted the coming change;
but Peter, who had always been overshadowed by John Henry, felt no
great concern. As for Jacob, he was indifferent. He knew that his
son did not esteem him, for the lad's character in no way resembled
his own. He was a bustling, pushing youth, steadfast and of fixed
opinions--a Pulleyblank, as Mrs. Huxam delighted to point out.
Thus stress of circumstances for a time intruded; then, with more
leisure, Jacob's spirit lost ground. Events aroused disquiet; paltry
incidents were magnified into ominous evils. He sank to setting
little traps for his wife, but she never fell into them. She did not
even see them; but he suspected that she had seen them, and waited
for her to protest and express indignation. Had she done so, he was
prepared. The fact that she took no notice was set down to cunning
on her part, and it wrought fresh evil within him. Thus secrecy and
ignorance did their work and Margery, entirely absorbed with the
preparations for her son's departure, existed unaware that her
husband had returned to the darkness of his illusions. In truth she
was thinking very little about him at this period. John Henry filled
her thoughts.