The Buccaneer Farmer Part 46

On the day after Gerald's return Osborn shut himself up in his library.

If he could raise two thousand pounds, it would save him from agreeing to the demand Thorn would, no doubt, make, and although he really knew the thing was impossible, he sought desperately for a way of escape. He was careless about money, and, for the most part, left his business to his agent, but he wanted to find out how he stood before he went to Hayes.

There was no obvious reason for his doing so, but he had begun to suspect that Hayes was not as devoted to his interests as he had thought. His wife and Grace distrusted the fellow, and although they knew nothing about business, Osborn admitted that the advice they had sometimes given him had been sound.

The involved calculations he made gave him fresh ground for disturbance.

It was plain that he could borrow no more money and the sum he had received for the last mortgage had nearly gone. He might perhaps get together three or four hundred pounds, at the risk of letting builders and drainers go unpaid, but this was not enough. After a time, he put away his books in a fit of hopeless anger and drove across to see Hayes at the market town.

The interview was short and disappointing. Osborn could not tell Hayes why he needed money and found him unusually firm. He proved that the estate was heavily overburdened, fresh loans were impossible, and stern economy must be used if it was to be saved from bankruptcy. To some extent, Osborn had expected this, but had cherished a faint hope that Hayes might lend him enough to satisfy Gerald's creditor. He could not force himself to ask for a loan outright, and Hayes had been strangely dull about his cautious hints. Osborn believed the fellow could have helped him, but as he had shown no wish to do so there was nothing to be said. He drove home in a downcast mood and sent for Gerald.

"I can't get the money," he said. "You know the man you dealt with. Is there any hope of his renewing the bill?"

"I'm afraid there is none, sir," Gerald replied.

"When he made the loan he knew you were a bank-clerk and had no money."

"I expect he did know, but thought you had some."

Osborn sighed. His anger had gone and a dull, hopeless dejection had taken its place. He felt as if he and Gerald were accomplices in a plot against Grace, and did not resent the lad's insinuation that they stood together. The Osborns did stand together, and he hoped Grace would see her duty.

"Well," he said, "the payment is not due just yet. I'll wait a little and then write to the fellow."

It was a relief to put the thing off, but he found no comfort as the days went by, and although he shrank from taking Mrs. Osborn into his confidence, his moody humor gave her a hint. Besides, he was not clever at keeping a secret and now and then made illuminating remarks. Mrs.

Osborn, although reserved, was shrewd and she and Grace, without consulting each other, speculated about the trouble that obviously threatened the house. By degrees, their conjectures got near the truth and at length Mrs. Osborn nerved herself to ask her husband a few blunt questions. He had not meant to tell her all until he was forced, but was taken off his guard and told her much. Afterwards she sent for Grace.

When Grace heard the story her face got very white and she looked at her mother with fear in her eyes.

"I suspected something, but this is worse than I thought," she said in a low strained voice. "But Alan is an old friend; it is not very much for him to do and perhaps he will be generous."

Mrs. Osborn was sitting rather limply on the stone bench on the terrace, but she roused herself.

"He is hard and I think will understand what his help is worth. He knows there is n.o.body else. Besides, if we accept this favor, we cannot refuse--"

"Oh," said Grace, "it's unbearable! I never liked Alan; I feel I hate him now." She paused and gave Mrs. Osborn an appealing glance. "But you cannot think I ought to agree, mother? There must be another way!"

Mrs. Osborn shook her head. "I cannot see another way, and many girls in our cla.s.s have married men they did not like, though I had hoped for a better lot for you. With us, women do not count; the interests of the family come first."

"That means the men's interests," Grace broke out. "Father has been reckless all his life and now Gerald has dragged our name in the mud. He is to be saved from the consequences and I must pay!"

"It is unjust," Mrs. Osborn agreed. "So far as that goes, there is no more to be said. But when one thinks of the disgrace--Gerald hiding in America, or perhaps in prison!"

Her voice broke. She was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "Your father's is the conventional point of view that I was taught to accept but which I begin to doubt. I must choose between my daughter and my son; the son who carries on the house. If Gerald escapes, his punishment falls on you. The choice is almost too hard for flesh and blood."

"I know," said Grace, with quick sympathy. "It is horrible!"

"Well," said Mrs. Osborn, "the line I ought to take is plain--Tarnside will be Gerald's; our honor must be saved. But I do not know. If you shrink from Alan--"

"If he insists, I shall hate him always. Yet, it looks as if there was no use in rebelling. I feel as if I had been caught in a snare that tightens when I try to break loose. I understand why a rabbit screams and struggles until it chokes when it feels the wire. It's like that with me."

Mrs. Osborn bent her head. "My dear! My dear!" Then she looked up irresolutely with tears in her eyes. "I cannot see my duty as I thought.

The convention is that my son should come first, but you are nearer to me than Gerald has been for long. I feel numb and dull; I cannot think.

Perhaps to-morrow I may see--"

Grace got up and kissed her. "Then, we will wait. If no help comes, I suppose I must submit."

She went away with a languid step and Mrs. Osborn, sinking back in a corner of the bench, looked across the lawn with vacant eyes. In a sense, she had s.h.i.+rked her duty and failed her husband, but she had long given way to him and was now beginning to rebel.

Grace afterwards looked back with horror on the disturbed evening and sleepless night, and the morning brought her no relief. She could not resign herself to the sacrifice she thought she would be forced to make, and her mother told her that Osborn had sent a note to Thorn and a man from London would arrive in the evening. It was plain that Alan must be persuaded to help Gerald before the other came.

In the afternoon she walked up the dale, without an object, because it was impossible to stop in the house. After a time she heard a dog bark and, stopping by an open gate, saw Kit swinging a scythe where an old thorn hedge threw its shadow on a field of corn. He was cutting a path for the binder and for a minute or two she stood and watched.

Kit had taken off his jacket and his thin blue s.h.i.+rt harmonized with the warm yellow of the corn and the color of his sunburnt skin. The thin material showed the fine modeling of his figure as his body followed the sweep of the gleaming scythe. The forward stoop and recovery were marked by a rhythmic grace, and the crackle of the oat-stalks hinted at his strength. His face was calm and Grace saw his mind dwelt upon his work.

He looked honest, clean, and virile, but she turned her head and struggled with a poignant sense of loss. She knew now what it would cost her to let him go.

Then his dog ran up and Kit, putting down his scythe, came to the gate.

He gave her a searching glance, but she was calm again and began to talk about the harvest. He did not seem to listen, and when she stopped said abruptly: "You are standing in the sun. Come into the shade; I'll make you a seat."

She went with him, knowing this was imprudent but unable to resist, and he threw an oat-stook against the bank and covered it with his coat.

Grace sat down and he studied her thoughtfully.

"I want you to tell me what's the matter," he said.

"How do you know I have anything to tell?"

"Perhaps it's sympathy, instinct, or something like that. Anyhow, I do know, and you may feel better when you have told me. It's now and then a relief to talk about one's troubles."

Grace was silent. Her heart beat fast and she longed for his sympathy, and his nearness gave her a feeling of support; but she could not tell him all her trouble. He waited with a patience that somehow indicated understanding, and she looked about. The tall oats rippled before the wind and soft shadows trailed across the hillside. When the white clouds pa.s.sed, the dale was filled with light that jarred her hopelessness.

"As you haven't begun yet, I'll make a guess," said Kit. "Things have been going wrong at Tarnside since Gerald came home? Well, if you can give me a few particulars, it's possible I can help."

His steady glance was comforting and Grace's reserve gave way. It was humiliating, and in a sense disloyal, to talk about Gerald, but her pride had gone and she was suddenly inspired by a strange confidence. Perhaps Kit could help; one could trust him and he was not the man to be daunted by obstacles.

"Yes," she said vaguely; "it's Gerald--"

"So I thought," Kit remarked. "Very well. You had better tell me all you know, or, anyhow, all you can."

She gave him a quick glance to see what he meant, but his brown face was inscrutable, and with an effort, talking fast in order to finish before her courage failed, she narrated what she had heard. She could not, of course, tell him all, and, indeed, Mrs. Osborn's story left much to be explained.

"Ah," said Kit, "I begin to see a light, although the thing's not quite plain yet. Anyhow, your father needs money and must ask his friends."

He paused and resumed in a voice he tried to make careless: "Has he asked Thorn?"

Grace hesitated and turned her head as she felt the blood creep into her face. "Yes; you see, there is n.o.body else."

"I'm not sure about that. However, it looks as if Thorn had not sent his answer yet and there's not much time to lose. You expect the man from London to-night?"

Grace said they did and studied Kit while he pondered. His preoccupied look indicated that he was working out some plan and did not understand how bold she had been. He did not seem at all surprised that she had come to him. She had broken the family traditions by giving him her confidence, but she felt happier.

"I'd like to see Gerald," he said. "It's important, and I'll be at Ashness at four o'clock. If he will not come, you must let me know."