Читать книгу The Wilderness Mine - Harold Bindloss - Страница 11

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Stayward promised full satisfaction for the damage the bursting tank had caused. The promise was characteristic; Stayward was hard and exacted all that was his, but he paid his debts. Indeed, his stern honesty gave Creighton ground for anxious thought, because he knew they could not hold out long and he dreaded Stayward's anger when he found out how the reckoning had been put off.

Creighton began to see that his efforts were useless. Disaster was getting very near, and since he generally took the easiest line, the temptation to run away was strong. He did not go, partly because it demanded an effort he could not rouse himself to make, and partly because he must give his wife some explanation before he went. Creighton shrank from enlightening Janet. He knew her well; she would be very bitter and would not see that she was to some extent accountable for his disgrace.

He waited, bracing himself with liquor in the morning before he started for the works, since he half expected to find when he arrived that Stayward knew. All the same, he kept their account books in the safe, where they would not catch Stayward's eye, and did not talk about their embarrassments.

For a time nothing disturbing happened, and then one afternoon Creighton drove back moodily to the works from a neighboring mine. The strain he had borne was wearing him, and he was bothered by a letter from Ruth that arrived when he left home. She wrote bravely about her studies, but the effort she made was rather obvious. In fact, she said too much, and Creighton, understanding his daughter because he loved her, got a hint of disillusion and anxiety that he thought she meant to hide. He wondered whether Ruth was finding out that her talent for music was less than she had thought.

Creighton hoped not. Ruth had got her year at Munich, but this was all he could give her. One needed much talent to make one's mark, and if she had not enough her disappointment would be sharp. It was plain he could not help her to try again, and somehow one did not expect Ruth to make a good marriage. If she gave up her hope of a musical career, it looked as if she must resign to a life of dreary economy in the quiet dale. Creighton reflected with a touch of rather grim amusement that Janet might be forced to use stern economy soon.

When he stopped inside the big gate at the yard he felt a curious dislike for the works. A tall chimney of raw yellow brick poured out thick smoke, acrid fumes escaped from the ovens, and the yard smelt of soot and tar. The men's wet faces were blackened, their rough clothes were stained, and all one saw was marked by squalid ugliness. Creighton was something of an artist, and although, except for chemistry, he had no constructive talent, he could feel.

At the beginning, the ugliness had not jarred him much. For a time he was absorbed by his invention. The study of the strange chemical combinations that took place in the tar was fascinating. With a proper plant, one could distill a remarkable number of useful essences from the sticky mess coke ovens had not long since wasted. For all that, when the object of one's experiments was strictly economical, the fascination wore off; Creighton admitted he had no industrial genius. He had gone on in order to earn the money Janet needed, and now he was tired of it all.

Stayward was not about the yard, and when the foreman said he had gone to the bank Creighton got a jar. He went to the office and his hand shook as he picked up some letters the afternoon post had brought. When he read the letters he knew why Stayward had gone to the bank and it was ominous that the safe, where they kept their books, was open. Creighton looked at his watch. It was nearly four o'clock. Stayward had been shut up with the manager for some time after the bank closed its doors and Creighton could imagine what they talked about.

Conquering an impulse to drive off before his partner's return, he sat down. The reckoning had come and there was nothing to be gained by putting off his interview with Stayward until the morning. He felt a strange dullness that rather blunted the suspense. At length Stayward came in, and sitting down, threw some documents on his desk. Although Creighton knew his nerve was good, he looked badly shaken. His glance wandered about the office, he moved once or twice with a curious jerkiness, and then his face went grim and he fixed his eyes on Creighton.

"I've seen Evans at the bank," he said. "Then I expect you got a nasty knock," said Creighton. "I'm sorry——"

Stayward stopped him with a scornful gesture.

"You're sorry? Man, have done with cant! Though I never quite trusted you or Janet, you have cheated me over long."

"I think we won't talk about Janet. The dispute is ours; it has nothing to do with her."

Stayward laughed, savagely. "Keep your smooth talk for your wife's smart friends; it will not go with me. There never was a Hassal ran quite straight, but Janet has made her man a thief."

"This line won't take us far," said Creighton, coloring. "Let's stick to the subject. I'm your partner and the refining plant is mine. The coke ovens do not pay. The Durham makers get a higher price for harder stuff; our profit's on the spirit and dyes we extract from the refuse. The process is my invention."

"Do you claim you invented the extraction of these products from waste tar? I imagined everybody knew a much better plant than ours has long been working in this country and Germany. Did we not lose the last large order because the German stuff cost less?"

"I'm not a fool. All I claim is, my process gives better results than others when you use our poor coal. Anyhow, nobody else has found a way of breaking up the particular chemical combinations that bother us. I have. You must use my plan or stop the ovens."

"We'll talk about this again," said Stayward, with a grim smile that disturbed Creighton. "In the meantime, you imagine the partnership justified your robbing me?"

"I haven't studied the law," said Creighton, whose face got very red. "For all that, it is understood a partner is entitled to use the money he has helped to earn. His drawings are not limited to his share of the profit on the sum he invested."

"How much did you invest?"

"My invention."

The veins swelled on Stayward's forehead and his eyes sparkled, but with an effort he controlled his rage.

"You joined me when nobody else was willing to try your plan. Folks declared our coal wouldn't pay for coking; I said it would, if I could distill spirit in the tar. Well, I backed my judgment; how you ken. Sold land that belonged to Staywards for three hundred years, borrowed and mortgaged, and put into the venture aw I had——"

He stopped, as if for breath and resumed: "Noo where has it gone? While I labored, living plainer than my workmen, stinting myself and saving, your wife spent my money on her dinner parties and her London clothes."

"Oh, well," said Creighton, deprecatingly, "I imagine Janet did no more than her neighbors expected. In a way, she was forced to keep the rules of the people to whom she belonged."

Stayward let himself go. He sprang from sturdy yeoman stock and was proud of his ancestors. When angry, he was rude, like them, and used their dialect.

"The Hassals?" he said with scorn. "There are old standards who mind when t' Hassals first came to the dale. Spendthrift wastrels, weel-kent at betting clubs and small race meetings, where one was warned off. Folks you could trust to have a hand in the jobbery when land was sold above its value and rents were putten up. Walling off bits o' common and straining manor rights, so they could plant larches on fell-foot and let the shooting. I reckon that's aw t' Hassals did for countryside."

"I don't see what this has to do with our dispute," Creighton remarked in a languid voice.

"Then, I'll let you see! Staywards farmed their land; they worked and paid their debts. We were kenned and trusted lang before t' Hassals came. But you let Janet rule you and make me party to a theft!"

"Is it theft to borrow?"

"You pawned goods that were not ours, and when, kenning nothing o' this, I sold them, let me use the money that ought to have paid the loan. Noo we owe their value to the colliery and the bank. But you will not shame me again. I've done with your tricks. Our agreement breaks to-night."

Creighton pulled himself together. He had expected something like this, but he wondered whether Stayward knew all.

"An agreement is not easily broken, unless both parties consent."

Stayward smiled harshly and picked up a document from the bundle on his desk.

"Partnership's one thing and per-procuration another. I do not ken the law weel, but I reckon this is forgery. Although I have not denied my hand yet, I think Evans suspects."

Creighton's mouth opened loosely and his pose got slack. He leaned forward as if the strength to hold himself upright had gone. His curiosity was satisfied. When Stayward began to put the documents in the safe he got up. "If you turn me out, my patent carries royalties——"

"We'll talk about patent in morning," said Stayward very grimly. "Noo you'll gan and leave me to grapple with the ruin you have made."

Creighton went and Stayward clenched his fist when he heard the throb of the car. For a time, he sat still, frowning. He was proud and reserved and it was long since he had said so much. In a sense, he had taken a ridiculous line; there was no use in lashing his feeble antagonist with savage talk. His business was to break the fellow and not to scold like an angry woman. This, however, was not important and he had got some satisfaction from letting himself go.

Presently he called his foreman, who had come from some coke ovens where another process for refining tar was used. Stayward talked to the man for a time and when he sent him away searched two or three iron boxes. At length, he found a document with the seal of the patent office, and thought it typical that Creighton had not bothered to take the thing away. Stayward spread out the parchment on his desk, and for two or three hours studied the patent, comparing the specification with some drawings Creighton had made and a sheet of chemical formulæ.

Stayward was not a chemist, but he was tenacious and very shrewd, and since he started the ovens had learned something about the actions and reactions that went on when they refined the tar. Moreover, he knew Creighton and presently found, as he had half expected, that some of the stated particulars were vague. In order that the holder may forbid anybody else to copy his invention, a patent must be precise, but Creighton, or his agent, had left an opening for dispute. Stayward, studying the carelessly-drawn specification, began to make some plans.

When he was satisfied the plans would work he locked the office and set off up the smoky street. His house was some distance off and he was not young, but on the whole he liked the walk. He had no other relaxation and thought it kept him fit. Sometimes he reflected with dry amusement that Creighton used a car.

Dusk was falling when he reached Nethercleugh, the last of his inheritance and recently mortgaged. The house had been built for farmers and had sheltered many generations of Staywards who knew nothing of luxury. The thick walls were rough-dressed slate, and rose, without ornament, from amidst a group of bent ash trees. A dry-stone dike surrounded the garden, where potatoes grew, for it was characteristic that there were no flowers. Behind the house, boggy fields rolled back to the moor, and, with a feeble blink of light from one window, Nethercleugh looked strangely desolate. The evening was dark and a dreary wind tossed the ash trees' groaning boughs.

Stayward opened the door in the porch and entered the slate-flagged kitchen. They used no rugs and carpets, the furniture was old, and the low ceiling rested on worm-eaten, crooked beams. Narrow windows pierced the thick walls and strangers thought Nethercleugh dark and cold. An old woman, knitting by the peat fire, turned her head when Stayward came in. Belle Ritson and a kitchen girl were all his household. He put his hat on the table and pulled up a chair.

"You must get rid of Nancy, Belle, and if you're wise, you'll look for another place at hiring fair," he said.

The old woman's face was lined and reddened by the winds that wailed about Nethercleugh. She scarcely looked up and her knitting needles clicked steadily.

"I was here when ye were born and I'm too oad to shift," she said.

"You'll not can manage when Nancy's gone. The hoose is big."

"I'll try 't. T' lass is young and feckless. I'll no' miss her."

"Then, I don't know about your wages and our food. I'll need to cut down the shopkeepers' bills."

"Wages can wait; I dinna spend much," said Belle, and stopping her knitting, quietly looked up. "Is coke ovens no running weel?"

"They're running all right. Trouble is, I don't know if they and Nethercleugh are mine."

"Then, your partner's takken your money to pleasure his lady wife? There's some good gentry, but aw t' Hassal lot is bad. Hooiver, ye're none easy robbed."

Stayward smiled, rather dryly. "All the same, money's gone and I've broken partnership. I may recover; I don't know yet, but it will be a long fight."

"Staywards is stubborn fratchers," Belle replied. "Weel, I alloo we'll mannish. Ye'll need somebody to tent ye and I'm past boddering aboot my meat. Noo ye'll gan to parlor and I'll bring ye yours."

"You're a leal soul, Belle," said Stayward, who was moved by her staunchness.

"I'm oad," she said. "I'm used with Nethercleugh and I'll not can bodder to try another place."