Chapter XI: 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.