Parade's End Series: Some Do Not, No More Parades, A Man Could Stand Up & Last Post (Complete Edition). Madox Ford
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penny on a horse in my life,’ Tietjens said. ‘I know too much about them.’
Port Scatho looked at the faces first of Sylvia, then of Tietjens. Sylvia, at least, was his very old friend. She said:
‘Christopher never bets and never speculates. His personal expenses are smaller than those of any man in town. You could say he had no personal expenses.’
Again the swift look of suspicion came into Port Scatho’s open face.
‘Oh,’ Sylvia said, ‘you couldn’t suspect Christopher and me of being in a plot to blackmail you.’
‘No; I couldn’t suspect that,’ the banker said. ‘But the other explanation is just as extraordinary . . . To suspect the bank . . . the bank . . . How do you account? . . . ’ He was addressing Tietjens; his round head seemed to become square, below; emotion worked on his jaws.
‘I’ll tell you simply this,’ Tietjens said. ‘You can then repair the matter as you think fit. Ten days ago I got my marching orders. As soon as I had handed over to the officer who relieved me I drew cheques for everything I owed—to my military tailor, the mess—for one pound twelve shillings. I had also to buy a compass and a revolver, the Red Cross orderlies having annexed mine when I was in hospital . . .
Port Scatho said: ‘Good God!’
‘Don’t you know they annex things?’ Tietjens asked. He went on: The total, in fact, amounted to an overdraft of fifteen pounds, but I did not think of it as such because my army agents ought to have paid my month’s army pay over to you on the first. As you perceive, they have only paid it over this morning, the 13th. But, as you will see from my pass-book, they have always paid about the 13th, not the 1st. Two days ago I lunched at the club and drew that cheque for one pound fourteen shillings and sixpence: one ten for personal expenses and the four and six for lunch . . . ’
‘You were, however, actually overdrawn,’ the banker said sharply.
Tietjens said:
‘Yesterday, for two hours.’
‘But then,’ Port Scatho said, ‘what do you want done? We’ll do what we can.’
Tietjens said:
‘I don’t know. Do what you like. You’d better make what explanation you can to the military authority. If they court-martialled me it would hurt you more than me. I assure you of that. There is an explanation.’
Port Scatho began suddenly to tremble.
‘What . . . what . . . what explanation?’ he said. ‘You . . . damn it . . . you draw this out . . . Do you dare to say my bank . . . ’ He stopped, drew his hand down his face and said: ‘But yet . . . you’re a sensible, sound man . . . I’ve heard things against you. But I don’t believe them . . . Your father always spoke very highly of you . . . I remember he said if you wanted money you could always draw on him through us for three or four hundred . . . That’s what makes it so incomprehensible . . . It’s . . . it’s . . . ’ His agitation grew on him. ‘It seems to strike at the very heart . . . ’
Tietjens said:
‘Look here, Port Scatho . . . I’ve always had a respect for you. Settle it how you like. Fix the mess up for both our sakes with any formula that’s not humiliating for your bank. I’ve already resigned from the club . . . ’
Sylvia said: ‘Oh, no, Christopher . . . not from the club!’
Port Scatho started back from beside the table.
‘But if you’re in the right!’ he said. ‘You couldn’t . . . Not resign from the club . . . I’m on the committee . . . I’ll explain to them, in the fullest, in the most generous . . . ’
‘You couldn’t explain,’ Tietjens said. ‘You can’t get ahead of rumour . . . It’s half over London at this moment. You know what the toothless old fellows of your committee are . . . Anderson! ffolliott . . . And my brother’s friend, Ruggles . . . ’
Port Scatho said:
‘Your brother’s friend, Ruggles . . . But look here . . . He’s something about the Court, isn’t he? But look here . . . ’ His mind stopped. He said: ‘People shouldn’t overdraw . . . But if your father said you could draw on him, I’m really much concerned . . . You’re a first-rate fellow . . . I can tell that from your pass-book alone . . . Nothing but cheques drawn to first-class tradesmen for reasonable amounts. The sort of pass-book Hiked to see when I was a junior clerk in the bank . . . ’ At that early reminiscence feelings of pathos overcame him and his mind once more stopped.
Sylvia came back into the room; they had not perceived her going. She in turn held in her hand a letter.
Tietjens said:
‘Look here, Port Scatho, don’t get into this state. Give me your word to do what you can when you’ve assured yourself the facts are as I say. I wouldn’t bother you at all, it’s not my line, except for Mrs Tietjens. A man alone can live that sort of thing down, or die. Bue there’s no reason why Mrs Tietjens should live, tied to a bad hat, while he’s living it down or dying.’
‘But that’s not right,’ Port Scatho said, ‘it’s not the right way to look at it. You can’t pocket . . . I’m simply bewildered . . . ’
‘You’ve no right to be bewildered,’ Sylvia said. ‘You’re worrying your mind for expedients to save the reputation of your bank. We know your bank is more to you than a baby. You should look after it better, then.’
Port Scatho, who had already fallen two paces away from the table, now fell two paces back, almost on top of it. Sylvia’s nostrils were dilated.
She said:
‘Tietjens shall not resign from your beastly club. He shall not! Your committee will request him formally to withdraw his resignation. You understand? He will withdraw it. Then he will resign for good. He is too good to mix with people like you . . . ’ She paused, her chest working fast. ‘Do you understand what you’ve got to do?’ she asked.
An appalling shadow of a thought went through Tietjens’ mind: he would not let it come into words.
‘I don’t know . . . ’ the banker said. ‘I don’t know that I can get the committee . . . ’
‘You’ve got to,’ Sylvia answered. ‘I’ll tell you why . . . Christopher was never overdrawn. Last Thursday I instructed your people to pay a thousand pounds to my husband’s account. I repeated the instruction by letter, and I kept a copy of the letter, witnessed by my confidential maid. I also registered the letter and have the receipt for it . . . You can see them.’
Port Scatho mumbled from over the letter:
‘It’s to Brownlie . . . Yes, a receipt for a letter to Brown-lie . . .? She examined the little green slip on both sides. He said: ‘Last Thursday . . . To-day’s Monday . . . An instruction to sell North-Western stock to the amount of one thousand pounds and place to the account of . . . Then . . . ’
Sylvia said:
‘That’ll do . . . You can’t angle for time any more . . . Your nephew has been in an affair of this sort before . . . I’ll tell you. Last Thursday at lunch your nephew told me that Christopher’s brother’s solicitors had withdrawn all the permissions for overdrafts on the books of the Groby estate. There were several to members of the family. Your nephew said that he intended to catch Christopher on the hop—that’s his own expression—and dishonour the next cheque of his that came in. He said he had been waiting for the chance ever since the war and the brother’s withdrawal had given it him. I begged him not to . . . ’
‘But, good God,’ the banker said, ‘this is unheard of . . . ’
‘It isn’t,’ Sylvia said. ‘Christopher has had five snotty, little, miserable subalterns to defend at courts-martial for exactly similar cases. One was an exact reproduction of this . . . ’
‘But,