Profit and Loss

Front matter

PROFIT AND LOSS. BY MRS. E. R. PITMAN, a£ AUTHORESS OF "GARNERED SHEAVES," "EARNEST CHRISTIANITY," "VESTINA's MARTYRDOM," etc., etc. " He that loseth his life fob. My sake shall FIND IT." Jesus Christ. LONDON: JAMES CLARKE AND CO., 13, FLEET STREET, HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. i875- CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGB I. — Anthony Montague's Warehouse 1 II. — Matters in Dispute ...... 8 III. — The Housekeeper's Sympathy .... 14 IV. — Douglas Montague's Opinions ... 20 V. — Douglas Montague's Determination . . .25 VI. — Bertha's Resolve ...... 31 VII. — Julius March Answered 37 VIII. — Threatening Sorrow 43 IX.— The Ordeal 50 X. — Out in the World ...... 56 XI. — Dorothy Wood's Experience . . . .62 XII. — A Brother's Parting Words .... 68 XIII. — Life in Earnest 74 XVI. — Conscientiousness in Small Matters . . 81 XV. — A Talk Between Two Friends . . . .87 XVI. — How did Old Anthony get on ? . . . 93 XVII. — Changes for Bertha 98 XVIII. — Life in a London Workroom . . . 104 XIX. — Douglas takes a Wife .... 110 XX. — Anthony- Montague's Home Troubles . . 116 XXI.— Three Years later 122 XXII. — Robert Garlies's Work 130 XXIII. — A Sunday School Discussion . . . contents.

CHAPTER PAsi* XXIV.— News from Afar 143 XXV. — Old Aquaintance Renewed but not Desired 150 XXVI.— Old Anthony and His Daughter . . 156 XXVII.— Renewing an Old Proposal • . . • • L62 XXVIII.— A Visit to Dorothy Wood ... 168 XXIX. — Waiting for the End 176 XXX. — A Miser's Deathbed 181 XXXI.— Family Matters 187 XXXII. — Returning to Duty 196 XXXIIL— Mrs. Garlies's Opinions .... 200 XXXIV.— Dinah Harris 206 XXXV. — Finding a Home. — Suspicious Circumstances 213 XXXVI.— Robbery 221 XXXVII.— Dark Days 228 XXXVIII.— Finding a Clue 236 XXXIX.— A Peep into a Prison Cell .... 241 XL. — The Right Man at Last .... 247 XLI. — " When Rogues fall out, Honest Men get their own "...... 264 XLII. — Rifts in the Clouds 260 XLIII. — A New Course of Action .... 266 XLIV.— A New Life 272 XLV. — Waiting at thb Gates 277 XLVI. — Fifteen Years Later. — A Message from the Sea 283 XLVII.— India.

The Third Generation ... 290 XL VIII. — An Unexpected Recognition . . . 294 XLIX. — Sir John Preaches the Gospel in a Felon's Cell 300 L. — The Curse of Wealth .... 306 IJ. — Good-bye ,

Chapter I

anthony Montague's warehouse. " There are two angels that attend unseen Each one of us, and in great books record Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down The good ones, after every action closes His volume, and ascends with it to God. The other keeps his dreadful day-book open, Till sunset, that we may repent : which doing, The record of the action fades away, And leaves a line of white across the page." Longfellow. Among the dusty, dingy, gloomy warehouses which formerly lined the husiness thoroughfares of old Bristol, not one was more dingy and forbidding in its outward aspect than that which owned Anthony Montague as master. Redclyffe was then, as it is now, a business thoroughfare, — only narrower and dirtier, running along under the shadow of the ancient church of St. Mary Redclyffe.

Its ancient record, its antique car vings, its interesting history, and its rush-strewn aisles were matters for pride to every JBristolian ; while in ad dition to this, Thomas Chatterton, " the marvellous hoy who perished in his pride," had conferred a world-wide fame upon its sepulchral, dusty " muniment room," by weaving curious records of mediæval life, and palming them off on the world as the productions of " Monk Rowley." In that little, square, lumber-littered cham ber Chatterton had woven bright visions of the fame and the wealth which should one day be his,_ through the medium of his much worshipped goddess, Literature, little dreaming how soon he would die of hunger in his lonely London garret. Under the shadow of this re nowned fane in the days of West Indian slavery, stood Anthony Montague's warehouse.

Its door was thickly studded with rusty, square, iron studs, its windows — secured by iron gratings — bore the dust and cobwebs of years, while its walls and passages were guiltless of dust-pan, brush, or pail. Bales, bags, casks, and rolls met the eye in every direction, indicating the nature of the merchandise housed there. Anthony Montague was well known on the West Indian coast, as merchant and dealer in the produce of those tropical climes ; but there were not wanting dark whispers to the effect that he did not stop at the traffic in spices, tobaccos, and sugars, but that many a black skin owed its loss of liberty to the greed of Anthony Montague and his agents. But the merchant was moral, prosperous, and upon occasion charitable ; so that these malicious whispers generally died away as soon as they were born, for who could think of laying such a charge to Mr. Montague ?

Greedy and grasping he might be, but such a sin as this he could never commit ! Still, as I said, there were not wanting assertions of this kind ; and it certainly was remarkable that his captains and agents had a great deal more private business to transact with him than his bills of lading represented. More than that, it was always noticed that after coming out from these con ferences, they were more reticent with others, and more equal with Mr. Montague than before. Be this as it may, Anthony Montague pocketed the profits of his trade, whether legitimate or not, with outward com placency, and long before the period at which my story opens he was looked up to as the richest merchant in Bristol. luside, at the end of a long passage, was his private Anthony Montague's warehouse. 3 office, and there you had to go if you wanted to see him.

This office was a long, narrow box, divided off from the head clerk's office by a wooden partition, in which was a sliding panel, and through this communications could be made and received. On the other side was the office in which his son, Douglas Montague, usually sat and wrote for a great part of the day. Farther back were the offices of the other clerks, warehousemen, packers and porters, and from these the hum and bustle of traffic was incessant. But in the three chief offices quiet reigned all the livelong day, only broken by the arrival of messages, or issuing of orders. The art of money-making was there reduced daily to a science, and Douglas Montague was walking in every respect in his father's steps. If you looked at the two men you could not help being struck by the resemblance.

Each bore the same cunning look, the same retreating forehead, the same sharp, greedy eyes, the same keen, over-reaching manner. Each rejoiced in the shrewd, flattened cranium, enlarged only in the region of acquisitiveness, and it needed no skilled physiognomist to decipher the characters of the pair. Hard, unmerciful, greedy, grasping, yet shrewd, cunning, and clever, was it any wonder that they made money and prospered ? Anthony Montague's defaulting debtors could tell woeful tales as to the ways in which certain of these moneys were made ; not only so, but when the goods and chattels of the said defaulters were insufficient to defray their debts, it was not at all an uncommon thing for them to " rot" in Bristol gaol — at least, until favouring circumstances set them free from his clutches.

Anthony Montague's home was out of the city proper, in one of the commodious villas which were beginning to stretch away towards the Clifton Downs. The mistress of his home was his daughter Bertha, a thoughtful, fair young girl of twenty-two. Being some eight years younger than her brother, and the child of the second Mrs. Montague, — for Anthony Montague had espoused two wives at an interval of five or six years, and in each case, had become a widower very quickly again, — Bertha was regarded by Douglas as a mere child. In fact she scarcely received any kindness or consideration from either father or brother : in their view she was but a household chattel, subservient to their will and pleasure. But she was as unlike them as it was possible to be. Douglas had inherited from his mother, the first Mrs. Montague — as well as from his father, — a close, mercenary, money-grubbing disposition, and a haughty, unsympathetic nature.

This lady had resembled her husband so closely, that she was almost a duplicate of him. But in some things she was worse than him, seeing that a woman's nature, if she becomes wicked and callous, always deteriorates faster than a man's. The second Mrs. Montague was a mild, gentle, loving being, totally innocent of ambition, or greed, and living only in her husband's love. This, however, came all too scantily and poor for her loving heart, seeing that Anthony Montague's affections were bound up with his money-chests ; as a consequence, she lavished her woman's love on her only child, Bertha. This child grew up to be not only the darling and the comfort of her dreary life, but the soother of her dying days, for Bertha had only reached the age of eight, when Mrs. Montague passed away, leaving her child, as a solemn legacy to her husband, to bring up tenderly and kindly.

Mrs. Montague was a pious woman, her religion being of the quiet, retiring type, and in her intercourse with the child she instilled, gradually but successfully, into her mind, the seeds of that faith which was destined to influence her whole after-life. Mr. Montague only smiled contemptuously at such " preciseness," deeming it almost beneath his notice, but Bertha and her mother were undisturbed in their quiet, sacred studies, until death came. That great disturber of families broke it all up ; and the first thing Bertha knew after folio win °- her mother to the grave, was that she had to make ready for departure to a fashionable boarding-school, there to become an accomplished young lady. anthony Montague's warehouse. 5 It was with a feeling of relief that Bertha departed for school, seeing that Montague House was but a miserable caricature of a home, now that the wife and mother was gone ; and her father and brother were too distant from her, and too much absorbed in their own pursuits, to care anything about her.

Still she never forgot her mother's instructions ; they lingered long in the secret chambers of her memory, and when far from home, they sprung up, and bore latent fruit. When she returned from school, to superintend her father's house, she was a finished young lady ; and though not so fashionable and dashing as Mr. Montague would have liked, she yet endeared herself to him, in a great measure, by the cosy, home-like appearance which his house assumed under her gentle sway. It was Mr. Montague's custom to set out for business about nine o'clock each morning, and having once ensconced himself in his office, he did not leave it the whole livelong day, except for a brief luncheon, which he and his son took at a neighbouring inn, about one o'clock. Then, returning to the office, business was again steadily pursued, until five, when the day's labours were over, and, leaving the head-clerk to shut up the warehouse at six, which was the time for closing, the two Montagues would wend their way home, in time for a six o'clock dinner.

Sometimes, however, the old man returned alone, his son having engagements in the city, which occupied his evening. At other times, wheu Bertha was near Redclyffe, she would call at the time her father left business, and when in a good mood, he would accompany her home in the carriage. On arriving there, he would spend a little time in the library, until dinner was announced, and then, after this was over, Bertha was expected to read the paper to him. And most evenings she steadily pursued her task, going bravely through the printed sheet, from leaders to shipping intelligence, — never omitting the column of stocks and shares, — and it was only when Mr. Montague signified his satisfaction by a euphonious grunt, or snored him self to sleep, that she was permitted to cease reading. Thus went on the routine of hfe at Montague House.

On this afternoon, the beams of the sun were slant ing westward, for it was in the autumn, and the narrow crowded streets of the city were beginning to grow dim and misty, when a lady's equipage drove up to the old warehouse. The driver stopped, and Bertha Monta gue, putting her head out of the window, called the head-clerk, who was busy in the passage, and requested him to tell her father that she had driven round for him. " I will do so, Miss Montague," returned the man respectfully, " but I scarcely think that Mr. Montague will be able to leave so soon. I heard him say, just now, that he was behind with business." " Well, try him, please. Give papa my message, and I will wait for the answer." " Very good, miss," and the man bowed, as he set off to execute his mission. Mr. Montague raised his thick, bushy eyebrows in surprise that anybody should presume to send such a message to him, and snubbed the clerk for his pains.

" And pray where is Miss Montague ? " " At the door, Sir. I said that you were busy, and would not, possibly, be able to leave so soon."' " And pray what right had you to think or say any such thing ? Have you learnt yet to mind your own business ? Are you afraid that you will have too much to do ? " " No, sir, — not at all," returned the clerk, who was a long-suffering sort of man, and accustomed to be bullied by his tyrannical master almost every day of his hfe. " I only suggested such a thing." " Go to your woik, sir, and stick to it, too ; and if Miss Montague wants answers, she must come for them herself. Does the little minx think that her time is to be consulted before anjdhing else ? " Not at all surprised at this explosion of wrath — anthony Montague's warehouse. 7 which indeed was only a sample of what every employe in that house received as often as possible — Mr. Spinks shrunk away into his office, not venturing to return to the door, in order to satisfy Bertha's anxiety.

So, after waiting some ten minutes or more in suspense, Bertha alighted, and went in, to obtain an answer for herself. " Papa, I have called for you. It is nearly five o'clock." " Well, what if it is ? " " Nothing, papa ; only as I have the carriage here, I thought you would like to ride home ! " " Carriage ! And so it is you who are to act the lady, while your father is plodding to get the means ! I tell you what, madam ; if you had lived in my grandmother's time, you would have walked, instead of riding ! None of your dainty misses in those days, afraid to set foot to ground." " Do I offend you, papa, by using the carriage ? " inquired Bertha, artlessly. " I was not aware that I did. The distance is too far for me to walk, you know." " Offend! only this, that you would make and keep a man poor !

If I had a family of such as you, I should die in the workhouse. It's lucky for me that your brother Douglas is not of the same blood. We should not sail in the same boat long, if he were." " I don't want to hurry you, papa, but if you have almost done, I could wait for you, and then you could ride home if you liked. You must be weary after working so hard. I know I'm an expense to you, but I cannot help it ; indeed, I cannot ! " " Expense," growled the old man, " no end of it ! But if you like to wait half-an-hour, I may have done, and then, maybe, I'll ride home." " All right, papa," said Bertha, as she hastened back to the carriage, and there, reseating herself, patiently waited her father's pleasure. More than one pedestrian as he passed by, wondered what such a fair young girl wanted, waiting so quietly at that dingy warehouse. And meanwhile, poor Bertha wondered if her father would ever like her, or treat her as other fathers did their daughters.

Chapter II. Matters In Dispute

" Life hath much of grief and pain To sicken the heart and toil the brain. All brows are shaded by sorrow's cloud, All eyes are dimmed, all spirits bowed, Sighs will break from the careworn breast Till death is asked as a pillow of rest." Another half-hour's waiting and the horses fidgetted restlessly in the harness, while Peters, the driver, wondered " how it was that master was so queer." Bertha leant back in the carriage and pondered over her lot half-envying meanwhile the servant-maid over the way' who was peeping out slyly for a breath of air, and whose ruddy face told both of health and contentment That servant-girl could be looked upon as a free ae-ent m all matters which concerned her liberty and peace of mmd : but the young lady setting back in the shadow of the cariiage-whom the girl, in her turn, envied too —was to all intents and purposes as much a slave to the whims of her tyrannical father as the veriest "do^of an infidel " to his bloodthirsty Turkish owner And as Bertha ruminated mournfully over the varied experience of hfe which fell to her lot, the silent tears stole slowly down her cheeks She knew well what was the reason of this increased harshness of manner on the part of her lather towards her ; and she needed no diviner to read the future trials which would faU to her lot for harsh and opinionated, and selfish as Anthony Montage was' MATTERS IN DISPUTE. 9 he had been doubly more so during the past three months.

Why? Eirst, because Bertha had dared to differ from him on religion. And this was high treason to a man of his calibre. That a girl of eighteen — and his own daughter too — should dare to exercise views of her own on spiritual matters was not to be tolerated. She had been spoiled in her training, and now he would set himself to remedy that defect by crushing the self-will out of her, and asserting his own power. Was not a man's own daughter to be submissive to him in everything? Was not he toiling and moiling, day after day, hoarding up wealth, great part of which would descend to her ? And, therefore, what right had she to call her soul her own ? And by what authority had she dared to defy his opinions in any matter, — least of all in the matter of religion ? Now that he had found out the heresy, he would crush it in the bud.

Mrs. Harvey, under whose care Bertha had been trained, was a gentlewoman of the old school, occupying a high position in her profession. Affable, courteous, precise, gentle, yet courtly, she was very much like a second mother to those of her pupils who, like Bertha Montague, had lost their own maternal relations. In addition to these good qualities, she was eminently pious, but so unostentatious and reserved in her piety that her life seemed to be only the natural outcome of her religion. She belonged to what we should call the Evangelical school in the English Church, and consequently felt no hesitancy in training her pupils in a decidedly religious manner. Had Mr. Montague known of this before placing Bertha under her care, the probability is that he would have ransacked all England for another school, rather than have sent her to Mrs. Harvey, seeing that he detested decided religious opinions above everything else, and coolly stigmatised all who professed Christian ity as " hypocrites " and " pretenders."

To him the Bible was a collection of fables, Providence was a myth, while about the after state he knew httle, and cared less. His truest Scripture was his bank-book, his most powerful providence his own right arm, and the present life the one great fact. Anybody who professed to believe or trouble about anything unseen or spiritual, was treated with contemptuous insult by Bertha's father. But Mrs. Harvey had inoculated her pupil with some of her own ideas — or rather the kindly nurture of her training had brought out and developed in Bertha the faith and trust which had resulted from the early instructions of her dead mother. As I said before, the second Mrs. Montague had feared God, in spite of her husband's intense dislike to religion, and had taught her little girl all that a mother could of the great truths of salvation and revelation.

This had continued for about eight' years, when she was taken away " in the midst of her days " ; but Bertha's mind, ever after that, was in a state of receptivity, as it regarded religious truth, which eventually ripened into active belief. Mrs. Har vey became more and more attached to her motherless pupil, and with joy saw her Christian character develop ing most pleasingly until Bertha was recalled home. Of course at school Bertha had not experienced much to try her faith or constancy, but under the gloomy shadow of Montague House she had found a vast difference. The atmosphere of her father's house had been one of repression from her earliest years, but now it was more so than ever. The stern old housekeeper, Stanton, had grown into her master's ways, until she was enough to freeze the life out of every warm-hearted young person ; although it was true that she had thawed a little towards Bertha lately.

But, like her master, she was dead set against religion, and openly rebuked her young mistress for her attention to religious duties. But the poor girl was fain to go oftener than ever to her Bible for comfort since returning home ; hence, as the consequence, she grew more and more in love, faith, and grace. But in addition to her religious faith, Bertha had recently received another cause for disquietude, and this MATTERS IN DISPUTE. was what nettled her father more than all beside. A lean, yellow-faced, beetle-browed West Indian planter had recently arrived in Bristol from Jamaica, and, having intimate business relations with Anthony Montague, had been invited by him to take up his abode at Montague House during his sojourn in the city. For two months past these two men had been rare cronies over their nightly punch, planning future schemes of kidnapping villany, which should result in increased gains to both of them.

Mr. Montague could not have succeeded so well in his past schemes for aggrandisement had it not been for his Jamaican confederate ; so that it was not alone a fellow-feeling with this slave-killing rascal which prompted him to extend his hospitality to him, but the prospect of future golden guineas to be reaped by his aid. Anthony Montague entertained his visitor with a grim sort of enjoyment. The money-making greed which actuated both of them was a rare bond of union, but from her very heart Bertha loathed the man and his conversation. To her, Julius March was a living embodiment of every evil thought and passion. With a quick intuition, which is only born of a pure and thoughtful nature, she had read the man, analysed his mind — such as it was — and reckoned him up ; and as the result of it all, she felt convinced that a more consummate villain than Julius March never trod the earth.

When he spoke to her with his coarse familiarity she answered him with contemptuous disdain ; when he offered to accompany her out of doors, she coldly refused ; but when he leered at her from under his dark, vicious-looking eyebrows, she revolted from the bare idea of contact with him. Her brother, Douglas, was not so intimate with Julius March as Mr. Montague ; he simply endured the fellow for the sake of the gain he brought to their net ; while he laughed sardonically at his sister's vehement dislike. But, bad as mere companionship with the man had been, it was tenfold more horrible to be expected to enter into the bonds of holy matrimony with him ; and this was what Bertha had now to meet and combat with. The announcement had first been made to her by her father, some three days previous to the commencement of my story, and had occasioned a very stormy scene between them.

Bertha had met the proposal with undisguised scorn, feeling sure that her father could not be in earn est ; but when he reiterated his command, and threatened her with his severest displeasure in case of refusal, she fired up with all a woman's indignation, and told him to his face that she would rather die than wed Julius March. Since then a truce had been declared between father and daughter for appearance sake, but at every available opportunity he made her feel how heavily his anger was resting upon her. To-night she had ven tured down to call upon him, on her way back from the city, but we have seen how her kind thoughtfulness met only with rebuffs 'and sneers. It was not so very wonderful that she should silently weep and envy the servant-girl opposite as she contemplated the trials which the future had in store for her.

But, come what would, she determined that nothing should ever make her marry Julius March. She could die ; but go back with him to that West Indian plantation, which was nothing more nor less than an abode of horrors, and there hve with him, through all coming years in the closest tie on earth, she neither could nor would. Though she was ignorant of the fact that her father gleaned gain from the iniquitous slave-traffic, she knew full well what this man's standing in society was ; and more than once, at the dinner-table, she had heard him boast how he " served his niggers," when contumacious or lazy, with a gusto which told how inherent cruelty was in the man's nature. And the bare notion of becoming his wife filled her soul with righteous horror. " Humph ! " said a gruff voice ; " be off, Peters."

Bertha started. Her mind had become so absorbed in these thoughts that she had not noticed the arrival of her father, who was, in fact, getting into the carriage as he spoke. Recovering herself very quickly, she apolo- MATTERS IN DISPUTE. 13 gised to him for her seeming inattention, and made way for him to sit beside her. " Excuse me, please, papa ; I suppose I was getting stupid, or half asleep. Here is room, beside me." " No," was the short answer ; " I'm suited." And Mr. Montague took the opposite seat. By this time Peters had started, and the carriage was rolling along towards Montague House. " Have you fulfilled the commissions I gave you, miss ? " queried Mr. Montague, as he bent forward and peered into his daughter's face by the varying light of the street lamps. " Yes, papa, all of them, as far as I know.

Is it your intention to give a party ? I merely thought so from the orders you gave me," she added, apologetically. " It is ; but it will be a small one — some six or eight of my business friends. As for ladies, I give you leave to invite five or six of your acquaintances, as they will supply the gap. But you are not to exceed that number." " Thank you, papa." " You need not thank me. I wish no more com munication with you than is necessary, after the disobedient opinions and principles to which you gave utterance some three days ago. Had it not been for Mr. March's presence in the house, I should have visited you with severer marks of my displeasure, and should have compelled your obedience. Suffice it therefore to say that Stanton will receive all my remaining orders. But in the meantime you will have to make up your mind on the matters in dispute between us.

If by this day week you have not decided both to accept Mr. March, and to give up your religious humbug, I will turn you out of my house. The dinner party of which I spoke will be the test, remember." Silently, Bertha bowed her head, for she could not answer. She knew her father too well to attempt to dissuade him from his purpose. But the tears fell very fast, as she anticipated the result of that dinner party. Arrived at Montague House, Mr. Montague handed out his daughter with stiff and haughty courtesy, but not a word passed between them. As Stanton received her young mistress, and took her wraps from her, one or two laro-e tears fell on the woman's hand. She looked up m surprise, but followed Bertha into the hall in silent perplexity.