A New Dawn Over Devon (48 page)

 84 
The Banker and the Client

Stirling Blakeley awoke earlier than usual. He had spent a fitful night thinking about Amanda and what she had said to him several weeks earlier. And now the incident with the Roper baby confirmed it all the more—medicine was indeed something he wanted to pursue. He knew he was too old to think realistically about going back to school for another three or four years. As it was, he had been several years older than most of his fellow students at Oxford. But if it was a dream worth pursuing, why should he not do as Amanda suggested?

Stirling got out of bed, dressed quietly, and stole from the house. A few minutes later he was out walking through the village. It was dark out, with the first hints of light only just now creeping up the horizon in the east. Slowly he made his way toward the center of town, thinking of the people who lived in the homes along these streets and throughout the community, thinking what it would be like to be entrusted with their lives, to deliver their babies, to help them in sickness, to ease their elderly gently into the life to come.

What a high and sacred calling. Was it really what he wanted . . . more importantly, was it what
God
wanted for him?

As he continued to walk, images of Amanda filled his mind again. What a lady she had turned out to be, gracious, warm, giving, soft-spoken. He would never guess, to look at her now, that she had ever been otherwise. There was no one—except perhaps Timothy Diggorsfeld—he enjoyed talking to quite like Amanda. She was . . .
an interesting person. In the two years since their impromptu meeting outside Timothy's flat, she had become a true friend.

Fifteen minutes later Stirling found himself standing in front of Dr. Armbruster's small surgery. He stood for several minutes quietly contemplating the possibility that someday
he
might occupy just such an office, in some small town like this, with
his
name on the sign above the door.

“Lord,”
Stirling prayed softly,
“
if this is your will, you must open the door and make a way. It seems too distant and out
of reach. If you truly are speaking to me through
Amanda's encouragement, make a way for it to happen.”

Even as he prayed, the conviction came over him all the more that he should follow Amanda's suggestion and see what came of it.

Six hours after his early morning walk, it felt to Stirling Blakeley as if every eye in the village was upon him as he walked into the new Bank of Milverscombe dressed up in his best shirt and trousers, tie and coat, and with his hair combed down flat and wet on his head. He could not help being nervous.

Geoffrey saw Stirling enter, smiled and waved him over to his desk, then greeted him with a shake of the hand, and offered him a chair.

Stirling sat down. The two chatted informally for a few minutes.

“I, uh . . . I don't know how to say this,” began Stirling, “but I want to talk to you about money . . . about maybe a loan . . .”

“Of course, Stirling,” replied Geoffrey. “For what purpose?”

“Actually, I . . . I would like to return to university, medical school actually . . . I would like to study to be a doctor.”

“Right . . . I see—yes, the whole town is abuzz about your delivery of the Roper girl. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” smiled Stirling. “It was an unexpected adventure.”

“Medical school would be an expensive proposition,” said Geoffrey. “There could be collateral difficulties as well. I doubt such a loan would be approved by London without sufficient collateral.”

“Collateral?”

“Tangible assets,” replied Geoffrey, “to set against the note in case of default.”

“You don't think I wouldn't pay it back?”

“No, of course not, Stirling. I know you, and know you to be a man of your word. But banks must be very cautious and skeptical when
loaning money. The way London would look at it would be to ask what would happen if you died, for example, or if you got halfway through the medical program and then for some reason were unable to continue. Their money would be gone, and you would not be in a position to repay. That's why they always look for something, as I say, to set against the loan to insure that they will not lose out in the end. The loan committee would be very doubtful of loaning that much money, as they would see it, on speculation of future earnings.”

“Oh . . . right, I see,” nodded Stirling, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“And too . . . have you considered,” Geoffrey went on, trying to sound warm and sympathetic, though he realized he was probably dashing Stirling's hopes with every word he spoke, “the future burden such an indebtedness would place on you after your education was completed?”

“But the opportunity to be a doctor would make it worth it,” said Stirling.

“Perhaps,” rejoined Geoffrey. “But country physicians don't earn a great deal. It would take years to repay.”

Stirling nodded, then shuffled in the chair and began to rise.

“I am sorry not to be more encouraging,” said Geoffrey, rising with him.

“Don't mention it, Geoffrey, you're just doing your job—I know that. I didn't think it would hurt to ask.”

“No . . . it never hurts to ask. I will look into the matter further, and shall certainly see what I can do.”

They shook hands. Stirling left the bank, feeling far more awkward than when he had walked in. He turned along the street, praying that Amanda didn't happen to be in town. He didn't think he could face her right now.

As he limped quickly along, he thought to himself that the only thing he wanted to do was get home and get out of these fancy clothes!

 85 
The Banker and His Thoughts

Darkness had fallen over Milverscombe. Its residents were long since in their homes and all its shop doors closed.

A lone desk lamp, however, still burned in the newest of Milverscombe's buildings. The doors were locked, and the only two employees of the bank other than its manager had gone home for the night.

Geoffrey Rutherford sat at his desk looking over the papers in front of him. There wasn't a chance Stirling Blakeley's hope to further his education would be approved. There wasn't even any use sending it in. Every loan application in the last three months had been turned down. His father sat on the loan committee, and for the life of him, Geoffrey could not understand it.

The requested funds for Stoddard Roper's new barn . . . for Mary and Sutton Thurmond's house . . . for the new store building that had Hiram Spenser's hopes so high . . . these and three or four other small applications had all come back denied.

London wasn't interested in small high-risk loans like these. They made their profits off business loans in the city. Their objective in opening a country bank like this was in securing deposits, not making loans. He had been naive to think he could do the people here any good. The rejected applications were piling up, and eventually he was
going to have to summon the courage to tell these poor people that the money they were planning on was not going to come through.

Just today he had had two new requests, including Stirling's. How could he face these people if all he ever had for them was bad news? Where would the bank be a year from now if not a single loan were approved for the people of the village? Most would eventually go back to keeping their money in their beds or in the floors of their cottages.

He had wanted so badly to help this community. But all his high hopes were gradually giving way to the reality that the loan committee did not intend to back up his optimism with actual cash.

Geoffrey rocked back in his chair and let out a long sigh as he glanced over the papers again. Slowly he rose, put on his coat, then gathered up a few of the files to take home with him for further review. As he turned from his desk, his eyes fell on the plaque hanging behind his desk that Catharine had lettered and nicely framed for him. He read over the words again:
Melt your mammon down, coin him up, make God's money of him, and send him out to do God's work. Make of him cups
to carry the gift of God, the wat
er of life, through the world.

Geoffrey smiled thinly. A fine sentiment, he thought. But how could he implement it without the backing of London?

He moved to the door, turned off the light, and walked outside. He glanced about. The evening was already chilly. He was glad he'd brought the car. The cold sent a shiver through his frame. He coughed a time or two as he walked to the side of the building. It was starting already, he thought rubbing at neck and chest, the winter hacking in his lungs . . . and it was still only November. He'd go see Dr. Armbruster tomorrow and get a new supply of lozenges.

Slowly he drove through the deserted streets of Milverscombe, out of town, and finally up the long, winding drive to Heathersleigh Hall, cheered to find that his new housekeeper Wenda Polkinghorne, Sarah Minsterley's sister-in-law, recently widowed from Exeter, had a bright fire, hot pot of water, and inviting tea all waiting for him.

————

In the middle of the night, Geoffrey awoke suddenly out of a deep sleep.

It had begun to rain outside, and somewhere he thought he heard a faint
drip, drip, drip
. Coughing lightly, he glanced toward the window, wondering where the sound was coming from, then sat up and turned on a light. It wasn't the rain against the windowpane that had roused him, however, nor the congestion in his chest, but rather a startling idea.

So startling it had jolted his brain awake as if an electric current had surged through it.

Geoffrey threw on a robe and walked to his desk, where still lay the loan files he had brought home that had troubled him the day before.

He glanced through them again. A smile spread over his face.

Then slowly the smile turned to laughter.

Why not?
he laughed to himself.
Why not! I will cast him into the
furnace, melt him down, and coin the mammon up to make God's money of him . . . then send him out
to do God's work!