Hornbeam did not answer that, but instead asked a question. ‘When do you expect to clear the debt?’
‘I believe I can do it in four years.’
There was a long pause, then Hornbeam said: ‘You have four days.’
Amos did not understand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. I give you four days to pay me back.’
‘But...I’ve just explained to you...’
‘And now I will explain to you.’
Amos had a very bad feeling, but he bit his tongue and just said: ‘Please do.’
‘I didn’t lend money to you, I lent it to your father. I knew him and trusted him. But now he’s dead. I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and I don’t care about you. I will not lend you money, and I will not allow you to take over your father’s loan.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means you must repay me in four days.’
‘But I can’t.’
‘I know. So at the end of four days I will take over your business.’
Amos went cold. ‘You can’t do that!’
‘But I can. It’s what I agreed with your father, and he signed a contract to that effect. You’ll find a copy of that document somewhere in your father’s papers, and I have one here.’
‘So he left me nothing!’
‘All the stock is mine, and next week my travellers will begin to call on the craftspeople who have been producing for you. The business will continue. But it will be mine.’
Amos looked hard at Hornbeam’s face. He was tempted to sayWhy do you hate me?But there was no hate, just a sly satisfaction thatshowed in the merest hint of a triumphant smile, little more than a twitch at one corner of the mouth.
Hornbeam was not malicious. He was just greedy and pitiless.
Amos felt helpless, but he was too proud to admit it. He went to the door. ‘I will see you in four days, Mr Hornbeam,’ he said.
He went out.
8
SPADE WAS AT HIS LOOM, winding yarn onto the vertical heddle to form the warp, fixing the threads carefully so that they would remain taut. There was a tap at the door, he looked up, and Amos came in.
Spade was surprised to see him out and about so soon after the funeral. Amos did not look mournful so much as defeated. For him that was unusual: he might look anxious, or angry, but he was sustained by youthful optimism. Now he appeared to have given up hope. Spade felt a pang of compassion.
‘Hello, Amos,’ he said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ Amos said. ‘I’ve been with Hornbeam and he didn’t offer me a damn drink of water.’
Spade laughed. ‘He’d claim he couldn’t afford it.’
‘Bastard.’
‘Come and tell me about it.’
Spade had a warehouse and workshop with a small apartment for a single man. He did a lot of weaving himself but he also used other weavers, including one who was almost as skilled as he was, Sime Jackson. Weaving was well paid, but Spade had ambition, and he wanted more.
