Amos looked frightened. ‘Good or bad?’
Spade reached inside his shirt and took out a piece of paper. ‘Read that.’
Amos took it.
It was a handwritten bank note drawn on Thomson’s Kingsbridge Bank, the oldest of the three banks in town, and it ordered one hundred and four pounds, thirteen shillings and eight pence to be paid to Joseph Hornbeam.
Amos seemed unable to speak. When he looked up at Spade, his eyes filled with tears.
‘That’s a loan, of course,’ Spade said.
‘I can hardly believe it. I’m saved.’
Spade talked details to calm Amos down. ‘Canon Midwinter is the trustee for a group of your fellow Methodists who have clubbed together to help you out.’
‘I can’t believe how fortunate I am.’
‘However, I advise you to keep the source of the money to yourself. It’s no one else’s business.’
‘Of course.’
‘You’ll have to pay four per cent interest and return the capital in ten years’ time.’
Amos looked at Spade with something akin to worship in his eyes. ‘You made this happen, didn’t you, Spade?’
‘Canon Midwinter and I did.’
‘How can I ever thank you?’
Spade shook his head. ‘Just work hard, run the business well, and pay everyone back when the time comes. That’s all I want from you.’
‘I will, I swear it. I can hardly believe my good fortune. Thank God, and thank you.’
Spade stood up. ‘It’s not over yet. We need to make sure Hornbeam doesn’t try any tricks.’
‘All right.’
‘First you need to sign an agreement about the loan with CanonMidwinter in front of a justice of the peace. Then you need to give the bank note to Hornbeam, and I strongly suggest you also do that in front of the same justice.’
‘Which one?’ There were several in Kingsbridge, and some were cronies of Hornbeam’s, such as Humphrey Frogmore.
Spade said: ‘I’ve spoken to Alderman Drinkwater, the chairman of justices. He’s father-in-law to Midwinter, as you may be aware.’
‘Good choice.’ Drinkwater was known to be honest.
‘You’ll have to pay him, of course: he’ll want five shillings. Justices often charge for such services.’
Amos grinned. ‘I can afford it now.’
They left Spade’s warehouse. First they went to Amos’s house to get the five shillings from his safe. Then they went to Drinkwater’s home in Fish Lane. It was a modest house, old and half-timbered.
Drinkwater was expecting them. He was in a room that served him as an office, sitting behind a table with all the necessary stationery: quill pens, paper, ink, sand and sealing wax. His head was bald but today he wore a wig to signify that he was playing a formal role.
He read the loan agreement that Spade produced. ‘Perfectly normal,’ he said, and pushed it across the table. Amos picked up a quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and signed his name, then Drinkwater signed as witness.
Spade took the document, sanded it to dry the ink, then rolled it carefully and put it inside his shirt.
Amos said: ‘Now I have to make sure I pay it back.’
