The Quality of Mercy - By Barry Unsworth Page 0,124
as a complete surprise.
His copying still not quite finished, Bathgate laid down his pen, glanced up, met Michael’s eye, glanced away again, cleared his throat with a rasping sound. “Young man,” he said, “you have been fortunate, but it is within my power to make you more fortunate yet.”
Taken by surprise at this announcement, Michael made no immediate reply. He saw the notary take up his pen again and heard him say, in the same solemn and measured tones, “I am one who believes in helping a young person to fulfill his promise. I am prepared to buy this piece of land from you, as a private transaction between us, you understand. I can offer you double the price you have paid. That is to say, double the price recorded here, which is stated as received, but which in fact has not been paid, since no sum of money has actually passed out of your possession. I will give you one hundred guineas, cash in hand.”
“A want to give the land to my father,” Michael said, and once more encountered the gaze of the notary, which had grown steadier and sharper in the making of the offer.
“He will not get much of a living from such a small plot.” Bathgate glanced down at the paper before him. “Less than three acres. Nothing prevents you from selling. It is leasehold, the period of ownership is stated, the date of reversion is stated, but the document contains no restriction on your right to dispose of the property as you see fit. With a hundred guineas you could quit the mine for good—no more toiling in the dark, sweating your life away. You are a likely fellow, I can see that. You could set up in some business, manufacturing say—there are excellent opportunities in the pottery trade. Or you could set up a shop or buy a share in a slaving venture—that is the thing nowadays, you acquire a share in a cargo of Africans, you buy sugar and rum with the proceeds of the sale, and you make a handsome profit on the London Exchange when your ship returns. You increase your investment on each voyage and in a few years you find yourself a rich man. I have seen it happen to others.”
“A canna sell the land, sir, it is not truly mine.”
“How, not truly yours? We are presently engaged in drawing up a deed that will convey it to you.”
“No, a mean … If a had thowt to make a profit from the first, that would be different. Sellin’ it now would be like sellin’ my own father, it is him that wants it.” He could see no sign of understanding on the notary’s face. “Tha could offer me double again an’ a wouldna sell it,” he said more loudly, and in a tone more emphatic.
“I see.” Bathgate lowered his head and resumed his copying, and for some minutes there was again only the scratching of the pen to be heard. Michael had not really believed that the notary was concerned to give him a helping hand. But what came now made him less sure of this. Bathgate finished his task, laid the documents side by side on the desk and said, “Mr. Bourne will take these to Lord Spenton for his signature, then he will return to see you make your mark and to witness the signature. I shall sign as second witness. You will not sell to me, well and good. I made you an offer in the line of business. Let me give you a piece of advice. Sell to nobody, nobody at all. I have reason to think, between you and me, that there is interest in that land, and who has a piece of it, however small, will be likely to profit very considerably.”
“A dinna see what tha means, sir.”
The notary paused again, remembering the arrogant manner of the man who had come to question him. Close questions about rights of access, the title to the line of the shore. Only thoughts of making a way through could lead a man to visit a notary with questions of that kind.
“They may be purposing to take the coal that way,” he said. “Here in the County of Durham, who owns the land where the wagons pass can prosper greatly on the wayleave.”
“What is it, a wayleave? Tha means a charge for the passin’ of the coal?”
“When it is over private ground, yes. And when it is