“I’m dreadfully sorry,” said Gervase, “but I really don’t think I’m letting anyone down. I’ve gone into things pretty thoroughly during the last few days, and really it would have been extremely difficult for us to carry on.”
“Difficult—but not impossible.”
“Not impossible. But possible only in the way we’ve been doing for the last ten years, and, honestly, do you think that’s good enough?”
“It’s better than throwing everything overboard, anyhow.”
“I don’t think it is. By ‘throwing everything overboard,’ as you call it, we can at least save the land.”
“How?”
“For the last ten years we’ve been doing hardly anything for the land. We’ve been unable to introduce up-to-date methods; we can’t even keep our farms in decent repair. If we hung on now, still further crippled by death-duties, the land would simply go to pot. By selling, we can save it, because it will pass into the hands of men who will be able to afford it what it needs. Possibly one or two of the tenants will buy their farms. Anyhow, there won’t any longer be a great, big, unwieldy, poverty-stricken estate, paying more in taxes than it actually brings in profits and deteriorating every year for lack of money spent on it.”
“But I’m perfectly sure that if you pulled yourself together you could save the estate without cutting it in pieces. A conservative government is sure to improve matters for us and reduce taxation. I know Peter could have saved us.”
“I’m not Peter.”
“But you could save us if you wanted to. You’ve only to put yourself at the head of things, and get a really good bailiff, and perhaps sell an outlying farm or two to bring in a little ready money.... But you won’t. That’s what you mean. You don’t want to come out of your monastery and face the world again. You could save us. But you won’t.”