The meeting in the schoolroom lasted far longer than any meeting in
Hailey Compton had ever lasted before. After all possible speeches
had been made and votes of thanks proposed to everyone who could be
supposed to deserve such a compliment and to a good many people who
could not, there remained the business of enrolling the performers for
the pageant. This was difficult, for almost everyone present wanted to
take part, and the boys, successfully kept out until the speeches were
over, managed after that to force their way in and added greatly to the
confusion.
It was long after ten o'clock when Mrs. Eames reached home. She hoped
but scarcely expected to find her husband waiting for her. Mrs. Eames
was a lady who delighted in talking over everything she did at great
length, and she had no objection to sitting up until the early hours of
the morning. Her husband knew this, as he knew most things about her
after twelve years of married life. He disliked talking, which seemed
to him a vain amusement, and hated sitting up late. His plan, on the
occasions of evening meetings, was to go to bed about nine o'clock and
then pretend to be asleep. On the evening of the pageant meeting he
really was asleep before his wife came home. This did not altogether
save him. Mrs. Eames woke him. It was absolutely necessary to her to
discuss the astonishing events of the evening with someone.
"Dearest one," she said, shaking him gently.
He groaned, turned over and buried his face in the pillow.
"Darling Timothy," she said, "you must wake up for just one minute. I
want to tell you what happened at the meeting this evening."
She shook him again, not so gently as at first, and he opened his eyes.
"The whole village," she said, "was wildly enthusiastic about the
pageant, and James Hinton has promised fifty pounds."
The vicar heard her and was almost startled into complete wakefulness.
But the mind, though it works erratically, does work during the
interval of half consciousness between waking and sleeping. What Mrs.
Eames said was entirely incredible. The vicar took it for granted that
she could not really have said it. He was, he supposed, dreaming a
dream rather more absurd than most dreams are.
"Yes, yes," he murmured, "how nice."
This seemed to him, still reasoning confusedly, a very good answer to
make to a dream statement of a particularly foolish kind. It was not
an answer which satisfied Mrs. Eames. She repeated, in much louder
tones, her news about the village people. She added details about the
meeting and described the extraordinary enthusiasm of the audience.
This time the vicar was almost convinced he was awake and tried to
make up his mind to sit up and ask questions. But Mrs. Eames repeated
the statement about James Hinton's fifty pounds and the vicar's reason
reasserted itself. It could not be true that James Hinton had promised
fifty pounds to a pageant. If he seemed to hear his wife saying such a
thing it was plain that he was still asleep and dreaming. With a view
to getting rid of what threatened to become a nightmare he murmured
again:
"How nice! How very, very nice!"
Then he turned over again and shut his eyes firmly. Mrs. Eames gave him
up after that and went down to the kitchen. Gladys, incompetent cook
and unwilling housemaid, was not the listener she wanted. But Gladys
would be better than no one, and would be obliged to listen to any
story, however long, told by her mistress.
Here luck favoured Mrs. Eames. She found in the kitchen not only Gladys
but the lady whom Gladys called "My auntie," the very lady who had
made the pancakes for Sir Evelyn Dent. While Gladys fussed about and
made tea for Mrs. Eames the "auntie" listened with real interest to
the story of the evening. Her husband was one of those chosen to be
a smuggler. Her eldest boy had done his full share of the shouting.
Mrs. Eames was gratified at the interest with which she listened,
but disappointed when she showed little or no surprise at what had
happened.
While Mrs. Eames, having more or less exhausted her subject and
herself, was drinking the tea which Gladys made for her, the "auntie"
told a story of her own which helped to explain the amazing attitude of
the villagers towards the pageant. Mrs. Eames was so much interested
that she actually listened to what was said to her, a thing she very
rarely did.
According to the "auntie," the village people had been at first just
as strongly opposed to the pageant as to any of the plays. But James
Hinton had talked long to several of the leading men, to Jack Bunce,
his fellow churchwarden, to the elder Whitty and others. No one knew
exactly what he said, for the conversations were held in private in
Hinton's own sitting-room at hours when the bar was not open to the
public. The result, whatever was said, was surprising. One after
another the leading men of the village declared themselves in favour of
the pageant. They told their sons and daughters and other dependents
to do exactly what Mrs. Eames bade them, exactly as they were bidden
and promptly. If there was any disobedience the consequences would be
serious and unpleasant.
"But," said the "auntie," "young men aren't what they were when I was
a girl. Nor the girls aren't either." Here she scowled at Gladys. "And
as likely as not the thing they're bidden to do is just what they won't
do though they would have if they hadn't been bidden."
Fortunately there was another influence which could be and was brought
to bear on the young men. James Hinton was admittedly the richest man
in the village and wealth is power everywhere in the world. When he
came to Hailey Compton and took over the inn from the executor of the
previous owner, he had re-painted, re-decorated, and largely re-built
the house. He had, moreover, paid cash without hesitation or grumbling
for everything that was done. Never in living memory had so much money
been spent in the village on building and furnishing. It therefore
seemed possible, and indeed likely, that Hinton might spend more money
and that made everyone anxious to be on good terms with him. He was
also, from the point of view of the village men, a model landlord for
their only inn. The beer and cider which he sold were good, of a much
better quality than they had been before he came. He was willing to
extend credit to those who, though thirsty, had no ready money. He
seldom pressed for the payment of accounts, even when they were large
and long overdue. He was willing to accept mortgages on cottages and
gardens, even mortgages on future catches of fish, as satisfactory
discharges of debts.
A man to whom half the community owes money, to whom the other half
expects to owe money very soon, is in a strong position. If he chooses
to support any cause there will be little opposition. When James
Hinton, having persuaded the older men that the pageant was desirable,
said the same thing without explanation to the young men and maidens,
all real opposition vanished.
This was the "auntie's" account of what had happened. Mrs. Eames
accepted it as an explanation of everything except James Hinton's
attitude. That remained a mystery.
It was true, as the "auntie," a shrewd woman, suggested, that James
Hinton might make a good deal of money out of the pageant, if it were
a success.
"If there were a lot of people came to Hailey Compton in them there
charabancs----"
"And there will be," said Mrs. Eames eagerly. "Hundreds of people will
come. Thousands. And they'll all have to go to the Anchor Inn for lunch
and tea. There's nowhere else they can go."
"And James Hinton can charge what he pleases," said the "auntie."
"I see that," said Mrs. Eames. "He'll make money out of it. That's it."
To anyone with Mrs. Eames's faith in the ultimate success of the
pageant, the explanation should have been completely satisfying. James
Hinton had promised what he would never be called upon to pay, with the
certainty that his promise secured him the opportunity of earning large
sums. To anyone less enthusiastic than Mrs. Eames, Hinton's guarantee
would have looked like a desperate speculation. If the pageant cost a
good deal, as it would, and then failed to attract a large audience, he
would have to pay and would stand no chance of recouping himself. Even
to Mrs. Eames this view of Hinton's action presented itself all the
more clearly because she knew the man and was firmly convinced that he
would never allow himself to be swayed by altruism. His guarantee, in
spite of the explanation offered, remained a puzzle.
"It's time," said the "auntie," "for me to be getting home along."
She had drunk her share of the tea. She had heard all that Mrs. Eames
had to say, thereby providing herself with a store of authentic gossip
which would make her an important person in the village next day.
Mrs. Eames chased the unwilling Gladys to bed, having very little
hope that the girl would be up in time to light the kitchen fire
next morning. Girls, especially girls with Gladys's disposition, are
exceedingly sleepy at six o'clock in the morning if they have sat up
till nearly midnight the night before.
Then Mrs. Eames went to bed herself and slept soundly, untroubled by
the problem of James Hinton's support of the pageant. She had long
learnt the folly of worrying over the "whys" of things, especially
satisfactory things. James Hinton had done what she herself could
never have done nearly so well. He had persuaded the whole village to
take up the smuggling pageant with enthusiasm. That was a fact of the
most agreeable kind. Why poke into the reasons of it? James Hinton
had promised fifty pounds, and, an almost more astonishing thing, had
induced the village people to promise one pound two and sixpence. These
also were facts. With them, as a sensible woman, she was more than
content. It would, indeed, have been nice to know just why James Hinton
had offered his money and how he expected to make anything substantial
out of the business. But the problem was not one which could keep Mrs.
Eames awake.