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THE AMAZING YEARS
by
W. PETT RIDGE
Author of
"Mord Em'ly"
"69 Birnam Road" etc.
Hodder And Stoughton
London New York Toronto
MCMXVII.
THE AMAZING YEARS
CHAPTER I
Mrs. Hillier said something just before lunch that touched me more than
she could have guessed. The family was to leave on the Saturday, and
the elder of the two young ladies--Miss Muriel--had grumbled throughout
the week because of the delay insisted upon by the master. The
departure had originally been fixed for the twenty-fifth; Mr. Hillier,
who seldom spoke at home, but when he did talk expected to be obeyed,
announced that the party would not cross the Channel until the first.
That would be two days before the Bank Holiday, and Miss Muriel foresaw
discomforts arising from over-crowded compartments, carriages reserved
for the incredible Polytechnic folk and the impossible Lunn trippers.
Mrs. Hillier, as I managed with some difficulty to turn the key of a
trunk, put her hand on my shoulder.
"Weston," she remarked, impulsively, "I wish you were coming with us."
"Ma'am," I said, "I don't like the sea, and I can't endure foreigners.
Furthermore, a woman like myself, knowing only the English language,
would be simply a hindrance."
"Wherever you found yourself," she declared, "you'd contrive to make
yourself understood. Who is coming here to stay with you whilst we are
away?"
"Thought, ma'am, of asking my young nephew. He's just got a
scholarship, and the month's rest will do him good."
One of the maids knocked and came in to ask me whether she should
sound the gong. Mrs. Hillier's manner altered at once. She gave
definite instructions regarding the tying on of the blue labels that
had been specially printed by a firm at Sidcup Hill, commented sharply
on the condition of Master Edward's laundry, and mentioned that the
working classes were becoming intolerably careless. When the maid had
gone, she turned to me again.
"Weston," she said. "I'm worried about this trip. Before, I've felt
confidence in your master to see us through any difficulty. He's been
a sort of a dependable courier, and though he can't have relished the
holiday, it's been at any rate a change for him. But lately--Oh I don't
know," she broke off. "Perhaps I'm wrong."
Talk at lunch, I noticed, was devoted to the coming journey. The
conversation could not be described as good tempered: it needed the
presence of Master John to ensure anything like cheerfulness, and you
might have assumed that the three, instead of going for a holiday, were
about to engage upon one of the most trying and distasteful tasks of a
lifetime. I had come into the family when it lived in Tressillian Road,
Brockley, and Miss Muriel was twelve--that was ten years before--and
Miss Katherine eight. A dear little soul Miss Katherine was too at that
time, with her doll's perambulator, and her hoop, and a nursery not
over furnished. There came Mr. Hillier's good luck in the City with the
agency in Basinghall Street, and we moved to The Croft, where I was
told to make no reference to Brockley, and to disclose to the maids
of the house, or to the servants at any other house, no particulars
of early days that had been imparted to me in confidence or gained by
observation. It was little Miss Katherine's fault that I did not go
from the family when Mr. Hillier went up in the world. It means a lot
for a woman to be near a child--near any child--who can put its arms
around her neck, and hug her.
"Dover and Calais," Miss Muriel was saying, as I directed the parlour
maid to bring in the sweets.
"Folkestone and Boulogne," announced Mrs. Hillier.
"Dover and Calais is the shorter route, mother, dear."
"There's very little difference, darling, and one saves on the land
journey."
"I shall tell father," declared Miss Muriel, "that unless we travel by
way of Dover and Calais, I prefer not to go at all. Kitty, you agree
with me, I'm sure."
"Your sister," said Mrs. Hillier, "has the good sense to take my view."
"I vote," remarked Miss Katherine, "for Newhaven and Dieppe, and I bet
a large red apple that's the way we take." She hummed something about
Yo ho, yo ho, a sailor's bride I'd be, and live for ever gaily on
the bounding sea. Her mother requested her not to sing at table, and
pointed out that the wives of seamen invariably lived on shore.
"Let Weston decide," suggested Miss Muriel. "Come along, Weston. This
is where you come in, in the usual way, as peacemaker."
"'To foil their plans,'" said Miss Katherine, quoting from last year's
pantomime, "'we now bring upon the scene, The villain's foe, our friend
the Fairy Queen.'"
"If it was my case," I said, "I should wait until there was a Channel
tunnel." It proved to be not the first time that I had managed, by
disagreeing with all three, to check an argument.
Master Edward came home from Blackheath soon after six, and brought a
new subject for consideration. He had enjoyed a good day in watching
Kent play, and Kent had done well; in my room he rattled off the
figures exultantly. Humphreys 45, Hardinge 86, Seymour 66, A.P. Day
55 and so on; three hundred and forty-nine in all. "Let's see Surrey
beat that!" he remarked, defiantly. The boy took the brass shovel
from the empty fire-place, and described some of the most important
hits of the game. I reminded him of his own score of twenty-five, not
out, performed on the ground of his boarding school at Westgate, and
we had a serious talk concerning the wise life to lead: Master Edward
thought mere education was very much over-rated, and declared he would
rather be Mr. Troughton, captain of Kent, than a science master at a
college. I was unable to go all the way with him, and suggested, as a
compromise, that games should be cultivated in moderation.
"But you see, my tall old bird," he said, persuasively, "you're only a
woman. I don't say you can't throw a ball in straight, because, as it
happens, it's one of the things you can just manage to do; but apart
from that--Realise what I mean, don't you?"
Contention about the route came up again at dinner, when Mr. Hillier
took the foot of the table, crumbling his bread in the absent-minded
manner he had recently adopted. Sometimes the evening meal went
through, I noticed, without a syllable from him, and when the savoury
came he would give a nod of apology to his wife, and go off to his
workshop at the back of the house. On this particular Thursday night
he was cross-examined by Miss Muriel with severity concerning the
question of tickets, and he admitted he had not yet secured them.
Miss Muriel gave a picture of the rush, and tumult, and hurry-scurry
at the station; the most cheerful detail seemed to be that father
would undoubtedly be left behind. I was absent from the dining room in
order to see that his two pipes were filled, that, in the study, the
cigars set out in case any one should call; the liqueur stand had to
be replenished, and I suppose ten minutes had gone when I returned.
I found everyone talking--excepting, of course, the master--everyone
shouting at the top of the voice, everyone begging the others to be
silent.
"Weston," said Mrs. Hillier. ("Keep quiet, all of you. Impossible to
hear oneself speak with all this din going on. Edward, I forbid you
to say another word. Muriel, I'm surprised at you.) Weston, I want to
ask you something." She rapped her forehead with her knuckles. "So
much chatter that it's no wonder thoughts go out of my head." The rest
declined to give the cue. "Oh, I remember. Have you heard any rumours
about trouble on the Continent?"
"Only what I've read in the papers, ma'am."
"There!" she said, triumphantly to her husband. "Now perhaps you'll
leave off throwing out these foolish suggestions that you have somehow
got into your head. You speak before you think, James. I've warned you
about it previously. You men in the City meet at lunch time, and over
your chop, and your bottle of wine----"
"I always have a cup of coffee, and a piece of shortbread."
"And on that," she remarked, changing the subject, "you expect to keep
well. Why don't you have a sensible meal at mid-day, the same as I do?
It's very difficult," she said to the girls, "very difficult indeed to
knock any sense into men."
Mr. Hillier rose, I opened the door. Miss Katherine followed him to
whisper something consoling.
"Don't dare forget to see about the tickets to-morrow, father,"
directed Miss Muriel.
"I'll make inquiries," he said.
Colonel Edgington called later and I switched on the lights in the
billiard room, took off the cloth, chalked two cues, and summoned the
master from the workshop. I asked Mr. Hillier whether I should remain
in the billiard room and look after the scoring board; he said, "Thank
you, Weston, no. We shan't want to bother you this evening." As I was
going, he called me. "Afraid," he went on, apologetically, "that we
trouble you too much in this establishment. We get into the habit of
depending upon you, Weston." I said, "Not at all, sir!" and left. At
eleven, when Colonel Edgington had gone, I found that spot white had
made four, and plain white had scored nothing. It looked as though the
game had been interfered with by discussion. Home Rule probably. The
Colonel came from the north of Ireland, and he held strong views on
the subject; I knew from the papers that a four days' conference at
Buckingham Palace had failed to settle the question. Apart from the
condition of the scoring board, it was strange that the Colonel had not
touched his tumbler of whiskey. I went over the house to see to the
locking up, and encountered on one of the landings, the master: he was
gazing out at the fine summer night and I expected he would make some
casual remarks concerning the stars.
"Seven," he remarked, in a dreamy way. "Seven, Watson, seven."
"More than that, sir, surely."
"More later on," he agreed. "But seven is the number of Stock Exchange
firms that failed yesterday."
The next day was cheerful, only in regard to the weather. Master Edward
came home from the cricket ground to announce in a dismal manner that
Hayward and Hobbs were doing astonishingly well for Surrey; I had to
remind him that a match was not finished until the stumps were drawn on
the last day. Several ladies had called during the afternoon, and they
brought all sorts of wild rumours with them that Mrs. Hillier found
extremely upsetting. One said she had heard from a bookstall boy at the
station that the Bank of England was going to close its doors. Another
had been told by her gardener that the Germans would probably land at
Dover, after they had dealt with France, and march up through Kent,
taking Chislehurst on the way, and this she regretted the more because
her gladioli were very fine and likely, but for interference, to do
well at the flower show. A third was able to give, as a more reliable
piece of information, the announcement that her German governess, who
had been with the family for years, and knew how to manage difficult
children, had disappeared; it was found she had taken the train for
Dover.
Mr. Hillier was bombarded with questions on these and other subjects so
soon as he arrived. Generally he travelled from Cannon Street by the
four forty-eight, which did the journey in half an hour, and his time
for reaching the house was five thirty. He reached home on this Friday
by a quarter past four.
"I don't know anything," he said. "I can't tell you any more than the
man in the moon."
"Apparently you are able to tell less," remarked his wife.
"Perhaps," said Miss Muriel, "you can at least contrive to say, father,
at what time we start to-morrow morning."
"Oh, that!" he remarked, calling the subject back to his memory. "Oh,
we don't go to-morrow. I thought it was understood."
Miss Katherine stood by him, but the others raised their voices in
indignant protests. Mrs. Hillier begged that he would, for once, listen
calmly, and endeavour to understand that when trunks were packed, and
preparations made, it was simply nonsense to say that the holiday
was not to be taken; she implored him also to consider the talk that
would go on in Chislehurst. Miss Muriel said that so far as she was
concerned, she intended to go alone, and the others could follow when
and as they pleased. Master Edward suggested it was rotten bad luck to
be disappointed; he could not imagine the sort of tale he would have to
make up on returning to Westgate after a blank and empty holiday.
"Besides," urged Mrs. Hillier, triumphantly, "there's John!"
"John I saw this afternoon," said Mr. Hillier. (You must understand
that they all talked freely whilst I was about; if one of the maids
put in an appearance, then, of course, they used more care). "John
and I had a long talk. He expected to have a couple of songs out
next month, and he's afraid all this trouble may delay them. Anyway,
he wants to stay on, and see what happens. He's coming here this
afternoon."
The elder son of the family had recently taken rooms in town; we all
knew the songs he had composed, from myself down to the scullery-maid,
and everyone in the house was looking forward to his next. I remember
I felt more concerned at hearing the deliberate announcement of Master
John's intentions than at anything else which was happening, and the
others, too, seemed impressed by it. They left Mr. Hillier alone.
The evening was very quiet, the grand pianoforte did not find itself
opened. On the Saturday morning the master went up to Cannon Street,
and came back before noon. He told me he heard the Stock Exchange had
been closed an hour after it opened, and in regard to his own business
in Basinghall Street, where he represented an important Austrian firm,
nothing was being done.
"By the bye, Weston," he said, "there used to be something in the
house that I don't seem able to find. You would know where it is if
anybody does." I waited for him to explain. "I mean," he said, rather
confusedly, "a revolver."
"Whenever Master Edward is home for his holidays, sir, I always take
the liberty of putting that where no one but myself can find it."
"Very wise," he agreed. "But where is it exactly? You see,"
persuasively, "if we're going to be attacked, why we must be prepared
to sell our lives dearly, eh?"
"We're not going to sell our lives, sir, and we're not going to give
them away either. We must keep calm, and not do anything foolish, or
even think of doing anything foolish, on the spur of the moment. If
trouble's coming, we've got to face it."
"Quite so, quite so, quite so!" He looked at me for a while, and I
looked at him. "Quite so!" he remarked once more. And began to hum. He
had no ear for music, and the playing and singing of the young ladies
were always endured by him with a pained air, but I never heard him or
any other man hum a tune more incorrectly than he did on that occasion.
It was a relief when Master John walked up the drive, and took his
father at once for a run in the car. What Mr. Hillier required was
fresh air, and sensible, male companionship.
We were more animated that evening. I had Master John's room all in
order, and I told him I hoped he was going to stay for the week-end; he
said he had not thought of doing so, but when I hinted that it would
be a sensible thing to do, he nodded, and said, pleasantly, "Right you
are, Weston. You always have your own way, somehow!" Even Mr. Hillier
brightened in the presence of his elder son, and Master John was able
to check his mother and Miss Muriel when they showed a tendency to
go back to the grievance of the cancelled trip. Master John had been
going about in some of the hard-up quarters of London, and recounted
his experiences, described the folk he had met, the places he had
seen. There was nothing very fresh to me in all this, but he made it
attractive, and I had to speak rather sharply to one of the maids for
laughing at a joke he told. The most difficult thing in drilling young
girls is to convince them that they must keep a straight face when
waiting at table.
"All the same," remarked Miss Katherine, "it must be a dud life for
them. I mean to have two one double four Hell for a telephone number."
"They've been used to nothing different," argued her mother.
"I feel rather sorry," said Master John, "for the folk who come down to
it from the heights."
"Even in those cases," said his mother, "they have only themselves to
blame. Generally, it's drink."
"Sometimes sheer misfortune," he remarked.
"Rather than lead that sort of existence," said Miss Muriel,
dramatically, "I would take a revolver and shoot myself." I frowned at
her, and she said, "Don't make faces, Weston. It doesn't improve your
appearance in the least." Her father glanced at me.
Master John had a theory, and proceeded to give it across the table.
Many of the districts he had been referring to were, he pointed out,
near the river. You would assume that nothing was easier for these
people, when goaded by worry, and depressed by anxiety, than to stroll
down to the edge of the water, and put an end to their existence. But,
said Master John, this was exactly the course they did not adopt. It
was not in their class you found men and women taking upon themselves a
duty that belonged to a greater power, and deciding when life was to be
terminated. These cases existed in other stages of society, where the
crumpled rose-leaf, and nothing but a crumpled rose-leaf, was sometimes
held to justify the act.
"An unpleasant subject to be discussing," said Mrs. Hillier. "Let's
talk about the war for a change. What do you think Germany means to do,
John?"
I have often, in recent days, wished I had written down all the views,
and all the prophecies heard from different sources at that period.
Likely enough, Chislehurst was not more fruitful in this than was
other places, but we were just far enough from town to enable folk
to go around, distributing new ideas between the arrival of editions
of the London newspapers. Master John altogether refused to make
any predictions. "Ask me again in a week's time," he said. He took
his father along to the billiard room, and there kept his opponent
concentrated on the game, and declined to talk of any other matters
than that of how to deal with the red. Mr. Hillier made a break of
twelve, and felt tremendously pleased about it. "Really believe, do
you know, Weston," he said, cheerfully, "that if I had more practise,
I'd be able to give people quite a decent game."
Master John astonished us by going to church on Sunday morning; he
announced at the mid-day meal that prayers had been offered for the
maintenance of peace. He ran up to town in the afternoon, and on his
return, described an anti-war meeting held in Trafalgar Square, and
a patriotic meeting held close by at the Admiralty Arch. An enormous
crowd, he said, marched along The Mall to the Palace where folk sang
the National Anthem, and the Marseillaise, and the King and Queen bowed
acknowledgments of the cheering.
"Like looking on at history," he remarked.
"A good deal of preposterous fuss," commented Miss Muriel, in her
superior way, "concerning absolutely nothing at all!"
* * * * *
It would save some trouble if one could ask you to accept Miss Muriel
without explanation, and to judge her by the acts recorded of her,
but this is perhaps making too great a strain upon credulity. At an
entertainment given in aid of some Church funds at St. Mary's Hall I
once saw a performance in which six characters took part: a highwayman,
the landlady of a tavern, a Bow Street runner, a village maiden, an
old Duke, and his elderly daughter; I observed that they came on
separately, and so soon as one went off another entered, and I thought
nothing special of it until I ascertained later, from the programme,
that all the characters were performed by one gentleman. Miss Muriel
had something of this ability. She was everything by turns, and nothing
strong. At one time she determined to go down to posterity as a great
musician, and during this period, she scoffed at her brother's efforts,
and composed elaborate melodies that, without exception, sounded to
me very like something I had heard before; the mantelpiece in her
room was given up to small busts of Wagner and Liszt, and Beethoven
and Mozart. There followed a rather serious attack of literature. Miss
Muriel took literature very badly, and whilst it was on her, the house
had to be kept perfectly quiet; any discordant sound, she declared,
upset her writing for the day. She appealed to eminent novelists for
their autographs (which they supplied with alacrity) and endeavoured to
keep up the correspondence by asking their advice in regard to plots,
to methods, and to publishers; the answers diminished in number, and
Miss Muriel talked darkly of ring-bound fences, of the trials of new
beginners.
"For two hatpins," she declared, "I would take up some other hobby!"
She did this, without the bribe suggested. At the time of which I
speak, Miss Muriel was preparing herself for a brilliant career on the
stage.
It was an epidemic that went around at intervals, started occasionally
by an amateur performance, and the compliments given in the
_Chislehurst and District Times_; in Muriel's case, it was due to
the presence of a well-known actor who had returned from an American
tour with plenty of money, and, taking a house near the Common,
announced his intention of enjoying peace with dignity. Him, Miss
Muriel encountered during the interval that followed convalescence from
literature. It occurred to her that the stone cross which bore the
inscription on one side--"Napoleon, Eugène Louis Jean Joseph, Prince
Imperial. Killed in Zulu-land, 1st June, 1879," and on the other, "This
Cross erected by the Dwellers at Chislehurst"--it occurred to her, I
say, that this memorial was not receiving the attention it deserved. In
placing her daily offering of a bunch of flowers inside the railings
(the self-imposed duty lasted for nearly a week) she one afternoon met
the great man. He was greatly touched by Miss Muriel's devotion.
"A beautiful act," he said, tears in his eyes. "A most charming
thought. Dear young lady, allow me to offer you my sincerest
compliments."
He called at The Croft later, and Mrs. Hillier was impressed by
his manner, although Master Edward described him privately, as a
white-haired fraud. Miss Muriel spoke of her wish to assist the stage
by her presence, and he received the announcement with enthusiasm,
promised to give any help that might be necessary. But he went off in
a state of crimson-faced indignation, and I found that, in my absence
from the drawing room, Mrs. Hillier had been so incautious as to offer
a casual and approving remark concerning one of the younger members of
the profession. Miss Muriel asserted that her bright anticipations had
been marred by this carelessness, and it did prove that the promised
help failed to come. A Sunday journal announced that the gentleman had
been induced, by pressure from his countless admirers, to return to
the boards, and to give a series of "those brilliant impersonations
with which his name, and his name alone, will ever be associated."
Miss Muriel's letters to him were not answered, but she told me this
circumstance would have little or no effect on her plans.
"Even this absurd war business won't stop me!" she declared.