We all went slightly off our heads that evening at Gloucester Place.
At first, there was a misapprehension on my side to be removed: I
had forgotten that Lille was in the hands of the Germans, although
the superscription of the card ought to have made this obvious;
explanations made it clear to me now that Master John was a wounded
prisoner, and that we should probably not see the dear lad again until
the war finished. Master Edward, when he came home, was still so
greatly excited that he omitted, for an hour, to tell us that he was
about to be transferred to the head offices at London Bridge, where
his hours would be fixed and regular, and escape effected from hot
tempered and argumentative passengers. The recommending word of the
superintendent's wife and his own engaging manner had to be thanked for
the swift promotion. We regretted the absence of Miss Muriel; if she
had been with us our party could have been reckoned complete.
"Really didn't think we should hear of him again," admitted Mr.
Hillier. "With every desire to hope for the best, I had come to the
conclusion John was lost to us."
"It will be something to tell the girls at the bank," mentioned Miss
Katherine. "They have been inquiring every day, and they meant it well,
I know, but it only seemed to remind me of--Anyhow," brightly, "the
suspense is over. Let us be musical. We haven't lifted up our tuneful
voices in song for a long time past."
"There's no piano," I remarked.
"Unaccompanied," directed Miss Katherine. "Edward, my laddie, if you
have gone past the stage when you didn't know whether you were going to
give out a high note or a low one, you make a start. Anything, except
Tipperary."
We were joining in a chorus when a rap sounded at the door. I answered
it, and, seeing the old lady and gentleman of the ground floor, assumed
at once that they had come up to protest against the noise.
"Beg your pardon," said the elderly gentleman, "but--my wife and
myself--we're rather quiet people."
"The singing shall be stopped at once, sir."
"By no means," he cried, urgently. "Pray do nothing of the sort. We are
here to ask you if you would kindly leave your door open. Our sense of
hearing is not so good as it was, and we want to learn the words of
some of the popular songs of the day."
"Are you serious?" I asked, incredulously.
"Bless my soul, no," he chuckled. "We're not serious. We enjoy life.
We're rather lonely, it's true, but apart from that you can look upon
us as the most frivolous young couple this side of the river." He
turned to his wife. "Always have been, haven't we, my sweet?"
"We married for love," whispered the old lady to me, nodding her head.
They had the appearance of people in fancy dress--she with ringlets
and a lace cap, and a silk dress that, as my mother used to say of a
remembered costume of the same quality, could have stood by itself, and
he with large collar, black stock, heavy watch chain and fob, velvet
jacket, shepherd's plaid trousers.
"Our compliments to your young folk," he said, with a bow, "and our
apologies for interfering."
"You, like ourselves," she remarked, "are fortunate in having no
relative engaged in this terrible war. Few have such cause to be
thankful. We wish you good evening."
Mrs. Hillier came forward, and, breaking the rule which she had laid
down regarding communication with neighbours, joined in the discussion,
gave the news concerning Master John. The old gentleman, greatly
interested, offered congratulations, and excusing himself, left his
wife to go on with the talk. She with many antiquated protests--
"But I shall be discommoding you, I fear."
"I hope you will not look upon it in the light of an intrusion."
"Pray do not fail to tell me when to go."
Accepted the invitation to enter the sitting room, and giving a
curtsey, felicitated Miss Katherine upon her singing, spoke of Madame
Jenny Lind, Mario, Grisi, Sims Reeves. We were in the sixties, and
forgetting all about the current year and its troubles, when she
stopped suddenly. A jingling sound was heard from the landing.
"Do you mind," she said to me, "helping Captain Winterton? He is not
quite so active in household duties as he used to be. I myself am just
the same that I always was, but I perceive a change in him."
Captain Winterton had brought up a large silver tray that I coveted the
moment I caught sight of it; the tray bore decanters of cut glass that
would have looked well on the shelves at London Street; a cigar case
had a flourished inscription announcing it was a testimonial from the
passengers of sailing vessel _Magnitude_. The old gentleman wore now an
embroidered smoking cap with a tassel.
"Sir," he said, giving up the tray to me, and addressing Mr. Hillier,
"this is a great liberty, and no one knows it better than I do, but the
circumstances must be held responsible. A few beverages, selected by me
on my many travels, and I want you, sir, and the ladies, if they will
be so good, to favour me with their opinion on them."
I went off to cut sandwiches. When I returned he was near the
fire-place, making a speech. Old Mrs. Winterton beckoned to me.
"Remarkably gifted," she whispered. "So much experience, you see, on
board his ship. This is the only time I've heard him speak about the
war." She laid a finger on her lips to enjoin perfect silence.
"--Goes off to fight for his country's welfare," Captain Winterton was
saying, in the full enjoyment of oratory, "and fights, I'll be bound to
say, like a gallant and determined Englishman. And although he appears
to be now suffering from his honorable wounds, and is detached from his
comrades, and his friends, I am sure he has the consolation of knowing
that they are all thinking of him with affection and sincere regard,
and looking forward to the joyful day when he shall again find himself
among them. I drink to the elder son of this estimable family. I wish
him a quick recovery, a safe and a glorious return."
I think Captain Winterton was slightly disappointed to find that he had
succeeded in making no one cry but his wife: he assured Mrs. Hillier
that in his happiest moments and his most successful efforts on the
last day of a lengthy voyage, you might look around at the tables when
he had spoken after dinner, and fail to discover a single dry eye.
"I may be out of practise," he suggested, wistfully. Mrs. Hillier
assured him that she felt more touched by his remarks than she cared
to show. He said that as time went on, one was bound to recognise
alterations and differences; as to himself, he could perceive no great
change in the last thirty years, but he feared Mrs. Winterton was
exhibiting some of the marks of age.
"My sweet," to his wife, "we mustn't outstay our welcome."
"My dearest," she agreed, "there is your beauty sleep to be remembered."
"You are not going to hurry away like this," protested Mr. Hillier.
"Recollect that we so rarely get visitors, nowadays."
Mrs. Winterton spoke of the period when she mixed in the best society
that the neighbourhood afforded. Greenwich, she said proudly, was
Greenwich in those times, and held up its head, bless you, and saw
the aristocrats coming down to dine at the Ship; carriages arrived
from London bringing the finest in the land, and the railway was still
something like a novelty. Master Edward had seen at the head offices
an aged picture of the earliest trains leaving London Bridge to the
music of a band; the old lady said very precisely that this she had
heard, but she had no personal knowledge of the occurrence, and Captain
Winterton rallied her good-temperedly on the question of her age. "My
sweet likes to be thought," he remarked to us, "as on the sunny side of
eighty, but I can remember that when I first met her she called herself
seventeen, and that was in the year of the great Exhibition in Hyde
Park, and I could tell you what she wore at the time. She'd got on the
prettiest little poke bonnet--you don't see anything so attractive in
these days, if this young lady here will forgive me for saying so--a
full flounced skirt and a waist so small that I could nearly go twice
around it with my arm--" Mrs. Winterton took her husband off, and
returned for the tray, and to explain that her husband's memory was
failing, especially in regard to dates.
A few weeks earlier, and Mrs. Hillier would have resented the call
from the elderly pair of the ground floor; now, she made friends with
them, running down sometimes to have a chat with old Mrs. Winterton,
and delighted when the Captain made a visit, bringing daffodils, "With
respectful inquiries, ma'am, and hoping you continue to have good news
of your boy." The best service they did to my mistress was in taking
her mind from the war. It seemed that they were too advanced in years
to give their mind to events of the day, however important and enormous
these might be; they lived in the past, and to them we were all nothing
but children with memories covering a brief period only. To Miss
Katherine they became specially attached, although Mrs. Winterton
could not approve of the idea of a girl engaging herself in commercial
affairs; she spoke with pride of the days when no young women of good
position had any other prospect or hope but that of marriage. To me,
she confided a secret which I was not to disclose to a soul, or ask
whence the information had been obtained; it was that on the day that
the first woman was entrusted with, and exercised, the power of voting,
on that day the world would undoubtedly come to an end.
"A great pity, of course," she said, nodding her ringlets and
dismissing the topic, "but it can't be helped, and there you are, and
that's all about it!"
Miss Katherine followed Master Edward's success by gaining a transfer
to the correspondence office, where figures were less intrusive, and
the work more varied. The weekly income at Gloucester Place was now as
follows:
Mr. Hillier £1 17 6
Miss Katherine 1 10 0
Master Edward 15 0
We were able to settle up tradesmen's books promptly; there was some
talk of a holiday to be taken, months later on, but economy had to be
observed, and one of the improvements in Mrs. Hillier was noticeable in
the fact that she now heartily supported my efforts in this direction.
No more cards arrived from Master John. We wrote to him regularly
to the care of the Information Bureau at Berlin, taking pains to
give nothing but domestic news, and we hoped he was receiving these
communications. At the Post Office I was told it would be useless to
send parcels until he came out of the hospital; I was also assured it
was unnecessary to do so, and from other quarters we gained that the
hardships over there did not begin until the wounded men were away from
medical treatment. Herbert sent me a cheery letter saying that he
was back in the trenches, and mentioning that there was a chance that
he might get his third stripe. Answering my question, he said that he
knew Quartermaster-Sergeant Cartwright, and described him as a chap who
thought a good deal of himself. My own estimation of Cartwright was not
diminished by this, and I began to forward _Punch_ to him each week,
and the Quartermaster-Sergeant occasionally sent me one of the printed
cards with everything crossed out excepting the line,
"I am quite well."
And
"Letter follows at first opportunity."
By asking Herbert what Cartwright was like, I meant that I wanted a
description of his appearance. In the absence of particulars, this had
to be left to the imagination. Miss Katherine pictured him as a tall
man, florid and stout, with an enormous moustache, and using language
at which she could but hint.
"Dismiss this particular romance from your thoughts, dear Weston," she
counselled. "Concentrate your mind, instead, upon your railway guard."
"You and your nonsense!" I exclaimed. "There's precious little chance
of me getting married to William Richards or to anyone else. My
opportunities never have been great, and now they are less than ever.
And it doesn't matter so much, for some of us, but I do feel sorry,
when I look at the casualty lists each morning, for young ladies like
yourself. Luckily, in your case, there is no one out there that you're
especially fond of."
Miss Katherine said something in regard to the latest fashions. Hearts,
she mentioned, were no longer worn upon sleeves.
* * * * *
There were several matters, and many views, and some fears, in those
days which we kept from each other; the young people had long since
given up at Gloucester Place the old habit of reciting dreams at the
breakfast table. In my own case, I found that, awaking at three o'clock
in the night, it was possible to consider the most dismal and gloomy
aspect of everything. At that hour, all the good news was forgotten,
and nothing but disaster could be anticipated. By day, there was
generally some encouraging placard to be seen, and the announcement
given, though not always based on fact, was undeniably cheering. ("Only
two forts left in the Dardanelles," was one of these, I remember.) But
in the small hours, Dreadnoughts were sunk by the dozen, U boats were
doing as they pleased, German forces again came near to Paris; the
enemy's navy was steaming up the Thames, and bombarding the college at
Greenwich; my nephew Herbert had been killed by a hand grenade, and
Master John was being kicked and starved. When these pleasing incidents
ceased to dance about in my brain, there was always the business in
London Street to offer a possibility of disaster. The number of times
that, in my imagination, I saw the name of Mary Weston, spinster,
figuring amongst the names in the list of receiving orders from the
London Gazette, cannot be reckoned.
Water carts came out, and the green chairs were set in Greenwich Park,
spring flowers made their bow, Gloucester Place brightened itself,
children at the L.C.C. schools behind The Circus played their games
more shrilly, and the river took on a cheerful air that had been
absent throughout the winter. My brother-in-law Millwood, at the shop,
complained that Peter's industry left him with no scope for exercise
of the mind or body, and I sent him, with his walking stick, on a
hobbling tour around the neighbourhood, and invested him with a task
which I described precisely. He was to make a list, in no case was the
sum to be higher than ten pounds, and in most instances the amount was
to be less. Then I inserted an advertisement in a Woolwich journal
that had a circulation amongst the Arsenal workers; a well displayed
advertisement with a note to the effect that it would not appear again.
The Chance of a Lifetime, it was headed, and it announced that Weston's
had been fortunate enough to secure some Magnificent Bargains in the
shape of Second Hand Pianofortes by Well Known Makers. Satisfaction
Guaranteed. Do not Delay. A Rare Opportunity for Lovers of Music.
I have no wish to exaggerate the results of this notice, but I can
say with truth that Millwood, and young Peter, and myself, had a busy
time. There was plenty of money being earned in Woolwich, and all of
it did not go in wastefulness, as some folk suggested: there were many
families where the desire was to improve the interior of households. We
became a sort of clearing house for pianofortes, exchanging them from
establishments affected adversely by the war, and passing them on, by
pantechnicon vans, to those where incomes had been improved. I remember
an Arsenal man and his wife and young daughter called one day to make
a purchase: they examined the cases only, and made no attempt to try
the keyboard. They were puzzled which to buy of two that seemed to them
equally attractive.
"Look 'ere, old gel," he said, at last to his wife. "One will look
rather lonely. We'll take both." And this they did, paying the money
down.
There was one attractive baby grand that Millwood picked up at
rather above the limit fixed, and I arranged to have it delivered at
Gloucester Place. It arrived there just as daylight was going, at seven
o'clock. Miss Katherine had received but few tokens to call attention
to her birthday, and one could not help guessing that she might be
comparing it with previous anniversaries. A welcome card had come from
Master John; she declared that this, in itself, was the best present
any one could require. "Still in hospital," he wrote. "Leg progressing
slowly. Am fairly cheerful."
The men with the van had done so much work on my account that they
tackled the difficulties of the job in a determined and breezy way;
they reached the landing of the first floor watched by the old Captain,
who gave advice in seafaring terms that they did not pretend to
understand. Miss Katherine came out.
"Weston, my child," she exclaimed, "they will never manage to get that
beautiful instrument up to your rooms."
"They'd better not try, miss. It's for you, wishing you, with all my
heart, many happy years."
"But," she stammered, taken aback, "you really mustn't, you know, do
extravagant actions like this, dear soul, in war times."
"There's no one, Miss Katherine, in a position to dictate to me how I
shall spend my money." She tried to conceal her emotion by making some
reference to the Quartermaster-Sergeant.
There could be no doubt that the new pianoforte--new to the Hilliers,
anyway--did manage to cheer and brighten up the establishment. Now
that Miss Katherine and Master Edward were exempt from the direction
of music teachers, they practised and played of their own will instead
of being driven to the keyboard. The family began to talk of other
additions in the way of furniture, to be exhibited as a surprise and a
gratification to Master John when he returned. Mrs. Hillier admitted to
me that she was becoming as house-proud as she had been in the early
days of her married life.
And into the comfortable group suddenly arrived Miss Muriel. Miss
Muriel, fresh from the large house of her friends at Chislehurst,
and losing no time in complaining of the want of room at Gloucester
Place, of Weston's position of equality at table, of her father's
appearance when he returned from the Arsenal, and indeed of everything
that lent itself to criticism. She was allowed a free tongue at first,
but when she returned to the grievance that concerned me, her mother
interposed. Miss Muriel followed me out of the room, and offered a kind
of defiant apology.
"What's wrong, miss?" I inquired. "You were always rather difficult,
but I should have thought that this war--"
"I am under no obligation to the war."
"Few of us are, but we can't help being influenced by it. People who,
before it started, had good expectations, find themselves with none,
and folk who used to be on their beam ends, so to speak, are now doing
well. It's all according to whether a person is of any real use, or
not."
"I can't pretend," said Miss Muriel, "to be greatly interested in the
fortune of others. To compensate for that, I am enormously interested
in my own."
"We are all hoping, miss, that your engagement has been cancelled."
"An amiable wish," she retorted, "that has been anticipated by events.
Mr. Schloss is interned. Interned by the astonishing authorities of
this country."
"Very glad to hear it," I said, genuinely. "And now that you are
amongst us again, I trust you'll make yourself as amiable as possible,
and we, on our side, will try to recognise that it's hard on you, miss,
to have been disappointed in love."
"Not disappointed in love, Weston. Disappointed in money would be a
more correct phrase."
"Upon my word!" I exclaimed warmly. "I can't make it out at all. I'm
sometimes inclined to look on you as a bit of a freak."
"At last," said Miss Muriel, "I have achieved a notable success. I have
contrived to make our Weston really angry. No one can say now that I
have lived in vain."
The others, as has been hinted, had adopted the habit of looking after
themselves, but Miss Muriel exacted from me all the attention to which
she had a right in the old days. I found myself doing lady's maid
work. She did not do a hand's stroke in any of the domestic tasks. She
bewailed the circumstance that her friends at Chislehurst, answering
her appeal, wrote that they regretted it was impossible to offer a
fresh invitation; I pointed out to Miss Muriel that it was always an
error in tactics to remain at people's house for an undue length of
time. In her trunk, I found a packet, carefully sealed, and I put a
question regarding the contents; she recommended that I should mind
my own business. Later, she mentioned that the parcel held documents
which she believed were of high importance, and asked whether at London
Street there happened to be a fire-proof safe.
"I can get one," I said. "Been thinking about purchasing one for some
while past. After our experience at The Croft, we can't be too careful."
"Take charge of the packet now, Weston," she begged. "The
responsibility will be off my mind."
"Do I understand that you don't actually know what is inside?"
"I can trust you," she said, after a moment's pause. "You are queer,
but you are reliable. Mr. Schloss gave this to me just before the
police called on him. I promised to look after it until all the trouble
was over. And that cannot be long now."
I bought a good second-hand safe, and Peter took a leather, and
polished up the brass handle, and the cover of the lock; set in a
corner of the shop it would give a solid, business-like look calculated
to impress people who came to inspect furniture. Whilst the lad was
engaged on the work, my attention was taken by a group from Charlton
who had called to see about a pianoforte; the woman who desired to buy
had brought with her half a dozen experts made up of female relatives
and neighbours. When they had gone, I turned and found Millwood and
Peter endeavouring to move the heavy safe to the place chosen for it.
"Mind that packet on the floor!" I cried.
The safe, in moving, crunched over the parcel entrusted to me by Miss
Muriel, smashing the seals. I contrived to make the two understand what
I thought of such clumsy behaviour; Peter offered to obtain a stick of
wax from the shop not far off, and declared confidence in his ability
to repair the damage. Millwood said it was a good job the parcel
contained nothing of a breakable nature.
It was sheer curiosity that induced me to look at the papers inside;
I found little to repay me, for the letters were all written in a
language I did not understand. Millwood was prepared to take his oath
that the language was German.
"You'd best be careful, Mary Weston," he said. "You mind out what
you're a doing of. Otherwise you'll find yourself at the Tower. They
don't make no bones about shooting nobody, not nowadays, they don't!"
Millwood was giving more advice, when William Richards looked in. The
two men never liked each other; in earlier days they always wrangled on
political subjects, and now, in view of the truce agreed upon regarding
these topics, Millwood, with the comment of "Hullo! Not dead yet,
then?" went into the back room.
William Richards wanted news of Herbert, and of Master John. He
hoped the Germans would deal with Master John fairly, but admitted
he could not trust them in this or in any other particular. When we
had discussed the subject, I told him about the parcel, submitted the
documents. William shook his head gravely. "If only Dickenson was
here!" he said. It appeared that Dickenson was a uniformed interpreter,
known to William, and for the number of languages with which Dickenson
was acquainted you needed the fingers of both hands, and the thumbs as
well.
"Look here, Mary Weston," he said. "Hand 'em over to me. Just as they
are. You shan't be dragged into the affair. I shall tell Dickenson I
found the parcel on the floor of a second-class smoking. If they're
nothing more than love letters, or business communications, you shall
have 'em back!" Peter arrived with the sealing wax, but we decided that
the present condition of the parcel should remain.
* * * * *
Mr. Schloss was tried a few weeks later on a charge of attempting to
deal with the enemy, and he received a sentence of twelve months hard
labour. Miss Muriel, terrified and penitent, begged me to destroy the
parcel she had confided to my care, lest the contents should have any
bearing on the matter, and, in promising her that she might depend
upon me, I gave her about the straightest talking to that she had ever
received in the whole course of her existence.
"It will be a lesson to me," she declared penitently.
"But some of you," I remarked, "want such a lot of teaching!"
* * * * *
Old Captain Winterton, in his determination not to discuss war news,
fell back on reminiscences, and if he sometimes told these more than
once, the Hillier family nevertheless gave him their attention;
although he talked in an elaborate manner, they made no attempt to
interrupt. I could not help comparing their Greenwich methods with
those adopted at Chislehurst. He had three anecdotes and to these his
wife listened eagerly and expectantly, sometimes whispering to me,
after the twentieth or so repetition,
"You'll like this, Miss Weston."
And.
"This is new to you, I expect."
She joined in the expressions of amusement with great heartiness. The
first story was of the lady who feared that if the storm continued she
might find herself in Heaven, and wanted to be re-assured. ("Depends
on the life you've led, madam.") The second was of the sailor who
reported that Jim Bates had been blown overboard. ("And that ain't
the worst, cap'en. He's took my pail with him!") The third was so
long and so much involved, and required such an amount of preliminary
description that the old fellow never reached the point of it, and
we, at times, wondered if any point existed. I liked him best when he
described Greenwich, at Easter, in the old days at the period when
Richardson's Fair was held at the end of what is still known as Tea-pot
Row, although its proper name is King William Street, and all the tag,
rag and bob-tail came from far and near, and to carry a watch in one's
pocket was to make a present of it to somebody with light fingers, and
the taverns did a roaring trade; all this, it appeared, came to an end
in '57. Of the time when London folk drove down in hackney coaches,
and the men wore veils to their white top hats, and the ladies wore
crinolines, and they had joyous hours at the Ship or the Trafalgar, and
gave incredible tips to waiters, and started for home singing "Slap
bang, here we are again!" Of more demure parties of statesmen who came,
once a year, by steamer, from near to Westminster Bridge, and were
reported to chat over the table of other matters than Cabinet secrets,
and to consume quantities of old port, and, at any rate, returned in a
sleepy condition, ignoring the cheers raised by their local supporters,
and the groans given by their opponents. Of crime connected with the
borough--
"Love," interposed Mrs. Winterton, "be careful not to shock the young
ladies!"
"I will be most cautious, sweet!"
And, in particular, of one Charles Peace whose real name, it seemed,
was John Warne, and who on a night in October shot three times at
Constable Robinson in an avenue leading from St. John's Park to
Blackheath; shot with a revolver that was strapped around Peace's
wrist. Captain Winterton had learnt, word for word, the statement made
by Peace when Mr. Justice Hawkins asked him whether he had anything
to say why sentence should not be passed upon him, and the old chap
spared us nothing of this, from--"I have not been fairly dealt with,
and I declare before God that I never had any intention to kill the
prosecutor--" to "So, my Lord, have mercy upon me; my lord, have mercy
upon me!" Peace lived for a time at Greenwich, in a well-furnished
house where he sometimes gave musical evenings.
"I always give myself the satisfaction," said Captain Winterton, with
relish, "of gazing at the dwelling whenever I happen to pass that way."
If he began to tell the story of the murder of Jane Maria
Clousen--discussed and debated at Greenwich to this hour, because no
one was hanged for it--Mrs. Winterton placed hands over her ears. Miss
Clousen it seemed was, in '71, a domestic servant in the employment of
a Greenwich printer; she was found in Kidbrooke Lane, Eltham, on the
edge of death, murmuring, "Oh my poor head, oh my poor head!" and the
acquittal of a young man, charged with the crime, was followed by noisy
and disorderly gatherings outside his father's house, and proceedings
at law for libel.
Captain Winterton had, too, political reminiscences of the borough,
and of the time when it was notably represented in Parliament, and we
had excerpts from Mr. Gladstone's speech on Blackheath, and from Mr.
Gladstone's farewell address at the Ship Hotel, and a description of
the wonderful moment when Mr. Gladstone said to Captain Winterton, "And
what, pray, is your view in regard to the future of our mercantile
marine?" and did not wait for an answer, but instead furnished his
own opinions on the subject. And we listened (none so eagerly or
so absorbedly as Mrs. Winterton) to the Captain's account of the
_Princess Alice_ disaster of '78 at Becton Reach near Woolwich, and
in the technical details--was the _Bywell Castle_ to blame, or did
the _Princess Alice_ starboard her helm, when she ought to have done
something else?--in all this, I found myself at first bewildered, then
semi-detached, and finally my thoughts went to London Street, and
prices of the articles of furniture stored there.