Millwood felt tremendously gratified because his example in regard to
abstinence from alcohol was followed in high quarters, and he became
from that moment, not only a supporter of royalty, but a man of ideas
regarding the deportment of folk staying at home. He had a row one
evening in a South-Eastern train with a stubborn passenger who argued
that there was no sense in the order concerning the pulling down of
blinds. He ordered a strict method of economy in London Street, and
gave lectures on the subject to Peter who, endeavouring to pass them
on to his own household at Deptford, found himself slapped by a mother
who, a pronounced bungler and a most inefficient person, evidently
considered she had nothing to learn in domestic management. I had to
check Millwood when I found that to new customers he was in the habit
of saying:
"Now, the question you've got to put yourself, is, not 'Can I afford to
buy this?' but 'Can I manage to do without it?'"
He did work that met with greater approval from me, in addressing
out-door meetings during the special fortnight of recruiting. I
happened to hear him speak at one of them. A military gentleman of the
Colonel Edgington school stood up, and fiercely denounced the young
men present who had not enlisted; they accepted his thundering attack
with calm. A soldier who had been through Neuve Chapelle offered a
grisly, and, no doubt, exact description of the fight; the youths
shook their heads knowingly as though to indicate that they were far
too wise to run any such risks. Then my brother-in-law stepped up and
told an anecdote in his London accent: they began by laughing at him,
and finished by laughing with him; he kept them amused--I had never
before guessed that he had a sense of humour--for about eight minutes,
and in the last two minutes of his speech, became forcible, strenuous,
pathetic. He pointed to Greenwich Park--
"Where your mothers and fathers went sweet-hearting, my lads, years
ago, and where you go sweet-hearting now, and I don't blame you!"
--And said we were at war that this might remain in our possession. He
sent his arm out towards the river--
"Look at British commerce going up and down there, a-carrying food that
keeps me and you from starving!"
He drew their attention to a double line of children going along under
the control of an assistant mistress from one of the County Council
schools--
"It's to protect dear little kiddies like them, my lads, that we ask
you to become soldiers, and prevent the Germans from arriving here!"
Twenty young men walked up to the Recruiting Sergeant when Millwood
ended his address: the band played "The Red, White and Blue," grown-up
folk--and I was amongst them--gave signs of tears.
News of air raids did something to back up and support the arguments
of my brother-in-law. The attacks came for the most part at night,
and generally over the East coast, but an enemy's aeroplane appeared
once, at mid-day, near Faversham in Kent. We were alarmed at Gloucester
Place, because Miss Muriel--taking every advantage of any opportunity
to get away from Greenwich, and from her people--had gone there to
visit acquaintances and (as she told me frankly) in the hope of finding
some eligible husband. A relative of the family, she added, a man who
had gained a fortune in the United States, was shortly coming home for
a holiday. Miss Muriel gave his name. I was curt with her, but when the
news came about the attack over Faversham, I felt sorry I had been so
outspoken. On discovering from the journals that no damage had been
done, I wished I had been more candid and abrupt with her. But I sent
her something for her birthday.
The _Lusitania_ was sunk by an enemy's torpedo early in May, and it
is referred to here because it had some effect upon a member of the
Hillier family. In the absence of Miss Muriel, everything was going
comfortably at Gloucester Place. It often happened that I was not
called upon there to do any sort of work in the whole course of a day.
Mrs. Hillier seemed to find a pleasure in carrying out the duties of
the household during the week; on Sundays she and her husband took
short trips together, either up the river, or out into the country,
leaving me to look after Miss Katherine and Master Edward; an easy task.
Everybody can remember the afternoon that news of the sinking of the
big liner arrived, and not many people will ever forget the manner in
which the information reached them. I had been to a sale at Blackheath
where the auctioneer's announcement suggested the possibility of
finding bargains, and after giving a couple of hours to the big house,
I found there was nothing that justified a nod of the head from me;
the owner of the place had been taken in, right and left, and an agent
of my acquaintance, in referring to him, and to their earlier dealings
with each other, expressed regret that there were so few mugs of the
kind left nowadays. I walked quickly across the heath to get rid of the
annoyance created by the waste of time; the feeling had not disappeared
as I went down the slope of Lewisham Hill. Outside the news-agent's
shop at the foot was the staggering placard. Folk stood around gazing
at it. One or two said hopefully that it was nothing but a catch-penny.
"Lot of use having a Press Bureau!" they remarked, with bitterness.
"These papers are all out on the make, and, seemingly, it's no one's
business to stop 'em."
The next morning, full confirmation arrived. The ship had been
torpedoed off the western coast of Ireland. Many well known people were
aboard, and as I glanced down the passenger list, one name struck me
as being familiar, but, at the time I could not place it. Mrs. Hillier
came, in great haste, to the shop, bringing a telegram from Faversham.
"Is Muriel with you?" it said. I took charge of the task of sending
the negative reply, and assured her there was no cause for anxiety; it
probably meant some temporary confusion or misunderstanding that would
be cleared up ere the day was out. But, being by no means so confident
as my words, I rushed off directly that Mrs. Hillier had gone, taking
my chance of trains, and finding myself lucky in this respect. I was
at Faversham by two o'clock, and I caught the three-three back to
Victoria. It was an express, and in view of the information I was
taking home, I wished it had been a slow train.
"She left that house this morning," I informed Mrs. Hillier. "Here is
the note she placed on the hall table. And you must try not to be upset
about it, ma'am, because nearly everything comes right if you do but
allow enough time."
"Read it, Weston," she begged, piteously. "Trouble seems to be all
around us, and it has got into my bones, and into my eyes."
The slip of paper in Miss Muriel's handwriting had evidently been
written in haste. It announced that she was tired of encountering
disaster, and in no mood to receive condolences. "I am doing the
vanishing trick. Explain to my people. Tell Weston not to make a fuss."
All the particulars gained from the girl's friends, I supplied to
Mrs. Hillier. The nephew of the family, whose name and fortune had
been mentioned by Miss Muriel, had taken a berth on the _Lusitania_
at New York; he wrote beforehand to say that his aunt's allusion to
Miss Hillier's impending visit induced him to accelerate his voyage
home. American girls, he added, were too independent. Although he had
become naturalised in the United States he was sufficiently English to
recognise this. He held pleasant memories of Miss Hillier, and trusted
she had not forgotten him. The lady at Faversham--she seemed to be one
of the few remaining experts in match-making, and her disappointment
at the upset of her plans was even keener than her sorrow at the loss
of a nephew--assured me Miss Muriel had taken an enthusiastic share
in the preparations for his arrival; had composed an affectionate
and welcoming telegram to be sent by the family to Liverpool; had
assured the aunt that a good marriage was the one piece of fortune she
particularly desired. "A sweet, ingenuous, simple nature," the aunt
remarked to me, with emotion. "The very child for a romantic episode.
Really she might have stepped out of a novel." I could not help
thinking that our Miss Muriel had surely worked hard and industriously
in order to succeed in conveying this impression.
"Had the dear girl any money with her?" inquired Mrs. Hillier
anxiously. "You didn't remember to find out."
"I found out everything there was to be discovered, ma'am. She had a
postal order for ten shillings which her father had sent her for her
birthday."
"And that was all?"
"And one for two pounds that I sent her on the same occasion. She
changed them this morning at the local post office. At the station,
they could give me no particulars; she was not known by sight to any
of the officials there. The local police are going to make inquiries.
On the way from Victoria just now, I put an advertisement into the
newspaper she was most likely to see, asking her to communicate with
me."
"I might have guessed," said Mrs. Hillier, gratefully, "that you would
do all that was possible. But she is a queer child, and I wish I could
tell what is likely to happen to her."
It was just because Miss Muriel had always behaved differently from
anyone else that I felt anxious. All the same, I declared to Mrs.
Hillier that it was impossible to share her fears; I spoke of Miss
Muriel as a rather spoilt young lady who would very quickly resent
the discomforts she encountered, and, the two pounds ten gone, we
might expect her to ring the bell at Gloucester Place, and demand
to be fussed over, and treated as though she had acted courageously
and with shrewd common sense. There was no music from the pianoforte
that evening. I went up to my rooms, at the top of the house, as
early as convenient, leaving a thoughtful family group to discuss
the matter. To detach myself from worry, I wrote a long letter to
Quartermaster-Sergeant Cartwright. In his last pencilled note, he had
explained that his father, taken ill on the second day of Cartwright's
leave, required his attention during the rest of the time, and he
seemed to hint that I might have some excuse for feeling annoyed at not
seeing him again. My letter was calculated to re-assure him. I asked
for the address of his people, and promised, when this came, to call
and see them. It can be added that the part of Cartwright's note which
gratified me the most came at the end where three crosses had been
drawn, small enough to be over-looked unless one was searching for them.
My intention was to give my full time to the job of discovering Miss
Muriel. The advertisement appeared, and in answer to it, I received a
card from her, postmarked London, N.W., bearing nothing more than three
words--
"Quite all right!"
--And I should have made an effort to search the postal district
indicated--although, as I knew, it included Kentish Town, and
Hampstead, and Cricklewood, and all sorts of distant places--but for
the fact that I was suddenly bound, hand and foot, to London Street.
Millwood left, and in the circumstances one could not blame him for
leaving. His effective talk at recruiting meetings had been noticed
by the authorities, and he received an offer that excited him, and
gave him enormous gratification; he bustled around before leaving
for the tour in the manner of a junior clerk starting for his first
holiday. One speech, they told him, would be all that was needed, and
this speech was to be delivered in the Midlands, up in the North,
and, in fact, wherever he was instructed to go. So Millwood--when I
had chosen a new suit for him, and selected a new hat, and made him
look fairly respectable, without suggesting prosperity--Millwood went
off, and on the top of this, Peter's mother came from Deptford, and
with a preliminary announcement that she intended to behave herself in
a lady-like manner, asked what the blazes I meant by paying her boy
twelve adjective shillings a week, when, at the Arsenal, he could be
earning untold gold, and thus save his poor father from the necessity
of going out to work. She described my origin as German, and warned me
to look out for an attack on the shop; I stopped the shouted tirade
by handing to Peter the wages due, and advising him to follow his
extraordinary parent.
"I don't want to go with her, miss," he pleaded. "I'm very comfortable
where I am."
"That," said Peter's mother, to her reflection in a mirror, "that is
what your modern child has come to. That's one of the consequences of
them 'aving a education. That's the result of waiting on 'em, hand and
foot, and struggling for 'em, tooth and nail, and stinting yourselves
so as they should live on the fat of the land. A nicely managed world,"
she added, bitterly, "that, I must say."
"It's bad enough," argued Peter, "to have to go home there at nights,
and find the old man blind to the world, and called upon to make the
beds myself, because she's too lazy to attend to them."
Peter's mother called Heaven as a witness on her behalf, declaring that
Heaven knew, better than neighbours or relatives, or friends, how she
had laboured morning, noon, and night, working her fingers to the bone,
and becoming a mere slave in her desire to bring up her boy as a credit
to herself, and a model for all other youngsters.
"I shall run off on my own, mind you," Peter warned her, "jest as soon
as ever I can!"
I dismissed the incident from my thoughts, but one remark offered by
the Deptford woman came back when mobs began to smash windows of shops
owning names which gave a foreign hint of other nationalities. They
were not too particular, and, starting with confectioners and bakers
where the origin was possibly Teutonic, they extended the sphere of
their operations. The _Lusitania_ affair had saddened some people,
impressed many, and excited a few: it was the few who set out during
the day, and occasionally of an evening, to enjoy revenge, and to give
themselves the luxury of committing reckless damage. In High Street,
Deptford, there were at least a dozen shops with not a sound piece of
glass in anyone of them; from the upper floors, blinds and curtains
bulged out of empty windows, and carpenters were engaged in nailing
up a wooden protection. There followed stories of the rioters helping
themselves to any article of domestic furniture which appealed to their
fancy. There came rumours of the paying off of grievances against
shopkeepers who had incurred unpopularity by requesting the settlement
of accounts. The mob, it was stated, preferred to throw stones at
establishments where no man was in charge.
"You can get on without me," I said to Mrs. Hillier. "For the time I
must look after myself. I don't intend to leave London Street, for a
moment, day or night."
"We must find some one to stay with you, Weston, and help to protect
the shop."
"Mr. Hillier is too old, and Master Edward is too young. Besides, I
know as well as you do that they are both scouring London, every spare
minute they've got, trying to find Miss Muriel. If it wasn't for this
bother I should be helping them."
"Wish one knew when the dear girl was likely to come back."
"She'll be running short of money pretty soon now," I mentioned,
encouragingly.
"That is the time," said Mrs. Hillier, with a shiver, "I am fearing
more than any other."
A cheery letter came in Master John's writing, dated from Darmstadt,
and headed with a number and a company and a baraque, with the long
German word, "Kriegsgefangenenlager," that went across the entire
breadth of the sheet of note-paper. His leg was getting better, he
wrote; he was receiving our parcels; he hoped we would write often;
the German doctors had been good to him; he sent his love to all, and
especially to Weston. "Ask Muriel to send me some books," he added,
"and to write on each that it contains nothing concerning the war.
'Dieses Buch enthält nichts über den gegent wärtigen Krieg.' Muriel
well knows the kind of volumes to select. And she might include a
German grammar, and any of my old school books in the same language.
Tell Muriel that I managed to bring her photograph through safely,
although I lost many treasures, and it is now smiling at me as I write.
I am glad to have her for company."
The news made us feel slightly more tolerant concerning our enemies,
but the shadow remained at Gloucester Place. The earlier suspense
concerning Master John had been sufficiently trying, but that was
one of the events of war, and many families had been called upon to
endure a like experience; the tension concerning Miss Muriel seemed
an undeserved and an extravagant suffering. From Mrs. Hillier down to
Master Edward, the entire group became older, graver, more subdued.
Miss Katherine made an effort to brighten the atmosphere by giving an
imitation of senior clerks at the bank.
"Regarded as an entertainment, Weston," she remarked, aside, "a
pronounced and dismal failure."
"We're on the toughest job we've had, up to the present," I agreed. "A
pity we can't all get away for a holiday."
* * * * *
A Continental Railway Guide had not been issued since August of '14,
but a copy of this date had been brought on from Chislehurst, and I
recall that one wet evening at Gloucester Place, when a desperate
suggestion was made by Edward that we should all take the bull by
the horns, and go to the Picture Palace (this was not seconded, and
therefore fell to the ground), then Katherine recommended we might
start on the trip which had been cancelled by events. It was decided,
in order to avoid delay and trouble, to take the old services,
and--the crossing satisfactorily accomplished on a smooth Channel,
with everyone on deck, and protesting against the building of a Tunnel
as unnecessary--at Calais, Mr. Hillier's counsel was adopted, and by
the aid of the Guide we visited one or two places that had become
conspicuous. We found that, according to the book (which we trusted)
Ypres was "an interesting, clean old town," and that Zeebrugge was "a
fashionable and secluded sea-side resort; restful and quiet." The Guide
added to the list of attractions at Zeebrugge the word "shooting."
Taking up the journey on the main line, we travelled to Paris, and
stayed a night at the Continental in the rue de Rivoli, but dined out
previously at a restaurant in the Avenue de l'Opera, where the meal was
really admirable. Nothing could have been better. Unambitious perhaps,
but adequate. The selection of dishes was left to me, and I ordered the
following:
_Tortue Claire au Marsala._
_Saumon bouilli._
_Cotelletes d'Agneau._
_Pointes d'Asperges._
_Jambon d'York._
_Caille rotie._
_Bombe glacée._
The train for Pontarlier left at rather an early hour, but with
Continental travel, one has to be prepared for some inconvenience, and
we were at the P.L.M. station in good time, and Mr. Hillier (at the
hearthrug in Gloucester Place, and in charge of the Guide) had managed
to reserve a compartment, and despite the crowded state of the train,
our comfort suffered no interference. There were places of importance
to be looked out for on the way, and the Guide was disinclined to allow
us to miss any of them, but we did miss some because Mrs. Hillier (from
her arm-chair near the window) said the great thing was to arrive at
Lausanne, and get along to Territet. Territet, said Mrs. Hillier, was
a good centre for the making of excursions. It was important, declared
Mrs. Hillier, that being in Switzerland, one should see all there was
to be seen. I took charge of the meal at Territet. A light repast made
up of
_Poulet roti._
_Langue de Boeuf._
_Pâte de Pigeon._
_Gelée a l'orange._
_Anchois en croute._
The first trip was to Champéry by steamer up the lake, passing by
the Castle of Chillon, and at Bouveret, on the opposite side, we
took the train for Monthey. From Monthey by electric railway through
Trois-Torrents and Val d'Illiez. We liked Champéry. We thought highly
of the rock galleries. We gave a word to the Cascade de Bonaveau.
Returning to Territet, I was called upon to order dinner; pleading that
invention demanded a rest, I advised that we should take the table
d'hôte meal.
On the other days--each occupying not more than ten minutes--we went by
the funicular up to Glion, and Caux, and the Rochers de Naye; by train
to Bex and by the electric railway to Villars (4,250 feet up) and the
lunch taken at the Hotel Muveran, by special and particular arrangement
with the management, was as follows:
_Tortue verte en tasse._
_Truite saumonée._
_Poussin de Hambourg._
_Biscuit glacé._
_Canapé Favorite._
My companions regarded this as one of my lesser triumphs, and were
frank enough to say so. "You've left out the meat," complained Edward
(from the music-stool). I declined, on artistic grounds, to make any
alteration. There followed a move to Chamonix where we at first stayed,
I think, at the Hotel de Paris, but found it over-run by visitors,
and we transferred ourselves instantly--no harm in being snobs in
theory--to another establishment. And we visited the Glacier des
Bossons and showed a proper interest in the Glacier "where the remains
of Captain Arkwright were found in 1897, after being entombed in the
ice for thirty-one years," and we went up La Flégère, and to the Gorge
de la Diosaz, and to the Montanvert Hotel where the meal was too good
to be omitted here. (The considerable advantage of these travels of
the imagination was that one could always order anything, in season or
out.)
_Hors d'Oeuvres variés._
_Langouste Parisienne._
_Coeur de filet de boeuf._
_Poulet en casserole._
_Asperges vertes en branche._
_Dessert._
We did Zermatt pretty thoroughly, and then Mrs. Hillier (glancing at
the clock on the mantelpiece), pointed out that time was getting on.
Edward and Katherine protested, Mr. Hillier offered no opinion, and I,
answering a direct question, declared I was in no hurry to find myself
home at Greenwich again. So we rested for a few days at Lausanne, and
lunched once at a large hotel in considerable grounds at Ouchy, where
we, most fortunately, met several English people whom we had always
wished to encounter; Mr. Rudyard Kipling (chatty and communicative),
Mr. Lloyd George (who promised to do something on Edward's behalf,
later on), the editor of a London journal (knowing John Hillier well,
and ready to give notices of his songs), Mr. J.R. Mason (who gave us
several interesting and little known facts concerning first-class
cricket). I fancy that these and others were our guests at the lunch;
expense was naturally of no object. This was the meal I ordered,
pleading now that on the return journey, one should be reckoned exempt
from the task. Edward begged that, in these circumstances the details
might be solid and satisfying, the repast one--in his phrase--that you
could get your teeth into. I give a copy of the menu card:--
_Petite Marmite._
_Suprême de Sole._
_Noisettes de pre-Salé._
_Pommes._
_Volaille en cocotte._
_Salade de Saison._
_Aubergines au gratin._
_Pêches Melba._
Mrs. Hillier was definite, after this, in ordering that the trip should
be considered at an end, that the game of imaginary travel should
finish, and I left the room to prepare the evening meal for the family.
It consisted of cold ham, cheese and lettuce.
* * * * *
I had put up the shutters one evening, and I was in the room at the
back of the shop, when the booming came of distant voices. I ran
upstairs and, without turning on the light, gazed out, and caught sight
of the Deptford crowd. There was a good deal of incoherent shouting,
with bass notes from the men, shrill voices of the women; one carried
a flag, and boys knocked at anything that could be reckoned as a
substitute for a drum. A ring came from downstairs; I assumed it to
be only the lad with the evening newspaper, and if it happened to
be anybody else, I was certainly not going to open the door. As the
crowd came nearer, I could see Peter's deplorable mother in the front
ranks; she was gesticulating wildly and screaming an instruction. They
made some effort to range up near to my shop. A few constables were
about and one was sent off, at full speed, to the police station. As
I watched, I saw young Peter dash up and catch hold of his mother; he
pushed her along, and once he had got her on the run, it was not long
before the two disappeared. More names were being shouted now, and some
of the excited people, to my relief, began to move; at that moment I
heard a cracking of wood downstairs, and it appeared certain to me that
my shop, with all the valuable articles I had selected so carefully,
was about to be smashed and ruined as evidence of the patriotism of the
wreckers. Footsteps came on the staircase.
"Hullo," said a husky voice. "All in the dark? War time economy?"
I kept very quiet.
"Surely," the voice went on, "you've got a kiss for me?"
I struggled fiercely as arms went around me. The lights in the road
were suddenly turned on, and I found myself giving a bang, with the
flat of the hand, on the head of my own dear nephew.
"A fracas in London Street," cried Herbert, amusedly, on seeing my
apologetic distress. "Well known resident in assault case. How the
warrior boy was welcomed home."
"Herbert," I said, "if I had only guessed it was you--"
"You ought to be out in Flanders," he declared. "Strong fighters are
just what we need. But you're trembling, aunt. What's wrong?"
"I'm afraid of these rough people out in the roadway."
He lighted the gas, and throwing up the window, leaned out. The crowd,
recognising a soldier, cheered, and somebody started one of the popular
airs. Three mounted policemen moved their horses sideways, and the mob
surged off.
"Thought you'd got more nerve, aunt," said Herbert.
"I always use to have plenty," I declared. "But, just lately, my stock
seems to shew signs of giving out."
"For any special cause?"
It was not necessary to load him up with troubles directly that he
arrived. To a challenge about meals, Herbert admitted that he felt
peckish. To another inquiry, made as I found the grill, and started the
fire, he explained that he had managed to enter the shop by the device
of putting one shoulder against the door, and forcing the lock to give
way.
"Corporal Millwood," I remarked at the fire-place, "of the Guards is
a very different lad from Herbert Millwood who used to pore over his
lessons, and get bible-backed and gain scholarships."
"Sergeant Millwood," he said, drawing himself more upright than ever.
"Sergeant Millwood, if you please."
I had not observed the extra stripe. "You'll be an officer soon, my
dear," I said.
"There happens to be a special reason," he confessed, colouring, "why I
should like to get a commission. By-the-bye, now are all the Hilliers?
And how's the dad trundling along?"
I told him of his father's new engagement. Herbert, seated at the
table, so soon as the meal was ready, could not help breaking off in
conversation to return to the subject.
"Fancy the old chap holding such a good hand of trumps!"
"And doing more work for his country, I'll be bound, than many a Staff
Officer."
"And the last time I heard him speak in public, he was arguing that we
ought to abolish the army and reduce the navy."
Presently, he asked a serious question. "How does he manage about his
aitches?"
"It's my belief," I declared, "that half of his success is due to the
fact that he doesn't bother in the least concerning them."
Herbert, on the way to the base, had, it appeared, met the
Quartermaster-Sergeant; he said that Cartwright spoke, with enjoyment,
of the first day of his leave, and insisted upon giving all the
details, excepting (I was relieved to find) the last incident at
Charing Cross. Herbert said that Cartwright was a good man at his
job--which I could well believe--and one of the toughest and sternest
N.C.Os. in the British army--which seemed to me incredible. Herbert
wished to spend the days of his leave at Greenwich, and I went off to
air his father's bed for him.
"Whilst I think of it," he said, when I returned. He was about to put
a match to his briar pipe, but held it free of the tobacco whilst he
spoke. "Did I ask you how Miss Muriel was, or did I, perhaps, only mean
to do so?"
I told him all that happened, described the anxiety we were all
experiencing; the match burned down to his finger, but he did not
appear to observe the fact. I said Mr. Hillier went up to town each
evening, after his work at the Arsenal, and walked, at a swift rate,
about different quarters of London in the attempt to find his elder
daughter. That Master Edward had supplied officials on his railway
with a copy of Miss Muriel's photograph, and an urgent appeal that
they would keep a good look-out. That Miss Katherine, in all of her
spare time from the bank, made inquiries at girls' clubs, and homes,
and associations. That the one card received by me was written in a
confident manner, and that I was still hoping.
"Still hoping?" he echoed, rather sharply. "No use in doing that.
Plenty of folk are still hoping in regard to the war, and doing
precious little else." He found his cap, and put it on: looked around
for his great-coat.
"Where are you going, Herbert, my dear?"
"Going to try to find her," he answered. "If she's lost, I don't care a
hang what becomes of me!" Within two minutes he had gone.
The extraordinary thing, from my point of view, was that I, reckoning
myself a woman who took notice of everything that went on around me,
should have omitted to notice that my nephew was in love, should have
had no sort of idea that he was in love with Miss Muriel. I wished
I had taken the opportunity to tell him of the girl's defects; her
indifference to everyone but herself, her ever-changing projects, her
frank intention of marrying money, the circumstance that she alone,
out of all the members of the Hillier family, had allowed the war to
have no effect upon her. But when I considered this, it became clear
that nothing I said would have made any alteration, so far as Herbert
was concerned. If someone had called at the shop and mentioned that
Cartwright had killed three wives, and was now liable to a charge of
bigamy, it is probable I should have contented myself with the remark
that at any rate he was a well-spoken and a good-looking man. And
this in no way means that love is blind. On the contrary, love uses
eye-glasses which have the ability to exaggerate all the virtues of the
person looked at, and to minimise all the defects.
A postcard arrived from Herbert on the last day of his leave: it was
headed Victoria Station, and it had been written with an indelible
pencil.
"Have not discovered her. Good-bye. Please send me news."
* * * * *
I had little time to enjoy the pleasures and amenities of Greenwich,
but I saw enough of the borough to assure myself that, despite an
air of increasing age, it was not without its attractions. There was
always the riverside with the pier and arriving and departing steamers,
ships going up and down, and a walk to be taken along the narrow
railed passage from King William Street to Park Row, and, at low tide,
bare-legged youngsters playing on the beach, or larking with the high
and dry boats. There was the market, off Nelson Street, where those of
us who were economically minded made selections and effected bargains.
I recall, in particular, a Sunday afternoon of May when the Park
gave me a special comfort of mind. The week had been a trying one.
The _Lusitania_ shock had not passed off, a question of re-arranging
the Cabinet was in the air, and local politicians shook their heads,
and, making groups near the Baths corner of Royal Hill, discussed
the matter gravely; the London tram-strike was still on; one or two
journals were making an attack on Kitchener; up in the north there
had occurred the worst railway accident that ever happened in Great
Britain, with two hundred of the Royal Scots killed; a two days' list
of casualties from the front contained over three thousand names;
the Germans were using new methods, and we had lost some ground near
Ypres; there had been naval disasters, and a wooden tip-cat, driven by
an energetic child with a stick, had caught me just under the eye. I
went out of Gloucester Place where sun-blinds had been fixed on the
balconies, and entered the Park by the Crooms' Hill gate that enabled
one to avoid the at times over-crowded lower part. The pink hawthorn
was in full blossom, yellow laburnum was at its best, chestnut trees
were candelabraed with white, and, in the enclosure at the foot of
the Observatory Hill, wild grasses stood thick and high. The inclined
roadway took me to the tea-house, where, inside the tall railings, folk
sat at tables in the shadow of trees, and watched the friendly sparrows
that hopped about on the close-shaven lawn. There, it was possible on
that Sunday afternoon to forget about the war (on week-days there came
the boom of testing of guns at Woolwich to remind, and the hurrying
to and fro of Red Cross vans, and the War Department motor lorries).
There, one could gaze north and see nothing but the calm sky; at the
end of the Avenue the Park took a sudden dip, and landscape was out
of sight. Captain and Mrs. Winterton came in at the gate as I was
at my second cup; folk commented on their odd appearance, and young
women giggled, but to me it seemed that the surroundings fitted them
appropriately.
"Miss Weston," said the old gentleman, in his courteous way, "you are
enjoying solitude, and we will not permit ourselves to intrude upon
your thoughts."
"I happened," I remarked, "to be thinking of nothing at all."
"A fortunate state," he declared. "I discover, in my own case, that a
slight effort is needed to effect this."
"The terrible war, sir--"
"My love!" Turning to his wife. "Shall we tell her? I think she would
be interested to know? We can regard Miss Weston as a friend."
"Do as you think best, dear," said the old lady.
He gave orders to the waitress, and taking me across to the railings,
pointed with his malacca cane. "Under that tree," he whispered,
confidentially, "in the month of May and in a year that was long,
long before you, dear madam, graced the world with your presence, I
proposed marriage to the lady who is now Mrs. Winterton!" He stepped
back two paces, and gazed at me; I (for the second time) gave the look
of surprise that was expected. Captain Winterton offered his arm, and
we returned to his wife. She nodded pleasantly to indicate that I might
now reckon myself amongst the privileged few, and inside the circle of
friends.
In the Wilderness at the south end of the Avenue, sweet smelling
azaleas welcomed one, and the imposing rhododendrons were at the summit
of their pride; in a week or two they would lose colour, and come down
in the world, but on this afternoon they were wealthy aristocrats.
Young couples sat about, declining to disengage hands when older folk
approached, and the sight made me think that I might perhaps have
cultivated romance, and thus have rendered my life the happier. The
gates to Blackheath, and there, after the shade of the Park was a
sun-illuminated space, so extensive that, but for the distant houses
on the borders, it would have been easy to imagine oneself in the
country. The heath furnished a slight breeze that invigorated, and I
walked along Dover Road to Shooters' Hill, turned and came down into
Blackheath village, took Belmont Hill to the Obelisk, and so home by
Lewisham Road and South Street. By the time I arrived, I had forgotten
to worry about the absence of sentiment from my current life; a Sunday
evening newspaper boy racing up Royal Hill, brought my thoughts again
to the war.
I think I was not alone at Greenwich, in owing a debt to the Park.
For the folk in mourning who increased in number each week, church
was perhaps more consoling, and it was significant that even my
brother-in-law, Millwood, no longer jibed at people who attended places
of worship.
* * * * *
In looking back, I find it difficult to understand how it happened that
folk managed to keep up an appearance of serenity and composure; I
think there must have been tears on pillows, but nobody showed them to
the world. For one thing, there was the example of the men out at the
front. We all knew, from the start of the war, that they would fight
well; few guessed they would fight so gaily. I used to take cigarettes
and illustrated papers along to the hospital in Greenwich Road, and my
friend, the Sister there, could always introduce some humorist who had
returned grievously wounded perhaps, but rarely so much damaged as to
be deprived of his diverting outlook; the exceptions were to be found
amongst those who suffered from the gas poison first used by the enemy,
and for these the world did seem wanting in attraction. When other
subjects failed, and when the good-tempered men had exhausted jokes
about water-filled trenches, and shells that sent earth into the soup,
and mines that blew up unexpectedly, then there remained the visitors.
These were always well meaning, but they often seemed imperfectly
furnished with openings for conversation. (In my own case, I found that
the carrying of a box of matches, and the offer of it to a patient who
was about to smoke, proved a useful method of starting talk.)
"Where were you wounded?" was the usual inquiry, and the soldier
could never tell whether the questioner wanted geographical or bodily
information. "I am sure you must be dreadfully keen on getting back
to the fighting line," was a remark that did not always gain an
enthusiastic and affirmative answer. "How we envy you in being able to
take a part in the struggle!" sometimes received a non-committal jerk
of the head; the Sister and the nurses listened later to the comments
on this aspiration. The sentence that remained long in the memory of
the ward was one made by a wealthy woman from Blackheath. She arrived,
with the obvious determination to say the correct, the tactful, the
exactly appropriate word.
"And what injuries have you sustained, my man?"
"Well, lady, as you see, I've lost my left arm, and I've got rather an
extensive collection of shrapnel in my right leg."
"Oh," she remarked, casually, "is that all!" And passed on to the next
bed. The Sister declared that imitations of this visitor were popular
for weeks.
I think women-folk showed to better advantage in the entertainments
they arranged. There were large houses in the district, possessing
extensive grounds, and parties of convalescent soldiers would be
taken by cars, and a concert provided, and plenty of food, and if the
men were not rendered shy by excessive suggestion of patronage, they
enjoyed the outing, and it counted for restoration to good health. And
some of them must have felt astonished to discover kindness where they
had never guessed that kindness existed; I know, from what certain of
them told me, that they would remember it for the rest of their lives.
"You can take my word for it, ma'am," said one, impressively. "The
upper classes ain't nearly so black as what they've been painted!" He
ruminated for a while. "Human beings," he went on, "that's what they
are. Human beings, almost as good as the rest of us."
I felt myself drawn towards the north country-men, who had trouble in
making themselves understood by Londoners, and who became puzzled by
the methods of London speech. Four of these came from Northumberland,
and when they were allowed to go out of an afternoon, they understood
that, if the weather chanced to be erratic, and the Park gave no
welcome, they could make their way to London Street, and rest in my
shop, and look at newspapers, and smoke, and have high tea; the great
attraction offered was freedom to talk amongst themselves with no
interference. As each recovered, he went home on leave, and I treasure
now, more than most things, a sheet of exercise book paper, written by
a child living at South Shields:--
"Dear lady,
Thank you verry much for being kinde to my Daddy,
Your loving friend,
Milly."