John was allowed by the hospital authorities to come to Greenwich for
the ceremony, and his return to Gloucester Place--which we had often
decided, in conversation, was to be a great incident, with flags out
at the balcony, and, indoors, food and much rejoicing--found itself
tempered by the circumstances. We reckoned to find him changed; it
never occurred to us that his wounds and his hard experiences would
have aged and altered him so much. But for his voice--and that,
too, was not quite the same that one remembered--it might have been
difficult for those who knew him but casually to identify him. We
came back from the cemetery at Lewisham, leaving there the two simple
wreaths (one from her Ever loving Husband and Children, and the
other from Mary Weston, with Respectful Sympathy) to find Colonel
Edgington waiting outside the house in Gloucester Place, and swelling
with annoyance because he had been unable to obtain an answer to his
summons with the knocker, or his appeal with the bell. The Wintertons,
desirous of not intruding upon us, were out for the day, and their maid
had gone to see the boys performing their exercises on the corvette
that rests on a calm sea of asphalt near the Royal Hospital School;
she was doubtless giving a special interest to a scholar in Boreman's
Foundation, who chanced to be her brother. Although the blinds were
down, and we, with the exception of John Hillier, wore black, the
Colonel did not make a guess at the loss which had taken place; he
explained that he had written out a telegram to Mr. Hillier on the
previous evening announcing that he intended to call and provide an
afternoon's enjoyment but, by oversight, had given no orders for this
to be taken to the Post Office. He seemed to reckon this a trifling
omission on his part, and was sketching out the programme when I took
him aside.
"Bless my soul!" he ejaculated. "Good gracious me! Heart failure, you
say, Weston? I never heard the poor lady suffered in that way. Why
wasn't I told? People," he fumed, "seem to take a positive delight in
keeping me ignorant."
"Perhaps because it's so difficult to make you understand."
"Not at all," he declared, heatedly. "Always most willing to listen.
Exceedingly eager to gain information! I ought not to be treated in
this fashion. Dam shame, Weston, dam shame. And I can't help thinking
that you are responsible."
"We'll say that it's my fault, sir."
"No, no," he protested. "Not so much your fault as your misfortune. You
ought to get married." He pulled at his uniform and, having delivered
the reprimand, went across to Mr. Hillier. "My dear old friend," he
said, with genuine sympathy. "What can I say to you excepting that I'm
awfully sorry. Command me, please, if you want help. I'm not much use
in that way, but all that I can do--" To my surprise, he broke down. At
the grave-side Muriel had been the only one to give way.
Colonel Edgington, always at his best in the presence of disaster,
recovered, and followed us upstairs, sat with us at the meal, and
contrived to induce John to talk of his experiences. A war map had been
pinned on the wall, as in most households, and John, once started,
gave an animated description of the fighting at La Bassée, described
the journey, taken whilst he was in a seriously wounded condition,
to Lille, furnished an account of his various transfers from lager
to lager, the treatment he received, the folk he encountered. We
listened attentively, rather glad to have our thoughts switched away
from immediate trouble, and John sent off all of his detached manner,
becoming really eloquent towards the end. At the finish his young
brother started the applause, and the rest of us joined in.
"But I say," cried Edward enthusiastically, "all that, you know, is
absolutely ripping."
"You'll write some articles in one of the magazines, John," suggested
his father.
"Any of the daily papers," remarked Katherine, "would be jolly glad to
have the stuff."
"Much more dignified," said Colonel Edgington, "to put it in a book. A
big book. A large book. A well-bound book."
"What about a lecturing tour?" I asked.
It appeared that none of them had acquaintance with this procedure, and
all I knew had been gained from my brother-in-law, Millwood. I told
them of his successes, and the fees he occasionally made; John admitted
that, so soon as he found himself discharged from the hospital, nothing
would suit him better than to travel about the country, and speak to
audiences; he said it was likely to distract his mind, and prevent it
from brooding over the misfortunes that had happened to him; by talking
of them, he reckoned it possible that he might consider them less
acutely. I promised to make inquiries regarding the agency of which
Millwood had spoken: mentioned that, according to him, the business
arrangements were taken over, and all the lecturer had to do was to
make a note of the places and the dates. Ten per cent. deducted for
commission.
"Occurs to me," interposed Colonel Edgington, "that there'll be a large
number of returned men willing to take on a job of this nature."
"Willing, perhaps," I said, "but not qualified. Master John," I
declared, "will get ten or twelve guineas for each lecture."
"I have said my say," remarked the Colonel brusquely.
"If Aunt Weston is determined John is to go on a tour," mentioned
Katherine, "nothing that any of us argues, Colonel Edgington, will have
the slightest value."
"Obstinacy in a woman," he announced, "is a quality that--that--"
"A quality," she said, "that in men is called firm resolution. John,
you ought to have some pictures."
Here Muriel proved helpful. She remembered that her friend, once of
Chislehurst, now in one of His Majesty's prisons, had given her a set
of photographs that illustrated towns in Germany, and some concerned
the places where John had been detained; she had also in her trunk,
which was now on the way from Camberwell, German illustrated magazines
which would furnish, by their war pictures, useful material. We sat
around the table, discussing the matter eagerly, and presently Colonel
Edgington took part in the debate, and made a very good recommendation
to the effect that the agency should be persuaded to take a hall in
the West End for John's first appearance; the Colonel promised to
secure for chairman some one high up, either in the military or the
political world. "Great thing is," he barked, "no delay. Let us be the
first in the field. Every moment is of value. Prompt action absolutely
necessary." I pointed out that the hospital authorities would most
likely insist upon supervising John's health for two or three weeks.
"During which period," ordered the Colonel, "he can prepare the
lecture, and you, Weston, can complete the arrangements."
I offered to run around to London Street, and obtain from Millwood a
letter of introduction to the agent. Colonel Edgington approved of
this, followed me to the landing.
"This is a great idea," he declared, rubbing his hands. "Gives the chap
something to do."
"Quite a brain wave, sir, on your part."
"That is so!" he admitted.
On my return with the note, I found that Mr. Hillier was walking
inside the railings, hands behind back, head bent; my memory flew to
the time when I saw him, in a like attitude on the occasion of his
financial reverse. I entered the gate, and asked whether he required
his hat. He said I was not to give myself so much trouble, but begged
for my company, and in going up and down the gravelled path, confessed
he had escaped from the others because their absorption in the new
plan had slightly hurt him. "We have but just placed the dear woman in
her grave," he contended, "and we ought to let no one else occupy our
minds." I argued that there was something to be said for our methods.
No advantage ever came from grieving and sorrowing over those who had
gone. The world did not stop, because one person, however beloved,
went away. The wise deportment in the circumstances was to select the
happiest memories and preserve them. "I am doing that," he said. "There
is an interval at Chislehurst, and just after Chislehurst which is
already a blank. Earlier than that, and later, I have no recollections
of her that are not good and sweet." We took another turn the length of
the square.
"She had a great affection for you, Weston," he remarked.
"Mrs. Hillier showed it, now and then. Neither of us was the kind that
liked to gush."
"I want you to have something of her's, as a memento of all the years
you were together. And that reminds me. She made her will years ago. We
might try to find it."
The document was in Mrs. Hillier's writing desk, together with letters
from the children, written when they were at boarding school (they
were all chattering now in the next room, Colonel Edgington's voice
intervening, and it seemed queer to connect them with the round
text hand notes that had been kept so affectionately). There was a
well-bound diary, too, that started, as diaries will, in a profuse
literary style, as though for publication, and dwindled to short
notes, and brief figures, reviving when Muriel disappeared and the news
came of John's disaster. One line caught my eye as I turned the leaves.
"I have never thanked M.W. sufficiently, and I never shall be able to
do so."
The will itself had been drawn up in the days of prosperity, and there
were legacies that could not now be paid to one or two charitable
affairs, bequests to servants who had long since gone their different
ways. No mention of my name; the document had probably been filled
in at a time when, for some reason or other, I happened to be out of
favour; the remark in the diary fully compensated for the omission.
"You might have a piece of her jewellery," said Mr. Hillier.
"It all had to go, with the exception of her wedding ring."
"Wasn't aware of that."
"I told her you wouldn't notice, and she wanted to get rid of it, when
money was short."
"Can you suggest anything?"
"Yes," I answered. "Let me stay on upstairs on my floor, and manage
the family just as I've always done. I couldn't help overhearing you
telling the young ladies that there was now no excuse for taking
advantage of my services. As a matter of fact, you will all need me
more than ever. It's true I shan't be wanted as a companion to her, but
the rest have got to be looked after. And," with a burst of frankness,
"I don't particularly wish to see anyone else doing it."
"You'll work yourself to death, Weston, if you are not careful."
"There are many less interesting ways of reaching there," I said. "You
know that as well as I do."
"I shall be glad," he admitted, "to find myself back in the Arsenal
again. Taking a day off makes me feel that I'm neglecting my share in
the war." He returned the papers to the desk, and locked it. "The
scoundrels," he exclaimed, with sudden anger, "killed her. They killed
her, just as they have killed other innocent people." He raised his
arms. "May God never forgive them!" he cried.
John Hillier's first delivery of his lecture was a great evening for
us. I think it can be said, although I took some part in the arranging,
that it was well managed. On my suggestion, the profits were set aside
for the Red Cross Society, and any entertainment, at the period, which
had an air of benevolence was supported by generous folk; John's name
was known only in connection with his songs, but the newspapers were
kind in giving preliminary paragraphs; Colonel Edgington secured, as
chairman, one of the members of the Government whose popularity had not
been chipped and damaged by the conduct of the war. When, on placards
outside the hall at the upper end of Regent Street, the notice was
fixed "All Tickets Sold," then the demand at the box office became
urgent and appealing. Folk who had relatives detained in Germany urged
that their special interests justified presence at the lecture; they
were referred to coming dates and to places near London where Mr. John
Hillier could shortly be heard. John had been given his discharge from
the army. He worked hard at the preparation of the lecture whilst he
was in the hospital, forwarding to me the sheets, a dozen at a time,
and I had these type-written at an office in Greenwich Road. Edward
and I went through them carefully of an evening, and found, to our
satisfaction, that John had contrived to treat the subject, not too
seriously, not too aggrievedly. When the last instalment came, Edward,
at a raised table, delivered the lecture, in platform style to all
of us, and timing by the watch I discovered it lasted for near upon
two hours. From Millwood came the valuable hint that this was far too
long. An hour and ten minutes, said Millwood, yes; an hour and twenty
minutes, perhaps, but two hours, no. Most decidedly, no. "What you
want to do," argued my brother-in-law, "is to go off, and leave the
audience wishing to goodness you'd gone on cackling for another quarter
of a hower. That's the 'ole secret of it." So John's task, once free of
the hospital, was to cut down the lecture, and although we bewailed the
loss of precious words, it was obvious the address became improved by
the operation.
"Do you feel nervous?" I asked.
"I think the rest cure at Darmstadt got rid of my nerves," he said.
"But there's no use in disguising the fact, Aunt Weston, that I am
anxious."
"We shall all be there."
"My own people are the critics I fear."
We arrived at the hall in good time, and our party was amongst
the earliest to go in. I do not know how the others felt, but the
place--with folk whispering to each other, and stewards on tip-toe
escorting new comers to seats--the place struck me as having a singular
resemblance to a place of worship; the coughing that went from stalls
to balcony, and balcony to gallery increased the impression of
solemnity. Moreover, the hall was slow in filling up; there were huge
gaps on the ground floor; a woman behind us was complaining to her
husband of his mad carelessness in purchasing tickets when the money
could have been better laid out on a musical comedy at the Lyric.
It came to ten minutes to the hour, and some one near said, in an
undertone, that society people often bought tickets for entertainments
connected with a charity, and destroyed them. The stewards made a group
near the doors, chatting to each other. I thought of John's dismay when
he came on the platform, and saw the vacant rows of seats.
"Why on earth don't the people come in?" cried Muriel, agitatedly.
As though reminded of duties by this question, they arrived in crowds
at every doorway, brandishing tickets, and insisting upon being shewn
at once to their places: the stewards performed their duties at a
rush: the empty places filled; the noise of spring seats being pulled
down went like pistol shots; animation began to shew itself, everyone
talked in natural tones. The chairs on the platform at either side
of the white screen no longer had the aspect of desolation. Captain
Winterton and his wife went along a gangway, arm in arm; their
old-fashioned appearance caused a titter, and we forgave this in
consideration of the circumstances. Colonel Edgington bustled on to the
platform, and examined the height of the reading desk, slightly altered
the position of the high-backed chair.
"I expect," said young Edward, across to me, "he's jolly glad you
aren't down there to interfere."
The Cabinet Minister came, accompanied by John, who was able to walk
now, for short distances, with the aid of a stout stick; the audience
stood up and applauded, and Colonel Edgington bowed profoundly. I
think he would have remained on the platform, but the chairman, with a
jerk of the head, intimated that his presence was no longer necessary,
and the Colonel withdrew reluctantly to engage at the side upon a
brief altercation with a strong-minded lady who declined to comply
with his order to remove her hat, on the grounds that she was not, as
it happened, wearing one. People called out "Order, order!" and the
Colonel disappeared.
The chairman introduced John in a dozen words, thereby confuting the
apprehensions we had expressed in the train, coming up; we had felt
bound to agree with Mr. Hillier's suggestion that political folk when
they faced an audience, rarely knew where to stop. The chairman said he
proposed to keep any remarks he had to offer until the end.
The hall was defensive in its attitude at the start, and John had a
little trouble in getting his voice to the right pitch. He remedied
this, and there was no more coughing, no signs of inattention. He
gave accounts of small incidents connected with the engagement,
with imitations of some of his comrades and their wonderful light
heartedness; he told one or two anecdotes that went well, and suddenly,
ere people had finished their laugh, switched off to a dramatic and
exciting description of the struggle. Master John had got them well
in hand by this time. When the lights were lowered, and it was seen
that his pictures were not of the type called 'moving,' there came a
slight ejaculation of surprise; a moment's thought and folk seemed to
realise that British prisoners of war were not, perhaps, furnished with
a cinematograph machine. John was particularly fair to the enemy. He
had a good word for the German doctors, a severe one for a commandant
who had not apparently set out to achieve popularity. He re-constituted
the lager, and took us through a day there; it was not prejudice on my
side in favour of a young man whom I had known and liked for years that
made me feel that this was more vivid and more illustrative than the
printed word. John finished with a couple of sentences full of hope and
enthusiasm, and declaring that all who had suffered for their country
enjoyed a pride they were not disposed to change or to forget.
Our party, flushed and warm with content, had the idea that the
afternoon might well end here: the rest of the audience evidently
wanted a speech from the chairman. A speech he gave, and it was
interesting for us to compare the two styles; John's endeavour to use
only the indispensable words, and the Cabinet Minister's large and
luxurious manner of the practised orator. The hall, I admit, liked the
great man's method. The hall indicated its approval of the chairman's
compliments to the lecturer: it became uproarious with excitement when
he quoted the Crispian speech from _Henry the Fifth_. Edward assured me
the quotation was not really correct (and proved later, by production
of his Shakespeare, that his criticism was right), but the people, I
think, liked the recital all the better for the touch of undesigned
originality, and when he closed by asking us to sing "God save the
King" and we all stood up, and sang our best, and ladies in the front
rows of the stalls took the bunches of flowers they wore and flung
them on the platform, and Colonel Edgington--the fusser!--came on to
guide the chairman, and our John, to the exit, as though the perfectly
obvious way had to be made through a scarcely penetrable forest--why
then we knew, and everyone knew, that Mr. John Hillier had received
what is called a good send-off.
"Who," asked Katherine as we reached the vestibule, "who, pray, is
the eccentric but seemingly perfectly happy gentleman dancing all by
himself in a corner over there?"
"He," I was able to answer, "is the lecture agent!"