Early that afternoon, after her mother had left the Trellis House, Rose
went upstairs to her own room. She had been working very hard all that
morning, helping to give some last touches of prettiness and comfort to
the fine, airy rooms at "Robey's," which had now been transformed into
Sir Jacques Robey's Red Cross Hospital. As a matter of fact, everything
had been ready for the wounded who, after having been awaited with
anxious impatience for weeks, were now announced as being due to arrive
to-morrow.
Meanwhile Anna, her hands idle for once, sat at her kitchen table. She
was wearing her best black silk apron, and open in front of her was her
_Gesangbuch_, or hymnbook.
Thus was Anna celebrating the anniversary of her husband's death. Gustav
Bauer had been a very unsatisfactory helpmeet, but his widow only chose
to remember now the little in him that had been good.
Calmly she began reading the contents of her hymnbook to herself. All
the verses were printed as if in prose, which of course made it easier
as well as pleasanter to read.
As she spoke the words to herself, her eyes filled with tears, and she
longed, with an intense, wordless longing, to be in the Fatherland,
especially now, during this strange and terrible time. She keenly
resented not being able to write to her niece, Minna, in Berlin. Since
her happy visit there three years before, that little household had been
very near her heart, nearer far than that of her own daughter, Louisa.
But Louisa was now to all intents and purposes an Englishwoman.
It was too true that the many years she had been in England had not made
good old Anna think better of English people, and, as was natural, her
prejudices had lately become much intensified. She lived in a chronic
state of wonder over the laziness, the thriftlessness, and the dirt of
Englishwomen. She had described those among whom she dwelt to her niece
Minna in the following words: "They wash themselves from head to foot
each day, but more never. Their houses are dreadful, and linen have they
not!"
Those words had represented her exact opinion three years ago, and she
had had no reason to change it since.
On this dull, sad, November afternoon she suddenly remembered the
delightful _Ausflug_, or "fly out," as it is so happily called, when she
had accompanied Willi and his Minna to Wannsee, on the blue Havel.
How happy they had all been that day! The little party had brought their
own coffee and sugar, but they had had many a delicious glass of beer as
well. All had been joy and merriment.
It was bitter to know that some people heard from Germany even now.
There was little doubt in her mind that Manfred Hegner, or rather Alfred
Head, as she was learning to call him at his very particular request,
was in communication with the Fatherland. He had as good as said so the
last time she had seen him; adding the unnecessary warning that she
must be careful not to tell any one so in Witanbury, as it might do him
harm.
Anna was naturally a prudent woman, and she had become quite proud of
Alfred Head's friendship and confidence. She much enjoyed the evenings
she now so often spent in the stuffy little parlour behind the large,
airy shop. Somehow she always left there feeling happy and cheerful. The
news that he gave her of the Fatherland, and of what was happening on
the various fighting fronts, was invariably glorious and comforting. He
smiled with good-natured contempt at the "Kitcheners" who were beginning
to flood the old cathedral city with an ever-growing tide of khaki, and
who brought him and all his fellow-tradesmen in Witanbury such increased
prosperity.
"Fine cannon-fodder!" Mr. Head would exclaim, of course in German. "But
no good without the rifles, the ammunition, and above all the guns,
which I hear they have not!"
Every one was still very kind to Anna, and her ladies' friends made no
difference in their manner--in fact they were perhaps a shade more
cordial and kindly. Nevertheless the old woman realised that feeling
towards Germany and the Germans had undergone a surprising change during
the last few weeks. No, it was not the War--not even the fact that so
many Englishmen had already been killed by German guns and shells. The
change was owing--amazing and almost incredible fact--to the behaviour
of the German Army in Belgium!
Anna hated Belgium and the Belgians. She could not forget how unhappy
and ill-used she had been in Ostend; and yet now English people of all
classes hailed the Belgians as heroes, and were treating them as
honoured guests! She, Anna, knew that the women of Belgium had put out
the eyes of wounded German soldiers; she had read the fact in one of the
German newspapers Mr. Head had managed to smuggle through. The paper had
said, very truly, as she thought, that no punishment for such conduct
could be too severe.
And as she sat there, on this melancholy anniversary afternoon, thinking
sad, bitter thoughts, her dear young lady opened the door.
"I had a letter from Mr. Blake this morning, and I think you'll like to
read it, Anna! He speaks in it so kindly of some German soldiers who
gave themselves up. I haven't time to stop and read it to you now. But I
think you can read it, for he writes very, very clearly. This is where
it begins----" she pointed half-way down the first sheet. "I shan't be
back till eight o'clock. There's a great deal to do if, as Sir Jacques
believes, some wounded are really likely to arrive to-morrow." Her face
shadowed, and that of the old woman looking fondly up at her, softened.
"There's a little piece of beautiful cold mutton," exclaimed Anna in
German. "Would my darling child like that for her supper--with a nice
little potato salad as well?"
But Rose shook her head. "No, I don't feel as if I want any meat. I'll
have anything else there is, and some fruit."
A moment later she was gone, and Anna turned to the closely-written
sheets of paper with great interest. She read English writing with
difficulty, but, as her beloved young lady had said truly, Mr. Blake's
handwriting was very clear. And this is what she spelled out:
"A great big motor lorry came up, full of prisoners, and our
fellows soon crowded round it. They were fine, upstanding,
fair men, and looked very tired and depressed--as well they
might, for we hear they've had hardly anything to eat this
last week! I offered one of them, who had his arm bound up, a
cigarette. He took it rather eagerly. I thought I'd smoke one
too, to put him at his ease, but I had no matches, so the poor
chap hooked out some from his pocket and offered me one. This
is a funny world, Rose! Fancy those thirteen German prisoners
in that motor lorry, and that they were once--in fact only an
hour or so ago--doing their best to kill us, while now we are
doing our best to cheer them up. Then to-morrow we shall go
out and have a good try at killing their comrades. Mind you,
they look quite ordinary people. Not one of them has a
terrible or a brutal face. They look just like our men--in
fact rather less soldierly than our men; the sort of chaps you
might see walking along a street in Witanbury any day. One of
them looked so rosy and sunburnt, so _English_, that we
mentioned it to the interpreter. He translated it to the man,
and I couldn't help being amused to see that he looked rather
sick at being told he looked like an Englishman. Another man,
who I'm bound to say did not look English at all, had actually
lived sixteen years in London, and he talked in quite a
Cockney way."
Anna read on:
"I have at last got into a very comfortable billet. As a
matter of fact it's a pill factory belonging to an eccentric
old man called Puteau. All over the house, inside and out, he
has had painted two huge P's, signifying _Pilules Puteau_. For
a long time no use was made of the building, as it was thought
too good a mark. But for some reason or other the Boches have
left it alone. Be that as it may, one of our fellows
discovered a very easy way of reaching it from the back, and
now no one could tell the place is occupied, in fact packed,
with our fellows. The best point about it is that there is a
huge sink, as large as a bath. You can imagine what a
comfort----"
And then the letter broke off. Rose had only left that part of it she
thought would interest her old nurse. The beginning and the end were not
there.
Anna looked at the sheets of closely-written paper in front of her
consideringly. There was not a word about food or kit--not a word, that
is, which by any stretch of the imagination could be of any use to a man
like Mr. Head in his business. On the other hand, there was not a word
in the letter which Miss Rose could dislike any one reading. The old
woman was shrewd enough to know that. She would like Mr. Head to see
that letter, for it would prove to him that her ladies did receive
letters from officers. And the next one might after all contain
something useful.
She looked up at the kitchen clock. It was now four o'clock. And then a
sudden thought made up good old Anna's mind for her.
Miss Rose had said she did not want any meat for her supper; but she
was fond of macaroni cheese. Anna would never have thought of making
that dish with any cheese but Parmesan, and she had no Parmesan left in
the house. That fact gave her an excellent excuse for going off now to
the Stores, and taking Mr. Blake's letter with her. If she got an
opportunity of showing it, it would make clear to Mr. Head what a good
fellow was Miss Rose's betrothed, and what a kind heart he had.
And so, but for Rose's remark as to her distaste for meat, Jervis
Blake's letter would not have been taken by old Anna out of the Trellis
House, for it was the lack of Parmesan cheese in the store cupboard
which finally decided the matter.
After putting on her green velvet bonnet and her thick, warm brown
jacket, she folded up the sheets of French notepaper and put them in an
inside pocket.
The fact that it was early closing day did not disturb Anna, for though
most of the Witanbury tradespeople were so ungracious that when their
shops were shut they would never put themselves out to oblige an old
customer, the owner of the Stores, if he was in--and he nearly always
did stay indoors on early closing day--was always willing to go into the
closed shop and get anything that was wanted. He was not one to turn
good custom away.
The back door was opened by Alfred Head himself. "Ah, Frau Bauer! Come
into the passage." He spoke in German, but in spite of his cordial words
she felt the lack of welcome in his voice. "Is there anything I can do
for you?"
"Yes," she said. "I want half a pound of Parmesan cheese, and you might
also give me a pound of butter."
"Oh, certainly. Come through into the shop." He turned on the light. "I
do not ask you into the parlour, for the simple reason that I have some
one there who has come to see me on business--it is business about one
of my little mortgages. Polly is out, up at the Deanery. Her sister is
not going to stay on there; she has found some excuse to go away. It
makes her so sad and mopish to be always with Miss Haworth. Even now,
after all this time, the young lady will hardly speak at all. She does
not glory in her loss, as a German betrothed would do!"
"Poor thing!" said old Anna feelingly. "Women are not like men, Herr
Hegner. They have tender hearts. She thinks of her dead lover as her
beloved one--not as a hero. For my part, my heart aches for the dear
young lady, when I see her walking about, all dressed in black."
They were now standing in the big empty shop. Alfred Head turned to the
right and took off a generous half-pound from the Parmesan cheese which,
as Anna knew well, was of a very much better quality, if of rather
higher price, than were any of the other Parmesan cheeses sold in
Witanbury. But she was rather shocked to note that the butter had not
been put away in the refrigerator. That, of course, was Mrs. Head's
fault. A German housewife would have seen to that. There the butter lay,
ready for the next morning's sale, put up in half-pounds and pounds. Mr.
Head took up one of the pounds, and deftly began making a neat parcel of
the cheese and of the butter. She felt that he was in a hurry to get rid
of her, and yet she was burning to show him young Mr. Blake's letter.
She coughed, and then, a little nervously, she observed: "You were
saying some days ago that you would like to see some officers' letters
from the Front. That being so, I have brought part of a letter from Mr.
Jervis Blake to show you. There is nothing in it concerning food or kit,
but still it is very long, and shows that the young man is a good
fellow. If you are busy, however, it may not be worth your while to look
at it now."
Alfred Head stopped in what he was doing. "Could you leave it with me?"
he asked.
Anna shook her head. "No, that I cannot do. My young lady left it for me
to read, and though she said she would not be back till eight, she might
run in any moment, for she is only over at Robey's, helping with the
hospital. They are expecting some wounded to-morrow. They have waited
long enough, poor ladies!"
The old woman was standing just under the electric light; there was an
anxious, embarrassed look on her face.
The man opposite to her hesitated a moment, then he said quickly, "Very
well, show it me! It will not take a moment. I will tell you at once if
it is of any use. Perhaps it will be."
She fumbled a moment in her inside pocket, and brought out Jervis
Blake's letter.
He took up the sheets, and put them close to his prominent eyes. Quickly
he glanced through the account of the German prisoners, and then he
began to read more slowly. "Wait you here one moment," he said at last.
"I will go and tell my visitor that I am engaged for another minute or
two. Then I will come back to you, and read the letter through properly,
though the writer is but a silly fellow!"
Still holding the letter in his hand, he hurried away.
Anna was in no hurry. But even so, she began to grow a little fidgety
when the moment of which he had spoken grew into something like five
minutes. She felt sorry she had brought her dear child's
letter.--_"Dummer Kerl"_ indeed! Mr. Jervis Blake was nothing of the
sort--he was a very kind, sensible young fellow! She was glad when at
last she heard Mr. Head's quick, active steps coming down the short
passage.
"Here!" he exclaimed, coming towards her. "Here is the letter, Frau
Bauer! And though it is true that there is nothing in it of any value to
me, yet I recognise your good intention. The next time there may be
something excellent. I therefore give you a florin, with best thanks for
having brought it. Instead of all that gossip concerning our poor
prisoners, it would have been better if he had said what it was that he
liked to eat as a relish to the bully beef on which, it seems, the
British are universally fed."
Anna's point of view changed with lightning quickness. What a good thing
she had brought the letter! Two shillings was two shillings, after all.
"Thanks many," she said gratefully, as he hurried her along the passage
and unlocked the back door. But, as so often happens, it was a case of
more haste less speed--the door slammed-to before the visitor could slip
out, and at the same moment that of the parlour opened, and Anna, to her
great surprise, heard the words, uttered in German, "Look here, Hegner!
I really can't stay any longer. You forget that I've a long way to go."
She could not see the speaker, though she did her best to do so, as her
host thrust her, with small ceremony, out of the now reopened door.
Anna felt consumed with curiosity. She crossed over the little street,
and hid herself in the shadow of a passage leading to a mews. There she
waited, determined to see Alfred Head's mysterious visitor.
She had not time to feel cold before the door through which she had
lately been pushed so quickly opened again, letting out a short, thin
man, dressed in a comfortable motoring coat. She heard very plainly the
good-nights exchanged in a low voice.
As soon as the door shut behind him, the prosperous-looking stranger
began walking quickly along. Anna, at a safe distance, followed him. He
turned down a side street, where, drawn up before a house inscribed "to
let," stood a small, low motor-car. In it sat a Boy Scout. She knew he
was a Boy Scout by his hat, for the lad's uniform was covered by a big
cape.
She walked quietly on, and so passed the car. As she went by, she heard
Hegner's friend say in a kindly voice, and in excellent English, albeit
there was a twang in it, "I hope you've not been cold, my boy. My
business took a little longer than I thought it would." And the shrill,
piping answer, "Oh no, sir! I have been quite all right, sir!" And then
the motor gave a kind of snort, and off they went, at a sharp pace,
towards the Southampton road.
Anna smiled to herself. Manfred Hegner was a very secretive person--she
had always known that. But why tell her such a silly lie? Hegner was
getting quite a big business man; he had many irons in the fire--some
one had once observed to Anna that he would probably end by becoming a
millionaire. It is always well to be in with such lucky folk.
As she opened the gate of the Trellis House, she saw that her mistress's
sitting-room was lit up, and before she could put the key in the lock of
the front door, it opened, and Rose exclaimed in an anxious tone, "Oh,
Anna! Where have you been? Where is my letter? I looked all over the
kitchen, but I couldn't find it."
Old Anna smilingly drew it out from the inside pocket of her jacket.
"There, there!" she said soothingly. "Here it is, dearest child. I
thought it safer to take it along with me than to leave it in the
house."
"Oh, thank you--yes, that was quite right!" the girl looked greatly
relieved. "Mr. Robey said he would very much like to read it, so I came
back for it. And Anna?"
"Yes, my gracious miss."
"I am going to stay there to supper after all. Mr. and Mrs. Robey, and
even Sir Jacques, seem anxious that I should do so."
"And I have gone out and got you such a nice supper," said the old woman
regretfully.
"I'll have it for lunch to-morrow!" Rose looked very happy and excited.
There was a bright colour in her cheeks. "Mr. Robey thinks that Mr.
Blake will soon be getting ninety hours' leave." Her heart was so full
of joy she felt she must tell the delightful news.
"That is good--very good!" said Anna cordially. "And then, my darling
little one, there will be a proper betrothal, will there not?"
Rose nodded. "Yes, I suppose there will," she said in German.
"And perhaps a war wedding," went on Anna, her face beaming. "There are
many such just now in Witanbury. In my country they began the first day
of the War."
"I know." Rose smiled. "One of the Kaiser's sons was married in that
way. Don't you remember my bringing you an account of it, Anna?" She did
not wait for an answer. "Well, I must hurry back now."
The old woman went off into her kitchen, and so through the scullery
into her cosy bedroom.
The walls of that quaint, low-roofed apartment were gay with oleographs,
several being scenes from _Faust_, and one, which Anna had had given to
her nearly forty years ago, showed the immortal Charlotte, still cutting
bread and butter.
On the dressing-table, one at each end, were a pair of white china busts
of Bismarck and von Moltke. Anna had brought these back from Berlin
three years before. Of late she had sometimes wondered whether it would
be well to put them away in one of the three large, roomy cupboards
built into the wall behind her bed. One of these cupboards already
contained several securely packed parcels which, as had been
particularly impressed on Anna, must on no account be disturbed, but
there was plenty of room in the two others. Still, no one ever came into
her oddly situated bedroom, and so she left her heroes where they were.
After taking off her things, she extracted the two-shilling piece out of
the pocket where it had lain loosely, and added it to the growing store
of silver in the old-fashioned tin box where she kept her money. Then
she put on her apron and hurried out, with the cheese and the butter in
her hands, to the beautifully arranged, exquisitely clean meat safe,
which had been cleverly fixed to one of the windows of the scullery soon
after her arrival at the Trellis House.
The next morning Mrs. Otway came home, and within an hour of her arrival
the mother and daughter had told one another their respective secrets.
The revelation came about as such things have a way of coming about when
two people, while caring deeply for one another, are yet for the moment
out of touch with each other's deepest feelings. It came about, that is
to say, by a chance word uttered in entire ignorance of the real state
of the case.
Rose, on hearing of her mother's expedition to Arlington Street, had
shown surprise, even a little vexation: "You've gone and tired yourself
out for nothing--a letter would have done quite as well!"
And, as her mother made no answer, the girl, seeing as if for the first
time how sad, how worn, that same dear mother's face now looked, came
close up to her and whispered, "I think, mother--forgive me if I'm
wrong--that you care for Major Guthrie as I care for Jervis Blake."