CHAPTER XI

My mother used to say that everything in this world went by threes, and it surprised me but little to receive a prepaid telegram from William Richards; in his anxiety to economise he succeeded in being obscure, but I gained that he wished to marry me. (Subsequently I discovered he had the chance of an inspectorship at a suburban station, and entertained a fear that he might experience loneliness.) To Cartwright I sent a friendly note asking him to renew the suggestion when we were better acquainted with each other. At the back of my head, there was an apprehension that the success of the business in London Street had something to do with all this striking unanimity.

"Seeing that I've waited so long," I remarked to myself, "I may as well wait a bit longer, and make sure I'm acting wisely."

I wrote to William, giving a fuller explanation than a telegram permitted, and asked for detailed information regarding his encounter with Miss Muriel. He may have been huffed at my reply; in any case, he did not send the particulars.

The shop just then engaged me so much that not until Miss Katherine called my attention to the fact did I notice a change in her mother's appearance. July happened to be a warm month; there was a Sunday in it when the heat proved trying, and Mrs. Hillier, going out to the Park with old Captain Winterton and his wife, returned with the confession that she felt inclined for rest. I arranged a holiday for her without delay. The bank was, very generously, giving Miss Katherine a fortnight, although she had not completed a year of work, and Master Edward found himself able to get away; able too, by virtue of his position, to obtain passes. Mr. Hillier said it would be useless for him to make any application for leave at the Arsenal. So I packed the three off to a town on the Suffolk coast, and it occurred to us, as they were leaving, that nearly twelve months had elapsed since a holiday trip was stopped; we agreed that the time--closely packed as it had been with incident--seemed more like ten years than one.

"You ought to be coming with us," they said.

"Expect me at the first week end. I'm single-handed, you must remember."

"One hand of yours, Weston dear," remarked Miss Katherine, "is worth four belonging to anybody else." She took me aside. "What made you select this particular sea coast town for us, you wonderful person?"

"Seeing that letters arrive for you every other day with that post mark----"

"Weston," she said, "I do believe you are growing young. I detect a strain of romance that you have not hitherto exhibited. It shows how much influence is possessed by a Quartermaster-Sergeant in the Guards."

I closed the shop early on the Saturday. The Wintertons promised to look after Mr. Hillier at Gloucester Place. My train on the Great Eastern was crowded, although excursion fares had long since been cancelled, and a guard put me in a first-class compartment where the passenger immediately opposite was Colonel Edgington, formerly of Chislehurst, and for some time absent from my memory. Apparently I too was but vaguely in his recollection, for he grasped me warmly by the hand, assured me he was delighted to see me again, offered congratulations on my appearance of good health. I was about to speak of the Hilliers, when he started the topic of himself and his own work, and the subject occupied the whole of the journey. It appeared he was engaged at the War Office, that he had not a single moment to call his own, that he was working as he had never worked before, that he was now on the way to a point in the Eastern Counties which he could not mention (but I guessed it by the ticket that was visible in the palm of his glove) there to engage upon a task that he was not at liberty to disclose (he told me all about it ere we reached Chelmsford). The others in the compartment looked at me with respect as we chatted.

"And tell me, dear lady," he said, towards the end of the journey. "I'd like to know something about yourself. Busily engaged, I'll wager, at this period of stress and turmoil. Eh, what! Funds, and societies, and associations, and so forth. I've seen your name in the papers, over and over again."

"How was it spelt?"

"In the way you always spell it," he answered, promptly.

"But how do you spell my name?"

"To tell you the truth," he confessed, "I've a most remarkable gift for identifying faces, but I can't always find the right label. Give me a clue, in your own case."

"Chislehurst," I answered. "The Hillier family. A fire, and your kindness when it happened."

He occupied the rest of the time by blessing his soul, and reprimanding his memory, and explaining that his thoughts were occupied with important affairs. He was incredulous regarding my news concerning his old friend--

"Not working in the Arsenal? Good Lord! Whatever will happen next in these times?"

--He assured me that, in making a large number of new acquaintances, he found no one so companionable as Mr. Hillier, nobody with whom he could argue on a perfectly amicable note. Sending my mind back to the disputes that used to take place, I could not help estimating the degree of warmth that existed in present-day debates between Colonel Edgington and his friends. He asked for the address of the private hotel where Mrs. Hillier and the two young people were staying, and promised to call on the Sunday.

"I find life perplexing, Weston," he admitted confidentially, before leaving at Saxmundham. "Everything seems to be undergoing an alteration. As for instance; in talking to you I've somehow felt as though I was conversing with one almost my own equal in intelligence." It was a great temptation to retort that I had never shared this, in talking to him. But there were people in the world more deserving of being snapped at than Colonel Edgington.

Aldeburgh gave reminders of the war that I had not hitherto encountered. At Greenwich, one saw troops marching about, but there was no suggestion that any possibility of invasion existed. Here, Miss Katherine and Master Edward pointed out to me excitedly the barbed wire protections on the beach, the trenches with the usual names--Paradise Terrace, Fairy Glen, A Home from Home--mine sweepers were coming in, and we watched the ships taking up position, and the crews disembarking. Up and down the coast, sea traffic appeared to be going on as usual; Master Edward gave us a lecture on the useful work done by the British navy. In the absence of his father, the lad was taking charge of the women-folk, planning the day for them, and surprising me by his grown-up manner: it seemed that but a week or ten days since he was a school-boy with no greater anxiety in his mind than that his county should win cricket matches. At the private hotel where Mrs. Hillier welcomed me, Edward talked gravely of war affairs, and recited scraps of information he had picked up during the afternoon, gave views about the Russian retreat, saw that the thick blinds were carefully drawn so soon as the lights had been turned on. In this last regard, there was nothing casual in the military control. When a match was struck near an unprotected window, a soldier's voice from below shouted imperiously.

"Put that light out there!"

And later, came the challenging that was new to me; the circumstance of it being given with a strong London accent made me think of it, at first, as a joke. "'Alt, who gaows there? Advaunce friend, and give the cahntersign. Paws friend; all's well!" Master Edward gave me a brief abstract of the rules to be observed in the case of attack from the sea; the general impression I secured was that you would do well to make the way inland by the main roads, and that as these would be required for military purposes, no civilians could be allowed to use them. That night, the Germans did make an invasion on the Suffolk coast, and I found myself, insufficiently clad for the journey, and with shoes that came off at every other step, carrying Mrs. Hillier, and Miss Katherine, and Master Edward; the progress, not unnaturally, was slow, and I felt so gratified at encountering Quartermaster-Sergeant Cartwright that I awoke suddenly in my room. (Other people's dreams are rarely interesting, but I have never failed to take great account of my own, and I sometimes wish that, during all the long years of suspense and perturbation, I had set down details of them for my own reading. It is not easy now to calculate the number of times between ten o'clock p.m. and six o'clock a.m. that I led a British regiment to victory, and made, with my own hands, a prisoner of the Emperor William.) In the morning I had a definite reminder of the war in being called upon to fill in a Registration Form for New Residents and Visitors, with present address in the area, date of arrival in the area. A refined lady boarder complained that the Government seemed to be treating us all as though we were kitchen maids.

It was strange to be in a house where the early hours brought no domestic tasks for me, and to find myself able to dress leisurely, and completely for the early meal. Master Edward ejaculated "My Aunt!" as I entered the coffee room, and Miss Katherine--observing that other residents nodded privately to each other as though the remark confirmed their estimate of relationship--at once adopted the idea.

"We shall be proud, madam," she declared, across the table, "to include such a considerable swell as yourself amongst the family. You will do us credit. Your presence raises us in the general estimation. You are, dear Aunt Weston, as my poor brother here endeavoured to convey, nothing more nor less than a fashion plate. You are the last word from Hanover Square. I am not using the language of exaggeration, but merely the speech of candid compliment, when I describe you as absolutely It."

"You are learning how to dress yourself," said Mrs. Hillier.

"Miss Katherine gave me the first lessons."

"Aunts," said the girl, decisively, "do not, in the best society, call their nieces by the title of Miss. Aunt Weston, I'll trouble you to hike over the toast."

It took me some time to become used to the new regulation, but the young people insisted it was to be observed. The proprietress spoke to me in the hall, and, in regretting the brevity of my visit, suggested that the holiday had already done my sister and her children a vast amount of good; the remark showed how quickly inaccurate news is able to circulate. The proprietress wanted information in regard to my niece's marriage prospects, but on this point I could give no particulars, and she said it was only fair to tell me that a young lieutenant named Langford had been offering attentions to Miss Hillier, that she and several other ladies at the hotel feared Miss Hillier's mother knew nothing about it; a sense of duty, together with a feeling of responsibility made it difficult for them to keep silent. There were, in the general opinion of the hotel, too many hasty marriages nowadays, and attractive girls, from some idea of patriotism, or a notion of acute sentiment--

"It certainly isn't love," declared the proprietress, earnestly. "At any rate, not love as I've always been brought up to understand it."

The girls, she declared, found themselves whirled off to the altar, or dashing away to a registrar's office, before they had taken time to give the subject due, solemn and appropriate consideration. I assured the lady that, in calling my notice to the incident, she had done everything that could be expected from any right-minded woman. She seemed greatly comforted, and went off, I am sure, to report to the authorities.

Lieutenant Langford was so tremendously and perhaps extravagantly astonished at meeting us near the Moat House, which Katherine had urged me to inspect, that he was at the start almost deprived of speech. The other strange detail was that he happened to have leave for the day, that he had invited a group of friends to join him in a yachting trip up the river, and every one of them had sent an excuse. Young Langford begged us to realise the situation in which he was placed, and to suggest a way out. The yacht was waiting with an efficient sailorman in charge; baskets of provisions aboard, and just enough wind for a pleasant trip.

"Deuced awkward, you must admit," he argued.

"Why not take these two young people?" I asked. Langford struck himself on the chest for not having thought of this. "I'll stay here with their mother, and you bring them back in time for tea."

"It's a brain wave," declared Katherine. "Aunt Weston, how bright you are! I'll run back to the hotel, and change my hat for a veil."

I had persuaded Mrs. Hillier the trip was a safe one to be undertaken, and we were waiting for Katherine's return, when Colonel Edgington came along. One could tell from the glint in his eyes that he was about to exercise authority.

"Well-known poet man," he announced, speaking the manner of drum taps. "Lived not many miles from here. We'll make up a party." Langford was presented; the Colonel eyed him sternly, until the young fellow blushed. "Ever heard of Mark Higham?"

Langford seemed puzzled.

"A Persian writer," I said, interposing. And gave the correct pronunciation of the name. "Fitzgerald translated his verses."

"Any good?" demanded the Colonel.

"Generally considered to be readable."

"Very well then. We'll go and see his grave. Appropriate occupation for a Sunday. Nothing sacrilegious about it." He turned sharply to Langford. "You'll come with us."

"Delighted, sir," said the young officer, endeavouring to appear gratified.

"And you, Weston."

"I am going on the river," I answered, "with Miss Katherine, and Master Edward. We particularly want Lieutenant Langford to look after the yacht."

"Mrs. Hillier," he said, frowning, "I ask you to give me your support. Nothing annoys me more than to see plans upset."

"The original plans were ours," I said, "and it is you who are trying to upset them."

He tried the effect of a glare upon me. The others stood around, watching anxiously.

"I've often crossed swords with you, Weston," he said, relaxing, "and I can't remember a single occasion when I came off anything but second best. Have your own way. Consider me at your disposal." He took Langford aside, and mentioned confidentially to him and to Miss Katherine, who had now come up, that in dealing with an exceptional woman, it was necessary to act in an exceptional manner. The young people, agreeing cordially, ventured to hint that he had shown tact and diplomacy of a high order.

Mrs. Hillier and the Colonel went off in an open carriage, and we walked along the sea front to something like a quay, where we descended wooden steps, receiving assistance from a sailor who was waiting with a dinghy. "You're a tidyish bit late," he grumbled. I record this speech because they were the only articulate words we heard from him in the course of the trip. On the yacht that was lying out, he made vocal sounds in lifting the anchor, but these, I fancy, were intended to represent melody; when Langford or Edward made an attempt later to help with the ropes, he grunted ejaculations, and the tone in which these were uttered gave the impression that they conveyed blame rather than praise. For the rest, a capable man, gifted in the management of sails, and acquainted with all the tricks of the wind; as a consequence we out-distanced other craft going in the same direction, and arrived at a village before the hour for lunch. By nods of the head, he ordered us to get into the dinghy that had followed the yacht with an air of being dragged against its will, and to pull to the shore; a fore-finger uplifted indicated that we were to return at one o'clock.

Miss Katherine and her sweetheart had been slightly awed by his presence, and with myself and Edward seated opposite, they engaged on no more reckless adventure than the exchange of affectionate glances. Once on land, they gave to folk coming out of church the sight of a young officer of His Majesty's Army running hand in hand with a girl, equally fleet in movement; the two raced towards the old Castle, and went up the slope with as much ease as though the ground were flat. Edward showed a discretion beyond his years by remaining at my side, and adopting the gait of maturity. Looking at the couple as they waved to us from afar I could not help thinking that youth was the only time for love, and that when it came at middle age, whether with Quartermaster-Sergeants, or railway men, or public speakers, it brought an element of sobriety that constituted a drawback. Another point of view was given by my companion.

"They make themselves rather ridiculous," complained Edward. "I've no objection to high spirits but the line ought to be drawn. People are watching them, you know, and making comments."

"And the beauty of it all is, they don't care in the least."

"Girls are so foolish," declared the wise lad. "There seems to be no limit to their idiocy. Why in the world a sensible fellow like Langford should permit himself to take a share in such absurdities, I can't imagine."

A motor car stood in the roadway, occupied by two extremely tall ladies who had apparently decided to allow the rest of their party to make the ascent to the Castle. One said, before we were out of hearing, "Bright, smart-looking lad!" and Edward held his head erect, and said no more on the subject of the eccentricities of folk who are in love. He was impressed, too, by finding just inside the door of the ruins, a portly gentleman who said, "Ah, my boy, enjoying your holidays? That's right, that's right, that's right!" Edward whispered to me that this was a very high official in railway life; so exalted, indeed, that to be spoken to by him in this familiar way might be reckoned as a special compliment, and one that would not easily go from the memory. We went up narrow stone staircases of the Castle to upper floors, and discovered Langford and Katherine with their heads close together; Edward's excitement over the recent encounter prevented him from offering criticism. From an opening in the walls he begged us to share the joy of watching the important man, seated on the grass below--

"You'd never guess he was anyone particular, would you?"

Filling a pipe and seemingly in no hurry to rejoin the very tall ladies who were beckoning to him from the car, Langford said casually, "Oh, I know him!" and turned again to Katherine. Compared with her, even a great personage seemed of no account. The pipe was not finished when we descended and came out again into the open; Edward gave an ejaculation of warning as Langford strolled across to the smoker.

"Hullo, uncle," he said. "What on earth are you doing in this neighbourhood?"

The other raised himself with Langford's assistance, and shook hands. Langford made the introductions. Sir Charles Barrett.

"This youngster I know," said Sir Charles, breezily. "We meet, don't we, my boy, in different surroundings." Edward was so much affected by the generosity of the remark that he could not answer. "Your aunt"--to Langford--"is along there with her sister in the car. Go and keep them good tempered until I have emptied my pipe. One can't enjoy tobacco when one's driving."

"Care to have food with us out on the river?"

"Settle it with your aunt, my lad. Let her arrange. Leave the decision to her. As a matter of fact, we were on our way to discover you."

There seemed at first a possibility that the new additions to the group would mar enjoyment of the day. Lunch on the yacht was to be a crowded business, and ladies of uncertain temper are rarely at their best in these surroundings. But Lady Barrett was delighted to see her nephew, and beamed graciously upon Miss Katherine and upon me: her sister repeated the comment on Edward's appearance, and chatted to him, inviting his views in regard to cricket in the past, and in the future. The capable sailorman had everything prepared on board, and Langford and Katherine went into the cabin to serve the meal; the rest of us sat outside with Sir Charles and Edward on the cabin roof, all ready to catch food as it was thrown, and to pull corks, mix salads, cut bread, pass the salt.

It was some time ere the lad managed to get over his astonishment at seeing a respected and distinguished colleague behaving as an ordinary person: I think Edward would not have succeeded in emerging from silence during the lunch but for the occasional words of encouragement sent up from Lady Barrett's sister. The sailor took his own well-filled plate and retired to the cubby-hole; the yacht was well away from both shores, and there was nothing to prevent us from taking up the attitude of comfort. The meal over, and plates washed in the river, and tidiness restored, Sir Charles, with no sort of warning, stood up and in a baritone voice slightly out of practice, aided by a memory that could not be described as perfect, gave a song appropriate to the times, about "A soldier who never knows fear, But battles for those he holds dear, And fa la la lah, and fa la la lah, Oh, as he goes by, how we cheer." Young Langford and Katherine sang a duet from one of the musical comedies with words which hinted at a light-hearted, almost derisive view regarding the element of constancy in love, and on this Lady Barrett's sister shook her head, and gave signs of tears, and Lady Barrett patted her hand sympathetically, saying, "I know who you are thinking of, dearest, but believe me he is not worthy of it!" and the sister, recovering, smiled bravely, thus providing Edward with an excuse for giving up a scowling determination to murder some person of the male sex, name unknown. Lady Barrett's sister, after much persuasion, agreed to recite. She mentioned, however, that it was necessary for an exhibition of her art that she should face her audience, and we had to gather together and sit closely, whilst she took up a position at the cabin door and gave a long scene in dramatic form, to which we were compelled to give earnest attention for a space of eighteen minutes by the wrist watch; all the gentlemen in the tragedy spoke huskily as though suffering from colds or drink, and all the ladies possessed gentle, almost childish voices; it might have filled the half hour but that the sailorman appeared and jerked a thumb in the direction of home. The visitors prepared to leave.

"Perfectly beautiful," declared Edward, rapturously. "Never heard anything like it. Superb! May I ask the name of the author?" Lady Barrett's sister pointed in a modest, and also an exhausted, way at herself, and the lad gazed dreamily as one recognising that powers of compliment were, in the circumstances, of no avail. Lady Barrett's sister remarked to me that elocutionary efforts constituted an enormous strain upon the mind and the body; in her own case it often meant compulsory rest in a darkened room for the whole of the following day. Lady Barrett, when her six-foot relative had, with the assistance of the whole strength of the company, stepped from the yacht to the dinghy, told us, in confidence, that London managers had often and often gone on their knees to the lady, begging and imploring her to play in Macbeth, but terms had never been arranged, because one of the parties insisted that it was impossible for her to perform Scene One,