CHAPTER VIII

I should, perhaps, have given more attention to the case of Miss Muriel, but for the demands upon my time made by the business: it appeared that many of my Woolwich customers were well satisfied with their dealings with me, and they handed my cards around, with the result that the shop was rarely free of callers, and sometimes Millwood, and Peter, and myself would be all engaged in answering questions, quoting figures. Once the visitors had made up their minds that they wanted a certain article--a cheval glass, a sideboard, a card table, or anything else--there was little haggling about price: from a well-filled purse they produced one pound notes and ten shilling notes, and settled the account; their chief difficulty came in an urgent and feverish desire to get the articles of furniture home with the least possible delay. I once saw two women, customers of mine, who had bought a music stool, and a settee, and a brass fender with fire-irons, endeavouring to board a tram-car with the burden of these possessions. They told the conductor, after argument, that he would undoubtedly come to a bad end.

Apart from the business, I had some anxiety caused by a letter from the Quartermaster-Sergeant. Written, as usual, in pencil, and mentioning, as always, that he was in the pink, it said that he hoped to be coming home on leave soon; his first call would be given to his parents, and he then proposed to look in at Gloucester Place and thank me for the journals sent to him each week. I wished the man further. I felt sorry I had ever hit upon the idea of posting the illustrated newspaper, or of writing. I had some thought to going away to escape him, but one did not know where to go. The postscript to the letter offered some hope: it said that leave was a doubtful thing in these days, and I was not to be disappointed if it happened that he could not get away. And I was beginning to think I had worried myself over nothing at all, when a telegram signed Cartwright came from Folkestone. I showed it to Miss Katherine.

"But, my dear soul," she protested, "you're trembling. In your own words, you're all of a fluster."

"The mistake I made was in not telling him my age at the outset."

"That would have been an eccentric course to pursue. It is one that I, myself, rarely adopt in these situations."

"You're young, Miss Katherine, and it doesn't matter what they imagine your age to be. I'm getting on towards the forties, and it matters a good deal to me. I've always tried to write to this blessed man in a cheerful style, and if he has got the idea that I'm twenty-two, and look less, one can't blame him."

"There are beauty specialists in Bond Street."

"And there are foolish women who patronise them."

"If he comes along," said Miss Katherine, "when I am home from the bank, I could--pardon the conceit in the suggestion, for which I am sure Heaven will forgive me--I could pretend to be you, Weston."

"That wouldn't do at all," I declared promptly. "I want to see him. Want to find out what he is like."

"The next best idea that occurs to my inventive brain," she remarked, "is that I should take you in hand to-morrow morning before I leave, and by all the dodges known to my toilet table, subtract a few years from your appearance."

"No making up," I bargained.

"I will do nothing," she agreed, "to bring the artificial blush to your cheek, dear woman. The game we are going to play is, believe me, not rouge et noir."

Compliments have sometimes been offered to me on the length and the colour of my hair, but they mostly came from maids at Chislehurst who wanted the afternoon off to go and meet their sweethearts; for the rest, people troubled very little about my looks, and I suppose I had not paid an extravagant amount of attention to them. Certainly Miss Katherine, when she assumed management and command, did effect some notable improvements. She persuaded me not to look in the mirror whilst the task was in progress, and when I was allowed to take a glance, I gasped with astonishment, beamed with satisfaction.

"That's it!" cried Miss Katherine. "That's exactly the right kind of smile we want. Ah," regretfully, "it's slipping. And now it's gone!" She imitated the tricks of the photographer when he is taking portraits of defensive babies; I assured her the ability to grin was not in my line. "Practise, Weston dear," she counselled. "Remember that with hair like yours you need never say dye."

Miss Muriel offered no remark upon the alteration, but Mrs. Hillier gave compliments, and declared she was reminded of the time when we first met; she advised me not to mar the effect by wearing one of the hats I usually pinned on before leaving the house. Noticing that I wavered, she insisted on accompanying me to a milliner's establishment near the Chatham and Dover station. When, later, I entered the shop in London Street, Millwood came forward, without first putting on his spectacles, and not recognising me, said:

"Well, lady, and what can we do for you this morning?"

Subsequently, he delivered a lecture on the impossibility of regarding women-folk as anything like sensible beings so long as they devoted nearly all their time, and the whole of their thoughts, to fashion. "You don't find me spending money, and going to shops, and fussing about, just in order to make myself better looking than I really am." I answered that, more than once, I had been tempted to call his attention to the fact.

Quartermaster-Sergeant Cartwright dashed in soon after mid-day. He had called, it seemed, at Gloucester Place, and had been sent on to London Street.

"A flying visit," he announced to Peter. I was in the back room, looking once more at my reflection in the mirror. "Tell the lady to hurry up. Only five days leave, and a thousand and one urgent matters to see to. Mention that I'm pressed for time, will you."

He was tall, broad, and middle-aged; very smartly set up, and with, apart from his quick deportment, the air of a man accustomed to give orders, and expecting them to be obeyed. This I gained from the first sight of him over the curtained glass of the door.

"Miss--Miss Weston, I believe," he stammered.

"Quartermaster-Sergeant Cartwright, I think." We shook hands.

"You'll excuse me," he said, confusedly. "I'm rather taken aback. I had the notion--forgive me for saying so--that you were somewhat older than--. What I mean to say is--"

"I am old enough," I said, "not to tell you how old I am. This is my brother-in-law, Mr. Millwood. This is my assistant, Peter. What do you think of the shop?"

"Fine," he declared, with enthusiasm. "A1. Top hole. First class. Anyone can see, with half an eye, that you've got good taste. You know what to select, you do."

"I may point out," chuckled Millwood, "in regard to Mary Weston that no one has yet taken the trouble to select her." He looked around for approval of this remark. Nobody laughed.

"Oversights will happen in this world," said the visitor. "We find them even out in France."

"In my view," contended Millwood, "this war isn't being conducted in the manner that it ought to be carried on. Blunders have been made which seem to me most 'ighly reprehensible. Mistakes occur which ought to have been foreseen."

"I can tell you the reason," said the Quartermaster-Sergeant. "The reason is a very simple one. It's mainly because you are not out there. And now," to me, briskly, "what about lunch? Can you spare half an hour to come and have something to eat with me?"

"I can spare an hour and a half," I answered, "to take you along to the Ship, and get you to take a meal with me."

"But my motive for calling on you was to repay you in some measure for--"

"You're wasting your breath," interposed Millwood. "I've knowed her longer than what you have, and I can tell you, in strict confidence, that when Mary Weston has made up her mind, dynamite by the ton won't move her."

We walked towards the riverside, and the Quartermaster-Sergeant congratulated me on the fact that I was one of the few women he had met who could keep in step with him; he called my attention in Nelson Street to the difficulty encountered by tall soldiers who walked with short girls, and never succeeded in coming to an agreement concerning gait. Cartwright was a shade taller than myself, but I noticed, by the reflection in shop windows that my new hat made us appear to be of almost equal stature; two women, near the entrance to the market, gazed at us and said in duet, "Them's a fine-made couple, and no mistake."

It is not for me to dictate or advise other members of my sex who may find themselves in like circumstances, but I do feel sure, in looking back, that I did the wise thing in providing Cartwright with a good meal, and one served up in environments calculated to impress him. He had some doubts whether a N.C.O. would be allowed to enter the dining room; I interrogated the head waiter who said, re-assuringly, that, bless his heart, all the old nonsense had long since been dismissed; he pointed out a couple of brothers seated at a corner table, one a Staff Officer and the other a Private in the H.A.C. So I piloted Cartwright to chairs near the window where we faced each other, and could gain a view of the river with its bend towards Woolwich, and there gave orders in a manner intended to show composure, and no doubt exaggerated into sharp authority.

"I can see with half an eye," said Cartwright, admiringly when he had placed his cap on a hat peg, "that you're well used to this sort of thing. I'm not. I'm new to it. And if I make any blunders, you must just give me a quiet reminder to think of what I am doing."

"Providing you don't think of what you're doing," I declared, "you won't find the leastest trouble. For my part, I wish I knew what to call you. I can't say 'Mister' to a soldier, and Quartermaster-Sergeant seems such a mouthful."

"What about calling me 'George?'"

He discovered, half-way through the meal, that our first names were those of the King and the Queen, and we pretended that we lived at Buckingham Palace, and talked of giving a few days to Sandringham. The boy waiter, attending upon us, dropped a plate to the floor on hearing us speak of our eldest son, the Prince, and the fine work he was doing out in France; he later induced some of his colleagues, relieved from distant tables, to come and listen, whereupon we spoke of ordinary matters, such as increase in the price of vegetables, and reductions in the motor omnibus service, and an Aunt Maria at Stepney; our juvenile waiter was told by his elders that over clever kids who tried to play practical jokes invariably obtained, sooner or later, the reward of a thick ear.

"'Pon my word, though," declared Cartwright, "this is an experience for me. First in regard--if you don't mind me saying so--to a lady's society, and whilst I am on that topic, I may as well admit that I feel as though I had known you all my life."

"I feel that I wish I had known you all my life."

"Very nicely phrased," he said, approvingly. "Second, in regard to taking plenty of time over a meal, and having it served up politely instead of being flung at you. People can say what they like," contended the Quartermaster-Sergeant, earnestly, "but comfort isn't a thing to be despised. Out there, all these months, I've dreamt over and over again, in my waking hours, of a nice little house, Forest Hill way, and a nice little garden with scarlet runners growing near the nice little wooden palings, and a nice little wife--"

"Your ambitions appear to be on a small scale."

"Don't misunderstand me," he begged. "I don't mean she's got to be a dwarf. My idea has always been someone about your own height." He helped himself, with some confusion to enough mustard to serve a regiment. "Tell me if I'm talking too much," he begged. "I get so much into the habit of laying down the law that I'm inclined to forget myself."

"That doesn't matter," I remarked, "so long as you don't forget me." I declare I said this only for the sake of keeping the conversation going: he put his large hand across the table impetuously, and gripped mine.

"Don't you ever keep awake at nights," he said, "worrying about that. I shall recollect this day that we're having together when everything else has vanished from my memory."

I think we both recognised that we were travelling faster than the rules permit; for the remainder of the lunch we were more guarded in speech. He talked about his father and mother, and I made some allusions to the Hillier family. It seemed he had the notion that I was a friend and an equal: he assured me Master John had once spoken of me in a way to support this, and one could not help feeling it was good of the lad to convey the impression. George Cartwright had a cigar, recommended by the head waiter as of a brand smoked by all the nobs, and I followed the head waiter out of the room, and settled the bill. The head waiter said, with great heartiness, "Thank you, miss; thank you very much indeed. Wish there was more like you!"

I expected--or feared--that George Cartwright would want to hurry off. Mentioning that his latest recollection of Greenwich Park was connected with a Sunday School treat--

"Lord!" he said, setting his cap at the mirror, "but I've learnt a bit since those days. And most of it wasn't worth the learning!"

He suggested that the afternoon was fine enough to excuse a stroll up the hill to the Observatory. We walked first along the narrow pavement near the river, came to the old Trafalgar Hotel, now an Aged Merchant Seamen's Institution, and Cartwright, by request, gave to the old chaps standing outside, the latest news of the war. Then we strolled towards the Park.

I may as well admit that I had never before enjoyed a stroll so much. It seems a foolish thing for a woman of my years to say, but for the time the business in London Street mattered nothing, the Hilliers at Gloucester Place mattered little. One of my customers met us near the gates of the Park, and rushed at me with an inquiry concerning a Bible box; I sent her off with a direction to call and see Millwood. At the top of the hill, and near the edge where green chairs were placed, we found the elderly couple of the ground floor in Gloucester Place; they were seated there holding each other's hands, and gazing down contentedly at children tumbling about on the slope.

"Miss Weston," said the old gentleman, rising, and saluting with a sweep of his curly brimmed hat, "it needed only your presence to make the afternoon entirely charming. Pray do me the honour to introduce me to your military friend."

I had no reason to be ashamed of the Quartermaster-Sergeant. Some men, in his position, and after a good lunch, might have felt inclined to ridicule the Wintertons; they looked as though they had emerged from past centuries or stepped from a mantelpiece, and, indeed, they ware not exempted from comments and criticism of frivolous young people who went by. But Cartwright listened to Captain Winterton's explanation of the windings of the river, drawn on the gravel with the point of a malacca cane, was deferential to the old lady when she spoke of the highly cultivated society in which she had mixed during early years. She was careful to make no errors in the various branches of any genealogical tree.

"The Admiral," she said, in her precise and leisured way, "perhaps neither of you knew; he was long before your time. But his eldest daughter whom you may have met, she, as I need scarcely say, was a most highly accomplished young woman, playing the harp divinely, and singing 'Juanita' in a manner that caused sensitive hearers to swoon away. She married a Mr. Todhunter, a most humorous gentleman who used to make really wonderful puns, and afterwards took to drink. She, as you are doubtless aware, removed to New Cross, and gave music lessons. The second daughter, whilst less gifted in music, had a passion for making woolwork slippers that you seldom encounter nowadays. Everyone said that she was going to marry a bachelor clergyman of the neighbourhood, but she ran off with her father's coachman. It chanced that I heard some of the Admiral's remarks upon this lamentable occurrence, but not all, because my dear mother intervened and--You didn't have the privilege of knowing my dear mother, Miss Weston, but it will be a delight, some fine day, to shew you her tombstone."

"My love," said Captain Winterton, solicitously.

"My sweet."

"Think of your throat," he begged.

"I was about," remarked the old lady, "to turn up the collar of your overcoat. We are not yet favoured with the balmy weather associated with spring. The Quartermaster-Sergeant," she went on, beaming at Cartwright, "will recall the lines of Mr. Browning that contain an allusion to the present month."

Cartwright jerked his head knowingly, and remarked that poetry was very stimulating if you were but careful not to take too much of it at a time.

"My love!" said the Captain, with deference, "Do you think, in all the circumstances--April afternoon, a highly intellectual audience, and the surroundings of youth--that you could manage to recite your set of verses?"

The old lady protested modestly. She had written them, it appeared, in the early sixties, and she argued that fashions in poetry changed as in everything else. We insisted, and she gave, with gesture and a rapt expression, some lines about trees and bees, and birds and words, and flowers and bowers; her husband listened eagerly with a hand at ear, and occasionally prompting her when memory failed. Cartwright and I ejaculated at the end, "Beautiful, beautiful!" and Captain Winterton said we might be interested to know that these verses were composed not many yards away, under an elm which had, most unfortunately, been blown down in the gale of '81. But he could shew us a still more interesting feature of the past in the shape of the oak that witnessed his proposal to the lady whom he now had the honour to call his wife. We had to see this, and as we left the elderly couple, we heard him say:

"My love, I never heard you give those lines with greater force and expression."

And she remarked:

"My dear, I hope we didn't bore the young people."

I took pains to assure the Quartermaster-Sergeant, in walking along the avenue, that the Wintertons were genuine in their admiration for each other, and he declared that, of this, he had no doubt. He seemed rather quiet, and I asked him what he was thinking of; he answered that it would be many days ere he managed to send the Wintertons out of his mind.

"What I mean to say is," he explained, "married all these long years, and always in each other's company, and still on friendly terms! Why, it's the greatest achievement that anyone can hope for." I remarked that the two might be looked upon as exceptions. "Granted," he said, taking my arm, "but why are they exceptions? There's no good reason why they should be exceptions. If they can do it, anybody can do it, and a happy old age ought to become the general rule."

"Perhaps hasty marriages are sometimes to blame."

"Ah!" releasing my arm. "Hadn't thought of that. I suppose it's pretty safe to assume that they are usually a mistake. Glad you reminded me."

I furnished other reasons, and spoke of the case of Miss Muriel, of my anxieties concerning the girl. It appeared to me that with her mercenary views there was, for her, but small prospect of happiness; the Quartermaster-Sergeant agreed, but pointed out that in this world, and especially in stirring times like the present, you could never say for certain what was going to happen. He urged that I should not worry myself, overmuch, concerning other people. He said that whilst it was undoubtedly a mistake to concentrate thoughts too much on Number One, it was certainly possible to err in the opposite direction.

"Oh, but I'm a manager," I remarked. "That's my job in life."

"Doesn't follow that there isn't some one who could manage you."

"Explain yourself."

An interesting conversation might have taken place, but that a heated lad came up at this moment, cricket bat in hand, and begging Cartwright, as a man of years, and moreover possessing military authority, to come across the heath, and arbitrate on a nice point that had arisen. The Quartermaster-Sergeant complied at once. It seemed that the youth, sneaking a run, as he described it, found himself some yards from the stumps, and the ball coming to the gloved hands of the wicket-keeper; he thereupon, with great presence of mind, flung his bat, and this, it was agreed, reached the inside of the crease ere the bails were knocked off. Cartwright's decision was that the action, though ingenious, was not sufficient. In his view, the batsman and the bat had to be reckoned as inseparable.

"I s'pose, sir," remarked one of the players, "you couldn't stay on and umpire, could you? It'd mean a great saving of time."

"If I stay on," said the Quartermaster-Sergeant, loosening belt, and taking off tunic, "I take a more prominent share in the game. What about me playing for both sides?"

"Good old sort!" declared the youngsters.

"Mary," he begged, "fairest of thy sex, and more intelligent than most, look after that military property I've thrown down on the grass."

I should have preferred that we had gone on with our talk, but I knew enough about men to be aware that, with many, cricket comes ahead of everything else. Cartwright enjoyed himself. The ground was not too good, but he bowled well, and took wickets, and made catches, and when the lads found that he did not propose to take his turn with the bat, their admiration for him became frank and genuine. And I felt interested for a time to watch the boyish side of his nature, but only for a time, and I was not sorry when one of the keepers came along, and pointed out the date was not sufficiently advanced to make the playing of the game legal and permissible on open spaces. It looked as though our walk and our conversation could now be resumed, but the keeper had two sons out in Flanders and--well, people are very sarcastic at times about the way women-folk chatter, but when you get men discussing affairs, it is difficult to guess when they will stop, and not easy to find a method of arresting the debate. I strolled off, found the boys, and persuaded them to set up their wickets once more. Returning, I pointed out to the keeper that his authority was being derided. He hurried away.

"Thought you were never going to finish your cackle," I remarked to the Quartermaster-Sergeant. "What time do you want to be starting for home?"

"Tired of my company already?"

"Of course not. Only that there are your parents to be considered."

"For one day at least," he announced, "I'm going to consider myself. And you. We're going to a theatre together. A theatre up in town."

He went on first to choose a play, and arrange about seats; I called at London Street, where Millwood grumbled at my long absence, and mentioned that he had never before seen me with such a colour. "Makes you look like I don't know what!" he declared. "And mind you don't go getting yourself talked about, Mary Weston. Greenwich is a rare place for gossip."

As though I cared! As though any woman would have cared, with the prospect of going to a theatre, and sitting next to a soldier man, home on leave, after doing fine work for his country, and soon going out to do more!

I could tell you everything about the play, and could give you all the particulars of the dresses (I did furnish these details the next day, first to Peter at the shop, and afterwards to Miss Katherine at Gloucester Place). The incident worth recording here is that when my Quartermaster-Sergeant Cartwright saw me off at Charing Cross station that night by the eleven-thirty train, we shook hands through the open window of the railway carriage, and he promised to see me again before he went out. And, without saying "By your leave!" or "Hope you don't object!" or any remark of the kind, he, as the train moved out, kissed me.