XX
Mrs Darewas sitting by the fire in the parlour at Oakdene, knitting long deep thoughts into a Balaclava helmet. On the other side of the hearth sat Auntie Mitt, similarly occupied on a body-belt, which, being more straightforward work, suited her better. Both their faces were very grave, and they had not spoken a word for close on half an hour. There was so little to speak about and so much to think about.
The news from the front was not good. It did not bear discussion. The Germans were still pressing furiously on towards Paris. Their losses had been enormous and ours had been terribly heavy though slight in comparison with theirs. But life seemed the very last thing worth their consideration. So long as they won the bloody game nothing else mattered, and they were fouling the game with every tricky manœuvre and abominable brutality their twisted minds could contrive.
It was a time indeed for anxious thought on the part of all who had any stake out there, and Mrs Dare’s heart ached with fears for Con. If he were still alive he must be somewhere in the hands of these pitiless savages, and according to the papers they spared none. They even seemed to go out of their way and beyond human nature in the pursuit of that gospel of frightfulness which the Kaiser openly preached.
Her heart had been wrung over Belgium and Northern France. What chance had any man of coming alive out of such a welter of crashing deaths? At times her faith in the goodness of God and the ultimate triumph of Right seemed to her overborne by the high-piled horrors ofthe morning’s news. How—could—God—permit—such—doings?
And when she was in that low state of spiritual health it was always a comfort to her to hear the Colonel’s cheerful voice at the door, and to set eyes on his grave but always confident face.
Her husband was so sorely tried in these days that even she—helpless and almost hopeless as she felt herself at times—had to play the part of faithful helpmeet as best she might.
The moratorium had indeed relieved him of the heaviest of the pressure for the time being, but his business was practically killed and the future weighed on him almost beyond bearing.
To both of them the Colonel played cheerful Providence, and did his utmost to dissipate their clouds.
“My dear Mrs Mother,” he would adjure her. “Have we not gone through just such timesbefore——”
“Never quite so dark—nor coming so close home to one.”
“That has been your happy fortune. But to thousands of others they have come close home in just this same way. Always in the end we pull through;—ay, even when we’ve had less justification than we have now. If there’s a righteous God overlooking this matter—and you’re not going to tell me you doubtit——”
“No, I’m not. But I’m sometimes sorely put to it when I think of it all,—the horrors—thehideous——”
“Don’t think of them. Think of the way our lads are behaving out there. They’re simply grand. And the way they’re toeing the line here is just as fine. And the Colonies!—and Ireland! By Gad, ma’am, we’re living in noble times! And we’ll see grander times yet. We’re—going—to—win! Tough work first, maybe, but win we shall, as sure as God’s God.”
And his faith in his country and in the Higher Powers never failed to cheer her into renewed hope.
To John Dare he was equally helpful.
“Cheer up, John,” he would exhort. “There’s a lot of life and work in youyet——”
“I feel sometimes as if I’d like to go to sleep and never wake up again.”
“I know. I’ve been there, but I’m glad now that I thought better of it and waked up as usual. Things’ll pull round all right. Darkest hour before the dawn, you know.”
“That’s the trouble. It’s all dark and I see no dawn.”
“It’s there all the same, man. Thousands of other men feeling just same, but you’ll all come up smiling again in the end.”
But he was harder to beguile of his morbidity than his wife. And, indeed, with a carefully-built business crumbled to nothing at a stroke, and five-and-fifty years behind him, it was not easy to regard the future with much confidence. It was not to be wondered at that he was terribly depressed, and at times a little irritable. Life was touching him on the raw, and he found it hard to bear.
“Well, we’ll have tea,” said Auntie Mitt, breaking the half-hour’s silence and ringing the bell. “I hoped Sir Anthony would be in by this time. Perhaps he will bring us some good news from town.”
“I’ve almost lost the expectation of hearing good news,” said Mrs Dare. “It would be a refreshing novelty to hear something cheerful again.”
“We must never lose hope, my dear. While there’s life,—you know.”
“That’s just it. I can’t help fearing he’s dead all thistime——”
“Who, my dear? Sir Anthony?”
“I was thinking of Con. He’s in my thoughts all the time.”
“Sir Anthony seems to feel certain he will be all right. If—if the worst had happened, he says, we should certainly have heard before this.”
But Mrs Dare shook her head. “I don’t know. Thiswar seems different from any other war. They do such dreadful things. They seem to respect nobody.”
“They are certainly behaving very badly, if one can believe all the papers say. I sometimes think they exaggerate a little, you know,—make the worst of things and the best, just as they think it will please people. The papers are very different from what I remember them.”
“They have changed a bit in the last seventy years or so, haven’t they, Auntie Mitt?” said the Colonel, who had come quietly in behind the maid with the tea-tray.
“Oh—Sir Anthony! Seventy years! They have changed terribly in the last twenty years.”
“Of course they have. When you and I first knew them—— Thanks!” as she thrust a cup of tea at him.
“Any good news?” asked Mrs Dare.
“In the papers—none. Confidentially, I hear that the tide is about to turn. They’re not to get to Paris anyway.”
“I’m glad of that. It would have been hateful. They would have crowed so. And Paris has suffered from them before. What is going to happen?”
“Oh, having drawn them on, now we’re going to roll them back.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to keep them out?”
“Yes, if we could have done so, but we couldn’t. They were too strong for us. But we’ve been getting stronger every day and now we’re going to turn and rend them.”
“I’m not blood-thirsty by nature, but truly I’ve come to the point of longing to see them rent in pieces. It is very horrible, I know, but I can’t help it.”
“It’s very human, Mrs Mother. We’ll rend ’em in pieces for you all right, but it’ll take time and some doing.”
“And terrible loss,” she said with a sigh.
“No gain without loss, and their losses have been awful. There never has been anything like it. How long they can stand it, I don’t know.”
“I’ve given up caring for their losses in thinking of our own. I’m growing inhuman.”
“Not a bit! Couldn’t—no matter how hard you tried. Now who’s this, I wonder. Some of Auntie Mitt’s old tabbies, I expect. I’ll bolt.”
But the door opened and disclosed the maid’s face all alight with excitement as she announced with a jerk, “Please, ma’am,—Sir Anthony,—Mr and Mrs Luard!” and Ray and Lois walked in.
The Colonel rushed at them with a shout. Mrs Dare jumped up. And Auntie Mitt almost upset the tea-table into the fire-place.
“Well, well, well!—Mr and Mrs Luard! My dear,”—as he kissed Lois heartily,—“This is a great day for us! There,—go to your mother. She’s been aching for you. Ray, my dear boy, you’re a champion. How did you get here? Where have you come from? How are you?”—All which incoherencies testified his feelings better than many set speeches.
“I suppose you never got the wire I sent from Montreux, sir?” asked Ray.
“Never got a thing, my boy. But Rhenius got home and told us you were wanting money and I’ve been doing my best to get some sent out, but so far it’s been impossible. How did you manage?”
So they unfolded the idyl of their great adventure over many cups of tea; each supplementing the other with suddenly remembered intimate little details, the one taking up the running whenever the other ran dry, or out of breath, or stood in need of sustenance.
“We spent the night on the boat,” concluded Lois, “with eight hundred others. It was an awful pack and we had to sleepanywhere——”
“She slept on a bench on deck, and I lay under the bench, and every bone of me’ssore——”
“So are mine,” said Lois, “and it was none toowarm——”
“Fortunately it didn’t rain, and we managed to getsome hot tea early in the morning which bucked us up a bit. But it’s not an experience I’d care to repeat—not just that part of it, I mean.”
“Now tell us all the news,” begged Lois. “We’ve been in the wilderness for a month and we know practically nothing except that we’re at war. How’s everybody? And how are things going?”
All that would obviously take much telling, and Auntie Mitt, foreseeing a considerably enlarged party for dinner, disappeared quietly to look after the commissariat.
The wanderers were mightily astonished at the tale of the last month’s happenings. They rejoiced at Alma’s marriage, but were greatly disturbed at Con’s disappearance. Having as yet been told nothing of the savage brutalities in vogue among the Germans, they were, however, hopeful that he would turn up again all right in time.
“It is terrible for Alma, all the same. We must go up and see her, as soon as possible, Ray.”
“We’ll go to-morrow, and give her a surprise.”
A foretouch of future shadows fell on them when they heard of Noel and Gregor MacLean having joined the London Scottish.
“What about the First Battalion, sir?” Ray asked at once.
“Mobilised for Foreign Service, my boy.”
“Where are they?—Head-Quarters?”
“Watford.”
“There’ll be some papers waiting here for me, I suppose.”
“You’ll find them all in your room.”
“I must go up to-morrow first thing. Did you tell them why I hadn’t answered, sir?”
“Yes, I called at Head-Quarters and saw Colonel Malcolm. He said it would be all right, and he would keep your place open as long as possible. They’ll be glad to see you, even if you’re a bit late.”
“You really feel you must go, Ray?” asked MrsDare anxiously, full of thought for Lois and remembering Con.
“Yes, mother dear. I must go. We have talked it all out, and Lois feels as I do about it. It is evident that we’re going to need every man we can put into the field, and if there are any shirkers they ought to be shot.”
“It will be hard to part with him,” said Lois bravely. “But he cannot stop when all the rest are going.”
Mrs Dare picked up her knitting and went quietly on with her work. Her heart was overfull. This monster of War was taking them one by one. What if none of them ever came back? What terrible gaps it would make in their lives! God help them all!
The Colonel’s hand dropped gently on Lois’s and patted it softly in token of his high approval.
And presently Ray slipped away to look over his equipment and pack his kit. To make sure that everything was in order he put on his uniform, and when he went down to them again it was as First Lieutenant Luard of G Company of the London Scottish, and very fine and large he looked as he came striding into the room.
“I think everything’s all right,” he said. “If anyone sees anything amissing, kindly mention it.”
And Lois looked on him with shining eyes and a flush of pride in her face. But in her heart she was saying, “He is splendid, splendid,—but suppose it only leads to his death.”
Such thoughts, however, were for private consumption only, and her face was all in order as she commented with quiet approval on this detail and that, and asked in matronly fashion if he was sure all his buttons were stitched on tight.
She liked him so much in his fine feathers that he consented to keep them on. “For,” she said to herself, “to-morrow he will be gone and I would like to think of him like that.”
Vic and Honor came in only in time for dinner and could hardly believe their eyes. They loaded Lois withreproaches for her hole-and-corner wedding and commented adversely on her German frock, which they advised her to burn forthwith, or as soon as she could procure something decent enough to be walked with, and she promised to attend to their wishes in town in the morning.
The Colonel had sent word to the Red House for Mr Dare to come over if he came in, and presently he appeared, so worried-looking and dispirited that Lois’s heart was touched and troubled about him. But he brightened up at sight of her and Ray, and gave them very hearty greeting. The lack of news concerning them had been an addition to his load. The sight of them now, alive and well, lightened it to that extent.
He brought the cheering news of a heavy defeat of the Austrians by the Russians at Lemberg, but had nothing encouraging to report from France. There we were still falling back and there was talk of the Government removing itself from Paris to Bordeaux, which was not reassuring. It sounded so fatally like 1870.
“Wise, all the same,” said the Colonel confidently. “Every additional step the Germans take from their base is a possible added risk for them. But I heard better news than that, Dare. We think they’ve come far enough and now we’re going to call a halt. And maybe we’ll even drive them back.”
Over dinner, the great adventure had all to be gone through again, and the girls did their best to convince Lois that she was not properly married and certainly ought to go through the ceremony once more to make quite sure, for her own satisfaction and theirs.
“Think how awful it would be,” said Vic portentously, “if in ten years’ time you found it was invalid, and Ray could just shake you off with a simple ‘Good-day, Madam!’”
“Horrible!” laughed Ray. “Don’t you worry yourself thin over it, Balaclava. I’ve seen to it that she can’t get rid of me, no matter how she wantsto. Everything is quite all right, my child. Trust me for that.”
And Lois, smiling confidently, was yet praying in her inmost heart, “God spare him to come back to me! It may be that when he goes I may never see him again.”
They were still deep in talk when the boys came swinging in about nine o’clock, and at sight of the uniform they drew themselves up and saluted smartly.
“Three paces in front and three in the rear!” said Noel, and they marched solemnly past Ray before dropping their hands. “And if a simple private may be permitted to address his superior officer,—where the dickens have you two dropped from—a Zeppelin?”
“No, only the Folkestone boat——” and, after a brief outline of their wanderings abroad, they fell into talk of regimental matters.
“Maybe they’ll put you back into the Second Battalion,” suggested Gregor, and Lois’s heart beat hopefully.
“Oh, will they, my boy? Not if I know it. The Colonel knows all about it and he’s holding my post for me.”
“Lucky beggar!” said Noel enviously. “I wish we were off to the front. Greg and I are as fit as any man in the First, and I’ll bet you we’d knock spots off most of them in the shooting line, eh, Greg?”
“And what are you playing at all day?”
“Oh, mouching about Head-Quarters while the Hossifers change their minds as to what we should do. There’s a fearful lot of mouching about in this business.”
“Worse than Throgmorton Street,” said Gregor.
“To-day we did a route march to Richmond Park. Jolly hot it was too, and some of the fellows had about as much as they could stick. Greg and I didn’t turn a hair. By the way,”—to the girls,—“you remember us telling you of the old lady who comes out on to her balcony every time we go out Putney way, and waves a black cardboard cat to us for luck? She was there againto-day, waving away like a jolly old windmill, and we gave her a cheer that did her heart good, I bet.”
“Dear old thing!” said Honor. “Perhaps she’s got someone in the battalion.”
“I don’t know. But she’s undoubtedly gone on us.”
“I don’t see why,” said Vic critically. “Any news of uniforms yet?”
“On the contrary,” laughed Gregor, with quiet enjoyment. “Some of the fellows in the First Battalion, who couldn’t go abroad for one reason or another and so have been put back into the Second, have had to give up theirs to fellows in the First who were short, and they’re as mad as bears at having to tramp in civvies. Dear knows when we’ll all get fitted out.”
“Oh well,” chimed in Noel, “I’d sooner wear my own things than go about like a convict in blue serge, as some of Kitchener’s poor beggars have to.”
“Yes, they do look rotten.”
“Feel rotten, too, you bet. If they put me in convict dress I’d feel like chucking the whole thing.”
“Kilt before country!” suggested Vic ironically.
“Not a bit. Kill’t for one’s country, if you like, so long as it’s in a kilt. But I can tell you it makes a difference to your feelings—padding along like an out-of-work procession, with every kind of coat and cap that ever was made. Makes one feel like a rotten old jumble sale.”
“You’ll get your togs in time,” said Ray. “The great thing is to have the man that’s to go inside them fit and well.”
“Well, we’re all that anyway. We’ve been route-marching ourselves and potting clay-pigeons for a month past.”
Mr and Mrs Dare were noticeably quiet. She, because, in spite of herself, her heart was depressed at all this close approximation of the Juggernaut of War. It was impossible to close her mind to the fears that beat blindly at it. Con gone already—possibly gone for good. Ray going,—he might well never come back. Noel and Gregorlonging to go,—they would jump at any chance that offered. They too might never come back, and she had fathomed Gregor’s feeling for Honor, from the shy anxious glances he cast at her whenever opportunity offered. About Noel and Vic she was not so sure; their manner towards one another puzzled her. But already she forecasted all the boys lying dead and all the girls left broken-hearted.
Mr Dare had his own reasons for withdrawing into his shell. Business, of course, for one thing. And for another,—Noel.