Sleep in Peace (36 page)

“You see, Alice,” said Mr. Hinchliffe in an irritable tone, bending over the
Hudley News
, “it says here:
There is hope that the area of conflict will be confined to the territories of the combatants, and that no other Powers will be implicated
. There's no earthly reason to suppose that Germany will be drawn in. As for Great Britain, that's impossible.”

“Then there's no reason why Edward should cut short his tour, is there?” argued Mrs. Hinchliffe mildly.

“What does it say in your father's paper, Laura?” demanded Mr. Hinchliffe, fixing her with an angry eye.

“It says—oh, it says that the tension is extreme, but there is a glimmer of hope that the cataclysm may be averted,” remembered Laura from the
Hudley Guardian
her father had been reading when she left home.

“Jingoes!” muttered Mr. Hinchliffe, resuming his pacing.

Laura had a strong desire to ask about the geographical position of Hamburg, how far it was from the frontier and so on, but she felt it would be tactless.

“Where
is
Sarajevo?” she enquired instead. “I should like to see it on a map.”

Grace, who understood her perfectly, at once rose and drew out an atlas. To make room for it Laura pushed aside the roll of cartridge
paper at her elbow—it was a water-colour, one of last term's figure compositions, which she liked better than anything she had hitherto done, and so had brought for Grace to see. The two young women opened the atlas at the map of Europe, and bent over it together.

“But why does Russia?” began Laura.

Grace discoursed on the pan-Slavic idea. She spoke well; Laura and Mrs. Hinchliffe, and presently even Mr. Hinchliffe himself, listened attentively, though the expression of Mr. Hinchliffe's face indicated that Grace was only a girl, and he reserved the right to disavow his interest later if he judged it wise to do so.

“Well, Mother,” said Edward casually, putting his head in at the door.

Mrs. Hinchliffe ran to him—it was the only time Laura had ever seen her betray emotion—and Mr. Hinchliffe, laughing, clearing his throat and pushing up his moustache, stammerecl blissfully: “Well, Edward! Well, my boy!” Grace sprang up with a joyous whoop. She did not, however, fold her brother in her arms, as Laura would have done with Ludo, but simply stood by grinning while Edward bent to kiss his mother. Laura had not seen Edward close at hand since Frederick's wedding; lifting her head from the map she studied him with special interest. She had forgotten, but now in a flash she remembered fully, how important and striking a person Edward always seemed. (One could talk about textile design to Edward.) He was taller than she had pictured him, broader and older, but his sandy hair was as thick as ever, and his bony hands, his bright blue eyes, the sardonic twist of his full mouth, were just as of old. At the moment he looked hot, tired, dirty and not a little cross, as he tried to persuade his mother that scrambled eggs and tea now would suit him better than a more elaborate meal later. Laura admired the relentless though courteous firmness with which he strove to keep Mrs. Hinchliffe to the menu she had originally offered, and eventually
he succeeded, and she left the room to give the necessary orders. He had had an appalling journey, it seemed; he had chosen to lengthen the distance between Hamburg and Hudley by half Europe so that he might get quickly out of Germany. Everywhere was mobilisation; all train and steamer services were hopelessly disorganised; on frontiers they kept foreigners waiting for hours; stations were full of shouting mobs.

“Did you come through Switzerland, my boy?” asked Mr. Hinchliffe.

“I'll show you,” said Edward, stretching out a hand towards the atlas.

“We were just looking at the place where it all started,” murmured Laura, surrendering it.

“It didn't
start
in Sarajevo,” said Edward irritably. “It's been going on for years.”

“Even should the war spread to other Powers, there is no responsibility on our part to co-operate with any one or more of them,” intoned Mr. Hinchliffe, quoting from the
News
. “Great Britain should not and must not be involved.”

“Nonsense, Father,” said Edward roughly. “Of course we shall go to war. There's nothing else to be done.”

“Many of our best statesmen do not think so,” stammered Mr. Hinchliffe, nonplussed.

Mrs. Hinchliffe came in and began to empty the table and spread a cloth for Edward's meal.

“What's this?” said Edward, picking up Laura's roll.

“Just an original figure composition—we do one every week,” said Laura hastily.

“Why, it's knur and spell,” exclaimed Edward. “Ha!”

The composition was indeed a presentation of that ancient Yorkshire game. In the foreground a young man in shirt sleeves whirled the long stick above his head to gain impetus for a mighty drive at the flying wooden knur; in the background rose a typical
West. Riding hill, bristling with mill chimneys; in the middle distance four spectators, of varying age and strongly defined character, crouched with hands in pockets and coat collars turned up against the wind. Laura had used monochrome, in a deliberate attempt at a drab, chill realism.

“The player's right leg is rather bad,” she muttered, suffering, yet rejoicing, in this public inspection of her work.

“I like it,” said Edward, holding the sheet at arm's length. “It's good.”

“Don't sound so surprised, Edward!” urged Laura, laughing.

For the first time since his entrance Edward looked at her. After a moment he suddenly smiled, and stretching out his hand, took the lapel of the navy-blue coat she was wearing between his fingers, and felt its cloth.

“You don't change much, Edward,” said Laura, smiling at him with her head on one side.

“You
do, Laura,” said Edward.

His intonation was curiously regretful but complimentary, and suddenly Laura was warmly happy.

“Well, I must leave you to your eggs,” she said.

Edward stood up when she stood, and opened the door. This urbanity, and the names in the paper, and Edward's journey through mobilising countries on the map, made Laura feel that Hudley was after all not a stagnant backwater where nothing interesting ever happened, but quite an important place, where life was full, exciting, rich. On the Hinchliffe threshold, saying goodbye to Grace, Laura hung back for a moment, and threw out quickly:

“Grace, tell Edward the cloth of my coat was made and finished at Blackshaw Mills.”

Grace gave her wide, joyful grin. “I will,” she said. She added soberly: “I don't think I shall get my cycle tour, Laura.”

Next day was observed in all places of worship throughout the land as a day of intercession for peace. Laura privately offered this opportunity to God as His last chance; let Him take it, answer the millions' fervent prayer, or be forever discredited in her eyes. In the morning the minister at Cromwell Street preached a sermon against Britain's entering the war, in the middle of which Edward, as Grace told Laura, unable to listen any longer to arguments he judged so ignorant, rose, and stumbling over the feet of Frederick, whose eyes gave a sudden angry flash as he passed, walked out of the pew and the building. At noon there appeared on the streets, as the Armisteads walked home, a yellow “War Special” issue of the
Yorkshire Post;
Mr. Armistead went up to the vendor with furtive eagerness, and in a gruff, ashamed voice —he had never bought a Sunday newspaper before—secured a copy. The Germans, it seemed, had invaded Luxembourg; the British Cabinet was sitting, and, it was alleged, had asked Germany whether she intended to respect the neutrality of Belgium. Just after dinner, while Mr. Armistead was having his afternoon nap, Ludo suddenly appeared, some six hours earlier than he was expected; all the members of his battalion in camp had been sent home to await mobilisation orders for active service. Ludo's brown eyes shone with an ecstatic devotion; he was to be England's soldier, to serve England! Glorious! Glorious! He seemed not to wish to take off his uniform that night, and came down in it next morning; Mr. Armistead, however, spoke sharply to him on the subject. “Such nonsense!” he muttered, and said that if Ludo were foolish enough to give up his Port Erin holiday, he could go to the mill, where the engine-room was to be whitewashed and various minor repairs undertaken during the Wakes. It was clear that, even with
Europe Aflame
, as the headlines said, he did not think Ludo would be required. Ludo looked sullen and disappointed, and Laura felt for him, though she could not help agreeing with
her father. On the other hand, she disapproved the action of Grace, who after an exchange of telegrams, had gone off to London to the Duchays as arranged.

The news about the violation of Luxembourg was confirmed that morning; and the evening papers said that England had demanded from Germany a pledge not to violate the neutrality of Belgium. For once in his life Mr. Armistead bought both the
Guardian
and the
News;
the
News
stated that it noticed with regret the effort made in one portion of the Press, to inflame public opinion and goad the country into war. “Until our interests are attacked,” said the
News
, “there is no reason whatever why we should take a course so wicked.”

“Pshaw!” said Mr. Armistead irritably. “Our interests, indeed! As though we thought of nothing but our pockets! Isn't that just like the
News?
Henry Hinchliffe might have written it himself.”

On Tuesday the newspapers made it clear that England had sent an ultimatum to Germany about the neutrality of Belgium; the ultimatum was to expire at 7.30 that night; if the reply were unsatisfactory, England would declare war. It was all terrifically exciting; Laura's heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe. That evening, as Mr. Armistead sat devouring every item of the
Guardian
, line by line, he suddenly let forth an angry roar and sprang from his chair.

“What is it, Papa?” cried Laura, hurrying to him.

“Look at this! Look at this!” shouted Mr. Armistead, banging the newspaper with a trembling hand.

Laura hastily scanned the offending sheet. She saw a full-page advertisement, in bold type, headed:

BRITONS, DO YOUR DUTY

“A patriotic appeal,” thought Laura with a happy glow, passing on to the next lines. To her amazement they read:

AND KEEP YOUR COUNTRY OUT OF
A WICKED AND STUPID WAR

“Oh!” exclaimed Laura, startled.

Small but powerful cliques are trying to rush you into it; you must

DESTROY THE PLOT TO-DAY,

or it will be too late

DISTRIBUTE THE LEAFLETS OF THE
NEUTRALITY LEAGUE

We want thousands of Helpers!

“How disgraceful!” said Laura. “How
can
people think like that?”

“Look at the end! Look at the end!” urged Mr. Armistead impatiently.

Laura lowered her eyes to the foot of the sheet, and read among the scanty list of neutrality's supporters in the West Riding:

Frederick Hinchliffe
, 117,
Prince's Road Terrace,
Hudley
.

She dropped the paper.

“Do you know anything about this, Laura?” shouted Mr. Armistead.

“No, Father, no,” said Laura. “Nothing.”

“And that fellow's my son-in-law! He's my daughter's husband!” cried Mr. Armistead in the extreme of bitterness. He glanced at Laura. “Grace never said anything to you of this kind?” he demanded.

“No, Father, no,” repeated Laura. “I know Edward doesn't feel like that,” she added. “As long ago as Saturday he was sure we should go to war.”

Mr. Armistead sighed and took off his pince-nez.

“Where's Ludo?” he said.

“Upstairs packing his kit, Father,” said Laura. “He thinks he
will be mobilised, you know. After all, it does say the Territorials are to be embodied.”

“Ridiculous nonsense,” said Mr. Armistead, but he spoke with less conviction. He hesitated, then went on: “I shall go down to the Club and see what's being said there.”

“Very well, Papa,” said Laura. She saw him from the house, handing him his stick and brushing his collar, then went upstairs to her brother's room. “Ludo,” she said, “I think I'd like to go down to the
Guardian
office and wait there for news. Mildred went last night—they stick up the Press telegrams. We should perhaps see the actual declaration of war.”

“I don't think I ought to leave the house,” said Ludo solemnly. “But go alone—you'll be all right if you keep out of the crowds,” he added, seeing her look of disappointment.

“I think I will,” said Laura, who felt a strong need to think over the terrible behaviour of Frederick, out of doors.

She dressed, and went out, but she had hardly reached Prince's Road Terrace before she heard newsboys' shouting, and following the sound along side streets, eventually overtook one of the lads and secured his last paper. The die was cast, it seemed; Germany's reply was unsatisfactory, and England had declared war. She ran home to tell the news to Ludo. But Ludo was not there; he had received his mobilisation notice during his absence, and reported instantly at the local Sunday School allotted as his headquarters.

“Though why he should go off in that hole-and-corner way,” grumbled Mildred, “I'm sure I don't know. I said to him, Master Ludo, I said, surely you can wait to see the Master and Miss Laura? It isn't reasonable, I said, Master Ludo.”

“It's his duty, Mildred,” said Laura in tears, reproaching herself passionately for having left him.

Next day the Territorials were embodied in the Regular Army by proclamation, and Ludo's battalion entrained for an unknown destination which later proved to be Salisbury Plain. The news of their impending departure was brought to the Blackshaw House
kitchen by Eva Byram, that daughter of Tom the firer who was a mender at Hinchliffes'; she came hurrying down from the mill with the breathless message that Mester Armistead had come in to ask Mester Hinchliffe to send her down to tell Miss Laura to go to the station at once—the Territorials were going off by train. Almost before the words were out of her mouth she turned and went off—to Blackshaw Row to give the same message to her mother, explained Mildred; Eva's youngest brother was in Master Ludo's company, so he would be going too.