‘What is he doing in the churchyard, I wonder?’ she asked Dr Parnell, but she did not really expect him to be able to tell her. The Archdeacon’s affected eighteenth-century melancholy failed to charm her this morning.
‘I think he’s meditating on his sermon for Sunday morning,’ said Dr Parnell. ‘I understand that it is to be something rather out of the ordinary.’
When the Archdeacon saw them he smiled benevolently, but at the same time condescendingly. It was as if he were letting them see how fortunate they were to be able to stroll in the village on a fine October morning, while he was condemned to sit among the tombs thinking out his sermon.
‘Isn’t that seat rather damp?’ inquired Belinda sharply. ‘We had some very heavy rain during the night, and you know how easily you catch cold.’ She felt that as Agatha was so many miles away she was justified in adopting this almost wifely tone towards him.
He looked up irritably; Belinda had spoilt the romance of his environment. It was just the kind of remark that Agatha would make and, now that he came to think of it, he supposed the seat was rather damp. He felt a distinct chill striking up through his bones and began to wonder if he were perhaps catching cold. He would never have noticed it if Belinda had not put the idea into his head. He rose rather ungraciously and came towards them.
‘It seems impossible to find peace and quiet anywhere,’ he remarked. ‘I had settled down in my study after breakfast when the girl came in with the vacuum cleaner and drove me into the churchyard. Now I am interrupted again.’
Belinda smiled at this picture. ‘I’m sorry if we have disturbed you,’ she said. ‘I think we should really have walked past if you had not got up and come to us.’
‘That would have been most unfriendly,’ said the Archdeacon unreasonably. ‘Besides, it is not every day that we have visitors. We should really make some effort to entertain them.’
‘Belinda has been doing her best,’ said Dr Parnell. ‘She has given me an excellent cup of coffee and introduced me to a charming lady who showed great reverence when the Library was mentioned. It is really rather gratifying. I should be delighted to show her round,’ he added. ‘She would find every convenience. The next thing will be to have some kind of a restaurant where readers can take luncheon or tea together. Do you know,’ – he tapped his walking stick on the ground – ‘I have had to have notices printed requesting readers not to eat in the Library? One would hardly have thought it possible.’
During this time an idea had been taking shape in Belinda’s mind, and it was one which she knew her sister would approve. The talk about eating had made her think how nice it would be if they had a little supper party on Sunday evening. So, with unusual boldness, she issued the invitation, though she realized that her own rather timid way did not compare with Harriet’s careless joviality. ‘If you have no other engagement on Sunday evening,’ she began, ‘I was wondering if perhaps … I mean, would you care to come to supper at our house after Evensong? And Mr Mold too, of course.’
‘That would be delightful,’ said Dr Parnell. ‘One feels somehow that Sunday evening should be spent away from a vicarage if at all possible.’
‘Sunday is always a heavy day for me,’ said the Archdeacon ‘and this Sunday will be particularly so. I intend to preach myself both morning and evening. These people are so sunk in lethargy that they do not know their own wickedness.’
Belinda looked a little startled. ‘I know,’ she said inadequately. ‘I mean, one is.’ All the same it was uncomfortable to be reminded of one’s sinfulness in the middle of a bright morning.
‘Sloth and lethargy,’ said Dr Parnell, with relish. ‘But I take it you will accept Belinda’s invitation, I know Nathaniel will want to.’
‘I shall come if I possibly can,’ said the Archdeacon, passing his hand over his eyes with a gesture of weariness, ‘but it may be that I shall be completely exhausted by the evening.’
‘But you will need a meal,’ said Dr Parnell, ‘and I expect Belinda will want to know the numbers. It makes some difference with the catering, the arrangement of the table and that kind of thing.’
‘Ah, yes, I do not understand these mysteries,’ said the Archdeacon. ‘I think you can take it that I shall come,’ he added, turning to Belinda with almost a smile.
‘You would hardly believe what I found Henry doing when we arrived last night,’ said Dr Parnell, in an easy, conversational tone.
Belinda, who was of a credulous nature, refrained from making a guess.
‘Playing Patience on the floor of his study,’ he went on. ‘A complicated variety called Double Emperor.’
‘Patience is a very intelligent relaxation,’ said Belinda, her usual loyalty coming to the rescue. ‘You don’t realize how hard Henry works. I mean,’ she added obscurely, ‘there are things to do in a country parish that people don’t know about unless they live in one. Your work in the Library has its fixed hours, but a clergyman is at everybody’s beck and call.’ Of course, she reflected sadly, people would never dare to trouble the Archdeacon with their worries; they would go hurrying along Jubilee Terrace to Mr Donne. Still, the smile that Henry gave her made her realize that being a little untruthful sometimes had its compensations.
The church clock struck half past twelve.
‘Ah, lunch-time,’ said the Archdeacon, and the party broke up to return to their respective houses.
When Belinda got home she found Harriet in a state of great excitement.
‘Oh, Belinda,’ she said, in a loud voice, ‘he really is charming.’
As Emily was at this moment bringing in the meat, Belinda waited until they were settled at the table before she made any further inquiries.
‘Harriet, I wish you wouldn’t talk in front of Emily,’ she began, but her own curiosity prevented her from saying any more. ‘Who’s charming?’ she asked.
‘Why, Mr Mold,’ declared Harriet with enthusiasm. ‘I saw him this morning.’ Should she tell Belinda that she had seen him coming out of the Crownwheel and Pinion? she wondered. Better not, perhaps, and yet it would spoil the story to leave out such a piece of information.
‘But, Harriet, how could you have seen him?’ asked Belinda rather impatiently. ‘I understood from Nicholas that he was tired and was spending the morning in bed.’
‘Well, he must have got up because I saw him in the street,’ said Harriet defiantly. She wished Belinda would not always behave quite so much like an elder sister. She decided that she would not tell her story in full. ‘I spoke to him,’ she declared.
Belinda was incredulous. ‘But, Harriet, you don’t know him,’ she said.
‘Oh, of course he didn’t realize who I was,’ she explained. ‘I met him coming out of the Crownwheel and Pinion, and he asked me the way to the Post Office; and as I happened to be going along to buy some stamps, we walked there together.’ She paused, triumphant.
Belinda put down her knife and fork in astonishment. The Crownwheel and Pinion in the morning! Surely Harriet had been mistaken? It sounded as if she had been ‘picked up’ by some commercial traveller. Most distasteful.
‘I don’t think it can have been Mr Mold,’ she declared, looking very worried. ‘After all, I’ve only met him once many years ago and you’ve never met him. I don’t think it can have been him,’ she repeated, with a puzzled frown on her face.
‘It was Mr Mold,’ said Harriet patiently. ‘He said he was a stranger here, and that he had arrived last night and was staying at the vicarage.’
‘Oh, well, if he said that …’ Belinda had to admit that it probably had been Mr Mold. But for a deputy librarian to go to the Crownwheel and Pinion in the morning … surely it was unthinkable! And yet perhaps it was not so surprising, when one came to consider it, for after all Mr Mold was not quite … He had started his career in the Library as a boy fetching books for readers, and although one didn’t want to be snobbish and his ability had undoubtedly brought him to a distinguished position, it was certainly true that lack o
f breeding showed itself. Belinda could not help wishing that it had not been Harriet who had seen Mr Mold. She would be sure to tell people and the whole situation was so embarrassing. She wondered if Nicholas knew, because really he was to blame for bringing such a man to the village.
‘Of course,’ she said, more to herself than to Harriet, ‘he may have felt ill or something. One must be careful not to judge people too hardly and, I dare say that in a town there is really no harm in a man going into a public house for a pint of beer in the morning, but these things are regarded rather differently in a village and I should have thought he would have realized that.’
‘He certainly didn’t look ill,’ said Harriet, ‘in fact quite the contrary. Rather a rosy complexion really and a well-built figure, not fat, of course … his suit was very well cut, a dark blue with a narrow stripe and a maroon tie. He didn’t look at all flashy, though.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Belinda, ‘one would hardly expect an official of one of the greatest libraries in England to look flashy.’
‘And he had the most delightful manners,’ Harriet went on. ‘He didn’t try to take advantage of me in any way,’ she explained.
Had she not thought it would be rather indelicate, Belinda would have laughed at this remark. The idea of anybody taking advantage of a respectable spinster, plumply attractive it must be admitted, in the main street of a respectable village in daylight, struck her as being rather ridiculous. But she thought it wiser not to let Harriet see that she was amused. Instead, she went on to tell her how she had invited the Archdeacon and his visitors to supper on Sunday evening.
Harriet was delighted. She enjoyed entertaining and often complained that they did not do enough. ‘I will see if Mr Donne is free,’ she said. ‘I expect he would like to come.’
‘Yes, if you like,’ said Belinda doubtfully, ‘but I had thought it would be nice to ask Ricardo, then we shall all be more of an age, as it were.’
‘Oh, but I think we need youth, and Mr Donne is so amusing,’ persisted Harriet.
‘We shall be rather short of women of course,’ said Belinda. ‘I suppose we could ask Edith and Connie. I have a feeling Edith and Nicholas would get on rather well together. They are both interested in the same kind of thing.’
‘What, in lavatories?’ asked Harriet bluntly.
Belinda, who had been going to say ‘conveniences’, was forced to agree that this was what she had in mind, and told Harriet about his pride in the Ladies’ Cloakroom which had recently been added to the Library.
‘I should have thought he had better things to think about,’ retorted Harriet, ‘and we certainly don’t want to encourage Edith. Mr Donne was so embarrassed when she was talking like that to the Archdeacon on the morning of the garden party. And then poor Connie is so dreary, isn’t she? Does it really matter if we don’t have equal numbers? After all I can manage Ricardo and Mr Donne and you can have the Archdeacon and Dr Parnell.’
‘Well, we shall have to think about it,’ said Belinda. ‘After all, Edith and Connie are always free and don’t mind being asked at the last minute. The Archdeacon is preaching rather a special sermon on Sunday morning,’ she added, getting up from the table, ‘and he said he was preaching in the evening too and will be very tired. So I should like the supper to be particularly nice.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Harriet agreed, ‘but whatever we give him will be better than what he would get at the vicarage. We must be careful not to have the same as we had the last time Mr Donne was here.’
‘I know Henry is fond of chicken,’ said Belinda thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps that would be the best.’
‘I really must look it up in my diary,’ said Harriet, ‘but I think we had chicken the last time Mr Donne was here.’
CHAPTER TEN
It was on the next Sunday morning that the Archdeacon preached his famous sermon on the Judgment Day.
The day had begun as other Sundays did. After breakfast Belinda had consulted with Emily about the roast beef, and together they had decided what time it ought to be put into the oven and how long it ought to stay there. The vegetables – celery and roast potatoes – were agreed upon, and the pudding – a plum tart – chosen. In addition, the chickens for the supper party were to be put on to boil and Emily was to start making the trifle if she had time. The jellies had been made on Saturday night and were now setting in the cool of the cellar. Belinda had suggested that they might have a lighter luncheon than usual, as there was so much to do, but Harriet was not going to be cheated of her Sunday roast, and had managed to persuade her sister that there would be plenty of time to get things ready in the afternoon and early evening. If was of course out of the question that either of them should attend Evensong.
At half past ten Harriet began to prepare herself for church. This morning she was taking particular care with her appearance. On ordinary Sundays she had to look nicer than Agatha, as well as wearing something that would cause Count Bianco to burst into ecstatic compliments, and she liked the curate to see that his generation still had something to learn from hers in matters of elegance and good taste. But this Sunday was a particularly important one, for Dr Parnell and Mr Mold would be among the congregation and it was most important that she should make a good impression. She could not help regretting that when she had met Mr Mold in the village and directed him to the Post Office, she had been wearing rather a countrified tweed coat, as was perhaps only to be expected on a weekday morning in a country village. This morning she was determined to make amends for this. Mr Mold would hardly recognize the plump woman he had met outside the Crownwheel and Pinion in the elegant creature he was to see this morning. Once or twice, though, she felt a twinge of anxiety. Supposing he were not there?
‘Belinda,’ she called down the stairs, ‘Mr Mold isn’t a Roman Catholic or a Methodist, is he?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Belinda called back, wondering why her sister should want to know. Perhaps Harriet had some doctrinal difficulty to be solved, although she had never before betrayed any interest in that direction. The Church of England had been good enough for a long line of dear curates; it would have been presumptuous of her to attempt to go further than that.
‘What I meant, was, will he be in church this morning?’ Harriet explained.
‘Oh, surely,’ said Belinda. ‘I expect everyone will want to hear the special sermon.’
Harriet snorted, as if expressing her contempt for anyone who would go to church to hear the Archdeacon preach.
‘Henry is very particular about the observance of Sunday,’ Belinda went on. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t like anyone staying at the vicarage not to attend Divine Service.’
Harriet, who had got to the stage of arranging the veil on her hat, was too preoccupied to make any answer, but she could not help wondering if Belinda had forgotten one occasion when the Archdeacon himself had not been in church, and had later been seen in the vicarage garden, obviously in excellent health.
By ten minutes to eleven Harriet was ready, and waiting impatiently in the hall.
‘Belinda!’ she called in an agitated voice. ‘If you don’t hurry up somebody might take our pew.’
Belinda reflected unhappily that the church was never likely to be full enough for that to happen, unless there was a bishop or somebody very special preaching, like that time when, she could only imagine through some mistake, they had had a handsome Brother from a religious community, obviously intended for Father Plowman’s church. She looked quickly in her bag to see if she had a half-crown and a clean handkerchief, picked up her prayer book, and hurried downstairs.
By this time Harriet was halfway out of the gate. Belinda received her scolding meekly and was still silent when Harriet, quite kindly of course, began to criticize the clothes she was wearing.
‘You ought to have tied your scarf in a bow,’ she said, ‘it’s much smarter, and you know that hats are turning up at the back this winter, don’t you?’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Belinda.
‘I like yours very much, but I don’t think I could wear one like that myself.’
‘Oh, it’s quite easy,’ said Harriet airily, tipping her hat forward to an angle which Belinda considered a little too rakish for church, ‘but you’d have to have your hair curled up at the back,’ she added.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Belinda hopelessly, looking at Harriet’s carefully arranged ringlets. But I doubt whether Henry would like me any better, she thought.
This worldly conversation had carried them almost to the vicarage. There was as yet no sign of the important visitors. Harriet looked in at the gate rather anxiously; of course it was not quite five minutes to eleven, there was plenty of time for them to appear. It would perhaps be better to be settled in their own pew before they arrived. She hurried Belinda into the church.
When they were inside Belinda knelt down hastily to say a prayer, but Harriet waited until she had arranged her bag and umbrella, removed her gloves and loosened her silver-fox fur. The next moment Belinda found herself being nudged by her sister, who whispered rather loudly, ‘Here they come, they’re going to sit by Ricardo.’
When they were sitting down again, Harriet assured Belinda triumphantly that she had not been mistaken, it had been Mr Mold whom she had seen in the village. It was rather difficult to study them at all intently, because they were sitting behind Harriet and Belinda, but it was possible to do it not too obviously by putting your umbrella in the stand behind and taking some time in doing it. When Harriet had gone through this process, she was able to inform Belinda that Dr Parnell was wearing a dark tie and that Mr Mold had on the same suit she had seen him in before.
The service began quite uneventfully with one of the usual morning hymns, New every morning is the love. As they sang, Belinda noticed that the Archdeacon was not joining with them, but looking rather sternly round the church. As she did not want to catch his eye, Belinda looked down at her prayer book and concentrated on Keble’s fine lines