After a pause, in a high and nervous voice, Catherine replied, ‘Gabriel’.
The Bishop descended two steps and gave the ends of the white ribbons, one each, to Michael and Catherine to hold. Then he said, still speaking to them, ‘Let us remember that the voice of Christ calls us at times to forsake earthly cares to sit at His feet and learn of higher things. Let this sign be consecrated and sanctified in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen.’ He ascended the steps again and faced his small congregation. ‘The name of this bell is Gabriel. Now let us pray.’ Everyone knelt down on the grass.
Paul reached out and took Dora’s hand. He held it close, masterfully, pressing it without tenderness. Dora suffered this pressure for a while. Then it began to be hateful to her. She tried quietly to withdraw her hand. Paul held on. She began to pull. Paul gripped harder and twisted her wrist. Dora began to shake. A fou rire had got hold of her. She pressed her lips together so as not to laugh aloud. The Bishop’s voice droned on. Tears of suppressed half hysterical mirth began to course from her eyes. With her other hand she reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief.
With the handkerchief there fluttered out onto the grass the plain envelope containing the note to Toby. Dora saw it, was paralysed with horror, but could not stop laughing. She let go of her handkerchief which was immediately carried away by the wind. Paul, looking grimly ahead and still twisting her wrist, had not seen the envelope. With her free hand Dora spread out her skirt and petticoat to cover it. Then questing beneath them she tried to pick the envelope up to convey it back to her pocket. Her hand, involved in the fluttering folds of her petticoat, encountered another hand. It was Noel’s. Noel’s hand reached the envelope first and quietly removed it. For a moment, his face serenely lifted towards the Bishop, he held it at his side. Then he transferred it to his pocket.
Paul still stared ahead, oblivious. The rest of the community seemed to have their eyes closed. The Bishop with unfaltering voice looked down benignly, observing the by-play with the letter. He had seen odder things. Dora rearranged her skirt and clapped her hand over her mouth. It began to rain.
CHAPTER 21
TOBY WAS IN EXTREMITY. His thoughts and feelings swung to and fro in an unaccountable way which ten days ago he would not have been able to imagine. He deeply regretted having involved himself in Dora’s crazy plan. It seemed to him now deceitful, silly, in thoroughly bad taste, and likely to end in some grotesque disaster. He would have liked to back out of it but did not know how. He was not unaffected too, by Paul’s evident anger and by the faintly scandalized air with which he felt himself regarded by the other members of the community. He had not thought, when he sought in his need such particular help from Dora, that anyone else would be harmed or even concerned; he began now to see that his actions, in this quarter, had implications which he did not wish to sustain. On the other hand he felt excessively upset at the thought of doing anything which might destroy the sweet tenuous ambiguous bond which linked him now to Dora; and he hated the idea of letting her down. He longed to see her, and yet, because of the confusion of his thoughts, avoided her.
Meanwhile his feelings about Michael were swinging back the other way. The insidious fear about his own condition which had inspired Toby to think of Dora had not vanished but it had certainly faded. He was even a little reassured by what had passed between him and Dora. Indeed a sheer elation at having so successfully kissed her remained consolingly incapsulated in his distress. This left his mind more free to consider Michael once again as an individual and to feel their relationship for all its peculiarities as something real, interesting, even valuable. He began to be sorry for Michael and to speculate about Michael’s state of mind. He began also to worry about Michael’s opinion of him, and about how far the Dora business, which was turning out to be so much more extensive in various ways than he had expected, would damage him in Michael’s eyes. His situation suddenly seemed intolerable.
Toby was a naturally truthful boy and had been brought up to believe that whatever mess one found oneself in one could always best get out of it by telling the truth. But truth-telling in this case, would be likely to prove difficult. What truth should he tell and to whom? He started to consider the possibility of going to Michael and telling him all about the plan for the old bell. The carrying out of the first half of the plan had been exciting; the carrying out of the second half seemed too onerous to bear. Toby simply could not see himself helping Dora to make the substitution of the bells; and this being so he rather cravenly felt that he was absolved from attempting it. Yet without Dora’s sanction to abandon the plan, to betray her, who had so simply and completely relied upon him, was unthinkable too. Nor was there anyone in whom he could confide without by doing so effecting the betrayal. He thought of confiding in Nick; but he didn’t trust Nick, and there was no one else. Patently, he told himself, what he ought to do was to go to Dora and tell her that he was giving up. This would not clear him of deceit, but it would at least be simple and more fair to Dora. But although he decided to do this several times during the day he did not go. Instead he went to see Michael.
Once he had set his feet on the way to Michael’s room he felt as if he had entered a field of magnetic force. He could hardly stop himself from running. He reached the door, still uncertain what he was going to say. He knocked, and found Michael alone. Michael rose at once with a murmur of ‘Oh, Toby!’ which left little doubt of his pleasure at seeing the boy. But preoccupied perhaps by his own needs and problems he did not ask why he had come; nor did Toby feel any urge for immediate discussion since simply being in Michael’s presence was so obviously an end in itself. He found himself sighing and smiling with relief. Michael sat down and looked at him solemnly for some time, as if he were memorizing his face. Then Toby, moved by some force which seemed to regulate his movements, sat down at Michael’s feet and took hold of his hand. At that moment Dora came bursting in.
After this interruption Toby made himself scarce in the garden until it was time for the service, which he attended in a state of misery, indecision, and shock. When it was over he made off again, avoiding the social gathering in the refectory, and ran into the woods. A fine rain was falling and soon soaked him through but he paid no attention. He started off to visit the old bell, but changed his mind; he wished heartily that he had never discovered the rebarbative thing at all. He wandered about for nearly an hour, staring intermittently at the lake whose grey surface was pitted by the rain. Then he began to make his way back to the Lodge. He thought he would change his clothes and then go and look for Dora and tell her he could not go through with the plan.
Dripping wet and wretched he trailed into the living-room of the Lodge. It was already getting dark outside, and the unlighted room was obscure and bleak. Toby stumbled in, kicking the newspapers aside. He fell over the recumbent Murphy and was halfway to the other door when he saw Nick sitting there in his usual position behind the table. He mumbled a greeting and was opening the door when Nick said in a clear voice, ‘Wait a moment, Toby, I want to talk to you.’
Toby stopped and faced Nick across the table, startled by the urgency of his tone. He saw that Nick’s bottle of whisky was bearing him company. A smell of drink pervaded the room, mingling with the chilly damp air from outside. The stove was out.
‘I want a long and serious talk with you, Toby,’ said Nick. He sounded drunk but determined.
‘I haven’t time now,’ said Toby.
‘You can spare me half an hour, dear boy. And in fact you will, whether you like it or not.’ Nick got up from behind the table.
‘Sorry, Nick,’ said Toby. ‘I’ve got to see somebody.’ He realized that it might take a long time to talk Nick down, and he began prudently to back away towards the outer door. He would leave changing his clothes till later.
With a speed which took Toby by surprise Nick moved across the room and placed himself in front of the door. At the same moment he switched on the electric l
ight. He surveyed Toby with his wide fixed smile. They faced each other.
Toby frowned, dazzled by the unshaded bulb. He said, ‘Look here, Nick, don’t be silly. I’ve got to go up to the house now. We can talk later.’
‘Later will be too late my poor deluded child,’ said Nick. ‘You remember that I told you I would give you a sermon, the one the others didn’t want to hear? Well, now is the time I am filled with the spirit. Take your pew!’
‘Get out of the way,’ said Toby.
‘Come, come,’ said Nick. ‘Let’s have no violence and cross words. Seek ye the Lord while He may be found. Only for that reason is time important. Sit down.’ He gave Toby a sudden push which made him stagger back and sit abruptly in the armchair by the stove. Then, picking up the whisky bottle, Nick began to pull the table with one hand across the floor and jammed it noisily against the door. He sat upon it, drawing his legs up. He crossed himself.
‘Nick, this isn’t funny,’ said Toby. ‘I don’t want to struggle with you, but I’m going out.’
‘You’d better not struggle with me,’ said Nick, ‘unless you want to get hurt. Since you’re in a hurry we’ll cut out the hymns and prayers and go straight on to the sermon. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Dearly beloved, we are come of a fallen race, we are sinners one and all. Gone are the days in the Garden, the days of our innocence when we loved each other and were happy. Now we are set each man against his fellow and the mark of Cain is upon us, and with our sin comes grief and hatred and shame. What is there to lighten our darkness? What is there to ease our pain? Wait, there is a consolation and a remedy, the very Word of God, the dayspring from on high. A higher destiny and a higher joy awaits us than any which was known to our primeval pa as he lay blameless under the apple tree. It comes, it comes and it will make Gods of us all. I speak, beloved, of the joys of repentance, the delights of confession, the delicious pleasure of writhing and grovelling in the dust. O felix culpa! For had we been without sin we had been deprived of that supreme enjoyment. And see miraculously how our pain and our shame can be transformed! How sweet then our guilt, how welcome our transgression, which can bring on the pangs of so sharp a joy. Let us embrace our sin, beloved, and fall to couple with it upon the ground. Let us overcome our shame and turn our sorrow into joy, proclaiming our ill-deeds, kneeling and prostrating ourselves in the dust, and calling out for judgement, ravished, repentant, redeemed. ’
‘Nick, you’re raving!’ cried Toby, raising his voice to check Nick’s increasingly loud and excited utterance. ‘Let me out!’
‘You shall stay to the end,’ said Nick. ‘The interesting part is just beginning. Do you imagine that I’m ranting in the void? By no means. What I have to say most intimately concerns each member of my congregation, and as you are its only member, apart from Murphy who is without sin, it most intimately concerns you.’ He took a quick drink from the bottle. Toby had risen from his chair.
‘Listen to me,’ said Nick, speaking more rapidly and pointing his finger. ‘Do you imagine I don’t know all the tricks you are up to, Toby, all your little games? You treat me as if I were a piece of furniture, you think I don’t notice what goes on under my nose - but I’ve made you a subject of loving study, Toby. And how you repay study, dear boy, believe me. So pure, so pretty, when you arrived, feeling yourself so good, belonging also to the communion of saints. What a pleasure that was, to be sure, it did my heart good to see you enjoying it all so much. But then what happens, what do we find? Our innocent, how quickly he learns. His head is turned, his vanity is tickled. He has found something more pleasurable now than religious emotion. A flirtation under the walls of a nunnery - what could be more thrilling? So first he plays the woman and then, to make sure he can do both, he plays the man!’
‘Stop it, Nick, stop it!’ cried Toby. He stood right before him with clenched fists and a burning face.
‘I’ve seen you at it,’ said Nick. ‘I’ve seen your love life in the woods, tempting our virtuous leader to sodomy and our delightful penitent to adultery. What an achievement! So young and so extremely versatile!’ He drank some more from the bottle.
‘Get out of the way!’ said Toby. He was almost incoherent with distress and anger and fear. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Nick. ‘After all, we’re supposed to be looking after each other, aren’t we? We are members one of another. You never bothered to look after me, but I take my responsibilities more seriously. I can hold the mirror up to you as well as the next man. What are you going to do about it? That’s what I want to know. And what about your little frolic with the bell? Oh yes, I know all about the bell too, and that faked-up miracle you’re planning with your female sweetheart.’
‘Shut up!’ cried Toby. He advanced on Nick and began pulling at the table. Nick uncurled his legs but still sat there laughing. Toby was unable to move the table.
‘Wretched child,’ said Nick. ‘I told you you’d have to stay till the end. I wonder if you have any idea of the harm you’re causing? To poor Michael for instance. But as for Michael his cup is filling and will soon run over, though not in the way the psalmist meant. Do you think you can play fast and loose like that with a religious man? Perhaps you think he smothers you with kisses and then goes to the Communion table with a light heart? You are busy destroying a man’s faith, undermining his life, preparing his ruin - and even then you can’t give it all your attention but start playing charades with a bloody bitch!’
‘Oh stop, stop, stop!’ shouted Toby. He plunged forward seizing Nick by the shoulder, meaning to pull him from his perch. Nick immediately gripped the boy about the neck and they fell struggling to the floor. Murphy began to whine and then to bark. Nick was the stronger.
‘Shut up, Murphy, you’re in church!’ said Nick. Nick had now got one of Toby’s arms twisted behind him and his knee braced in the boy’s back. Toby’s head was pressed lower and lower.
‘Down, down, that’s right,’ said Nick in his ear. ‘This is the confessional, only you needn’t bother with your confession as I know it all. It’s someone else you’ve got to tell the tale to, someone who hasn’t heard it yet. The joys of penitence await you, Toby. Meanwhile, have a swig of this in remembrance of me.’ He tried to turn Toby over, and reaching up for the whisky bottle poured a little of the whisky on to Toby’s lips.
Like a spring released the boy began to struggle. The bottle fell between them and broke. They rolled across the floor upsetting Murphy’s dish of water and rolling into the remains of his supper. Splashed with water, whisky, and gravy they fought among the chaos of old newspapers and broken glass. Nick was still the stronger.
Toby lay quiet. He was on his back now and Nick’s face was above him. In this position they rested, both panting. Nick looked down at him and smiled. ‘Poor child,’ he said, ‘it hurts me to do this, believe me it does. But I am made to be a scourge to certain men. You wouldn’t understand. But at least I hope you’ve seen the point of my sermon. You’re going to get up now and set your clothes to rights and then you’re going to go like a good boy and make your confession to the only available saint, indeed the only available man, and that is James Tayper Pace. Up you get.’
Nick rose and Toby staggered to his feet, brushing down his clothing. He looked at Nick, dazed and appalled.
‘I wish I could congratulate you on your truthful disposition,’ said Nick, ‘but the fact is that you have little choice. If by tomorrow you haven’t had your little talk with James and told him everything I shall feel it my duty to make a statement. And by a happy law of nature, however low one wants to grovel one never paints oneself quite as black as the unprejudiced and unsympathetic spectator can paint one. Another of the charms of confession. Felix culpa, felix Toby! Now go. And don’t let your anger against me stop you from seeing that what I say is just. Go, go, go.’
Nick pulled the table away from the door and opened it. Toby stood for another moment, his hand raised to his face.
Nick gave him a light push between the shoulders. He inclined forward as if he were going to fall and bolted out into the night.
CHAPTER 22
IT WAS STILL RAINING BUT the wind had dropped. A soft sizzle of fine rain made the night more obscure and deadened all other sounds. It was after three o’clock.
Dora stood alone in the barn, close to the bell. She reached out every now and then and touched it, for company and to make sure it was still there. Earlier on, by the light of Toby’s electric torch, she had attempted with soap, water, and a sharp knife to clean the bell. She had managed to prize away a good deal of mud and gravel, but many strange growths still adhering to the surface seemed to have the hardness of metal. For the last half-hour however Dora had done nothing but wait. She had arrived well before two, since for fear of being delayed by Paul she had not gone up to bed. Paul would know soon enough that he had misjudged her. She had hidden herself elsewhere in the house, dozing in a chair, and then had made her way through the rain to the barn.
At first she had been quite certain that Toby would come. Even though she had not managed to communicate with him during the day, he would know when and where to appear; and it had at least been agreed that he should bring the second steel trolley with him direct to the barn. When by halfpast two he had not arrived Dora had imagined that he might have had difficulty getting the trolley out of the stable yard, and she walked back that far to see. The stable yard was deserted and the trolley still in its place, though Dora noticed uneasily that there were two lights on in the house, one in her and Paul’s bedroom, and the other in another room which she could not identify, James’s or Michael’s perhaps. She left the trolley where it was and rushed back to the barn, feeling sure that she would now find Toby there; but he was not there.