Sleep in Peace (70 page)

Ludo came hurrying lout of the House to meet her. He was wearing his religious habit: a long black cassock and a leathern girdle.

He looked extremely well, thought Laura with warm relief; his dark hair, in recent years thinned and greyed by industrial worries, was now again thick, black and glossy; his shoulders were still slightly bowed, but his habit made his stoop seem scholarly and dignified rather than ageing. His velvet eyes beamed, as always, with affection.

“Well have tea first, and then I'll show you the church,” said Ludo eagerly. “I've invited some of the brethren to meet you.”

“Tea?” said Laura, Astonished. “With the brethren? Is that allowed?”

“Only by permission land as a special occasion of course,” said Ludo. “But this is a very modern monastery, you know, Laura.”

Laura felt a qualm at the prospect of penetrating into a community whose ideals were so alien from her own, but over tea, in a book-lined room, she discovered that they at least shared in common a devotion to the service of humanity, an interest in the intellectual themes of the day, and a rejection of material standards of value. Five other fathers, young and old, were present; Laura, pouring out tea,, felt as if she had strayed into a painting by Fra Angelico, and could not refrain from observing the scene with an artist's eye—the rows of theological tomes along the walls, the modern highbrow reviews, brightly jacketed, on an adjacent table; the dim portraits of dim churchmen, to her hosts famous, to herself quite unknown; the strange habits, the cassocks, capes and scapulas; the monastic faces, some young, naive, studious, some old, the colour of parchment, deeply lined. How I should like to draw this, thought Laura, looking about her, watching the men as they talked of American theology and T. S. Eliot. All the faces were marked with the same stamp, however,
decided Laura; she thought she would now be able to distinguish a religious, as a seaman or a doctor, by something in his face. That something—whether it was the vowed celibacy, or obedience to the Rule of an Order, or something deeper to which Laura shrank from giving a name—was in Ludo's face too, which looked at once tired by life and yet strangely young. Laura hated to see it in her brother's face. It set them apart; they could never again walk hand in hand, never feel confident that the other truly understood.

The talk went well, and Laura could see that Ludo, who had perhaps been a little nervous as to how she would suit the brethren and the brethren would suit her, was relieved and happy. After tea the men returned to their duties, and Ludo took her to see the church.

“We don't speak in the cloisters,” he whispered conspiratorially as they were crossing the threshold of the room where they had eaten. “Except, of course,” he added, “if charity demands.”

A gentle twilight lay lightly on the smooth rich grass as they left the House and crossed the grounds towards the church of the Community. There were steps to be descended; Laura, who was used nowadays to a good deal of deferential attention as she went about the world, observed that Ludo made no attempt to help her, but walked apart, his hands thrust deep into the sleeves of his cassock. Part of the Rule, perhaps, she thought, and sighed; it seemed strange that she should ever have to doubt whether she might or might not properly cast her arms about her brother.

Ludo pushed open a wooden door. “This is the Sacristy,” he said. “I thought you might like to see the vestments; we have some very fine ones.” With a smile of pleasure he drew back some sliding doors; Laura saw a glowing mass of blue and gold and scarlet. “Over here, you see,” explained Ludo, guiding her to a table covered with a long linen cloth, “we arrange the vestments for next morning's Mass.” He drew back the cloth, and revealed sets of chasubles, maniples and stoles laid out neatly in a numbered
row. “I arranged these; it's part of the Novices' duty. There are seven altars here, you see,” explained Ludo proudly. “Our worship is the centre of our life, the spring of all our actions.”

Laura was suddenly reminded of the little Ludo's flag-shows, all those years ago. The remembrance of them seemed to her pathetic; tears sprang into her eyes.

“Are you still a—a Novice, then?” she said. “Your letters aren't very explanatory.”

“I'm to be professed next month,” said Ludo happily. “Then I shall be a lay brother, you know. We remain Novices for two or three years, you see, to be educated into the spirit of the Rule. Usually two, but sometimes three if they're not quite certain whether you're really fit to become one of the brethren. It's a great test of your humility, of course, if the third year is required of you. I thought I was sure to need a third year's preparation, but it seems not,” said Ludo, beaming. “Come into the church.”

Laura followed him, and stood in one of the aisles in the respectful silence which she naturally accorded to another person's cherished belief. Ludo, however, having genuflected, spoke to her in almost his ordinary tone of voice, though there was a young brother kneeling in prayer before one of the altars. Laura found an affectation in Ludo's deliberately normal voice, a High Church determination to avoid the unctuous at any price; and she felt uncomfortably conscious that she ought not to be present during the young man's meditation, since she disagreed with this whole way of life so profoundly. She therefore moved firmly out of the church, though Ludo seemed inclined to detain her.

“What do you all
do
here, Ludo?” she enquired, when they were once more crossing the lawn.

Ludo began to describe how the sequence of Mattins and Prime, the Holy Eucharist, Terce, Sext, None, Evensong and Compline formed the framework of the day. “And we do our own housework, you know,” he said. “Cleaning and scrubbing and black-leading the grates, and so on.”

“Yes. But what do you
do?”
persisted Laura. “What is the task set itself by the Community?”

Ludo smiled. “It is not what we do but what we are that matters,” he said. Laura gave an impatient sigh. Her brother hesitated, then overcame, with a small effort which Laura perceived to be now habitual, his natural reserve. “Meditation and intercession, prayer and praise, are an essential part of the Rule,” he said. “To us the fussy activity of the prayerless world is sheer waste of time.” Observing that an expression of doubt and distaste still marked his sister's face, he added: “Our task is to spread the kingdom of God on earth, and we undertake every kind of work— pastoral, evangelistic, literary, educational, even scientific—which contributes to the advancement of religion. You mustn't expect monks to boast of their doings, Laura, but I can assure you that every minute of the day is filled with the active service of God.”

“And you, Ludo?” said Laura doubtfully. “What part are you to play in all this?”

“Oh, I'm to be a missioner,” said Ludo simply.

“In the East?” exclaimed Laura, her mind flying at once to cannibals and tropical climates.

“No, no—in the home field. England. Amongst simple people, you know,” said Ludo in his humble, gentle tones. “They seem to think I may be useful.”

Laura sighed. Making an effort, she spoke to him of the purpose for which she had come, namely to inform him of the proposed rearrangements of the Blackshaw Mills shares. Ludo said simply that they were no concern of his.

“But if you want my advice,” continued Ludo: “I think what Geoffrey and Papa propose is right and sound, in so far as any property arrangements can be right. It's Geoffrey who'll have the work to do at the mill, you know, so it's only fair he should have the control and the reward.”

“Oh, by the way, Ludo,” said Laura in a casual tone. “Auntie Mary has come to live in Blackshaw House, so that Gwen can
take care of her—she's grown rather deaf of late, and her housekeeper, it seems, has left her.”

She watched his face, but it did not change. “I'm very glad,” said Ludo simply.

They approached the waiting car. Laura stood still and faced her brother.

“Are you happy here; Ludo?” she demanded fiercely, ready to rescue him on the instant if he were not.

“We're all happy here,” said Ludo, beaming.

Laura sighed again. She saw that what to her appeared a rejection of reality, a cowardly flight from all that made human life human, seemed to Ludo a response to a deeper reality, a summons to special service which it was a very high privilege to receive.

“Good-bye, Ludo,” she said.

“Will you come to my Profession next month? I should like you to come, Laura,” said Ludo soberly.

“Very well, I'll come.”

Well, Ludo is safe here, thought Laura, driving away down the gentle valley in the quiet dusk; he has found the moral security he always lacked, he's no longer afraid; he is a man under authority, happy and at peace.

At last, after many delays, the affairs of Madeline s inheritance and the proposed purchase of shares by Geoffrey were put in order, and required only the signature of the various parties concerned to be complete. For the convenience of Madeline, Frederick and Grace, it was decided that the transactions should take place at the head office of the, bank appointed by old Mr. Hinchliffe as trustee, in London. In anticipation of Madeline's signature to the form necessary to transfer her shares from the bank's name to her own, the new certificate, in Madeline's name, had been
prepared and duly signed by Mr. Armistead and Laura as directors, and Laura was to bring it to the meeting. Since Madeline, when questioned on the subject, still remarked calmly that she would decide what to do with her shares when she received them, a certificate could not, even in the latitude allowed by the private and family nature of the firm, yet be registered in Geoffrey's name ready for the second transaction; nevertheless the transfer form had been made out in the expectation that Madeline would sign it, and Geoffrey was to be present at the meeting, hoping to make the payment and get the transfer signed. The bank showed a strong wish to have Grace also present on this occasion, whether because it regarded Frederick as somewhat irresponsible and Madeline in need of an aunt to guide her, or because it desired the presence of all the parties to the Hinchliffe trust, or both, Laura could not be sure. A day had therefore been fixed for the meeting when Grace would be in London attending a conference; the day—a bitterly cold one towards the end of January— had arrived, and the various parties to the two transactions were now gathering amid the marble, the blue rubber, the polished walnut, of the bank.

“What a crowd—like a blasted funeral party,” grumbled Geoffrey, who, slender and erect, admirably groomed, with a London-tailored overcoat of dark blue face cloth and an Old Rugbeian tie, looked much the most metropolitan member of the group.

They were ushered towards the handsome panelled room of the manager of the executor and trustee department, and filed in sheepishly. Laura thought that Geoffrey's description of their party had hit the nail on the head, and smiled. Geoffrey caught her eye and gave her a charming smile in reply; then his glance fell on his father, and his agreeable face grew glum.

A small solid man, very dignified, with a wing collar and a bald head, rose behind an immense desk of light gleaming wood, and bowed to them politely, then seating himself with his hands clasped at his waist, he began in a grave clear tone to recount the
course of financial events in the Armistead and Hinchliffe families, and the pieces of business which now lay before them. These, he intoned, were two in number; first, the handing over to Miss Madeline Hinchliffe of her portion of the estate of her grandfather, Henry Hinchliffe, due to her on her majority, and, second, the purchase by Mr. Geoffrey Hinchliffe of Miss Madeline Hinchliffe's shares in the firm of Messrs. Armistead and Hinchliffe, forming part of that inheritance.

“Hinchliffe, Hinchliffe, it seems to be all Hinchliffe,” grumbled Laura to herself; she had never realised so clearly before that Geoffrey and Madeline were not, in fact, Armisteads.

Frederick and Madeline were now in turn invited to the desk, and appended their signatures to various documents in a solemn manner, a clerk having been summoned by bell to witness them. Laura watched father and daughter with interest, especially Madeline; it was some time since she had seen her niece, and she was much struck by the change in her. Madeline had, as Frederick had put it in Laura's own case, “bloomed”. Although the day was so bitter that Grace wore a fur-lined cape and Laura herself a heavy fur coat, Madeline was clad only in an ill-cut navy-blue suit of (thought Laura) rather shoddy cloth, open at the throat; she was also without hat, and her only concession to the cold was a pair of immense gloves of scarlet wool, the gauntlets of which reached almost to her elbows. She now, to free her hands for writing, stuffed the gloves into one pocket, whence they hung down confusedly. From the conventional point of view therefore she looked odd and shabby, and Laura observed Geoffrey's eyes resting on his sister's garments distastefully. But in herself Madeline looked far the warmest person in the room; her whole body glowed with a rich vitality. Her immensely thick fair hair hung in looped plaits at her ears; her round cheeks shone like apples, her fine eyes sparkled, a merry grin curved her large shapely mouth. Beside her Grace looked, suddenly, old and plain. Grace had not followed the changed fashion of hairdressing; she still
wore her hair short, and now her shingled nape looked bare and gaunt. Her complexion, once so clear and bright, now seemed as if veiled by a film of dust, and there was a sort of angularity about her too thin body, a prominence of joints. Her tortoise-shell spectacles had become habitual wear. Yes, Grace looked middle-aged. For herself, Laura, looking at Madeline's exuberant youth, became strongly aware that her hips were somewhat too plump, her dark hair had many threads of grey, and her once rosy cheeks retained a merely cosmetic brightness. Besides, she felt cold.