Some Tame Gazelle (10 page)

‘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

Through sleep and darkness safely brought,

Restored to life, and power and thought.

Not that she ever thought of herself as having much
power
, but she was certainly alive and might be considered capable of a small amount of thought. She could at least thank God for that. The curate was joining heartily in the singing and Belinda hoped he was saving enough voice to read the lessons.

Obviously the Archdeacon was out to impress his visitors, for the
Te Deum
and the
Benedictus
were sung to elaborate, unfamiliar settings, which the congregation could not attempt and which seemed rather beyond the choir at some points. The Archdeacon himself read the first lesson and the curate the second. The Archdeacon also intoned many of the prayers and his voice went up and down in the oddest way. Of course the voice should go up or down, Belinda couldn’t quite remember which, at the end of a line, but there seemed to be something wrong somewhere and so much disturbance was caused among the choir boys that Mr Gibson, the organist, had to hurry out of his place to control them.

Belinda thought that as the Archdeacon was going to preach, he was perhaps doing too much of the service himself, and what with the curious intoning and the curate’s church voice, which was like nothing so much as a bleating sheep’s, it was difficult for Belinda to keep from smiling. And even she was forced to admit to herself that they were getting a little too much for their money, when she realized that they were going to have the Litany.

Just before he went to the Litany desk, the Archdeacon glanced round the congregation with what appeared to be a look of malicious amusement on his face. At least, that was how it must have seemed to most people, but perhaps it could hardly have been amusement. Indulgence for his sinful flock was more likely and certainly more fitting. Everyone knelt down rather angrily. They had had the Litany last Sunday and the Archdeacon never made any attempt to shorten it. As he could not sing, he made up for it by making his voice heard as much as possible in other ways.

Belinda was trying hard to concentrate on her sins, but somehow the atmosphere was not very suitable this morning and she was at last forced to give it up. Staring at the Archdeacon’s back, she reflected that he was still very handsome. Perhaps he would read aloud to them when he came to supper tonight, though, as she would be the only person who wanted to listen, it might be rather difficult to arrange. Harriet could play the piano and the curate might be asked to sing, but the main entertainment of the evening would be the conversation. Dear Nicholas was so delightfully witty and Mr Mold would no doubt be able to tell them many interesting things about the Library. By the time the Archdeacon had ascended the pulpit steps, Belinda had forgotten all about the special sermon, and settled herself comfortably in her pew, as did the rest of the congregation, having just sung with great vigour that the world was very evil.

The text was given out, quite a usual one from the Revelation.
And I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away.

Harriet looked at her watch. She supposed they would have to endure the Archdeacon for at least twenty minutes, possibly twenty-five minutes or even half an hour. She sighed and tried to listen to what he was saying. It was some consolation that he was preaching a sermon of his own composition instead of one of those tedious literary things that Belinda said he read so magnificently.

‘We are apt to accept this vision of the new heaven and the new earth with too much complacency,’ he declared.

Oh, well, thought Harriet, clergymen are always saying things like that.

‘But do we realize all that must happen before we can hope to share in this bliss? If indeed, we are found worthy. I say again, do we realize? Have we any idea at all?’ The Archdeacon paused impressively and peered at his congregation; a harmless enough collection of people – old Mrs Prior and her daughter, Miss Jenner, Miss Beard and Miss Smiley in front with the children, ever watchful to frown on giggles or fidgets – the Bank Manager, who sometimes read the lessons – the Misses Bede and the guests from the vicarage – Count Bianco – Miss Liversidge and Miss Aspinall – of course they did not realize but he was going to tell them. ‘The
Judgment Day
,’ he almost shouted, so loudly that Harriet had to take out her handkerchief to stifle her inappropriate amusement, and old Mrs Prior let out a kind of moan. ‘That day may be soon,’ he went on, ‘it may even be
tomorrow
.’

The congregation shifted awkwardly in their seats. It was uncomfortable to be reminded that the Judgment Day might be tomorrow.

‘
Dies Irae
,’ he continued, lingering on the words with enjoyment. Belinda saw Edith Liversidge purse her lips disapprovingly at this Romish expression. ‘Day of Wrath,’ he translated. ‘And what a terrible day that will be!’

The congregation, still rather uneasy and disturbed, reminded themselves that of course such a thing couldn’t
really
happen. Why, scientists told us that it would take millions of years for the sun to move sufficiently far away from the earth for life to become extinct. At least it was perhaps not exactly that, but something very like it. They knew enough to realize that the Archdeacon was being ridiculous and that the Judgment Day could not possibly be tomorrow. When the first uncomfortable shock had passed they were able to laugh at themselves. How could they have been so silly as to be alarmed!

But even as they were thinking thus, the relentless voice from the pulpit was pouring scorn on those scientists who thought they knew how the world had begun and how it would end. How
could
they know? These matters were incomprehensible mysteries known to God alone. The Judgment Day was as likely to be tomorrow as at any time in the far distant future. The world was indeed very evil, as they had just been singing in that fine hymn translated from the Latin, the times were waxing late. All through our literature poets had been haunted by the idea of the Last Day and what it would be like…

The congregation suddenly relaxed. It was just going to be one of the Archdeacon’s usual sermons after all. There had been no need for those uncomfortable fears. They settled down again, now completely reassured, and prepared themselves for a long string of quotations, joined together by a few explanations from the Archdeacon.

He began at the seventeenth century. Belinda reflected that if he had gone back any further, the sermon would have assumed Elizabethan proportions. As it was, it promised to be longer than usual. She listened admiringly. The Archdeacon was quoting Thomas Flatman’s lines written in 1659, to show how poets of the latter half of that century had imagined that the Judgment Day was near.

’Tis not far off; methinks I see

Among the stars some dimmer be;

Some tremble as their lamps did fear

A neighbouring extinguisher
…

And curiously enough one of the oldest inhabitants of the parish had remarked to him only the other day that the stars did not seem to be as bright as they were when he was a boy. It was very significant. The Archdeacon liked the sound of his own voice and so did Belinda, and she was delighted to hear him read about thirty more lines of Flatman’s poem.

Those of the congregation who were still listening – Harriet’s attention had long since wandered – smiled complacently. That had been in 1659, they thought, and nothing had come of this man’s noticing that some of the stars were dimmer. Why even the Archdeacon himself was forced to admit it! 1659. 1660. What had happened in 1660? His hearers resented this history lesson. The Restoration. Everyone knew that. But here was the Archdeacon trying to tell them that the Restoration was itself a kind of Judgment Day.