Dorothy Sayers - The Nine Tailors

“T’chk, t’chk,” said Mrs. Venables.

“It appears,” went on the Rector, “that he felt unwell this morning, but insisted — most unwisely, poor man — on driving in to Walbeach on some business or other. Foolish fellow! I thought he looked seedy when he came in to see me last night. Most fortunately, George Ashton met him in the town and saw how bad he was and insisted on coming back with him. Poor Thoday must have taken a violent chill in all this bitter cold. He was quite collapsed when they got home and they had to put him to bed instantly, and now he is in a high fever and worrying all the time because he cannot get to the church to-night. I told his brother to make every effort to calm his mind, but I fear it will be difficult. He is so enthusiastic, and the thought that he has been incapacitated at this crisis seems to be preying on his mind.”

“Dear, dear,” said Mrs. Venables, “but I expect Dr. Baines will give him something to quiet him down.”

“I hope so, sincerely. It is a disaster, of course, but it is distressing that he should take it so to heart. Well, well. What can’t be cured must be endured. This is our last hope gone. We shall be reduced to ringing minors.”

“Is this man one of your ringers, then, padre?”

“Unfortunately, he is, and there is no one now to take his place. Our grand scheme will have to be abandoned. Even if I were to take a bell myself, I could not possibly ring for nine hours. I am not getting younger, and besides, I have an Early Service at 8 o’clock, in addition to the New Year service which will not release me till after midnight. Ah, well! Man proposes and God disposes — unless”—the Rector turned suddenly and looked at his guest—“you were speaking just now with a good deal of feeling about Treble Bob — you are not, yourself, by any chance, a ringer?”

“Well,” said Wimsey, “I used at one time to pull quite a pretty rope. But whether, at this time of day—”

“Treble Bob?” inquired the Rector, eagerly.

“Treble Bob, certainly. But it’s some time since—”

It will come back to you,” cried the Rector, feverishly. “It will come back. Half an hour with the handbells—”

“My dear!” said Mrs. Venables.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” cried the Rector. “Is it not really providential? That just at this moment we should be sent a guest who is actually a ringer and accustomed to ringing Kent Treble Bob?” He rang for the maid. “Hinkins must go round at once and call the lads together for a practice ring on the handbells. My dear, I am afraid we shall have to monopolise the dining-room, if you don’t mind. Emily, tell Hinkins that I have here a gentleman who can ring the peal with us and I want him to go round immediately—”

“One moment, Emily. Theodore, is it quite fair to ask Lord Peter Wimsey, after a motor accident, and at the end of a tiring day, to stay up ringing bells from midnight to nine o’clock? A short peal, perhaps, if he really does not mind, but even so, are we not demanding rather a lot of his good nature?”

The Rector’s mouth drooped like the mouth of a hurt child, and Wimsey hastened to his support.

“Not in the least, Mrs. Venables. Nothing would please me more than to ring bells all day and all night. I am not tired at all. I really don’t need rest. I would far rather ring bells. The only thing that worries me is whether I shall be able to get through the peal without making stupid mistakes.”

“Of course you will, of course you will,” said the Rector, hurriedly. “But as my wife says — really, I am afraid I am being very thoughtless. Nine hours is too much. We ought to confine ourselves to five thousand changes or—”

“Not a bit of it,” said Wimsey. “Nine hours or nothing. I insist upon it. Probably, once you have heard my efforts, it will be nothing.”

“Pooh! nonsense!” cried the Rector. “Emily, tell Hinkins to get the ringers together here by — shall we say half-past six? I think they can all be here by then, except possibly Pratt, who lives up at Tupper’s End, but I can make the eighth myself. How delightful this is! Positively, I cannot get over the amazing coincidence of your arrival. It shows the wonderful way in which Heaven provides even for our pleasures, if they be innocent. I hope. Lord Peter, you will not mind if I make a little reference to it in my sermon to-night? At least, it will hardly be a sermon — only a few thoughts appropriate to the New Year and its opportunities. May I ask where you usually ring?”

“Nowhere, nowadays; but when I was a boy I used to ring at Duke’s Denver, and when I go home at Christmas and so on, I occasionally lay hand to a rope even now.”

“Duke’s Denver? Of course — St. John ad-Portam-Latinam — a beautiful little church; I know it quite well. But I think you will admit that our bells are finer. Well, now, if you will excuse me, I will just run and put the dining-room in readiness for our practice.”

He bustled away.

“It is very good of you to indulge my husband’s hobby,” said Mrs. Venables; “this occasion has meant so much to him, and he has had so many disappointments about it. But it seems dreadful to offer you hospitality and then keep you hard at work all night.”

Wimsey again assured her that the pleasure was entirely his.

“I shall insist on your getting a few hours’ rest at least,” was all Mrs. Venables could say. “Will you come up now and see your room? You will like a wash and brush-up at any rate. We will have supper at 7.30, if we can get my husband to release you by then, and after that, you really must go and lie down for a nap. I have put you in here — I see your man has everything ready for you.”

“Well, Bunter,” said Wimsey, when Mrs. Venables had departed, leaving him to make himself presentable by the inadequate light of a small oil-lamp and a candle, “that looks a nice bed — but I am not fated to sleep in it.”

“So I understand from the young woman, my lord.”

“It’s a pity you can’t relieve me at the rope, Bunter.”

“I assure your lordship that for the first time in my existence I regret that I have made no practical study of campanology.”

“I am always so delighted to find that there are things you cannot do. Did you ever try?”

“Once only, my lord, and on that occasion an accident was only narrowly averted. Owing to my unfortunate lack of manual dexterity I was very nearly hanged in the rope, my lord.”

“That’s enough about hanging,” said Wimsey, peevishly. “We’re not detecting now, and I don’t want to talk shop.”

“Certainly not, my lord. Does your lordship desire to be shaved?”

“Yes — let’s start the New Year with a clean face.”

“Very good, my lord.”

* * *

Descending, clean and shaven, to the dining-room, Wimsey found the table moved aside and eight chairs set in a circle. On seven of the chairs sat seven men, varying in age from a gnarled old gnome with a long beard to an embarrassed youth with his hair plastered into a cowlick; in the centre, the Rector stood twittering like an amiable magician.

“Ah! there you are! Splendid! excellent! Now, lads, this is Lord Peter Wimsey, who has been providentially sent to assist us out of our difficulty. He tells me he is a little out of practice, so I am sure you will not mind putting in a little time to enable him to get his hand in again. Now I must introduce you all. Lord Peter, this is Hezekiah Lavender, who has pulled the Tenor for sixty years and means to pull it for twenty years longer, don’t you, Hezekiah?”

The little gnarled man grinned toothlessly and extended a knobby hand.

“Proud to meet you, my lord. Yes, I’ve pulled old Tailor Paul a mort o’ times now. Her and me’s well acquainted, and I means to go on a-pulling of her till she rings the nine tailors for me, that I do.”