Dorothy Sayers - The Nine Tailors

They ran the car up to the village, the Rector leaning out perilously and shouting warnings to everyone they met. At the post-office they called up the other Fenchurches and then communicated with the keeper of the Old Bank Sluice. His report was not encouraging.

“Very sorry, sir, but we can’t help ourselves. If we don’t let the water through there’ll be the best part of four mile o’ the bank washed away. We’ve got six gangs a-working on it now, but they can’t do a lot with all these thousands o’ tons o’ water coming down. And there’s more to come, so they say.”

The Rector made a gesture of despair, and turned to the postmistress.

“You’d best get down to the church, Mrs. West. You know what to do. Documents and valuables in the tower, personal belongings in the nave. Animals in the churchyard. Cats, rabbits and guinea-pigs in baskets, please —we can’t have then running round loose. Ah! there go the alarm-bells. Good! I am more alarmed for the remote farms than for the village. Now, Lord Peter, we must go and keep order as best we can at the church.”

The village was already a scene of confusion. Furniture was being stacked on handcarts, pigs were being driven down the street, squealing; hens, squawking and terrified, were being huddled into crates. At the door of the schoolhouse Miss Snoot was peering agitatedly out.

“When ought we to go, Mr. Venables?”

“Not yet, not yet — let the people move their heavy things first. I will send you a message when the time comes, and then you will get the children together and march them down in an orderly way. You can rely on me. But keep them cheerful — reassure them and don’t on any account let them go home. They are far safer here. Oh, Miss Thorpe! Miss Thorpe! I see you have heard the news.”

“Yes, Mr. Venables. Can we do anything?”

“My dear, you are the very person! Could you and Miss Gates see that the school-children are kept amused and happy, and give them tea later on if necessary? The urns are in the parish-room. Just a moment, I must speak to Mr. Hensman. How are we off for stores, Mr. Hensman?”

“Pretty well stocked, sir,” replied the grocer. “We’re getting ready to move as you suggested, sir.”

“That’s fine,” said the Rector. “You know where to go. The refreshment room will be in the Lady chapel. Have you the key of the parish-room for the boards and trestles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. Get a tackle rigged over the church well for your drinking-water, and be sure and remember to boil it first. Or use the Rectory pump, if it is spared to us. Now, Lord Peter, back to the church.”

Mrs. Venables had already taken charge in the church. Assisted by Emily and some of the women of the parish, she was busily roping off areas — so many pews for the school children, so many other pews near the stoves for the sick and aged, the area beneath the tower for furniture, a large placard on the parclose screen REFRESHMENTS. Mr. Gotobed and his son, staggering under buckets of coke, were lighting the stoves. In the churchyard, Jack Godfrey and a couple of other farmers were marking out cattle-pens and erecting shelters among the tombs. Just over the wall which separated the consecrated ground from the bell-field, a squad of volunteer diggers were digging out a handsome set of sanitary trenches. “Good Lord, sir,” said Wimsey, impressed, “anybody would think you’d done this all your life.”

“I have devoted much prayer and thought to the situation in the last few weeks,” said Mr. Venables. “But my wife is the real manager. She has a marvellous head for organisation. Hinkins! right up to the bell-chamber with that plate — it’ll be out of the way there. Alf! Alf Donnington! How about that beer?”

“Coming along, sir.”

“Splendid — into the Lady chapel, please. You’re bringing some of it bottled, I hope. It’ll take two days for the casks to settle.”

“That’s all right, sir. Tabbitt and me are seeing to that.”

The Rector nodded, and dodging past some of Mr. Hensman’s contingent, who were staggering in with cases of groceries, he went out to the gates, where he encountered P.C. Priest, stolidly directing the traffic.

“We’re having all the cars parked along the wall, sir.”

“That’s right. And we shall want volunteers with cars to run out to outlying places and bring in the women and sick people. Will you see to that?”

“Very good, sir.”

“Lord Peter, will you act as our Mercury between here and Van Leyden’s Sluice? Keep us posted as to what is happening.”

“Right you are,” said Wimsey. “I hope, by the way, that Bunter — where is Bunter?”

“Here, my lord. I was about to suggest that I might lend some assistance with the commissariat, if not required elsewhere.”

“Do, Bunter, do,” said the Rector.

“I understand, my lord, that no immediate trouble is expected at the Rectory, and I was about to suggest that, with the kind help of the butcher, sir, a sufficiency of hot soup might be prepared in the wash-house copper, and brought over in the wheeled watering tub — after the utensil has been adequately scalded, of course. And if there were such a thing as a paraffin-oil stove anywhere—”

“By all means — but be careful with the paraffin. We do not want to escape the water to fall into the fire.”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“You can get paraffin from Wilderspin. Better send some more ringers up to the tower. Let them pull the bells as they like and fire them at intervals. Oh, here are the Chief Constable and Superintendent Blundell — how good of them to come over. We are expecting a little trouble here, Colonel.”

“Just so, just so. I see you are handling the situation admirably. I fear a lot of valuable property will be destroyed. Would you like any police sent over?”

“Better patrol the roads between the Fenchurches,” suggested Blundell. “St. Peter is greatly alarmed — they’re afraid for the bridges. We are arranging a service of ferryboats. They lie even lower than you do and are, I fear, not so well prepared as you, sir.”

“We can offer them shelter here,” said the Rector. “The church will hold nearly a thousand at a pinch, but they must bring what food they can. And their bedding, of course. Mrs. Venables is arranging it all. Men’s sleeping-quarters on the cantoris side, women and children on the decani side. And we can put the sick and aged people in the Rectory in greater comfort, if all goes well. St. Stephen will be safe enough, I imagine, but if not, we must do our best for them too. And, dear me! We shall rely on you. Superintendent, to send us victuals by boat as soon as it can be arranged. The roads will be clear between Leamholt and the Thirty-foot, and the supplies can be brought from there by water.”

“I’ll organise a service,” said Mr. Blundell.

“If the railway embankment goes, you will have to see to St. Stephen as well. Good-day, Mrs. Giddings, good-day to you! We are having quite an adventure, are we not? So glad to see you here in good time. Well, Mrs. Leach! So here you are! How’s baby? Enjoying himself, I expect. You’ll find Mrs. Venables in the church. Jack! Jackie Holliday! You must put that kitten in a basket. Run and ask Joe Hinkins to find you one. Ah, Mary! I hear your husband is doing fine work down at the sluice. We must see that he doesn’t come to any harm. Yes, my dear, what is it? I am just coming.”

For three hours Wimsey worked among the fugitives — fetching and carrying, cheering and exhorting, helping to stall cattle and making himself as useful as he could. At length he remembered his duty as a messenger and extricating his car from the crowd made his way east along the Thirty-foot. It was growing dark, and the road was thronged with carts and cattle, hurrying to the safety of Church Hill. Pigs and cattle impeded his progress.