Dorothy Sayers - The Nine Tailors

At a quarter to eight the Rector left them to prepare for his early service. The beer in the jug had sunk to low tide and Wally Pratt, with an hour and a half to go, was beginning to look a little strained. Through the southern window a faint reflection of the morning light came, glimmering frail and blue.

At ten minutes past nine the Rector was back in the belfry, standing watch in hand with a beaming smile on his face.

At thirteen minutes past nine the treble came shrilling triumphantly into her last lead. Tin tan din dan bim bam bom bo.

Their long courses ended, the bells came faultlessly back into rounds, and the ringers stood.

“Magnificent, lads, magnificent!” cried Mr. Venables. “You’ve done it, and it couldn’t have been better done.”

“Eh!” admitted Mr. Lavender, “it was none so bad.” A slow toothless grin overspread his countenance. “Yes, we done it. How did it sound from down below, sir?”

“Fine,” said the Rector. “As firm and true as any ringing I have ever heard. Now you must all be wanting your breakfasts. It’s all ready for you at the Rectory. Well now, Wally, you can call yourself a real ringer now, can’t you? You came through it with very great credit — didn’t he, Hezekiah?”

“Fair to middlin’,” said Mr. Lavender, grudgingly. “But you takes too much out o’ yourself, Wally. You’ve no call to be gettin’ yourself all of a muck o’ sweat that way. Still, you ain’t made no mistakes, an’ that’s something, but I see you a mumblin’ and countin’ to yourself all the time. If I’ve telled yew once I’ve tolled yew a hundred times to keep your eye on the ropes and then you don’t need—”

“There, there!” said the Rector. “Never mind, Wally, you did very well indeed. Where’s Lord Peter — Oh! there you are. I’m sure we owe you a great deal. Not too fatigued, I hope?”

“No, no,” said Wimsey, extricating himself from the congratulatory handshakes of his companions. He felt, in fact, exhausted to dropping-point. He had not rung a long peal for years, and the effort of keeping alert for so many hours had produced an almost intolerable desire to tumble down in a corner and go to sleep. “I — ah — oh — I’m perfectly all right.”

He swayed as he walked and would have pitched headlong down the steep stair, but for the blacksmith’s sustaining arm.

“Breakfast,” said the Rector, much concerned, “breakfast is what we all want. Hot coffee. A very comforting thing. Dear me, yes, I for one am looking forward to it very much. Ha! the snow has ceased falling. Very beautiful, this white world — if only there were not a thaw to follow. This will mean a lot of water down the Thirty-foot, I expect. Are you sure you’re all right? Come along, then, come along! Why, here is my wife — come to chide my tardiness, I expect. We’re just coming, my dear — Why, Johnson, what is it?”

He addressed a young man in chauffeur’s livery who was standing at Mrs. Venables’ side. Mrs. Venables broke in before he could reply. “My dear Theodore — I have been saying, you can’t go just yet. You must have something to eat—”

Mr. Venables put the interruption aside with an unexpected, quiet authority.

“Agnes, my dear, permit me. Am I wanted, Johnson?”

“Sir Henry sent me to say, sir, that the mistress was very bad this morning, and they’re afraid she’s sinking, sir, and she is very anxious to receive the Sacrament if you could see your way—”

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed the Rector. “So ill as that? Sinking? I am terribly grieved to hear it. Of course, I will come immediately. I had no idea—”

“No more hadn’t any of us, sir. It’s this wicked influenza. I’m sure nobody ever thought yesterday—”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear! I hope it’s not as bad as you fear! But I mustn’t delay. You shall tell me about it as you go. I will be with you in one moment. Agnes, my dear, see that the men get their breakfast and explain to them why I cannot join them. Lord Peter, you must excuse me. I shall be with you later. Bless my heart! Lady Thorpe — what a scourge this influenza is!”

He trotted hurriedly back into the church. Mrs. Venables looked ready to cry, between anxiety and distress.

“Poor Theodore! After being up all night — of course he has to go, and we ought not to think about ourselves. Poor Sir Henry! An invalid himself! Such a bitter morning, and no breakfast! Johnson, please say to Miss Hilary how sorry I am and ask if there is anything I can do to help Mrs. Gates. The housekeeper, you know, Lord Peter — such a nice woman, and the cook away on holiday, it does seem so hard. Troubles never come singly. Dear me, you must be famished. Do come along and be looked after. You’ll be sure to send round, Johnson, if you want any help. Can Sir Henry’s nurse manage, I wonder? This is such an isolated place for getting any help. Theodore! are you sure you are well wrapped up?”

The Rector, who now rejoined them, carrying the Communion vessels in a wooden case, assured her that he was well protected. He was bundled into the waiting car by Johnson, and whirled away westwards towards the village. This untoward incident cast a certain gloom over the breakfast table, though Wimsey, who felt his sides clapping together like an empty portmanteau, was only too thankful to devour his eggs and bacon and coffee in peace. Eight pairs of jaws chumped steadily, while Mrs. Venables dispensed the provisions in a somewhat distracted way, interspersing her hospitable urgings with ejaculations of sympathy for the Thorpe family and anxiety for her husband’s well-being.

“Such a lot of trouble as the Thorpes have had, too, one way and another,” she remarked. “All that dreadful business about old Sir Charles, and the loss of the necklace, and that unfortunate girl and everything, though it was a merciful thing the man died, after killing a warder and all that, though it upset the whole family very much at the time. Hezekiah, how are you getting on? A bit more bacon? Mr. Donnington? Hinkins, pass Mr. Godfrey the cold ham. And of course, Sir Henry never has been strong since the War, poor man. Are you getting enough to eat down there, Wally? I do hope the Rector won’t be kept too long without his breakfast. Lord Peter, a little more coffee?”

Wimsey thanked her, and asked what, exactly, was the trouble about old Sir Charles and the necklace. “Oh, of course, you don’t know. So silly of me! Living in this solitary place, one imagines that one’s little local excitements are of world-wide importance. It’s rather a long story, and I shouldn’t have mentioned it at all”—here the good lady lowered her voice—“if William Thoday had been here. I’ll tell you after breakfast. Or ask Hinkins. He knows all about it. How is William Thoday this morning, I wonder? Has anybody heard?”

“He’s mortal bad, ma’am, I’m afeard,” replied Mr. Donnington, taking the question to himself. “I saw my missus after service, and she told me she’d heard from Joe Mullins as he was dreadfully delirious all night, and they couldn’t hardly keep him in his bed, on account of him wanting to get up and ring.”

“Dear, dear! It’s a good thing for Mary that they’ve got James at home.”

“So it is,” agreed Mr. Donnington. “A sailor’s wonderful handy about the house. Not but what his leave’s up in a day or two, but it’s to be hoped as they’ll be over the worst by then.”

Mrs. Venables clucked gently.

“Ah!” said Hezekiah. “’Tis a mortal bad thing, this influenza. And it do take the young and strong cruel often, and leave the old uns be. Seems like old fellers like me is too tough fer it.”

“I hope so, Hezekiah, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Venables. “There! Ten o’clock striking, and the Rector not back. Well, I suppose one couldn’t expect — why, there’s the car coming up the drive! Wally, would you please ring that bell. We want some fresh eggs and bacon for the Rector, Emily, and you’d better take the coffee out and hot it up for him.”