‘I SUPPOSE THEY REALLY have come,’ said Harriet I doubtfully. ‘Emily is usually quite accurate in her information and she had this from the vicarage Florrie, who ought to know if anyone does. She told her that two gentlemen had arrived to stay at the vicarage last night, but of course we have no proof that it is Dr. Parnell and Mr. Mold. It might be two clergymen coming to see the Archdeacon about something.’
‘Yes, I suppose it might be,’ said Belinda, ‘but somehow clergymen don’t come to see him about things, do they? I don’t know why.’
‘They came by night,’ declared Harriet, ‘like Nicodemus. Isn’t Mr. Mold called Nicodemus?’
‘Oh, no, Harriet, his name is Nathaniel.’
‘Nathaniel Mold,’ said Harriet, trying it. ‘Nat Mold. I think that sounds rather common, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, we shall just call him Mr. Mold,’ said Belinda, ‘so I don’t think we need worry. I believe Nicholas always calls him Nathaniel. He hates abbreviations.’ She got up from the table and went to the window. ‘It seems quite a nice morning after all that heavy rain,’ she said. ‘I think I shall go out into the village a little later on. I expect Nicholas will be taking a stroll and I am so looking forward to seeing him. Perhaps we shall meet.’
‘I won’t come with you,’ said Harriet nobly. ‘After all, he is really your friend, not mine, and I expect you will have a lot to talk about.’ Privately, Harriet thought him rather a boring little man, but she hoped for great things from Mr. Mold, who was reputed to be something of a ‘one for the ladies’. This piece of information had also been gleaned from the vicarage Florrie, but Harriet had thought it wiser not to tell her sister. She wondered how Florrie, a plain, lumpish girl, had managed to find it out in so short a time.
Belinda was fortunate enough to come face to face with Dr. Parnell before she had gone very far, and as they were just outside the Old Refectory, a tea shop run by gentlewomen, it seemed a good idea to go inside and have a cup of coffee. Dear Nicholas looked rather cold and peevish, she thought, wondering if he had had an adequate breakfast at the vicarage.
‘I don’t suppose you are really in need of anything,’ she said, as they sat down, ‘but morning coffee is a pleasant, idle habit, I always think.’
‘Good morning, Miss Bede.’ Mrs. Wilton, a pleasant-faced woman with rather prominent teeth, and wearing a smock patterned with a herbaceous border, stood before them. She stared at Dr. Parnell with frank interest and then at Belinda. Nicholas Parnell was small and bearded and did not somehow look the kind of person one would marry, Belinda realized. All the same, she felt proud of his distinction and could not resist introducing him to Mrs. Wilton, who was, after all, a canon’s widow.
‘Oh, the Library,’ said Mrs. Wilton in a reverent tone. ‘My husband used to read there when he was an undergraduate. I’ve heard so much about it.’
‘Of course we have central heating there now,’ said Dr. Parnell. ‘There have been great improvements in the last ten years or so. We also have a Ladies’ Cloakroom in the main building now,’ he added, his voice rising to a clear, ringing tone. ‘That is a very great convenience.’ He chuckled into his beard as Mrs. Wilton went away to fetch their coffee. ‘I do not approve of this hushed and reverent attitude towards our great Library. After all, it is a place for human beings, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Belinda doubtfully, for she was remembering some of the strange people who used to work there in her undergraduate days, many of whom could hardly have been called human beings if one were to judge by their looks.
‘These are excellent cakes,’ said Dr. Parnell, eating heartily, ‘although I had such a late breakfast that I can hardly do them justice. I must say I was surprised that dear Henry was not up before me. I had quite expected that there would be a Daily Celebration. Now that I come to think of it, I distinctly remember seeing ‘D’ against the church in Mowbray’s Guide. I hope I shall not have to write and correct them.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Belinda, always anxious to defend the Archdeacon. ‘There is always a Daily Celebration but I expect Mr. Donne—he’s the curate—would be taking it. Probably Henry thought it would be more courteous to breakfast with you on your first morning here.’
‘Ah, Belinda, I see you have not changed. We did not breakfast until half-past nine, so your argument falls to pieces. I left poor Henry in the churchyard, as I came out just now. He said the tombs put him in mind of his own mortality.’
‘And did he quote Young’s Night Thoughts to you?’ asked Belinda, suddenly disloyal.
‘Indeed, he did. I left him because he was so tiresomely melancholy. And then he has been trying to make me subscribe to some fund for the church roof,’ said Dr. Parnell.
… but perforated sore,
And drill’d in holes the solid oak is found
By worms voracious, eating through and through.…
he quoted solemnly, so that Belinda could hardly help smiling, although she knew it was very naughty of her. As they walked out of the Old Refectory towards the church she tried to remember what it was that Father Plowman had told her about the death-watch beetle and its habits, as if to make amends for her lapse. But before she had got very far, they had reached the churchyard wall and Belinda could see that the Archdeacon was sitting in his favourite seat under the yew trees. She felt a faint irritation to see him sitting there in the middle of the morning when so many people, women mostly, were going about their household duties and shopping. She supposed that men would be working too, but somehow their work seemed less important and exhausting.
‘What is he doing in the churchyard, I wonder?’ she asked Dr. Parnell, but she did not really expect him to be able to tell her. The Archdeacon’s affected eighteenth-century melancholy failed to charm her this morning.
‘I think he’s meditating on his sermon for Sunday morning,’ said Dr. Parnell. ‘I understand that it is to be something rather out of the ordinary.’
When the Archdeacon saw them he smiled benevolently, but at the same time condescendingly. It was as if he were letting them see how fortunate they were to be able to stroll in the village on a fine October morning, while he was condemned to sit among the tombs thinking out his sermon.
‘Isn’t that seat rather damp?’ inquired Belinda sharply. ‘We had some very heavy rain during the night, and you know how easily you catch cold.’ She felt that as Agatha was so many miles away she was justified in adopting this almost wifely tone towards him.
He looked up irritably; Belinda had spoilt the romance of his environment. It was just the kind of remark that Agatha would make and, now that he came to think of it, he supposed the seat was rather damp. He felt a distinct chill striking up through his bones and began to wonder if he were perhaps catching cold. He would never have noticed it if Belinda had not put the idea into his head. He rose rather ungraciously and came towards them.
‘It seems impossible to find peace and quiet anywhere,’ he remarked. ‘I had settled down in my study after breakfast when the girl came in with the vacuum cleaner and drove me into the churchyard. Now I am interrupted again.’
Belinda smiled at this picture. ‘I’m sorry if we have disturbed you,’ she said. ‘I think we should really have walked past if you had not got up and come to us.’
‘That would have been most unfriendly,’ said the Archdeacon unreasonably. ‘Besides, it is not every day that we have visitors. We should really make some effort to entertain them.’
‘Belinda has been doing her best,’ said Dr. Parnell. ‘She has given me an excellent cup of coffee and introduced me to a charming lady who showed great reverence when the Library was mentioned. It is really rather gratifying. I should be delighted to show her round,’ he added. ‘She would find every convenience. The next thing will be to have some kind of a restaurant where readers can take luncheon or tea together. Do you know,’—he tapped his walking stick on the ground—‘I have had to have notices printed requesting readers not to eat in the Library? One would hardly have thought it possible.’
During this time an idea had been taking shape in Belinda’s mind, and it was one which she knew her sister would approve. The talk about eating had made her think how nice it would be if they had a little supper party on Sunday evening. So, with unusual boldness, she issued the invitation, though she realized that her own rather timid way did not compare with Harriet’s careless joviality. ‘If you have no other engagement on Sunday evening,’ she began, ‘I was wondering if perhaps … I mean, would you care to come to supper at our house after Evensong? And Mr. Mold too, of course.’
‘That would be delightful,’ said Dr. Parnell. ‘One feels somehow that Sunday evening should be spent away from a vicarage if at all possible.’
‘Sunday is always a heavy day for me,’ said the Archdeacon ‘and this Sunday will be particularly so. I intend to preach myself both morning and evening. These people are so sunk in lethargy that they do not know their own wickedness.’
Belinda looked a little startled. ‘I know,’ she said inadequately. ‘I mean, one is.’ All the same it was uncomfortable to be reminded of one’s sinfulness in the middle of a bright morning.
‘Sloth and lethargy,’ said Dr. Parnell, with relish. ‘But I take it you will accept Belinda’s invitation, I know Nathaniel will want to.’
‘I shall come if I possibly can,’ said the Archdeacon, passing his hand over his eyes with a gesture of weariness, ‘but it may be that I shall be completely exhausted by the evening.’
‘But you will need a meal,’ said Dr. Parnell, ‘and I expect Belinda will want to know the numbers. It makes some difference with the catering, the arrangement of the table and that kind of thing.’
‘Ah, yes, I do not understand these mysteries,’ said the Archdeacon. ‘I think you can take it that I shall come,’ he added, turning to Belinda with almost a smile.
‘You would hardly believe what I found Henry doing when we arrived last night,’ said Dr. Parnell, in an easy, conversational tone.
Belinda, who was of a credulous nature, refrained from making a guess.
‘Playing Patience on the floor of his study,’ he went on. ‘A complicated variety called Double Emperor.’
‘Patience is a very intelligent relaxation,’ said Belinda, her usual loyalty coming to the rescue. ‘You don’t realize how hard Henry works. I mean,’ she added obscurely, ‘there are things to do in a country parish that people don’t know about unless they live in one. Your work in the Library has its fixed hours, but a clergyman is at everybody’s beck and call.’ Of course, she reflected sadly, people would never dare to trouble the Archdeacon with their worries; they would go hurrying along Jubilee Terrace to Mr. Donne. Still, the smile that Henry gave her made her realize that being a little untruthful sometimes had its compensations.
The church clock struck half-past twelve.
‘Ah, lunch-time,’ said the Archdeacon, and the party broke up to return to their respective houses.
When Belinda got home she found Harriet in a state of great excitement.
‘Oh, Belinda,’ she said, in a loud voice, ‘he really is charming.’
As Emily was at this moment bringing in the meat, Belinda waited until they were settled at the table before she made any further inquiries.
‘Harriet, I wish you wouldn’t talk in front of Emily,’ she began, but her own curiosity prevented her from saying any more. ‘Who’s charming?’ she asked.
‘Why, Mr. Mold,’ declared Harriet with enthusiasm. ‘I saw him this morning.’ Should she tell Belinda that she had seen him coming out of the Crownwheel and Pinion? she wondered. Better not, perhaps, and yet it would spoil the story to leave out such a piece of information.
‘But, Harriet, how could you have seen him?’ asked Belinda rather impatiently. ‘I understood from Nicholas that he was tired and was spending the morning in bed.’
‘Well, he must have got up because I saw him in the street,’ said Harriet defiantly. She wished Belinda would not always behave quite so much like an elder sister. She decided that she would not tell her story in full. ‘I spoke to him,’ she declared.
Belinda was incredulous. ‘But, Harriet, you don’t know him,’ she said.
‘Oh, of course he didn’t realize who I was,’ she explained. ‘I met him coming out of the Crownwheel and Pinion, and he asked me the way to the Post Office; and as I happened to be going along to buy some stamps, we walked there together.’ She paused, triumphant.
Belinda put down her knife and fork in astonishment. The Crownwheel and Pinion in the morning! Surely Harriet had been mistaken? It sounded as if she had been ‘picked up’ by some commercial traveller. Most distasteful.
‘I don’t think it can have been Mr. Mold,’ she declared, looking very worried. ‘After all, I’ve only met him once many years ago and you’ve never met him. I don’t think it can have been him,’ she repeated, with a puzzled frown on her face.
‘It was Mr. Mold,’ said Harriet patiently. ‘He said he was a stranger here, and that he had arrived last night and was staying at the vicarage.’
‘Oh, well, if he said that …’ Belinda had to admit that it probably had been Mr. Mold. But for a deputy librarian to go to the Crownwheel and Pinion in the morning … surely it was unthinkable! And yet perhaps it was not so surprising, when one came to consider it, for after all Mr. Mold was not quite … He had started his career in the Library as a boy fetching books for readers, and although one didn’t want to be snobbish and his ability had undoubtedly brought him to a distinguished position, it was certainly true that lack of breeding showed itself. Belinda could not help wishing that it had not been Harriet who had seen Mr. Mold. She would be sure to tell people and the whole situation was so embarrassing. She wondered if Nicholas knew, because really he was to blame for bringing such a man to the village.
‘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.’