The churchyard was dark and rather spooky, overhung with gigantic yews and studded with headstones, half of them weathered to shapeless boulders. Rhododendrons had taken over much of it, while the straggly grass in the remainder badly needed cutting. Someone had made a start on that, and then abandoned the lawn mower in its tracks. There seemed to be no lovers dallying amid the shrubbery or skulking in the shadows, but the vicar's sudden conversion to gardening would have blighted the romantic atmosphere of the evening.
The church itself was small and extremely old, or at least the west front was, because the door was set in a rounded arch. “Norman, I see!” That was about the limit of Smedley's architectural expertise.
But not Stringer's. “More likely Saxon. That transept is younger, Early Gothic. Middle thirteenth century, probably. The spire can't be older than fourteenth."
"And the railway station beyond the far wall? Late Victorian?"
"That's probably the vicarage."
Gam! “Or the county jail."
"Ah, yes. By the way, Captain, I congratulate you on the way you spirited your friend out of Staffles. Adroitly done!” The surgeon's hearty tone was belied by his fishy eyes, which were friendly as barracudas'. “You did not limp on Wednesday."
"I scratched my leg going over the wall."
"We wondered which of you that was. Have you had it seen to?"
"I plan to have it cured by magic in another world."
Stringer snorted. He walked on in silence for a long minute, then sighed. “I think I need a holiday."
Yes, the war was tough, wasn't it?
Four of them had reached the steps. Alice and Exeter still loitered by the gate, staring into each other's eyes and whispering earnestly. He must still be trying to talk her into coming. Why could he not understand that the lady hankered after what came wrapped in that dressing gown?
"Hurry, please!” Miss Pimm called. “Reverend, we have had no chance for a meal and some of us have a long drive ahead of us yet. Would there be any shops still open in the village to buy something we could eat on the road?"
The little man looked alarmed at being required to make such a decision. “Not shops. I have some ham ... or you could inquire at the Bull. Mrs. Daventry might run up some sandwiches for you."
Smedley suppressed images of a buxom lady climbing a mountain of sandwiches. He must be windier than he had realized. He took a long draw on his fag.
"You could pick me up back here in half an hour or so,” Miss Pimm informed Stringer with a meaningful look.
He frowned at this cavalier dismissal, but obviously he had learned not to argue with his new secretary. He offered his left hand to Smedley. “Thank you for a most interesting few days, Captain. Do drop in if you're ever in my neighborhood, won't you?"
"And you likewise,” Smedley said.
Alice and Edward arrived hand in hand, very tense about the eyes.
"I will send you a postcard as soon as I, ah, return,” he told her.
"No, you won't!” Miss Pimm snapped. “That would be insanely unwise. I shall see she is informed of your whereabouts. For goodness sake, kiss her and go inside! Thank you for your help, Reverend."
"Oh, very welcome, I'm sure, Mrs.—er ... If you need me, I shall be cutting the grass out here."
Better than trying to cut the grass in there, Smedley thought. Lord, he was getting hysterical! He pecked a kiss on Alice's cheek, nodded politely at the vicar, who jumped and returned a nervous smile.
He stamped out his cigarette. Then he followed Miss Pimm up the steps and into the cold gloom of the church. Edward came trotting after them and closed the heavy door with a slam. It echoed like a knell of doom.
52
SMEDLEY TOSSED HIS SHIRT INTO THE CHEST. THERE WAS A STRANGE assortment of clothes in there already, male and female both, plus a couple of small drums. He sat on a chair to remove his shoes and socks. The floor was icy.
Damn it all! No matter what she had said, he would not remove his pants! Not yet.
He limped out into the nave. He could hear the rattle of the vicar's lawn mower outside, very faint and distant. With a drum slung around her neck, Miss Pimm was poised on one foot, left arm raised and head thrown back. “Ogtha!” she proclaimed, and brought her hand down to the drum, and raising the other. “Ispal!” She was teaching Exeter the gestures for the key that would take him to New Zealand. He was watching intently, showing no sign of discomfort at being stark naked.
Writhing with embarrassment, Smedley slipped by them. He wandered along the aisle, studying the pictures in the stained glass windows and the nosegays of color they shed. The arches at the east end were rounded, then they became pointed, Gothic. Either the original church had been extended, or a new generation of builders had taken over at that point. The oaken pews displayed prayer books and hymnals, laid out at even spacing, ready for the next day's service. The pulpit was modern and grandiose, perhaps a result of the Service's generous contributions, and too big for the church.
This was a very little church.
But it was a church, a recognizable C. of E. place of worship, and its like could be found all over the world. The sun never set on the Anglican Communion. It was all the things he had been brought up to revere, had taken for granted and respected all his life. His family went to church every Sunday. They almost never discussed religion. It was just there, part of a man, like breathing. Dancing around in the nude was not in the cards. It was uncivilized. Gentlemen did not do such things anywhere, least of all in a church.
"Umbathon!” said Miss Pimm in the background.
This was not going to work. This was a gigantic confidence trick. This was insanity.
Ombay fala, inkuthin...
He had not wept in days. Was he past that, now? Had he sunk to a whole new level of madness, with delusions of flying to other worlds and people leaping from bicycles into cars without actually moving through space? Was he, despite all the evidence of his senses, bound up in a straitjacket inside some padded cell?
He could feel his right hand again. It didn't exactly hurt, but he could feel it. He looked down at the bandage disbelievingly and tried to flex invisible fingers. He was in front of the altar rail already. This was the center of virtuality, she had said. Bunkum!
He shivered.
He turned away from the altar. Fresh yellow roses and chrysanthemums in brass vases. A fellow should not go mucking around in a church in a state of undress. Not proper! What in heaven would the guv'nor say? Or the mater, if she were alive—she would be truly shocked. Or the aunts, the monstrous regiment of aunts?
The other two were coming up the aisle. “Captain Smedley!” Miss Pimm's harsh voice took on a notable resonance in this old stone cave. “I asked you to remove your clothes."
"After the dress rehearsal."
"No, Captain—now! You will not achieve the correct state of mind if you are distracted by trivia. It will take you time to adjust. Off with them!"
He glared at her, then turned his back on her, pulling off his braces. But when he had everything off, he did not know what to do next. He could hardly leave bags and underwear for the congregation to find in the morning. He glanced over his shoulder. Miss Pimm was watching him with her arms folded. He could imagine her toe tapping.