The gas-cylinder heater in the corner had taken the earlier coolness out of the room, and now, humming quietly, it began to devour the remaining fresh air. There were no windows that could be opened for ventilation, and because the walls were thick, few sounds came in from the world outside. Apart from the hourly chiming of the bell in the tower above, the discussions of the committee were all that could be heard.
At one o’clock the chairman announced that it was time for lunch, and the archdeacon immediately got up and headed for the door.
“Where are you going, Norman?” asked the chairman.
“Just a little errand I’ve got to run,” replied the archdeacon. “Won’t be long.”
“But we’re having a working lunch. There isn’t time for you to go wandering off anywhere.”
The archdeacon looked dismayed. “I haven’t any sandwiches left.”
“You can share mine,” I said.
“Oh,” said the archdeacon, returning to his place. “Thank you. You’re so very kind.”
The other members of the committee all had packed lunches wrapped in silver foil. Some also had apples, while some had individual fruit pies or cakes. My sandwiches were plain Cheddar cheese, but there were enough for two.
The archdeacon ate in silence as further conversation was exchanged around the table. Then, before the afternoon session began in earnest, he was permitted a brief stroll around the cathedral close, just to stretch his legs. I offered to accompany him and we went outside.
“I must say,” he confided, as the door swung shut behind us, “I’ve never attended such a long meeting before. Seems to be going on forever.”
“Well, there’s a lot to cover,” I said.
“Oh yes,” he replied. “Yes, I can see that. Not that I’m complaining, of course. It’s all very interesting.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The sky was dark. It had been raining. Our walk took us across wet flagstones and past the bench where we had sat that morning. We stopped to admire a hydrangea bush about to come into leaf. I glanced at my watch. We went back inside.
At two o’clock we took our seats again, and now some papers were circulated. The archdeacon played a helpful role here, passing the numbered pages around in their correct order, and placing his own in a neat pile before him. It seemed important to him that the corners of the pages should all be exactly lined up with each other, and he spent some considerable time ensuring this was so. After that, there was nothing else for him to do but sit and listen. If his opinion on some issue was asked, he would agree wholeheartedly with the previous speaker, but most of the time he was left to his own devices. Due to the gas-cylinder heater, the air in the room had now become thick and heavy, and the archdeacon was unable to prevent his eyes from occasionally closing. Every now and then I would notice his head nodding slowly forward as he drifted almost to the verge of sleep. Yet he never fully succumbed, and the tap of a pencil or a slight change in the speaker’s tone of voice would be enough to snap his eyes wide open again. In this way the afternoon ticked past and gradually gave way to evening. Finally the bell in the tower above struck six and the meeting came to a close.
As the chairman gathered up some papers he looked over the rim of his glasses at the yawning archdeacon.
“Now don’t forget, Norman. Bright and early tomorrow morning,” he said.
A puzzled look crossed the archdeacon’s face.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
“Of course,” replied the chairman.
“But I had no idea we were meeting tomorrow.”
The room had become very quiet.
“You’re not trying to wriggle out of this, are you?”
“Well, no,” said the archdeacon, in an uncertain voice. “But I thought it was only supposed to be twice a week. That’s how it’s always been. Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
The chairman rose from his seat and regarded the archdeacon. “Tuesdays and Thursdays are no longer enough,” he announced. “You’ll be expected to come in tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after that. There can be no backing out now. It was all agreed at the last meeting.”
“Oh dear,” said the archdeacon, bowing his head. “I can’t have been listening properly.”
The chairman looked at me and nodded slowly. I placed my arm around the archdeacon’s shoulder to offer some comfort.
“But that’s always been your trouble, hasn’t it, Norman?” I said. “You never listen. Not properly.”
4. Hark the Herald
The narrow stairway had a wooden banister on each side, and was carpeted in red. I came down five steps, turned at a small landing, and stopped to examine a barometer on the wall. There were five more steps below me. He was waiting at the bottom.
“Morning, sir,” he said. “Did you manage to get a good night’s sleep?”
“Oh, morning,” I replied. “Er…not quite, actually.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, sir. Any particular reason?”
“Well, it’s just that the merrymaking seemed to go on for a bit too long.”
“Merrymaking, sir?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of merrymaking?”
“I could hear all this laughing and singing. It kept me awake.”
“That’s very odd, sir,” he said. “None of the other guests have mentioned it.”
“Oh…haven’t they?”
“No, they haven’t. There’s been no one complaining about any ‘merrymaking’.”
“Oh no, I’m not complaining,” I said quickly. “It’s just that I thought it went on a bit too long, that’s all.”
His name was Mr Sedgefield. I’d met him late the previous evening when I first arrived, and he had put me in their ‘best single room’. Now he gave me a long, thoughtful look before speaking again.
“Well we don’t want your Christmas spoilt, sir, so we’ll have to look into the matter.”
“Thanks.”
He remained at the foot of the stairs gazing up at me, and for the first time I noticed he was wearing a kitchen apron emblazoned with a smiling pink pig. I felt unable to continue my descent until he’d moved out of the way, but he showed no inclination to do this so I turned my attention once again to the barometer.
“I see the pressure’s fallen overnight.”
“Yes,” he said. “Should make for some very interesting seas during the next day or two.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Might be nice to have a stroll along the clifftops later.”
“If only we’d known your plans earlier, sir. You could have gone with the others. A whole party of them left not half an hour ago.”
“What, without breakfast?”
“Oh no, we made sure they all had breakfast first.”
“Does that mean I’m too late?”
“Of course not,” he said, stepping back at last and indicating the dining room. “You might have missed the bacon and eggs, but we can always rustle up some porridge.”
I heard myself thanking him once again, and then continued my way downstairs. A large upright clock in the hall showed that it was five past nine. This didn’t strike me as an unduly late time to be coming down for breakfast in a guest house, but it was obvious that everyone else had already been and gone. All the tables in the dining room were bare apart from a small one in the corner by the window. This had cup, saucer and cutlery set for one.
Mr Sedgefield ushered me towards it and I sat down just as another man appeared in the doorway and said, “Sugar, honey or treacle?”
“Pardon?” I asked.
“In your porridge.”
“Oh, sorry. Er…treacle, please, if you’ve got it.”
This second man also wore a kitchen apron, but his depicted a laughing cow rather than a smiling pig.