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.”
Emily took out the jug, but returned almost immediately. “Oh, if you please, ma’am, the Rector says, will you all excuse him, please, and he’ll take his breakfast in the study. And oh! if you please, ma’am, poor Lady Thorpe’s gone, ma’am, and if Mr. Lavender’s finished, he’s please to go over to the church at once and ring the passing bell.”
“Gone!” cried Mrs. Venables. “Why, what a terrible thing!”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Johnson says it was dreadful sudden. The Rector hadn’t hardly left her room, ma’am, when it was all over, and they don’t know how they’re to tell Sir Henry.”
Mr. Lavender pushed his chair back and quavered to his ancient feet.
“In the midst of life,” he said solemnly, “we are in death. Terrible true that is, to be sure. If so be as you’ll kindly excuse me, ma’am, I’ll be leaving you now, and thank you kindly. Good mornin’ to you all. That were a fine peal as we rung, none the more for that, and now I’ll be gettin’ to work on old Tailor Paul again.”
He shuffled sturdily out, and within five minutes they heard the deep and melancholy voice of the bell ringing, first the six tailors for a woman and then the quick strokes which announce the age of the dead. Wimsey counted them up to thirty-seven. Then they ceased, and were followed by the slow tolling of single strokes at half-minute intervals. In the dining-room, the silence was only broken by the shy sound of hearty feeders trying to finish their meal inconspicuously.
The party broke up quietly. Mr. Wilderspin drew Wimsey to one side and explained that he had sent round to Mr. Ashton for a couple of farm-horses and a stout rope, and hoped to get the car out of the ditch in a very short time, and would then see what was needed in the way of repairs. If his lordship cared to step along to the smithy in an hour or so they could go into consultation about the matter. His (Mr. Wilderspin’s) son George was a great hand with motors having had considerable experience with farm engines, not to mention his own motor-bike. Mrs. Venables retired into the study to see that her husband had everything he wanted and to administer such consolation as she might for the calamity that had befallen the parish. Wimsey, knowing that his presence at Frog’s Bridge could not help and would probably only hinder the break-down team, begged his hostess not to trouble about him, and wandered out into the garden. At the back of the house, he discovered Joe Hinkins, polishing the Rector’s aged car. Joe accepted a cigarette, passed a few remarks about the ringing of the peal, and thence slid into conversation about the Thorpe family.