“Ah!” said the voice of Mr. Lavender, “you’re right there, Bob Russell. When I was a lad, there wasn’t none o’ this myster’ousness about. Everything was straightforward an’ proper. But ever since eddication come in, it’s been nothing but puzzlement, and fillin’ up forms and ’ospital papers and sustificates and such, before you can even get as much as your Lord George pension.”
“That may be, Hezekiah,” replied the sexton, “but to my mind it all started with that business of Jeff Deacon at the Red House, bringin’ strangers into the place. First thing as ’appened arter that was the War, and since then we been all topsy-turvy, like.”
“As to the War,” said Mr. Russell, “I daresay we’d a had that anyhow, Jeff Deacon or no Jeff Deacon. But in a general way you’re quite right. He was a bad ’un, was Jeff, though even now, poor Mary won’t hear a word again him.”
“That’s the way with women,” said Mr. Lavender, sourly. “The wusser a man is, the more they dotes on him. Too soft-spoken he were, to my liking, were that Deacon. I don’t trust these London folk, if you’ll excuse me, sir.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Wimsey.
“Why, Hezekiah,” remonstrated Mr. Russell, “you “ought a sight o’Jeff Deacon yourself at one time. Said he, “the quickest chap at learning Kent Treble Bob as you ever had to do with “
“That’s a different thing,” retorted the old gentleman. “Quick he was, there ain’t no denyin’, and he pulled a very good rope. But quickness in the ’ed don’t mean a good ’eart. There’s many evil men is as quick as monkeys. Didn’t the good Lord say as much? The children o’ this world is wiser in their generation than the children o’ light. He commended the unjust steward, no doubt, but he give the fellow the sack just the same, none the more for that.”
“Ah, well,” said the sexton, “Jeff Deacon ’ull be put in his proper place where he’ve gone, and the same with this poor chap, whoever he be. We ain’t got nothing to meddle wi’ that, only to do our dooties in the station whereto we are called. That’s Scripture, that is, and so I says, Give him a proper funeral, for we don’t know when it may be our turn next.”
“That’s very true. Harry; very true, that is. It may be you or me to be ’it on the ’ed one o’ these days — though who can be going about to do such things beats me. Now then. Potty, what do you want here?”
“Nothing, nothing, Bob. Only to see where you was a-putting of the dead ’un. Ah! he were reglar smashed up, he were, weren’t he? Beat all to a pulp, eh? Whack! whack! I a-liked to a-seen that, I would.”
“Clear off,” said the undertaker. “I’m disgusted wi’ you. Potty. Fair disgusted. Don’t you get talkin’ that away, or I’ll tell Rector on you, and he won’t let you blow the organ no more. See? What you mean by it?”
“Nothing, Bob, nothing.”
“That’s a good thing.”
Mr. Russell watched the imbecile uneasily as he shuffled away, his big head rolling and his hands swinging loosely at his sides. “He’s getting very queer, is Potty,” said he. “I ’ope as he’s safe. I reckon he did ought to be shut up.”
“No, no,” said the sexton. “Potty’s safe enough. I don’t ’old with these ’ere asylums.”
At this point Mrs. Venables joined them to take possession other guest.
“Poor little Hilary Thorpe wasn’t in church,” she observed. “Such a nice child. I should have liked you to see her. But she’s quite prostrated, poor child, so Mrs. Gates tells me. And you know, the village people do stare so at anybody who’s in trouble, and they will want to talk and condole. They mean well, but it’s a terrible ordeal. I’ll take you along to the Red House one day. Come along now — I’m sure you want your dinner.”
THE THIRD PART
LORD PETER IS TAKEN FROM LEAD AND MAKES THIRD PLACE
The bell that the treble takes from lead makes thirds place and returns to lead again; while the bells in 4, 5 and 6, 7 dodge when the place is made.
RULES FOR RINGING GRANDSIRE TRIPLES.
Lord Peter watched the coffin borne up the road. “Here comes my problem,” said he to himself, “going to earth on the shoulders of six stout fellows. Finally, this time, I suppose, and I don’t seem to have got very much out of it. What a gathering of the local worthies — and how we are all enjoying it! Except dear old Venables — he’s honestly distressed…. This everlasting tolling makes your bones move in your body…. Tailor Paul… Tailor Paul… two mortal tons of bawling bronze…. ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life…’ that’s all rather sobering. This chap’s first resurrection was ghastly enough — let’s hope there won’t be another this side of Doomsday…. Silence that dreadful bell!… Tailor Paul… though even that might happen, if Lubbock finds anything funny…. ‘Though after my skin worms destroy this body….’ How queer that fellow Thoday looks… something wrong there, I shouldn’t wonder…. Tailor Paul… ‘We brought nothing into. this world and it is certain we can carry nothing out…’ except our secrets, old Patriarch; we take those with us all right.”
The deep shadows of the porch swallowed up priest, corpse and bearers, and Wimsey, following with Mrs. Venables, felt how strange it was that he and she should follow that strange corpse as sole and unexpected mourners.
“And people may say what they like,” thought Wimsey again “about the services of the Church of England, but there was genius in the choosing of these psalms. ‘That I may be certified how long I have to live’—what a terrifying prayer! Lord, let me never be certified of anything of the kind. ‘A stranger with Thee and a sojourner’—that’s a fact God knows…. ‘Thou hast set our misdeeds before Thee’… very likely, and why should I, Peter Wimsey, busy myself with digging them up? I haven’t got so very much to boast about myself, if it comes to that…. Oh, well!… ‘world without end, Amen.’ Now the lesson. I suppose we sit down for this — I’m not very well up in the book of the words…. Yes…. This is the place where the friends and relations usually begin to cry — but there’s nobody here to do it — not a friend, nor a — How do I know that? I don’t know it. Where’s the man or woman who would have recognised that face, if the murderer hadn’t taken all those pains to disfigure it?… That red-haired kid must be Hilary Thorpe… decent of her to come… interesting type… I can see her making a bit of a splash in five years’ time…. ‘I have fought with beasts at Ephesus’… what on earth has that got to do with it?… ‘raised a spiritual body’—what does old Donne say? ‘God knows in what part of the world every grain of every man’s dust lies…. He whispers, he hisses, he beckons for the bodies of his saints’… do all these people believe that? Do I? Does anybody? We all take it pretty placidly, don’t we? ‘In a flash, at a trumpet crash, this Jack, joke, poor potsherd, patch, matchwood, immortal diamond is — immortal diamond.’ Did the old boys who made that amazing roof believe? Or did they just make those wide wings and adoring hands for fun, because they liked the pattern? At any rate, they made them look as though they believed something, and that’s where they have us beat. What next? Oh, yes, out again to the grave, of course. Hymn 373… there must be some touch of imagination in the good Mr. Russell to have suggested this, though he looks as he thought of nothing but having tinned salmon to his tea…. ‘Man that is born of a woman…’ not very much further to go now; we’re coming into the straight… ‘Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts….’ I knew it, I knew it! Will Thoday’s going to faint…. No, he’s got hold of himself again. I shall have to have a word with that gentleman before long… ‘for any pains of death, to fall from Thee.’ Damn it! that goes home. Why? Mere splendour of rhythm, I expect — there are plenty of worse pains…. ‘Our dear brother here departed’… brother… we’re all dear when we’re dead, even if beforehand somebody hated us enough to tie us up and… Great Scott, yes! What about that rope?”