“We shall hope to put up a new tablet after tonight,” said the Rector’s voice in Wimsey’s ear.
“I only hope I may do nothing to prevent it,” said Wimsey. “I see you have the old regulations for your ringers. Ah! ‘Keep stroak of time and goe not out, Or elles you forfeit out of doubt For every fault a Jugg of beer.’ It doesn’t say how big a jug, but there is something about the double g that suggests size and potency. ‘If a bell you overthrow ’Twill cost you sixpence ere you goe.’ That’s cheap, considering the damage it does. On the other hand, sixpence for every swear or curse is rather on the dear side, I think, don’t you, padre? Where’s this bell of mine?”
“Here, my lord.” Jack Godfrey had unhitched the rope of the second bell, and let down to its full length the portion of rope below the sallie.
“When you’ve got her raised,” he said, “we’ll fix them tuckings proper. Unless you’d like me to raise her for you?”
“Not on your life,” said Wimsey. “It’s a poor ringer that can’t raise his own bell.” He grasped the rope and pulled it gently downwards, gathering the slack in his left hand. Softly, tremulously, high overhead in the tower, Sabaoth began to speak, and her sisters after her as the ringers stood to their ropes. “Tin-tin-tin,” cried Gaude in her silvery treble; “tan-tan,” answered Sabaoth; “din-din-din,” “dan-dan-dan,” said John and Jericho, climbing to their places; “bim, bam, bim, bam,” Jubilee and Dimity followed; “bom,” said Batty Thomas; and Tailor Paul, majestically lifting up her great bronze mouth, bellowed “bo, bo, bo,” as the ropes hauled upon the wheels.
Wimsey brought his bell competently up and set her at backstroke while the tuckings were finally adjusted, after which, at the Rector’s suggestion, a few rounds were rung to let him “get the feel of her.”
“You can leave your bells up, boys,” said Mr. Hezekiah Lavender, graciously, when this last rehearsal was concluded, “but don’t you go a-taking that for what they calls a preceedent, Wally Pratt. And listen here, all on you; don’t make no mistake. You comes here, sharp at the quarter to eleven, see — and you rings same as usual for service, and after Rector has finished his sermon, you comes up here again quiet and decent and takes your places. Then, while they’re a-singin’ their ’ymn, I rings the nine tailors and the ’alf-minute passing-strokes for Old Year, see. Then you takes your ropes in hand and waits for the clock to strike. When she’s finished striking, I says ‘Go!’ and mind as you’re ready to go. And when Rector’s done down below, he’s promised to come up and give a ’and from time to time to any man as needs a rest, and I’m sure it’s very kind of him. And I take leave to suppose, Alt Donnington, as you won’t forget the usual.”
“Not me,” said Mr. Donnington. “Well, so long, boys.”
The lantern led the way from the ringing-chamber, and a great shuffling of feet followed it.
“And now,” said the Rector, “and now. Lord Peter, you will like to come and see — Dear me!” he ejaculated, as they groped upon the dark spiral stair, “where in the world is Jack Godfrey? Jack! He has gone on down with the others. Ah, well, poor fellow, no doubt he wants to get home to his supper. We must not be selfish. Unfortunately he has the key of the bell-chamber, and without it we cannot conduct our researches. However, you will see much better to-morrow. Yes, Joe, yes — we are coming. Do be careful of these stairs — they are very much worn, especially on the inside. Here we are, safe and sound. Excellent! Now, before we go. Lord Peter, I should so much like to show you—”
The clock in the tower chimed the three-quarters. “Bless my heart!” cried the Rector, conscience-stricken, “and dinner was to be at half-past! My wife — we must wait till to-night. You will get a general idea of the majesty and beauty of our church if you attend the service, though there are many most interesting details that a visitor is almost bound to miss if they are not pointed out to him, The font, for instance — Jack! bring the lantern here a moment — there is one point about our font which is most uncommon, and I should like to show it to you. Jack!”
But Jack, unaccountably deaf, was jingling the church keys in the porch, and the Rector, sighing a little, accepted defeat.
“I fear it is true,” he said, as he trotted down the path, “that I am inclined to lose count of time.”
“Perhaps,” replied Wimsey politely, “the being continually in and about this church brings eternity too close.”
“Very true,” said the Rector, “very true — though there are mementoes enough to mark the passage of time. Remind me to-morrow to show you the tomb of Nathaniel Perkins — one of our local worthies and a great sportsman. He refereed once for the great Tom Sayers, and was a notable figure at all the ‘mills’ for miles around, and when he died — Here we are at home. I will tell you later about Nathaniel Perkins. Well, my dear, we’re back at last! Not so very late after all. Come along, come along. You must make a good dinner, Lord Peter, to fit you for your exertions. What have we here? Stewed oxtail? Excellent! Most sustaining! I trust, Lord Peter, you can eat stewed oxtail. For what we are about to receive…”
THE SECOND COURSE
THE BELLS IN THEIR COURSES
When mirth and pleasure is on the wing we ring;
At the departure of a soul we toll.
Ringers’ Rules at Southill, Bedfordshire.
After dinner, Mrs. Venables resolutely asserted her authority. She sent Lord Peter up to his room, regardless of the Rector, who was helplessly hunting through a set of untidy bookshelves in search of the Rev. Christopher Woollcott’s History of the Bells of Fenchurch St. Paul.
“I can’t imagine what has become of it,” said the Rector: “I fear I’m sadly unmethodical. But perhaps you would like to look at this — a trifling contribution of my own to campanological lore. I know, my dear, I know — I must not detain Lord Peter — it is thoughtless of me.”
“You must get some rest yourself, Theodore.”
“Yes, yes, my dear. In a moment. I was only—”
Wimsey saw that the one way to quiet the Rector was to desert him without compunction. He retired, accordingly, and was captured at the head of the stairs by Bunter, who tucked him firmly up beneath the eiderdown with a hot-water bottle and shut the door upon him.