The Feast (7 page)

‘Making eyes at her father, I should say.’

‘Good People come and pray,’ cried the bells.

The Pendizack party climbed a stile into the
churchyard
. Each in turn was outlined against the sky for a moment, at the top of the stone wall, and then
disappeared
from view. When Anna and Bruce reached the building they were all inside. The Siddal boys had gone
round to the vestry, for Duff and Robin sang in the choir and Gerry was serving at the Mass. The rest found seats in the great empty nave. As is customary among
churchgoers
they sat rather to the back, leaving the foremost rows of pews vacant. An old man dealt out prayer books to summer visitors who had not got any. The chimes ceased. There was a great tramping as the eight
bell-ringers
came down from the tower; in that small parish everyone did double duty, and six of them were needed in the choir.

Anna and Bruce took seats in a pew just behind the Wraxtons. A faint smell of decaying wood mingled with a reek of incense. The great church was rapidly falling to pieces, and poor Father Bott could not even collect enough money to repair the pews.

‘A bit niffy,’ commented Anna, loudly.

Every child in the congregation turned its head to see who had said this.

‘Who on earth is that supposed to be?’ she continued, pointing to a banner of St. Sody, used in processions.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ muttered Bruce.

‘It’s rather good,’ she declared. ‘A bit epicene … I expect one of the artists in Porthmerryn designed it for them.’

At this point she became aware of the inflamed
countenance
of Canon Wraxton, who had turned round and was glaring at her.

‘Will you kindly make less noise?’ he barked.

Anna gaped at him. She disliked parsons and was habitually rude to them. But it was not often that they were rude to her.

‘Well …’ she said at last, ‘you quite startled me.’

‘I mean it,’ thundered the Canon. ‘If you can’t behave decently I shall have you turned out.’

‘You’re making a terrible noise yourself,’ retorted Anna.

‘Hush!’ whispered Bruce, scandalized in spite of himself.

‘Why should I hush? This isn’t his church. Or if it is, I can well understand why it’s so empty.’

The Canon was now surveying Bruce.

‘If you’ve any decency,’ he said, ‘you’ll go and induce your mother to go with you.’

Nothing could have silenced Anna more effectively. She could, for some seconds, think of no retort. And the appearance of Gerry in the chancel, carrying a taper, created a diversion. Candle after candle was lit. The Canon, looking like a bull in a field, turned to survey this fresh enormity. Anna giggled but did not venture to speak again. The congregation had left off staring before the cross preceding the choir appeared, and Father Bott, surrounded by servers and acolytes, emerged from the vestry.

Yes, thought Sir Henry Gifford, as he got to his feet for the Offertory hymn. But where do I come in? I’m a sinner, I suppose. We all are. But which of this little list is mine, and what do I do about it? Number 4. I know this. A nice easy tune. I really don’t think I’m proud. I know I’m not envious.

I’m not slothful. I work very hard. And I’ve plenty of practice in keeping my temper.

Nor am I particularly covetous, lecherous or
gluttonous
.

If I were covetous I’d go to the Channel Isles and dodge income tax. But I’m standing out about that. And if I do, if she wears me down, it won’t be because of pride or envy or any of the list. It’ll be sheer
exhaustion. Here comes the plate. Good Lord! Michael’s going to drop it! No … all safe. Hebe needn’t have pushed him like that. She’s unbearably bossy. Do I hand it back or pass it to the Coves? A pound seems a lot, but I have no change. Must get some to-morrow. My sin is weakness. And I believe that goes for most of us here. We don’t do evil, but we consent … we let ourselves be pushed about.

It was years before I noticed the comma there. Thought it was
Room
to
deny
ourselves
a
road
… a sort of
contortionist’s
feat. Yes, sheer spinelessness. Very few entirely evil people in the world really; but we let them run us. Eirene … do I really think she’s evil?

Yes, I do. Sometimes I do.

The Giffords had expected the service to end after the Offertory. But it went on. Everybody knelt down, and Father Bott prayed for the Church Militant. Then, turning to the congregation, he muttered an Invocation unfamiliar to many of them. All the little Giffords began to rustle the pages of their prayer books. So did Beatrix, Blanche and Maud, who were eager to do everything the Giffords did, until their mother took her face out of her black gloved hands and scowled at them. Whereat the three Coves became immobile, their foreheads pressed against the ledge of the pew in front, and the tender infantile backs of their necks exposed to the world.

‘It’s the Communion Service,’ whispered Sir Henry.

Hebe looked shocked and protested:

‘We oughtn’t to be here. We aren’t confirmed.’

‘I know. But you must just stay and kneel quietly.’

He felt more than a little embarrassed himself, since
it was years since he had heard this Service. He was not much of a church-goer, but he considered that
children
should be brought up with a religious background and if no one else was available to take them he
accompanied
them himself. He, too, had merely expected Matins, at which a decorous demeanour would be all that he need offer. He tried to remember the details of the coming ritual, and then he tried to compose his wandering thoughts to some mood of sincere gravity, as he did at funerals. For it would be indecent, he felt, to dwell upon trivial subjects at a moment which was, to his neighbours, of the highest importance.

But at funerals he could always think about death, which dignifies life and abolishes triviality. While here no suitable topic occurred to him. His reflections during the hymn had been too detached, too flippant. He wanted to
feel,
if he could. He stared at the top of the pew in front of him and tried to clear his mind of the petty traffic which daily swarmed through it, as a street might be cleared for a procession. No procession arrived.

I must think about people I love, he decided, and then could not think of any. The children … He glanced at the little creatures on either side of him. Caroline had her head buried in her arms. Luke was following the Service in his Prayer Book. Michael was twisting a button off his jacket. Hebe knelt erect, staring avidly at Father Bott. They meant very little to him. They were Eirene’s affair. Only one of them was his, and she was the lease attractive. For five years, during the war, they had been in America. And even at home he seldom saw them. Were they all right? Were they happy? Were they growing up as they ought?

These uneasy speculations were not quite suitable. He must postpone them to a less sacred moment. He would do better to think of his own childhood, of people whom he had loved and who were gone now, of remembered places and happy moments. He looked across the years and sought a way back.

Evangeline’s sick feelings were beginning to subside. Nothing dreadful was going to happen. That little
disturbance
before the Service started had been nothing: those people really deserved it. The thing she most dreaded had not befallen, in spite of the incense and the genuflections and the candles. God had prevented it.

Her father took, it was true, no part in the Service. He sat with folded arms, looking on with an expression of grim amusement, as though he had been told in advance of some well-merited retribution which was going to overtake Father Bott. And that was bad enough, for people stared when he did not stand up for the Greed. But she was used to staring people, and if he would only keep quiet she would believe that God did really listen to prayer. She would show her gratitude. She would give up her sin, although nobody could really call it a sin because it did not hurt anyone. Perhaps it was a waste of time to grind up glass with a nail file, but surely nothing worse? Because she would never use it, she would never do anything wicked with it. And that little pill box full of powdered glass was such a relief to possess. They said it could never be detected in a person’s food. If she were a wicked woman it could free her from this martyrdom. It was a very powerful little treasure, that box. She kissed it sometimes. But if God kept the Canon quiet, then God was really there and she would placate Him by throwing the box into the sea. For He would know all about that box.

When I am confirmed, thought Caroline, I shall be religious. The Bishop will put his hand on my head and the Holy Ghost will go all through me like an electric shock, and I shall be religious. But Hebe will be wishing she was the Bishop.

‘It is very meet, right, and our bounden du-uty …’ intoned Father Bott.

The Lord’s Supper! thought Beatrix Cove. I am at the Lord’s Supper with Hebe and all the people. Her heart swelled with ecstasy. She lifted her head and looked at the dazzling candle light, half expecting to see a long table with all the disciples round it and the Divine Presence in the midst. But she only saw Father Bott and Gerry Siddal. It had been so nice when young Mr. Siddal waved the incense at all the people and bowed, and all the people bowed back politely. These gracious courtesies were the very essence of a Feast. She looked round to see if Blanche was as happy as she was. But Blanche, white and rigid, had tears on her cheeks, not of bliss but of pain. Kneeling had brought on the agonizing ache in her back, and she was entirely concentrated upon enduring it. But she caught her sister’s eye and gave a faint smile.

‘Evermore praising Thee and sa-a-aying …’

Duff and Robin fixed their eyes upon their parts in the Sanctus and drew deep breaths.

‘Holy! Holy! Holy!’ sang the choir of St. Sody’s.

I became dumb, prayed Christina Paley, and opened not rny mouth. For it was Thy doing…. Hear my prayer Oh Lord, and let Thine ear consider my calling. Hold not Thy peace at my tears. For I am a stranger with Thee and a sojourner, as all my fathers were. Oh spare me a little that I may recover my strength … before I go hence and be no more seen.

Father Bott was speaking in a whisper and when he paused three soft, clear notes from a bell filled up the silence, just before the incredible horror fell upon them. A kind of bellow rose up from the nave. A great voice was howling:

‘I denounce this mummery!’

The shock was so great that everyone recoiled, as though struck. Still upon their knees they turned to see the Canon coming out of his pew.

‘This is a Protestant Church …’ he began.

He was interrupted by an excruciating scream from his daughter. Evangeline’s nerves had snapped. She was not only shrieking, she was banging her Prayer Book on the ledge of the pew.

‘No!’ she yelled. ‘No … no … no! I can’t bear it. I can’t … ahoo! Ahoo! Ahoo!’

This attack from the rear seemed to confuse the Canon. He had meant to march up to the altar and attack Father Bott. But he now turned round and ordered the girl to be quiet. She only screamed louder. He seized her arm and tried to drag her up from her knees whereat she laughed insanely and hit him with her Prayer Book.