The Bell

And there are one or two little business details. I won’t keep you long.”

Michael felt relieved by this exordium. He had been afraid of being in some way hauled over the coals: and this was not the moment at which he wanted an intimate talk with the Abbess. In his present state he felt that any pressure from her would tip him over into a morass of profitless self-accusation. Taking courage from her business- like tone he said, “I think everything’s in train for tonight and tomorrow. Margaret Strafford has been doing marvels.”

“Bless her!” said the Abbess. “We’re all so excited, we can hardly wait for tomorrow morning. I believe the Bishop is arriving this afternoon? I hope I shall catch a glimpse of him before he goes. He’s such a busy man. So good of him to give us his time.”

“I hope he won’t think we’re a lot of ineffectual muddlers,” said Michael. “I’m afraid the procession tomorrow may be a bit wild and impromptu. There’s plenty of goodwill, but not much spit and polish!”

“So much the better!” said the Abbess. “When I was a girl I often saw religious processions in Italy and they were usually quite chaotic, even the grand ones. But it seemed to make them all the more spontaneous and alive. I’m sure the Bishop doesn’t want a drill display. No, I’ve no doubt tomorrow will be splendid. What I really wanted to ask you about was the financial question.”

“We’ve drafted the appeal,” said Michael, “and we’ve made a list of possible Friends of Imber. I’d be very grateful if you’d cast your eye over both documents. I thought, subject to your views, we’d send the appeal out about a fortnight from now. We can cyclostyle it ourselves at the Court.”

“That’s right,” said the Abbess. “I think, for a cause of this kind, not a printed appeal. After all, it’s something quite domestic, isn’t it? There are times when money calls to money, but this isn’t one of them. We’re only writing to our friends. I’d like to see what you’ve done, if you’d send it in today by Sister Ursula. We can probably add some names to the list. I wonder what sort of publicity our bell will get? That might help in some quarters, mightn’t it? I see no harm in the world being reminded, very occasionally, that we exist!”

Michael smiled. “I thought of that too,” he said.“That’s why I don’t want the appeal delayed. We won’t have any journalists present of course. Not that any have shown signs of wanting to turn up. But I’ve prepared a hand- out for the local press, and a shorter one for the national press. I talked the wording over with Mother Clare. And I’ve asked Peter to take some photographs which we might send along as well.”

“Well done,” said the Abbess. “I just can’t think how you find the time to do all the things you do do. I hope you aren’t overworking. You look rather pale.”

“I’m in excellent health,” said Michael. “There’ll be a let-up in a week or two anyway. I’m sure the others are working far harder than I am. James and Margaret simply never stop.”

“I’m worried about your young friend at the Lodge,”said the Abbess.

Michael breathed in deeply. That was it after all. He could feel a hot blush spreading up into his face. He kept his eyes away from the Abbess, fixing them on one of the bars beyond her head. “Yes?” he said.

“I know it’s very difficult,” said the Abbess, “and of course I know very little about it, but I feel he’s not exactly getting what he came to Imber to get.”

“You may be right,” said Michael tonelessly, waiting for the direct attack.

“I expect it’s largely his own fault,” said the Abbess, “but he is dreadfully out of things, isn’t he? And will be more so when Catherine is in with us “

Michael realized with a shock of relief that the Abbess was speaking of Nick, not of Toby. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were sharp. “I know,” he said. “It’s been very much on my mind. I ought to have done more about it. I’ll see to it that something is done. I’ll put someone, perhaps James, quite seriously on his tail. We’ll move him up to the house and just make him join in somehow. But as you say, it’s not easy. He doesn’t want to work. I’m afraid he’s only putting in a little time here. He’ll soon be off to London.”

“He’s a mauvais sujet to be sure,” said the Abbess, “and that’s all the more reason for us to take trouble. But a man like that does not come to a place like this for fun. Of course he came to be near Catherine. But the fact that he wants to be near her now, and the fact that he wants to stay in the community and not in the village, are at least suggestive. We cannot be certain that there is not some genuine grain of hope for better things. And if I may say so, the person who ought to be, as you express it, on his tail, is not James, but you.”

Michael sustained her gaze which was quizzical rather than accusing. “I find him difficult to deal with,” he said.“But I’ll think carefully about it.” He felt an increased determination not to be frank with the Abbess.

The Abbess studied his face. “I confess to you”, she said, “that I feel worried and I’m not quite sure why. I feel worried about him and I feel worried about you. I wonder if there’s anything you’d like to tell me?”

Michael held on to his chair. From behind her the spiritual force of the place seemed to blow upon him like a gale. It was ironical, he reflected, that when he had wanted to tell the Abbess all about it she had not let him and now when she wanted to know he would not tell her. The fact was, he wanted her advice but not her absolution; and he could not ask the one without seeming to ask the other. Not that the Abbess would be tolerant. But he shied away almost with disgust from the idea of revealing to her his pitiable state of confusion. The story of Nick she almost certainly knew already in outline; what she wanted was to understand his present state of mind, and that would inevitably involve the story of Toby. If he began to tell the whole tale he knew that he could not tell it, now, without an absurd degree of emotion and without indulging in that particular brand of self-pity which he had been used to mistake for penitence. Silence was cleaner, better, in such a case. Looking down he saw, laid along the ledge of the grille, quite near to him like a deliberate temptation, infinitely wrinkled and pale, her hand, which had been covered with the tears of better men than himself. If he were to reach out to that hand he was lost. He averted his eyes and said, “I don’t think so.”

The Abbess went on looking at him for a little while, while he, feeling shrivelled and small and dry, looked at the corner of the room behind her. She said, “You are most constantly in our prayers. And your friend too. I know how much you grieve over those who are under your care: those you try to help and fail, those you cannot help. Have faith in God and remember that He will in His own way and in His own time complete what we so poorly attempt. Often we do not achieve for others the good that we intend; but we achieve something, something that goes on from our effort. Good is an overflow. Where we generously and sincerely intend it, we are engaged in a work of creation which may be mysterious even to ourselves – and because it is mysterious we may be afraid of it. But this should not make us draw back. God can always show us, if we will, a higher and a better way; and we can only learn to love by loving. Remember that all our failures are ultimately failures in love. Imperfect love must not be condemned and rejected, but made perfect. The way is always forward, never back.”

Michael, facing her now, nodded slightly. He could not trust himself to utter any words after this speech. She turned her hand over, opening the palm towards him. He took it, feeling her cool dry grip.

“Well, I’ve kept you too long, dear child,” said the Abbess. “I’d like to see you again in a little while, when this hurly-burly’s done. Try not to overwork, won’t you?”

Michael bent over her hand. Closing his eyes he kissed it and pressed it to his cheek. Then he raised a calm face to her. He felt obscurely that by his silence he had won a spiritual victory. He felt that he merited her approval. They both rose, and as Michael bowed to her again she closed the gauze panel and was gone.

He stood a while in the silent room looking at the bars of the grille and at the blank shut door of the panel behind them. Then he closed the panel on his side. How well she knew his heart. But her exhortations seemed to him a marvel rather than a practical inspiration. He was too tarnished an instrument to do the work that needed doing. Love. He shook his head. Perhaps only those who had given up the world had the right to use that word.

CHAPTER 20

THE wind was blowing. Large piles of bulbous golden cloud passed quickly along the sky, obscuring and revealing the sun at short intervals. It was the sort of day which is gay in March but tiring in September. Dora was struggling with a white ribbon.

A sleepless night together with anxieties about the, it now seemed to her, colossal enterprise on which she had so rashly embarked had reduced Dora to a distracted state. The way in which, as she put it to herself, Toby had jumped upon her in the barn would at any other time have delighted her. The memory of his passionate childish kisses, still clear in her mind, moved her to tenderness, and she realized that she had not been unaware of the