Read Online A Murder of Quality by John le Carré - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John le Carré
Tags: Espionage
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talked it over after the – death. We decided that Stella Rode had formed some unsavoury association before coming to Carne, which had recently been revived … possibly against her will. Some violent ruffian – an old admirer – who would resent the improvement in her station.’
‘How badly was the postman bitten by the dog?’ Smiley asked.
D’Arcy turned to him again.
‘That is the extraordinary thing. That is the very crux of the story, my dear fellow: the postman hadn’t been bitten at all. Dorothy inquired. Her whole story was an absolute string of lies from beginning to end.’
They rose from the table and made their way to Fielding’s study, where Miss Truebody had put the coffee. The conversation continued to wander back and forth over Wednesday’s tragedy. D’Arcy was obsessed with the indelicacy of it all – the persistence of journalists, the insensitivity of the police, the uncertainty of Mrs Rode’s origin, the misfortune of her husband. Fielding was still oddly silent, sunk in his own thoughts, from which he occasionally emerged to glance at D’Arcy with a look of hostility. At exactly a quarter to eleven D’Arcy pronounced himself tired, and the three of them went into the great hall, where Miss Truebody produced a coat for Smiley and a coat and muffler and cap for D’Arcy. Fielding accepted D’Arcy’s thanks with a sullen nod. He turned to Smiley:
‘That business you rang me about. What was it exactly?’
‘Oh – a letter from Mrs Rode just before she was murdered,’ said Smiley vaguely. ‘The police are handling it now, but they do not regard it as … significant. Not significant at all. She seems to have had a sort of’ – he gave an embarrassed grin – ‘persecution complex. Is that the expression? However, we might discuss it some time. You must dine with me at the Sawley before I go back. Do you come to London at all? We might meet in London perhaps, at the end of the Half.’
D’Arcy was standing in the doorway, looking at the new fall of snow which lay white and perfect on the pavement before him.
‘Ah,’ he said, with a little knowing laugh, ‘the long nights, eh, Terence, the long nights.’
6 Holly for the Devil
‘What are the long nights?’ Smiley asked, as he and D’Arcy walked briskly away from Fielding’s house through the new snow towards the Abbey Close.
‘We have a proverb that it always snows at Carne in the long nights. That is the traditional term here for the nights of Lent,’ D’Arcy replied. ‘Before the Reformation the monks of the Abbey kept a vigil during Lent between the Offices of Compline and Lauds. You may know that already perhaps. As there is no longer a religious order attached to the Abbey, the custom has fallen into disuse. We continue to observe it, however, by the saying of Compline during Lent. Compline was the last of the Canonical Day Hours and was said before retiring for the night. The Master, who has a great respect for traditions of this kind, has reintroduced the old words for our devotions. Prime was the dawn Office, as you are no doubt aware. Terce was at the third hour of daylight – that is to say at 9.00 a.m. Thus we no longer refer to Morning Prayer, but to Terce. I find it delightful. Similarly, during Advent and Lent we say Sext at midday in the Abbey.’
‘Are all these services compulsory?’
‘Of course. Otherwise it would be necessary to make arrangements for those boys who did not attend. That is not desirable. Besides, you forget that Carne is a religious foundation.’
It was a beautiful night. As they crossed the Close, Smiley looked up at the tower. It seemed smaller and more peaceful in the moonlight. The whiteness of the new snow lit the very sky itself; the whole Abbey was so sharply visible against it that even the mutilated images of saints were clear in every sad detail of their defacement, wretched figures, their purpose lost, with no eyes to see the changing world.
They reached the
‘How badly was the postman bitten by the dog?’ Smiley asked.
D’Arcy turned to him again.
‘That is the extraordinary thing. That is the very crux of the story, my dear fellow: the postman hadn’t been bitten at all. Dorothy inquired. Her whole story was an absolute string of lies from beginning to end.’
They rose from the table and made their way to Fielding’s study, where Miss Truebody had put the coffee. The conversation continued to wander back and forth over Wednesday’s tragedy. D’Arcy was obsessed with the indelicacy of it all – the persistence of journalists, the insensitivity of the police, the uncertainty of Mrs Rode’s origin, the misfortune of her husband. Fielding was still oddly silent, sunk in his own thoughts, from which he occasionally emerged to glance at D’Arcy with a look of hostility. At exactly a quarter to eleven D’Arcy pronounced himself tired, and the three of them went into the great hall, where Miss Truebody produced a coat for Smiley and a coat and muffler and cap for D’Arcy. Fielding accepted D’Arcy’s thanks with a sullen nod. He turned to Smiley:
‘That business you rang me about. What was it exactly?’
‘Oh – a letter from Mrs Rode just before she was murdered,’ said Smiley vaguely. ‘The police are handling it now, but they do not regard it as … significant. Not significant at all. She seems to have had a sort of’ – he gave an embarrassed grin – ‘persecution complex. Is that the expression? However, we might discuss it some time. You must dine with me at the Sawley before I go back. Do you come to London at all? We might meet in London perhaps, at the end of the Half.’
D’Arcy was standing in the doorway, looking at the new fall of snow which lay white and perfect on the pavement before him.
‘Ah,’ he said, with a little knowing laugh, ‘the long nights, eh, Terence, the long nights.’
6 Holly for the Devil
‘What are the long nights?’ Smiley asked, as he and D’Arcy walked briskly away from Fielding’s house through the new snow towards the Abbey Close.
‘We have a proverb that it always snows at Carne in the long nights. That is the traditional term here for the nights of Lent,’ D’Arcy replied. ‘Before the Reformation the monks of the Abbey kept a vigil during Lent between the Offices of Compline and Lauds. You may know that already perhaps. As there is no longer a religious order attached to the Abbey, the custom has fallen into disuse. We continue to observe it, however, by the saying of Compline during Lent. Compline was the last of the Canonical Day Hours and was said before retiring for the night. The Master, who has a great respect for traditions of this kind, has reintroduced the old words for our devotions. Prime was the dawn Office, as you are no doubt aware. Terce was at the third hour of daylight – that is to say at 9.00 a.m. Thus we no longer refer to Morning Prayer, but to Terce. I find it delightful. Similarly, during Advent and Lent we say Sext at midday in the Abbey.’
‘Are all these services compulsory?’
‘Of course. Otherwise it would be necessary to make arrangements for those boys who did not attend. That is not desirable. Besides, you forget that Carne is a religious foundation.’
It was a beautiful night. As they crossed the Close, Smiley looked up at the tower. It seemed smaller and more peaceful in the moonlight. The whiteness of the new snow lit the very sky itself; the whole Abbey was so sharply visible against it that even the mutilated images of saints were clear in every sad detail of their defacement, wretched figures, their purpose lost, with no eyes to see the changing world.
They reached the
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