Read Online The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers - Free Book Online

Zeppelins came over. You know, they dropped a bomb at Walbeach, only twenty miles off, and it might just as easily have been here. Isn’t the parclose lovely? Like lace, I always think. The tombs belong to the Gaudy family. They lived here up to Queen Elizabeth’s time, but they’ve all died out now. You’ll find the name on the Treble bell: GAUDE, GAUDY, DOMINI IN LAUDE. There used to be a chantry on the north side, corresponding to this: Abbot Thomas’ chantry, it was, and that’s his tomb. Batty Thomas is named after him—a corruption of ‘Abbot,’ of course. Some vandal in the nineteenth century tore down the screen behind the choir stalls to put the organ in. It’s a hideous thing, isn’t it? We put in a new set of pipes a few years ago, and now the bellows want enlarging. Poor Potty has his work cut out to keep the wind-chest filled when Miss Snoot is using the full organ. They all call him Potty Peake, but he’s not really potty, only a little lacking, you know. Of course, the angel roof is our great show-piece—I think myself it’s even lovelier than the ones at March or Needham Market, because it has all the original colouring. At least, we had it touched up here and there about twelve years back, but we didn’t add anything. It took ten years to persuade the churchwardens that we could put a little fresh gold-leaf on the angels without going straight over to Rome, but they’re proud of it now. We hope to do the chancel roof too, one day. All these ribs ought to be painted, you can still see traces of colour, and the bosses ought to be gilt. The east window is Theodore’s bête noire. That dreadful crude glass—about 1840, I think it is. Quite the worst period, Theodore says. The glass in the nave has all gone, of course—Cromwell’s men. Thank goodness they left part of the clerestory. I suppose it was rather a job to get up there. The pews are modern; Theodore got them done ten years ago. He’d have preferred chairs, but the congregation wouldn’t have liked it, being used to pews, and he had them copied from a nice old design that wasn’t too offensive. The old ones were terrible—like bathrooms—and there was a frightful gallery along both sides, blocking the aisle windows completely and ruining the look of the pillars. We had that taken down at the same time. It wasn’t needed, and the school-children would drop hymn-books and things on people’s heads. Now, the choir-stalls are different. They are the original monks’ stalls, with misereres. Isn’t the carving fine? There’s a piscina in the sanctuary, but not a very exciting one.”
    Wimsey admitted that he was unable to feel great excitement about piscinas.
    “And the altar-rails are very poor, of course—Victorian horrors. We want very much to put up something better in their place when we can find the money. I’m sorry I haven’t the key to the tower. You’d like to go up. It’s a wonderful view, though it’s all ladders above the ringing-chamber. It makes my head swim, especially going over the bells. I think bells are rather frightening, somehow. Oh, the font! You must look at the font. That carving is supposed to be quite remarkable. I forget exactly what it is that’s so special about it—stupid of me. Theodore must show you, but he’s been sent for in a hurry to take a sick woman off to hospital, right away on the other side of the Thirty-foot, across Thorpe’s Bridge. He rushed off almost before he’d finished his breakfast.”
    (“And they say,” thought Wimsey, “that Church of England parsons do nothing for their money.”)
    “Would you like to stay on and look round? Do you mind locking the door and bringing the key back? It’s Mr. Godfrey’s key—I can’t think where Theodore has put his bunch. It does seem wrong to keep the church locked, but it’s such a solitary place. We can’t keep an eye on it from the Rectory because of the shrubbery and there are sometimes very unpleasant-looking tramps