War in Heaven by Charles Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

fact, never been able to find out anything about a certain rarely used chalice at Fardles. A year or two before the decease of the last Vicar a very much more important person in the neighbourhood had died—Sir John Horatio Sykes-Martindale, K.V.O., D.S.O., and various other things. In memory of the staunch churchmanship of this great and good man, his widow had presented a complete set of altar fittings and altar plate to the parish church, which was then doing its best with antique but uncorresponding paten and chalice. These were discarded in favour of the new gift, and when the Archdeacon succeeded to the rectory and archdeaconry he followed his predecessor’s custom. He had at different times examined the old chalice carefully, and had shown it to some of his friends, but he had had no reason to make any special investigation, nor indeed would it have been easy to do so. The new suggestion, however, gave it a fresh interest. He was about to call Mornington’s attention to the paragraph, then he changed his mind. There would be plenty of time when the book was out: lots of people—far too many—would hear about it then, and he might have to deal with a very complicated situation. So many people, he reflected, put an altogether undue importance on these exterior and material things. The Archbishop might write—and Archæological Societies—and perhaps Psychical Research people: one never knew. Better keep quiet and consider.
    â€œI should like,” he said aloud, “to have a copy of this book when it comes out. Could you have one sent to me, Mr. Mornington?”
    â€œOh, but I didn’t show it to you for that reason,” Mornington answered. “I only thought it might amuse you.”
    â€œIt interests me very deeply,” the Archdeacon agreed. “In one sense, of course, the Graal is unimportant—it is a symbol less near Reality now than any chalice of consecrated wine. But it is conceivable that the Graal absorbed, as material things will, something of the high intensity of the moment when it was used, and of its adventures through the centuries. In that sense I should be glad, and even eager,” he added precisely, “to study its history.”
    â€œWell, as you like,” Mornington answered. “So long as I’m not luring or bullying you into putting money into poor dear Persimmons’s pocket.”
    â€œNo one less, I assure you,” the Archdeacon said, as he got up to go. “Besides, why should one let oneself be lured or bullied?”
    â€œEspecially by a publisher’s clerk,” Mornington added, smiling. “Well, we’ll write to you as soon as possible, Mr. Davenant. In about forty days, I should think. It would be Lent to most authors, but I gather it won’t be more than the usual Sundays after Trinity to you.”
    The Archdeacon shook his head gravely. “One is very weak, Mr. Mornington,” he said. “While I would do good, and so on, you know. I shall wonder what will happen, although it’s silly, of course, very silly. Good-bye and thank you.”
    Mornington opened the door for him and followed him out into the corridor. As they went along it they saw a group, consisting of Gregory and the Rackstraws outside Stephen Persimmons’s room at the top of the stairs, and heard Gregory say to Barbara, “Yes, Mrs. Rackstraw, I’m sure that’s the best way. You can’t teach them what to want and go for because you don’t know their minds. But you can teach them what not to do—just a few simple rules about what’s wrong. Be afraid to do wrong—that’s what I used to tell Stephen.”
    â€œ Le malheureux !” Mornington murmured as he bowed to the group, and let his smile change from one of respect to Gregory to one of friendliness for Barbara. The Archdeacon’s foot was poised doubtfully for a moment over the first stair. But, if he had been