Glittering Images. Susan Howatch
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God and following mankind, as represented by Christ, down a historical blind alley?’
‘Exactly. Speaking for myself, I’m much more interested in the modern doctrines asserting God’s transcendence and the importance of revelation – I think we should focus on the message Christ presented, not on the shadowy figure behind the glittering image,’ I said firmly, and escaping with profound relief into the world of scholarship, I began to talk of the writings of Karl Barth and the challenge of Crisis Theology.
VI
On our return to the drawing-room Jardine announced: ‘I’m glad to say that Dr Ashworth and I have quite resolved our differences so there’s no need for anyone to remain embarrassed by our debate … Lady Starmouth, come outside and take a turn with me on the terrace.’
‘Coffee, Dr Ashworth?’ called Miss Christie.
‘Yes – thank you.’ I was just moving towards her with alacrity when I was intercepted by a distraught Mrs Jardine.
‘Dr Ashworth, I’m so very sorry – my husband was terribly upset afterwards, I know he was – it was when you mentioned the baby –’ As she broke off I saw to my horror that her eyes were full of tears.
‘My dear Mrs Jardine – please – don’t distress yourself –’
But Miss Christie had come to the rescue. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ she said to Mrs Jardine, and I was struck by her use of an endearment. ‘Dr Ashworth understands. Come and sit down – Mrs Jennings and I were just discussing the choirboys’ concert.’ And passing me my cup of coffee she steered Mrs Jardine to the cluster of chairs where Mrs Jennings was waiting. I found myself abandoned to the company of the Cobden-Smiths, but Lord Starmouth was no more than six paces away by the fireplace and as our glances met he said without emphasis: ‘The Bishop’s passions get the better of him sometimes, but he’s a good man.’
‘One doesn’t look for passion in a bishop,’ said the Colonel with unexpected tartness. ‘Bad form.’
‘Very bad form,’ agreed his wife, ‘but then of course if one’s not brought up to know the difference between good form and bad form one’s bound to cause chaos in later life.’
‘Steady on, Amy!’
‘But my dear, Alex is the first to admit his upbringing left a lot to be desired! That peculiar old father and that dreadful little villa in Putney –’
‘The great thing about the Bishop,’ said Lord Starmouth, ‘is that he’ll own to the little villa in Putney. A lesser man would simply draw a veil over it.’
‘He had the veil firmly in place when he met Carrie,’ said Mrs Cobden-Smith.
‘Steady on, Amy!’ The Colonel was now clearly nervous. He shot a wary glance in my direction, but I was more interested in Miss Christie; she had left Mrs Jardine, now happily talking about choirboys to Mrs Jennings, and was approaching us with the coffee-pot.
‘Is Carrie all right?’ murmured the Colonel as his cup was refilled.
‘Yes, all’s well, Colonel, don’t worry.’
‘Dr Ashworth still looks a little white around the gills,’ said Mrs Cobden-Smith.
‘That hardly says much for the power of the Bishop’s port,’ said Miss Christie drily, sweeping away again with the coffee-pot.
‘That’s a very strange girl,’ mused Mrs Cobden-Smith, ‘but so good with Carrie.’
I said casually, ‘She must be a great asset in the household.’
‘That hardly does her justice. When I think of that time at Radbury before her arrival –’
‘My dear,’ said the Colonel with surprising firmness, ‘I don’t think we’ll talk about that at present, if you please.’
I was disappointed, and with reluctance I realized that it might pay me later to cultivate Mrs Cobden-Smith.
I had apparently resumed my role of spy. Did this mean I was regaining my equilibrium after the bizarre scene with Jardine? I supposed it did, yet I had no wish to think of spying and no desire whatsoever to dwell on bizarre scenes. Easing myself away from the Cobden-Smiths I succeeded in cornering Miss Christie at the side-table where she was stacking the coffee-cups on to a tray.
‘What time is Communion tomorrow?’ I said, offering the most inoffensive question I could devise.
‘Eight o’clock. Breakfast is at nine.’ She looked past me at the drawing-room door. ‘Here come Mr Jennings and Gerald – will you excuse me? I must order fresh coffee for them.’
I lost her, and it occurred to me then that a quiet mild approach was going to make no impression whatsoever on Miss Christie. However if she thought she could brush me aside merely by juggling coffee-cups she had made a big mistake.
I resolved to adopt a much tougher line in future.
VII
It was after eleven when I regained the sanctuary of my room, and having stripped off my clothes I smoked a cigarette as I tried to work out what had happened. Some strange bond seemed to have been forged between me and my host but it seemed to be my duty to ignore it. It was not my business either to like or to loathe Jardine; my task was merely to estimate how vulnerable he was to scandal.
However I found I now had a stronger desire than before not to connive with Lang in any secret plan to oust Jardine from the Bench of Bishops. Jardine was clearly innocent. A man of such integrity would be incapable of living a secret life as an apostate steeped in adultery, and I was also sure he was far too shrewd to engage in any middle-aged folly which fell short of an adulterous liaison. It seemed obvious that he exercised his flirtatious streak harmlessly with his lovely ladies and had long treated Miss Christie as part of the palace furniture.
This conclusion was reassuring enough, but I still had to answer the question of what went on in Miss Christie’s mind while Jardine behaved like the good man he undoubtedly was. I reminded myself that Jardine could still be vulnerable to scandal if Miss Christie decided to play the neurotic spinster by transforming herself into a furnace of frustrated passion, and although she hardly gave the impression of being a neurotic spinster I felt there was something odd about her extreme self-containment.
I decided I had a moral duty to investigate Miss Christie further and an absolute moral duty to discover how likely she was to transform herself into a furnace of passion.
No Jesuit could have achieved a more satisfying casuistry. With a smile I stubbed out my cigarette, retired to bed and began to plot my espionage for the morrow.
‘I have seen so many clerical careers arrested, and (to all outward seeming) definitely marred, by the clergyman’s marriage, that I never hear of a clergyman’s becoming “engaged” without a shiver of anxiety.’
Letters of Herbert Hensley Henson Bishop of Durham 1920–1939 ed. E. F. BRALEY.
I
I awoke violently at seven. Naturally I had been dreaming of Miss Christie. I wanted to smoke a cigarette, but I decided that I had no excuse for breaking any of the minor rules by which I achieved self-discipline, and one of those rules was that I never smoked before breakfast. With an effort I read the morning office. Then making another random dip into the Bible I eventually encountered the appropriate words: ‘Seek and ye shall find’.
As I dressed it occurred to me that I still had to seek and find a great many facts about Jardine before I could report convincingly to Lang that the Bishop’s