In itself and in its applications, the arrangement suited Lyall. After fourteen years in orders he felt no particular disapproval if a man took elaborate means to secure his position with Rome. He himself had entered the priesthood partly through motives of self-advancement. As it had turned out, his career had not prospered: he lacked both the skill and the energy to make the right friends or become known for the right opinions. When the Anvil appointment fell vacant, he had recognised it without trouble as an insurance of comfort and security. The duties were not onerous: ministering to the souls of an unremarkable household, acting as social secretary, running the kind of errand for which a servant was deemed unsuitable, keeping Dame Anvil company, and being on hand to abate her husband's fervours. The positive rewards included good food, good wine, and the occupancy of a room above the express-house where, thanks to the presence of a separate staircase, young women could be entertained in seclusion. All that troubled Father Lyall, and that not often or so far to any effect, was a resentment against those faceless and largely nameless persons whom he considered to hold the real power in and over his Church. They had not admitted him to their number; more than that, they were not true servants of God.
Rather perfunctorily, Tobias had been glancing through the English Gazette, the organ of Convocation: it came to his breakfast-table only because he felt it incumbent on men in his position to have access, at least, to both national newspapers. But again his notice was caught, perhaps more closely than before.
'Attend to this,' he said. '"The physicians and inventors who conferred on the outbreak of plague in East Runton in Norfolk last month have delivered their findings to the Secretary of the Salubrity Chamber. They state that the disease, from which 88 persons died in a single night, is of no known origin, but that consultation reveals a similarity with the sickness which, in February last, launched no souls into eternity at St Tfopez in France. In neither case, however, had the disease spread to the surrounding country, and its recurrence was not to be feared." So. Well, Anthony, what do you think of that? Is it possible?'
Since he had not so far been spoken to since the beginning of the meal, Anthony Anvil had not so far spoken. At twenty-one years old, he was a well-grown youth with a healthy skin, wide dark eyes and a full mouth which, whatever his father might and often did say, tended to fall open in repose. He wore collegiate black with white bands, since he would shortly be on his way to pursue his studies at St Clement's Hospital in the Strand. On being addressed, he shut his mouth tight, then opened it cautiously to say, 'If it's reported in the Gazette, papa, then it's possible.'
'I'm not a nitwit, sir! I ask you if you think it's possible that a sickness can strike at two such widely-separated places as these, leave no hint of its nature, and yet be altogether discounted as a future threat.'
Anthony could not for the moment see what was the required answer to this question, or series of questions, so it was with continued caution that he replied, 'The two places are widely separated in distance, but not in kind. Both are small fishing-villages.'
'But a plague of unknown origin?'
'All plagues are of unknown origin when they first appear.'
'A plague from fish? Is that what you suggest?'
'It wasn't believed for a long time that other plagues were brought by rats.'
'But rats are warm-blooded creatures like ourselves. A plague that kills in a few hours?'
'Some in the past have died in less than a day. Forgive me, papa, but you asked if it was possible and, from what I know, it is.'
'What do you say, Father?'
'I? I have no knowledge and therefore no opinion, master.'
'It would be useful,' said Anthony after a pause, 'to know whether in truth the disease has not spread to—what was it?—the surrounding country.'
Tobias lowered his brows again. 'You doubt the voice of Convocation?'
'No, sir,' lied his son: 'only that of the physicians and inventors who weighed the matter. From what you read to us, the Gazette does no more than record their words.'
'Well said, Anthony—and we know how much trust to put in them. Physicians may be all very well, but what of inventors? Half of them are no better than scientists who daren't give themselves their true name. This affair has every sign of an experiment in science. Recklessness. Disregard for human life. Above all, an inclination to usurp the power of the Qeator. Whether or not these outbreaks were indeed isolated, we must fear a recurrence. We're all in danger. And will remain so until our heads of State look to their duty of protecting Christians.'
'Yes, sir.'
The priest stroked his bluish upper lip to cover traces of a smile: he had wondered a little how his master would reach his preferred theme from such an unfamiliar starting-point.
"The case is no better with our spiritual lords,' continued Tobias. 'Some of them are positively worm-eaten with tolerance. The Holy Office must bestir itself and set out to eradicate the ulcers that afflict us. When was the last scientist examined? I think at the very least a letter to the Editor of the Gazette...'
Before long, Master Anvil had finished with science and scientists for the moment and, after grace and a word with Father Lyall, left the room. Anthony embraced his mother and also departed. The two servants who had attended all this time in total silence came forward and began to clear the table.
Margaret Anvil had likewise said nothing throughout. This was normal and, in a general sense, so regarded by her. What seemed to be exceptional about her relations with her husband was their intimacy in private. He treated her as she imagined he would a valued friend, telling her of his activities, asking about her own, sharing little jokes. In the marriage-bed itself he showed her every consideration: never once had he had his way with her against her will. He was a good man and she was proud to be his wife.
Except in the fullness of her figure, Margaret did not look her forty-two years. She had a fine natural complexion, auburn hair touched no more than lightly with grey, and excellent teeth. A man might have taken her for a countrywoman unless he observed the severe set of her mouth and the diffident glance that went oddly with it. When she rose from her chair her height was noticeable, as was also the richness of her quilted turquoise breakfast-gown against the plain black, white and grey worn by everyone else present.
As usual, Father Lyall was at the door, and as usual he said respectfully that he would attend her in due course in her sitting-room. But, not as usual, she looked up at him as she passed, and found him looking at her in a way that she could have defined only by saying that it was not respectful.
Ten minutes later, by arrangement, the priest came to his master's library on the first floor. It looked like the abode of someone distinguished for both worldliness and piety, being expensively panelled and carpeted, furnished with massive teak and leather, hung with Indian brocades and Siamese silks, and yet profuse in large canvases of scriptural scenes, devotional statuary, brassedged volumes of theology and hagiography. The two interests were most fully combined in the great solid-silver Crucifixion on the east wall and, below it, the plush-upholstered ebony prie-dieu, well placed (it had occurred to Lyall in a refractory mood) for any occupant whose spiritual needs might at any time suddenly become too urgent to allow recourse to the more than adequate chapel at the other end of the house.