“Yes, Mr. Venables. Can we do anything?”
“My dear, you are the very person! Could you and Miss Gates see that the school-children are kept amused and happy, and give them tea later on if necessary? The urns are in the parish-room. Just a moment, I must speak to Mr. Hensman. How are we off for stores, Mr. Hensman?”
“Pretty well stocked, sir,” replied the grocer. “We’re getting ready to move as you suggested, sir.”
“That’s fine,” said the Rector. “You know where to go. The refreshment room will be in the Lady chapel. Have you the key of the parish-room for the boards and trestles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, good. Get a tackle rigged over the church well for your drinking-water, and be sure and remember to boil it first. Or use the Rectory pump, if it is spared to us. Now, Lord Peter, back to the church.”
Mrs. Venables had already taken charge in the church. Assisted by Emily and some of the women of the parish, she was busily roping off areas — so many pews for the school children, so many other pews near the stoves for the sick and aged, the area beneath the tower for furniture, a large placard on the parclose screen REFRESHMENTS. Mr. Gotobed and his son, staggering under buckets of coke, were lighting the stoves. In the churchyard, Jack Godfrey and a couple of other farmers were marking out cattle-pens and erecting shelters among the tombs. Just over the wall which separated the consecrated ground from the bell-field, a squad of volunteer diggers were digging out a handsome set of sanitary trenches. “Good Lord, sir,” said Wimsey, impressed, “anybody would think you’d done this all your life.”
“I have devoted much prayer and thought to the situation in the last few weeks,” said Mr. Venables. “But my wife is the real manager. She has a marvellous head for organisation. Hinkins! right up to the bell-chamber with that plate — it’ll be out of the way there. Alf! Alf Donnington! How about that beer?”
“Coming along, sir.”
“Splendid — into the Lady chapel, please. You’re bringing some of it bottled, I hope. It’ll take two days for the casks to settle.”
“That’s all right, sir. Tabbitt and me are seeing to that.”
The Rector nodded, and dodging past some of Mr. Hensman’s contingent, who were staggering in with cases of groceries, he went out to the gates, where he encountered P.C. Priest, stolidly directing the traffic.
“We’re having all the cars parked along the wall, sir.”
“That’s right. And we shall want volunteers with cars to run out to outlying places and bring in the women and sick people. Will you see to that?”
“Very good, sir.”
“Lord Peter, will you act as our Mercury between here and Van Leyden’s Sluice? Keep us posted as to what is happening.”
“Right you are,” said Wimsey. “I hope, by the way, that Bunter — where is Bunter?”
“Here, my lord. I was about to suggest that I might lend some assistance with the commissariat, if not required elsewhere.”
“Do, Bunter, do,” said the Rector.
“I understand, my lord, that no immediate trouble is expected at the Rectory, and I was about to suggest that, with the kind help of the butcher, sir, a sufficiency of hot soup might be prepared in the wash-house copper, and brought over in the wheeled watering tub — after the utensil has been adequately scalded, of course. And if there were such a thing as a paraffin-oil stove anywhere—”
“By all means — but be careful with the paraffin. We do not want to escape the water to fall into the fire.”
“Certainly not, sir.”
“You can get paraffin from Wilderspin. Better send some more ringers up to the tower. Let them pull the bells as they like and fire them at intervals. Oh, here are the Chief Constable and Superintendent Blundell — how good of them to come over. We are expecting a little trouble here, Colonel.”
“Just so, just so. I see you are handling the situation admirably. I fear a lot of valuable property will be destroyed. Would you like any police sent over?”
“Better patrol the roads between the Fenchurches,” suggested Blundell. “St. Peter is greatly alarmed — they’re afraid for the bridges. We are arranging a service of ferryboats. They lie even lower than you do and are, I fear, not so well prepared as you, sir.”
“We can offer them shelter here,” said the Rector. “The church will hold nearly a thousand at a pinch, but they must bring what food they can. And their bedding, of course. Mrs. Venables is arranging it all. Men’s sleeping-quarters on the cantoris side, women and children on the decani side. And we can put the sick and aged people in the Rectory in greater comfort, if all goes well. St. Stephen will be safe enough, I imagine, but if not, we must do our best for them too. And, dear me! We shall rely on you. Superintendent, to send us victuals by boat as soon as it can be arranged. The roads will be clear between Leamholt and the Thirty-foot, and the supplies can be brought from there by water.”
“I’ll organise a service,” said Mr. Blundell.
“If the railway embankment goes, you will have to see to St. Stephen as well. Good-day, Mrs. Giddings, good-day to you! We are having quite an adventure, are we not? So glad to see you here in good time. Well, Mrs. Leach! So here you are! How’s baby? Enjoying himself, I expect. You’ll find Mrs. Venables in the church. Jack! Jackie Holliday! You must put that kitten in a basket. Run and ask Joe Hinkins to find you one. Ah, Mary! I hear your husband is doing fine work down at the sluice. We must see that he doesn’t come to any harm. Yes, my dear, what is it? I am just coming.”
For three hours Wimsey worked among the fugitives — fetching and carrying, cheering and exhorting, helping to stall cattle and making himself as useful as he could. At length he remembered his duty as a messenger and extricating his car from the crowd made his way east along the Thirty-foot. It was growing dark, and the road was thronged with carts and cattle, hurrying to the safety of Church Hill. Pigs and cattle impeded his progress.
“The animals went in two by two,” sang Wimsey, as he sped through the twilight, “the elephant and the kangaroo. Hurrah!”
Down at the sluice, the situation looked dangerous. Barges had been drawn against both sides of the gates and an attempt had been made to buttress the sluice with beams and sandbags, but the piers were bulging dangerously and as fast as material was lowered into the water, it was swept down by the force of the current. The river was foaming over the top of the weir, and from the east, wind and tide were coming up in violent opposition.
“Can’t hold her much longer, now, my lord,” gasped a man, plunging up the bank and shaking the water from him like a wet dog. “She’s going, God help us!”
The sluice-keeper was wringing his hands. “I told ’em, I told ’em! What will become on us?”
“How long now?” asked Wimsey.
“An hour, my lord, if that.”
“You’d better all get away. Have you cars enough?”
“Yes, my lord, thank you.”
Will Thoday came up to him, his face white and working.
“My wife and children — are they safe?”
“Safe as houses, Will. The Rector’s doing wonders. You’d better come back with me.”