The Dawn of All Page 4

  (III)

  He sat in perfect silence, waiting, leaning back in his cornerwith closed eyes, compelling himself to keep his composure.

  It was, at any rate, good luck that he had fallen in with such afriend as this--Father Jervis, was it not?--who knew all abouthim, and, obviously, could be trusted to be discreet. He mustjust attend to his instructions quietly then, and do what he wastold. No doubt things would come back soon. But how very curiousthis all was about Hyde Park and Westminster. He could havesworn that England was a Protestant country, and the Church justa tiny fragment of its population. Why, it was only recentlythat Westminster Cathedral was built--was it not? But then thiswas the year seventy-three . . . and . . . and he could notremember in what year the Cathedral was built. Then again thehorror and bewilderment seized him. He gripped his knees withhis hands in an agony of consternation. He would go mad if hecould not remember. Or at least----Ah! here was Father Jerviscoming back again.

  The two sat quite silent again for a moment, as the car moved off.

  "Tell me," said the priest suddenly, "don't you remember faces,or people's names?"

  The other concentrated his mind fiercely for a moment or two.

  "I remember some faces--yes," he said. "And I remember some names.But I cannot remember which faces belong to which names. . . . Iremember . . . I remember the name Archbishop Bourne;and . . . and a priest called Farquharson----"

  "What have you been reading lately? . . . Ah! I forgot. Well; butcan't you remember the Cardinal . . . Cardinal Bellairs?"

  "I've never heard of him."

  "Nor what he looks like?"

  "I haven't a notion."

  The priest again was silent.

  "Look here, Monsignor," he said suddenly, "I'd better take youstraight up to your rooms as soon as we arrive; and I'll have anotice put up on your confessional that you are unable to attendthere to-day. You'll have the whole afternoon--after four atleast--to yourself, and the rest of the evening. We needn't tell asoul until we're certain that it can't be helped, not even theCardinal. But I'm afraid you'll have to preside at lunch to-day."

  "Eh?"

  "Mr. Manners is coming, you know, to consult with the Cardinal;and I think if you weren't there to entertain him----"

  Monsignor nodded sharply, with compressed lips.

  "I understand. But just tell me who Mr. Manners is?"

  The priest answered without any sign of discomposure.

  "He's a member of the Government. He's the great PoliticalEconomist. And he's coming to consult with the Cardinal aboutcertain measures that affect the Church. Do you remember now?"

  The other shook his head. "No."

  "Well, just talk to him vaguely. I'll sit opposite and take carethat you don't make any mistakes. Just talk to him generally.Talk about the sermon in Hyde Park, and the Abbey. He won'texpect you to talk politics publicly."

  "I'll try."

  The car drew up as the conversation ended; and the man who hadlost his memory glanced out. To his intense relief, herecognized where he was. It was the door of Archbishop's House,in Ambrosden Avenue; and beyond he perceived the long northernside of the Cathedral.

  "I know this," he said.

  "Of course you do, my dear Monsignor," said the priestreassuringly. "Now follow me: bow to any one who salutes you; butdon't speak a word."

  They passed in together through the door, past a couple ofliveried servants who held it open, up the staircase and beyondup the further flight. The old priest drew out a key and unlockedthe door before them; and together they turned to the left up thecorridor, and passed into a large, pleasant room looking out onto the street, with a further door communicating, it seemed, witha bedroom beyond. Fortunately they had met no one on the way.

  "Here we are," said Father Jervis cheerfully. "Now, Monsignor, doyou know where you are?"

  The other shook his head dolorously.

  "Come, come; this is your own room. Look at your writing-table,Monsignor; where you sit every day."

  The other looked at it eagerly and yet vaguely. A half-writtenletter, certainly in his own handwriting, lay there on theblotting-pad, but the name of his correspondent meant nothing tohim; nor did the few words which he read. He looked round theroom--at the bookcases, the curtains, the _prie-Dieu_ . . . Andagain terror seized him.

  "I know nothing, father . . . nothing at all. It's all new! ForGod's sake! . . ."

  "Quietly then, Monsignor. It's all perfectly right. . . . Now I'mgoing to leave you for ten minutes, to arrange about the placesat lunch. You'd better lock your door and admit no one. Just lookround the rooms when I'm gone----Ah!"

  Father Jervis broke off suddenly and darted at an arm-chair, wherea book lay face downwards on the seat. He snatched up the book,glanced at the pages, looked at the title, and laughed aloud.

  "I knew it," he said; "I was certain of it. You've got hold ofManners' History, Look! you're at the very page."

  He held it up for the other to see. Monsignor looked at it, stillonly half comprehending, and just noticing that the paper had apeculiar look, and saw that the running dates at the top of thepages contained the years 1904-1912. The priest shook the book ingentle triumph. A sheet of paper fell out of it, which he pickedup and glanced at. Then he laughed again.

  "See," he said, "you've been making notes of the very period--nodoubt in order to be able to talk to Manners. That's the time heknows more about than any living soul. He calls it the 'crest ofthe wave,' you know. Everything dated from then, in his opinion."

  "I don't understand a word----"

  "See here, Monsignor," interrupted the priest in mild glee,"here's a subject to talk about at lunch. Just get Manners on toit, and you'll have no trouble. He loves lecturing; and he talksjust like a history-book. Tell him you've been reading hisHistory and want a bird's-eye view."

  Monsignor started.

  "Why, yes," he said, "and that'll tell me the facts, too."

  "Excellent. Now, Monsignor, I must go. Just look round the roomswell, and get to know where things are kept. I'll be back in tenminutes, and we'll have a good talk before lunch as to all who'llbe there. It'll all go perfectly smoothly, I promise you."