The carol service began with a gentler version than Major Charges of Hark! the Herald-Angels Sing, and then we proceeded to the old favourite, Good King Wenceslas.
Deep and crisp and even, the high female voices sang from the gallery it has always seemed to me a very beautiful line, conveying the landscape of a small country England with no crowds, no traffic, to soil the snow, when even the royal palace stood among the silent and untrodden fields.
No white Christmas[217], sir, this year, a voice whispered in my ear from the pew behind, and turning, I saw Detective-Sergeant Sparrow.
What on earth are you doing here?
If you can spare me a moment after the service, sir, he replied, and raising his prayer-book, he sang in a very fine baritone voice:
Though the frost was cru-el,
When a poor man hove in sight
(perhaps Detective-Sergeant Sparrow, like Miss Truman, had once been in the Navy)
Gathering winter fu-u-el.
I looked back at his companion. He was smartly dressed with a lean legal face. He wore a dark grey overcoat and carried an umbrella crooked for safety over his arm I wondered what he would do with it or with the sharp crease to his trousers when the time came for him to kneel. He didnt seem as much at home in the church as Detective-Sergeant Sparrow. He was not singing and I doubt whether he was praying.
Mark my footsteps, good my page,
the sergeant sang lustily,
Tread thou in them boldly,
and the voices in the gallery rose ardently to the unexpected competition from below.
At last the proper service began, and I was glad when the Athanasian Creed, which they invariably inflict on us at Christmas, was safely over. As also there are not three incomprehensibles, nor three uncreated: but one uncreated, and one incomprehensible. (Sergeant Sparrow coughed several times in the course of it.)
I intended it is always my custom at Christmas to go to Communion[218]. The Anglican Church is not exclusive: Communion is a commemoration service, and I had as much right to commemorate a beautiful legend as any true believer has. The vicar was saying clearly, while the congregation buzzed ambiguously to disguise the fact that they had forgotten the words: We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed I noticed that the detective-sergeant, perhaps from professional prudence, did not join in this plea of guilty. We do earnestly repent, and are heartily sorry for these our misdoings I had never before noticed how the prayer sounded like the words of an old lag addressing the Bench[219] with a plea for mercy. The presence of Detective-Sergeant Sparrow seemed to alter the whole tone of the service. When I stepped into the nave to go up to the altar I heard an outburst of argumentative whispers in the pew behind me and the words, You, Sparrow, spoken very forcibly, so that I was not surprised when I saw that it was Detective-Sergeant Sparrow who knelt as my neighbour at the Communion rail. Perhaps they had been uncertain whether I might not take advantage of the Communion to escape through a side-door.
When his turn with the chalice came Detective-Sergeant Sparrow took a very long swig, and I noticed afterwards that more wine had to be fetched before the Communion was finished. When I returned to my seat, the detective-sergeant trod on my heels, and in the pew behind me the whispers broke out again. My throats like a grater, I heard the sergeant say. I suppose he was apologizing for his performance with the chalice.
At the end of the service they stood and waited for me at the church door, and Sergeant Sparrow introduced his companion. Detective-Inspector Woodrow, he said, Mr. Pulling. He added with awe in a lower voice, Inspector Woodrow belongs to the Special Branch.
I shook hands after a little hesitation on both sides.
We were wondering, sir, if you would mind assisting us again, Sergeant Sparrow said. I told Inspector Woodrow how helpful you had been once before over that jar of pot.
I suppose you are referring to my mothers urn, I replied with as much coldness as I could muster on Christmas morning.
The congregation poured out on either side. I saw the admiral go by. In his breast-pocket he had a patch of scarlet, which I suppose was the paper cap serving as a handkerchief.
They told us at the Crown and Anchor, Inspector Woodrow said to me in a stiff unfriendly tone, that you have your aunts keys.
We like to do things nicely, Sergeant Sparrow explained, with the free consent of all parties concerned. It goes down so much better in court.
What exactly do you want? I asked.
A happy Christmas, Mr. Pulling. The vicar put his hand on my shoulder. Have I the pleasure of meeting two new parishioners?
Mr. Sparrow, Mr. Woodrow, the vicar, I said.
I hope you all enjoyed our carol service.
Indeed I did, Sergeant Sparrow said heartily. If theres one thing I like its a good tune with words I can understand.
Just a moment while I find copies of our parish magazine. Quite a bumper Christmas number. The vicar dived back into the dark church looking like a ghost in his surplice.