The Bell - Iris Murdoch [127]
'Down, down, that's right,' said Nick in his ear. 'This is the confessional, only you needn't bother with your confession as I know it all. It's someone else you've got to tell the tale to, someone who hasn't heard it yet. The joys of penitence await you, Toby. Meanwhile, have a swig of this in remembrance of me.' He tried to turn Toby over, and reaching up for the whisky bottle poured a little of the whisky on to Toby's lips.
Like a spring released the boy began to struggle. The bottle fell between them and broke. They rolled across the floor upsetting Murphy's dish of water and rolling into the remains of his supper. Splashed with water, whisky, and gravy they fought among the chaos of old newspapers and broken glass. Nick was still the stronger.
Toby lay quiet. He was on his back now and Nick's face was above him. In this position they rested, both panting. Nick looked down at him and smiled. 'Poor child,' he said, 'it hurts me to do this, believe me it does. But I am made to be a scourge to certain men. You wouldn't understand. But at least I hope you've seen the point of my sermon. You're going to get up now and set your clothes to rights and then you're going to go like a good boy and make your confession to the only available saint, indeed the only available man, and that is James Tayper Pace. Up you get.'
Nick rose and Toby staggered to his feet, brushing down his clothing. He looked at Nick, dazed and appalled.
'I wish I could congratulate you on your truthful disposition,' said Nick, 'but the fact is that you have little choice. If by tomorrow you haven't had your little talk with James and told him everything I shall feel it my duty to make a statement. And by a happy law of nature, however low one wants to grovel one never paints oneself quite as black as the unprejudiced and unsympathetic spectator can paint one. Another of the charms of confession. Felix culpa, felix Toby! Now go. And don't let your anger against me stop you from seeing that what I say is just. Go, go, go.'
Nick pulled the table away from the door and opened it. Toby stood for another moment, his hand raised to his face. Nick gave him a light push between the shoulders. He inclined forward as if he were going to fall and bolted out into the night.
CHAPTER 22
It was still raining but the wind had dropped. A soft sizzle of fine rain made the night more obscure and deadened all other sounds. It was after three o'clock.
Dora stood alone in the barn, close to the bell. She reached out every now and then and touched it, for company and to make sure it was still there. Earlier on, by the light of Toby's electric torch, she had attempted with soap, water, and a sharp knife to clean the bell. She had managed to prize away a good deal of mud and gravel, but many strange growths still adhering to the surface seemed to have the hardness of metal. For the last half-hour however Dora had done nothing but wait. She had arrived well before two, since for fear of being delayed by Paul she had not gone up to bed. Paul would know soon enough that he had misjudged her. She had hidden herself elsewhere in the house, dozing in a chair, and then had made her way through the rain to the barn.
At first she had been quite certain that Toby would come. Even though she had not managed to communicate with him during the day, he would know when and where to appear; and it had at least been agreed that he should bring the second steel trolley with him direct to the barn. When by half past two he had not arrived Dora had imagined that he might have had difficulty getting the trolley out of the stable yard, and she walked back that far to see. The stable yard was deserted and the trolley still in its place, though Dora noticed uneasily that there were two lights on in the house, one in her and Paul's bedroom, and the other in another room which she could not identify, James's or Michael's perhaps. She left the trolley where it was and rushed back to the barn, feeling sure that she would now find Toby there; but he was not there.