The Bell - Iris Murdoch [57]
Michael, when he had leisure to reflect, was disturbed too by the thought, which was both distressing and delightful, that he must soon begin to explore again the possibility of ordination. He had a strong sense of the due time having elapsed. His premature approach had been, rightly and fruitfully for himself, rejected; and he could not resist a conviction of being deeply held in God's purposes for him, which although to chasten him had been for a time obscured, now were again become clear and demanding. He had digested and re-digested his old experiences, and he thought that he had reached a sober enough estimate of himself. He felt now no excessive or blinding sense of guilt about his propensities, and he had proved over a long time that they could be held well and even easily under control. He was what he was; and he still felt that he could make a priest.
On this day, however, no such solemn thoughts were in his mind and for some reason, after the agitation caused by the Meeting had died down, which it did surprisingly quickly, he felt almost light-hearted and quite glad to be at leisure. After high tea on Saturday it had become the custom for some of the little band to accompany Peter Topglass on his evening visit to his traps. Peter trapped birds at various places on the estate for purposes of study and in order to ring them. There was always some excitement in coming to the traps and finding what was there. Michael gladly accompanied his friend, and the women, Catherine and Margaret, usually came too. Once Nick came, brought along by Catherine, but had very little to say and seemed vague and rather bored.
On this occasion Catherine and the Straffords were pledged to sing madrigals with James and Father Bob Joyce. Father Bob, who sang a fine bass, was a serious musician and often swore that when he had time he would take the singing of the community in hand. He had hopes of plain song chant. The Abbey used plain song and had achieved quite a high standard. To Michael's relief, he had so far not had time. James sang in somewhat tremulous tenor which Michael teased him by terming 'Neapolitan'. Mark Strafford provided a more solid baritone, Catherine a thin but very pure soprano, and Margaret an energetic and adequate contralto. The singing group was already established on the balcony, fanning themselves with white sheets of music, when Peter and Michael were ready to set out. Toby, who had heard about the traps and had already inspected them on his own account, was eager to come, and Paul and Dora had asked to come too. Toby said that Nick Fawley had gone into the village. So after exchanging some badinage with the musicians they straggled down the steps and began to make for the ferry.
Dora Greenfield was wearing a spectacular dress of dark West Indian cotton and carrying a white paper parasol, which she must have purchased in the village, and, for some reason, a large Spanish basket. She wore the sandals deplored by Margaret Strafford. At Mark's suggestion, she had drenched herself in oil of citronella to keep off the midges, and the heavy sweetish perfume gave to her person an allure both crude and exotic. Michael watched her, as they ambled along, with irritation. He had seen her, similarly attired and accoutred, in the market-garden that afternoon, and her presence had seemed to make their labours into some absurd pastoral frolic. There was something a little touching all the same about her naive vitality. Her arms touched by the sun were now a glowing gold and she tossed her heavy tongues of hair like a pony. Michael saw dimly how Paul might be in love with her. Paul himself was in a restless excited state and fluttered about his wife, unable