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Updated: June 27, 2025
The men and boys sang with new life; they wished, in fact, that so knowledgeable a person should be favourably impressed, and the service was rendered in a more creditable way than Cullerne Church had known for many a long day. Only the stranger was perfectly unmoved.
The wedding was quiet, and there being no newspapers at that time to take such matters for their province, Cullerne curiosity had to be contented with the bare announcement: "At Saint Agatha's-at-Bow, Horatio Sebastian Fynes, Lord Blandamer, to Anastasia, only child of the late Michael Joliffe, of Cullerne Wharfe."
So, with heroic promptness and determination, he flung himself into the last train, and spent the greater part of the night in stopping at every wayside station, when his purpose would have been equally served by a letter or by taking the express at Cullerne Road the next morning. The organ was not silenced, nor was the service suspended.
There was no time to pace it again; Westray must go now if he was to catch his train. They stopped opposite the old lord's portrait; the silence wrapped Westray round, as the white fog had wrapped him round that night on his way to Cullerne Road. He wanted to speak, but his brain was confused, his throat was dry; he dreaded the sound of his own voice. Lord Blandamer took out his watch.
Lord Blandamer could neither inquire nor remonstrate. He could offer no compensation, because no compensation would be accepted. The little party were nearing the house when a servant met them. "There is a man come over from Cullerne, my lord," he said. "He is anxious to see Mr Westray at once on important business."
And he sung it over by way of reminder. "You understand church music, and have sung many a service before, I am sure, though you don't look much given that way," he added, scanning him up and down. The stranger was amused rather than offended at these blunt criticisms, and the catechising went on. "Are you stopping in Cullerne?"
I shall be in Cullerne on Saturday next, and hope I may find you at home if I call about five in the afternoon, and that you may then have time to show me the church. "I am, dear sir, "Very truly yours, "Blandamer." Westray had scanned the letter so rapidly that he knew its contents by intuition rather than by the more prosaic method of reading.
"Show him into my sitting-room, and say that Mr Westray will be with him immediately." Westray met Lord Blandamer in the hall a few minutes later. "I am sorry to say there is bad news from Cullerne," the architect said hurriedly. "Last night's gale has strained and shaken the tower severely. A very serious movement is taking place. I must get back at once." "Do, by all means.
These outside Profane existed rather in theory than fact, for, except in the height of summer, visitors were rarely seen in the nave or any other part of the building. Cullerne lay remote from large centres, and archaeologic interest was at this time in so languishing a condition that few, except professed antiquaries, were aware of the grandeur of the abbey church.
Miss Joliffe had purchased this piece-of-resistance when Mrs Cazel, the widow of the ironmonger, had sold her household effects preparatory to leaving Cullerne. "It is an overmantel, my dear," she had said to dubious Anastasia, when it was brought home.
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