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A padre, fourth class, though he had once been curate of St. Ethelburga's, was a feeble person. But Miss Willmot! Miss Willmot got things done, levelled entanglements of barbed red tape, captured the trenches of official persons by virtue of a quiet persistence, and there is no denying it because the things she wanted done were generally good things. The Major opened the door of the kitchen.
Purchas, no doubt, could have told all that we so gladly would know of Hudson's early history. But he did not tell it and we must rest content, I think well content, with that poetic beginning at the chancel rail of St. Ethelburga's of the strong life that less than four years later came to its epic ending.
The voyage made in the year 1607, for which Hudson and his crew prepared by making their peace with God in St. Ethelburga's, had nothing to do with America; nor did his voyage of the year following have anything to do with this continent.
Ethelburga's, a restful pause in the bustle of Bishopsgate Street, still stands the worse, to be sure, for the clutter of little shops that has been built in front of it, and for incongruous interior renovation and I am very grateful to Purchas for having preserved the scrap of information that links Hudson's living body with that church which still is alive: into which may pass by the very doorway that he passed through those who venerate his memory; and there may stand within the very walls and beneath the very roof that sheltered him when he and his ship's company partook of the Sacrament together three hundred years ago.
It served as a table, and she was spreading a cloth on it In front of the stove stood a young man in uniform, wearing the badges of a fourth class Chaplain to the Forces. This was Mr. Digby. Once he had been the popular curate of St Ethelburga's, the most fashionable of London churches. In those days Miss Willmot would have treated him with scorn. She did not care for curates.
Within an hour of our interview I was making myself conversant with what had been done, and on Friday afternoon and during the whole of Saturday I was busy with the affair. On Monday morning, however, I was called to the chief's room and told to devote myself to the recovery of a jeweled chalice which had been stolen from St. Ethelburga's Church, Bloomsbury, on the previous day.
Ethelburga's did not think so, and since Miss Belford's letter, which came from America, did not give any address I imagine she was not sure what attitude Mr. Harding would take up. What became of the gems, or how they were disposed of, I do not know; I only know that there is no jeweled chalice at St. Ethelburga's now, and I fancy the vicar thinks that, as a detective, I was a ghastly failure.
In spite of the fact that she lives in Walham Green, she becomes, after her aunt's death, a worker in St. Ethelburga's parish in Bloomsbury. We have in Miss Belford one who knows the general working of the church, one who has been brought in contact with the vicar Mr. Harding said he knew her very well, remember; and moreover she is closely connected with the jewels.
I should have thought it would have been easier to steal them from here than from the church." "I do not think we can be sure of that," I said. "Besides, the jewels have been quite safe at St. Ethelburga's for eighteen months," she added. "That is a point I admit. I understand that you work in Mr. Harding's parish, so you know Mr. Hayes, of course."
Ethelburga's, where she had attended regularly for six or seven years. The chalice was insured for L5,000, but this was undoubtedly below its actual value. It was not used constantly, only on the great festivals, and on certain Saints' days specified by Miss Morrison when she made the gift.
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