Free Quartet in Autumn by Barbara Pym Page B

Stephen, hardly observed as such unless it happened to be one's patronal festival; then the Innocents, St John the Evangelist and Epiphany. The Conversion of St Paul and Candlemas (where one usually sang one of Keble's less felicitous hymns) were followed all too soon by the Sundays before Lent, but the evenings were drawing out. Ash Wednesday was an important landmark — evening Mass and the Imposition of Ashes, the black smudge on the forehead, 'dust thou art and to dust shalt thou return' — some people didn't like that, thought it morbid' or 'not very nice'.
    'There is a basin with hot and cold water in the room and she could use the bathroom occasionally. She wouldn't need a bath every night, would she?' Too much washing was bad for the skin, the constant immersion in hot water dried out the natural oils ... Mrs Pope was coming round to the idea of Letty while Edwin was taking her through the Church's year, but he would hardly be able to answer questions about how often she would want a bath.
    Everybody knew about Lent, of course, even if they didn't do anything about it, with Palm Sunday ushering in the services of Holy Week — not what they used to be, certainly, but there was still something left of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday with the ceremonies, the prelude to Easter Day. Low Sunday always seemed a bit of an anticlimax after all that had gone before but it wasn't long before Ascension Day and then Whit Sunday or Pentecost as it was properly called. After that you had Corpus Christi, with a procession out of doors if fine, and then Trinity Sunday, followed by all those long hot summer Sundays, with the green vestments and the occasional saint's day ... That was how it had always been and how it would go on in spite of trendy clergy trying to introduce so-called up-to-date forms of worship, rock and roll and guitars and discussions about the Third World instead of Evensong. The only difficulty was that Edwin wasn't at all sure that Letty ever went to church. She had never mentioned it when he talked about such things in the office. Still, when she was settled in Mrs Pope's back room and when she had retired, there was no knowing how her life would change.
     
     

Nine
    So YOU ARE Miss Crowe.'
    It was not the most friendly greeting, Letty felt, but there was nothing for it but to repeat that she was indeed Miss Crowe and to assume that the woman peering through the barely opened door must be Mrs Pope. And why should she have expected friendliness when the relationship between them was to be that of landlady and tenant? Friendliness was by no means to be taken for granted. Obviously she should have expected little in the way of warmth, with the taxi taking her what seemed so very far north, though the postal address was only NW6.
    It was not long before Christmas — St Lucy's Day, Edwin had reminded her, though the saint seemed to have no particular significance for the move. Norman, of course, made much of it being the shortest day. 'Get there in good time,' he advised. 'You don't want to be wandering about in a strange district after dark.'
    'One has to be careful,' Mrs Pope went on, opening the door a little wider. 'There are so many impostors these days.'
    Letty had to agree, though she felt that Mrs Pope was not the sort of person to be taken in by an impostor. While Edwin's impression and description of her had been merely that of a woman in her eightieth year who was 'wonderful for her age', Letty now saw that she was an imposing figure with noble almost Roman features and a mass of thick white hair, of the kind that is sometimes described as 'abundant, arranged in an elaborate old - fashioned style.
    After the vitality and warmth of Mr Olatunde's house Mrs Pope's seemed bleak and silent, with its heavy dark furniture and ticking grandfather clock, the kind of tick that would keep one awake until one got used to it. Letty was shown the kitchen where she could prepare her meals and a