“Much better,” Michael agreed.
A ledge nailed beneath the window supported two brass candlesticks and a crucifix. The reredos was an Arundel print of the Last Supper and on corner brackets on either side were statues of the Immaculate Conception and Our Lady of Victories. A miniature thurible hung on a nail and on another nail was a holy-water stoup which Michael at first thought was intended for soap. In front of the altar was a prie-dieu stacked with books of devotion. There were also blessed palms, very dusty, and a small sanctuary lamp suspended from the ceiling. Referring to this, Mr. Prout explained that really it came from the Turkish Exhibition at Earl’s Court, but that he thought it would do as he had carefully exorcized it according to the use of Sarum.
“Shall we say Vespers?” suggested Mr. Prout. “You know—the Small Office of the Blessed Virgin. It won’t take long. We can say Compline too , if you like.”
“Just as you like,” said Michael.
“You’re sure you don’t mind the door being left open? Because, you see, we can’t both get in otherwise. In fact, I have to kneel sideways when I’m alone.”
“Won’t your landlady think it rather rum?” Michael asked.
“Good gracious, no. Why, when we have Vespers of St. Charles the Martyr, I have fellows kneeling all the way down the stairs, you know—members of the White Rose League. Bournemouth and South of England Branch.”
Michael was handed a thin sky-blue book labelled Office of the B.V.M.
“Latin or English?” queried Mr. Prout.
“Whichever you like,” said Michael.