CHAPTER 13The hours of Sunday passed. The church bells rang. Miss Silver and Mrs. Merridew attended the evening service. There were very few people there. The Vicar’s wife played the organ, a memorial to the fallen in the first world war. The Vicar raised a robust baritone in the psalms and canticles, the District Nurse sustained a rather uncertain soprano. The old beautiful words hung in the cold, close air. The church had been old when the Wars of the Roses were fought. There were the tombs of two Crusaders, one with his legs crossed at the knees to show that he had ridden out on his pious errand twice. There were worn brasses and a clutter of monuments. It came into Miss Silver’s mind that the dead were better represented than the living. When they had prayed that the darkness might be
