The Nebuly Coat | Page 2

that of the carriers in
the past.
The novelty of the railway had not altogether worn off at the time when
the restorations of the church were entrusted to Messrs. Farquhar and
Farquhar; and the arrival of the trains was still attended by Cullerne
loungers as a daily ceremonial. But the afternoon on which Westray
came, was so very wet that there were no spectators. He had taken a
third-class ticket from London to Cullerne Road to spare his pocket,
and a first-class ticket from the junction to Cullerne to support the
dignity of his firm. But this forethought was wasted, for, except certain
broken-down railway officials, who were drafted to Cullerne as to an
asylum, there were no witnesses of his advent.
He was glad to learn that the enterprise of the Blandamer Arms led that
family and commercial hotel to send an omnibus to meet all trains, and
he availed himself the more willingly of this conveyance because he
found that it would set him down at the very door of the church itself.
So he put himself and his modest luggage inside--and there was ample
room to do this, for he was the only passenger--plunged his feet into the
straw which covered the floor, and endured for ten minutes such a
shaking and rattling as only an omnibus moving over cobble-stones can
produce.
With the plans of Cullerne Minster Mr Westray was thoroughly
familiar, but the reality was as yet unknown to him; and when the
omnibus lumbered into the market-place, he could not suppress an
exclamation as he first caught sight of the great church of Saint
Sepulchre shutting in the whole south side of the square. The drenching
rain had cleared the streets of passengers, and save for some

peeping-Toms who looked over the low green blinds as the omnibus
passed, the place might indeed have been waiting for Lady Godiva's
progress, all was so deserted.
The heavy sheets of rain in the air, the misty water-dust raised by the
drops as they struck the roofs, and the vapour steaming from the earth,
drew over everything a veil invisible yet visible, which softened
outlines like the gauze curtain in a theatre. Through it loomed the
Minster, larger and far more mysteriously impressive than Westray had
in any moods imagined. A moment later the omnibus drew up before
an iron gate, from which a flagged pathway led through the churchyard
to the north porch.
The conductor opened the carriage-door.
"This is the church, sir," he said, somewhat superfluously. "If you get
out here, I will drive your bag to the hotel."
Westray fixed his hat firmly on his head, turned up the collar of his
coat, and made a dash through the rain for the door. Deep puddles had
formed in the worn places of the gravestones that paved the alley, and
he splashed himself in his hurry before he reached the shelter of the
porch. He pulled aside the hanging leather mattress that covered a
wicket in the great door, and found himself inside the church.
It was not yet four o'clock, but the day was so overcast that dusk was
already falling in the building. A little group of men who had been
talking in the choir turned round at the sound of the opening door, and
made towards the architect. The protagonist was a clergyman past
middle age, who wore a stock, and stepped forward to greet the young
architect.
"Sir George Farquhar's assistant, I presume. One of Sir George
Farquhar's assistants I should perhaps say, for no doubt Sir George has
more than one assistant in carrying out his many and varied
professional duties."
Westray made a motion of assent, and the clergyman went on: "Let me

introduce myself as Canon Parkyn. You will no doubt have heard of me
from Sir George, with whom I, as rector of this church, have had
exceptional opportunities of associating. On one occasion, indeed, Sir
George spent the night under my own roof, and I must say that I think
any young man should be proud of studying under an architect of such
distinguished ability. I shall be able to explain to you very briefly the
main views which Sir George has conceived with regard to the
restoration; but in the meantime let me make you known to my worthy
parishioners--and friends," he added in a tone which implied some
doubt as to whether condescension was not being stretched too far, in
qualifying as friends persons so manifestly inferior.
"This is Mr Sharnall, the organist, who under my direction presides
over the musical portion of our services; and this is Dr Ennefer, our
excellent local practitioner; and this is Mr Joliffe, who, though engaged
in trade, finds time as churchwarden to assist me in the supervision of