This morning he made a hearty breakfast, glanced at the headlines of the paper, and then said with professional briskness: ‘And now, Lord Brideshead, would the poor soul be ready to see me, do you think?’

Brideshead led him out; Cordelia followed, and I was left alone among the breakfast things. In less than a minute I heard the voices of all three outside the door.

‘…can only apologize.’

‘…poor soul. Mark you, it was seeing a strange face; depend upon it, it was that – an unexpected stranger. I well understand it.’

‘…Father, I am sorry…bringing you all this way…’

‘Don’t think about it at all, Lady Cordelia. Why, I’ve had bottles thrown at me in the Gorbals….Give him time. I’ve known worse cases make beautiful deaths. Pray for him…I’ll come again…and now if you’ll excuse me I’ll just pay a little visit to Mrs Hawkins. Yes, indeed, I know the way well.’

Then Cordelia and Brideshead came into the room.

‘I gather the visit was not a success.’

‘It was not. Cordelia, will you drive Father Mackay home when he comes down from nanny? I’m going to telephone to Beryl and see when she needs me home.’

‘Bridey, it was horrible. What are we to do?’

‘We’ve done everything we can at the moment.’ He left the room.

Cordelia’s face was grave; she took a piece of bacon from the dish, dipped it in mustard and ate it. ‘Damn Bridey,’ she said, ‘I knew it wouldn’t work.’

‘What happened?’

‘Would you like to know? We walked in there in a line; Cara was reading the paper aloud to papa. Bridey said, “I’ve brought Father Mackay to see you”; papa said, “Father Mackay, I am afraid you have been brought here under a misapprehension. I am not in extremis, and I have not been a practising member of your Church for twenty-five years. Brideshead, show Father Mackay the way out.” Then we all turned about and walked away, and I heard Cara start reading the paper again, and that, Charles, was that.’

I carried the news to Julia, who lay with her bed-table amid a litter of newspapers and envelopes. ‘Mumbo-jumbo is off,’ I said. ‘The witch-doctor has gone.’

‘Poor papa.’

‘It’s great sucks to Bridey.’

I felt triumphant. I had been right, everyone else had been wrong, truth had prevailed; the threat that I had felt hanging over Julia and me ever since that evening at the fountain, had been averted, perhaps dispelled for ever; and there was also – I can now confess it – another unexpressed, inexpressible, indecent little victory that I was furtively celebrating. I guessed that that morning’s business had put Brideshead some considerable way further from his rightful inheritance.

In that I was correct; a man was sent for from the solicitors in London; in a day or two he came and it was known throughout the house that Lord Marchmain had made a new will. But I was wrong in thinking that the religious controversy was quashed; it flamed up again after dinner on Brideshead’s last evening.