Page 10 of The Armor of Light

Arabella handed the shovel to the groundsman and the two women hurried inside. Arabella took off her boots and cloak while Elsiepatted her damp hair with a towel. Elsie said: ‘This morning I’m going to ask Father about the Sunday school.’

It was her big project. She was horrified by the way children were treated in her home town. They often started work at seven years of age, and they worked fourteen hours a day Monday to Friday, and twelve hours on Saturday. Most never learned to read or write more than a few words. They needed a Sunday school.

Her father knew all that and did not seem to care. However, she had a plan for winning him around.

Her mother said: ‘I hope he’s in a good mood.’

‘You’ll support me, won’t you?’

‘Of course. I think it’s a grand scheme.’

Elsie wanted more than a vague expression of goodwill. ‘I know you have misgivings, but – please don’t mind me saying this – could you keep them to yourself, just for today?’

‘Of course, dear. I’m not tactless, you know that.’

Elsie knew nothing of the kind, but she did not say so. ‘He’ll raise objections, but I’ll deal with them. I just want you to murmur encouragement now and again, saying “Quite right,” and “Good idea,” and things like that.’

Arabella seemed amused and only slightly irritated by her daughter’s persistence. ‘Darling, I get the message, don’t worry. You’re like an actor, you don’t want thoughtful criticism, you want an applauding audience.’

She was being ironic, but Elsie pretended not to notice. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

They went into the dining room. The staff were lined up along one side of the room in order of precedence: first the men – butler, groom, footman, boot boy – then the women – housekeeper, cook, two maids and the kitchen skivvy. The table was laid with china in the fashionable flowered style that was called chinoiserie.

Beside the bishop’s place was a copy ofThe Timestwo days old. Ittook a day to travel from London to Bristol on the turnpike road and another day to reach Kingsbridge via country lanes that were muddy in the wet and rutted otherwise. Such speed seemed miraculous to people as old as the bishop, who could remember when the journey had taken a week.

The bishop came in. Elsie and Arabella drew back their chairs and knelt on the carpet with their elbows on the seats, hands folded. The tea-urn hissed as he went through prayers reverently but briskly, impatient for his bacon. After the last amen the servants returned to their work and the food was quickly brought from the kitchen.

Elsie ate some bread and butter, sipped her tea, and waited for the right moment. She felt tense. She wanted this Sunday school very badly. It broke her heart that so many Kingsbridge children were completely ignorant. She discreetly studied her father as he ate, judging his mood. He was fifty-five, his hair grey and thinning. He had once been an imposing figure, tall and broad-shouldered – Elsie could just remember – but he was too fond of his food and now he was heavy, with a round face and a huge waist, and he stooped.

When the bishop was pleasantly full of toast and tea, and before he openedThe Times, the maid, Mason, came in with a jug of fresh milk, and Elsie made her move. She gave Mason a discreet nod. This was a prearranged signal, and Mason knew what to do.

‘Something I want to ask you about, Father,’ Elsie said. It was always best to frame anything she had to say as a plea for enlightenment: the bishop enjoyed explaining, but he did not like to be told what to do.

He smiled benignly. ‘Go on.’

‘Our town has a reputation in the world of education. The library of your cathedral draws scholars from all over western Europe. Kingsbridge Grammar School is nationally famous. And of course there is Kingsbridge College, Oxford, where you yourself studied.’

‘Very true, my dear, but I know all this.’

‘And yet we fail.’

‘Surely not.’

Elsie hesitated, but she was committed now. With a thudding heart she called out: ‘Come in, Mason, please.’

Mason came in leading a dirty little boy about ten or eleven years old. An unpleasant smell entered the room with him. Surprisingly, he did not seem intimidated by the surroundings.

Elsie said to her father: ‘I want you to meet Jimmy Passfield.’

The boy spoke with the arrogance of a duke, though not the grammar. ‘I was promised sausages with mustard, but I ain’t seen none yet.’

The bishop said: ‘What on earth is this?’

She prayed that he would not explode. ‘Please, Father, listen for a minute or two.’ Without waiting for his consent, she turned to the child and said: ‘Can you read, Jimmy?’ She held her breath, not being sure what he would say.

‘I don’t need to read,’ he said defiantly. ‘I know everything. I can tell you the times of the stagecoach every day of the week without ever looking at the bit of paper nailed up at the Bell Inn.’

The bishop harrumphed, but Elsie ignored him and asked the key question. ‘Do you know Jesus Christ?’