Page 177 of The Armor of Light

‘No,’ said Elsie. ‘But I suspect she thinks the bishop is not really capable of making decisions, and that in truth you’re running things now.’

Kenelm did not deny it. ‘And if that were true, would it matter?’

‘A hostile observer might say that what you’re doing is deceitful.’

‘Hardly,’ said Kenelm with a little laugh, pretending that the suggestion was fanciful. ‘In any case, what’s essential is to keep the diocese running smoothly while the bishop is indisposed.’

‘He may never get better.’

‘All the more reason to avoid a row among the clergy over who’s going to be acting bishop in the interim.’

‘Sooner or later people will realize what you’re up to.’

‘All the better. If I show myself capable of the job, then, when your father is at last called home to be with the Lord, the archbishop should appoint me bishop in his place.’

‘But you’re only thirty-two years old.’

Kenelm’s fair cheeks darkened with anger. ‘Age should have nothing to do with it. The post should go to the ablest man.’

‘There’s no doubt of your competence, Kenelm. But this is the Church of England, and it’s run by old men. They may think you’re too young.’

‘I’ve been here nine years and I’ve proved my worth!’

‘And everyone would agree.’ This was not really true – Kenelm had clashed with some of the senior men who disliked his bumptious confidence – but she was trying to soothe his outraged feelings. ‘I just don’t want you to be too disappointed if the decision doesn’t go your way.’

‘I really don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ he said with finality, and Elsie said no more.

He finished his supper and they went upstairs together. Hefollowed her into her bedroom, then went through the communicating door into his own room. ‘Goodnight, dear,’ he said as he closed the door.

‘Goodnight,’ said Elsie.

*

When the bishop died, Elsie was surprised by her grief. Her relationship with her father had been fraught, and she had not expected to shed tears. It was not until the undertakers had done their work, and she looked at his cold body in the coffin, dressed in his episcopal robes and a full wig, that sadness overwhelmed her, and she sobbed. She found herself thinking of scenes from her childhood that she had not called to mind for twenty-five years: her father singing to her, children’s hymns and folk songs; telling her bedtime stories; saying how pretty she looked in her new clothes; teaching her to recognize the first letter of her name on carved inscriptions in the cathedral. At some point those intimacies had come to an end. Perhaps it was when she changed from a sweet little girl to a challenging, argumentative adolescent.

‘All the good times,’ she said to her mother. ‘Why did I forget them for so long?’

‘Because bad memories poison good,’ said Arabella. ‘But now we can look at his life as a whole. He was kind at some moments and cruel at others. He was clever but narrow-minded. I can’t think of a single occasion when he lied to me, or to anyone else for that matter – though he could deceive by silence. Every life is that kind of patchwork, under scrutiny, unless you’re a saint.’

Amos said he understood how Elsie felt. Chatting at Sunday school, while the children ate their free dinner, he talked about the death of his own father twelve years ago. ‘When I saw him pale and still I was just seized with a fit of weeping, overwhelmed by it, I couldn’t stop crying. And yet at the same time I knew he had treatedme badly. I remembered that, and it made no difference. I couldn’t understand it – still can’t.’

Elsie nodded. ‘The attachment goes too deep to be altered by circumstances. Grief isn’t rational.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘You’re so wise, Elsie.’

And yet you prefer that flibbertigibbet Jane, she thought.

The bishop left four thousand pounds in his will, divided equally between his wife and daughter. Arabella could live modestly on her inheritance. Elsie would use hers for the Sunday school.

The archbishop did not come to Kingsbridge for the funeral, but sent his right-hand man, Augustus Tattersall. He stayed at the palace. Elsie was impressed by him. She had met two previous emissaries of the archbishop and found both of them arrogant and overbearing. Tattersall was an intellectual, a man of considerable influence, but he carried his distinction lightly. He spoke softly and was carefully courteous, especially to those in his power; but there was no sign of weakness, and he could be very firm when talking about what the archbishop wished. It occurred to her that Amos would have been like this if he had become a clergyman – except that Tattersall was not so handsome.

During past visits Elsie had been embarrassed by how obviously Kenelm strove to impress senior clergymen, constantly saying how much the bishop depended on him and hinting that he could run things better. She understood that Kenelm wanted to progress in the Church, but she felt that holders of high office in the Church might have been more impressed by a subtler approach.

Kenelm told Elsie he was confident, but he was bursting to hear the news from Tattersall. However, Tattersall kept them all in suspense and said nothing about it while the funeral arrangements were made.

With great ceremony the bishop was laid to rest in the graveyard on the north side of the cathedral. Tattersall had scheduled a meetingof the chapter immediately afterwards. But he asked to speak to Arabella, Kenelm and Elsie before the chapter, which was thoughtful of him, Elsie felt.

They sat in the drawing room. Tattersall spoke briskly. ‘The archbishop has decided that the new bishop of Kingsbridge will be Marcus Reddingcote.’