Page 29 of The Armor of Light

When at last the storm subsided his mother said: ‘Get dressednow, and come to the kitchen for a cup of tea. There’s a lot to do, and doing things will help us bear our loss.’

He nodded and let himself be led out of the room. Back in his own bedroom he began to dress. Thoughtlessly, he started putting on his everyday clothes, and he had to take them off and start again. He chose a dark-grey coat with a waistcoat and a black neckcloth. The routine of tying and buttoning soothed him, and his self-control had returned by the time he appeared in the kitchen.

He sat at the table. Mother handed him a cup of tea and said: ‘We must think about the funeral. I’d like the service to be in the cathedral. Your father was an important man in Kingsbridge, he merits it.’

‘Shall I ask the bishop?’

‘If you would.’

‘Of course.’

Ellen set a plate of buttered toast in front of Amos. He had not thought he wanted to eat anything, but the smell made his mouth water. He took a slice and ate it quickly, then said: ‘What about the wake?’

‘Ellen and I can manage that.’

Ellen said: ‘With a bit of extra help, perhaps.’

Mother added: ‘But I’ll need some money from the safe.’

‘I’ll see to that,’ said Amos. ‘I know where the key is.’ He ate more toast.

She gave a watery smile. ‘It’s your money, now, I suppose. And the business is yours, too.’

‘As I’m only nineteen, I imagine it’s yours, at least until I turn twenty-one.’

She shrugged. ‘You’re the man of the house.’

He was – sooner than expected. He had long been impatient to take charge, but now he felt no thrill of satisfaction. Rather, he was daunted by the prospect of running the enterprise without the benefit of his father’s knowledge and experience.

He reached for another piece of toast but it was all gone.

Day was breaking outside. Mother said: ‘Ellen, go round the house and make sure all the curtains are drawn.’ That would serve as a sign to passers-by that there had been a death in the house. ‘I’ll cover the mirrors,’ she said. That, too, was customary, although Amos did not know why.

‘We need to start telling people,’ Amos said. He thought of the mayor and the editor of theKingsbridge Gazette. ‘I should probably see the bishop now, if it’s not too early.’

‘He will consider it a courtesy to be informed first,’ said Mother. ‘He’s fussy about that sort of thing.’

Amos put on an overcoat and stepped out into the cold Sunday morning. His father’s house – his house, now – was on the High Street. He walked to the crossroads of High Street and Main Street, the commercial centre of the town, its four corners occupied by the Wool Exchange, the Guild Hall, the Assembly Rooms and the Kingsbridge Theatre. There he turned into Main Street and walked downhill, past the cathedral. Its graveyard was on the north side. Soon Father’s body would lie there, but his soul was already in heaven.

The bishop’s palace, opposite the Bell Inn, was a grand house with tall windows and an elaborate porch, all built in stone from the quarry that had supplied the cathedral builders. Amos recognized the middle-aged maid who let him into the hall, Linda Mason. ‘Hello, Linda, I need to see the bishop.’

‘He’s resting after the early morning service,’ she said. ‘Can I tell him what it’s about?’

‘My father died in the night.’

‘Oh! Amos, I’m so sorry.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll let the bishop know you’re here. Sit by the fire.’

He pulled a chair up to the coal fire and looked around the hall.It was tastefully decorated in light colours, with several bland paintings of landscapes. There were no religious images, probably because they smacked a bit of Catholicism.

A minute later the bishop’s daughter, Elsie, appeared. Amos smiled, pleased to see her. She was bright and strong-willed, and they were planning the Sunday school together. He liked her, though she did not have the irresistible allure of Jane Midwinter. Elsie was quite plain, with a wide mouth and a big nose, but – as he was now reminded – she did have an enchanting smile. She said: ‘Hello, Mr Barrowfield, what are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to see the bishop,’ he said. ‘My father has died.’

She gave a squeeze of sympathy to his upper arm. ‘How sad for you. And for your mother.’