Page 86 of The Armor of Light

‘Of course. The sooner the better.’

They parted company.

She did not want to enter the palace immediately, so she went into the cathedral, always a good place to think. There was no service taking place. She needed to work out the details of the new feeding programme, but her mind was full of Amos. He had no idea howmuch she loved him: he thought they were just friends. And he was stupidly obsessed with Jane Midwinter, a girl who did not return his love and in any case was so much less than he deserved. Elsie wanted to pray, to ask God to make Amos love her and forget Jane, but it seemed too selfish for prayer, not the kind of thing you should ask God to arrange.

In the south aisle she passed two men arguing. She recognized Stan Gittings, a chronic gambler, and Sport Culliver, owner of the largest gambling den in town. Neither man was a regular churchgoer, so they had probably come in to argue out of the rain. This was not surprising. People often came here to discuss a problem, a deal, or even a love affair. In this case the issue seemed to be money, but she paid little attention.

She noticed someone she did not recognize kneeling in front of the high altar. The man looked young. He was wrapped in a big overcoat that hid the clothes underneath, so Elsie could not tell whether he was a clergyman. His face was raised but his eyes were closed, and his lips were moving in intense, silent prayer. She wondered who he was.

She was going to sit down quietly in the south transept, but the argument in the aisle became heated. The men’s voices were raised and they had adopted aggressive stances. She considered intervening to suggest they move outside, but on reflection she decided they were less likely to come to blows if they stayed in the church, so abandoned her idea of a quiet moment and headed out, walking past them without speaking.

Behind her, Culliver shouted: ‘If you bet with money you haven’t got, you must take the consequences!’

A moment later another voice was raised in high indignation, saying: ‘I command you to leave this holy place immediately!’

She turned and saw the young man who had been praying at the high altar. He was striding towards the two quarrellers, his face –rather handsome, she noticed – pink with outrage. ‘Out!’ he said to Gittings and Culliver. ‘Out now!’

Gittings, a scrawny man in worn clothes, looked shamefaced and was about to scurry away, but Culliver was not so easily intimidated. Not only was he tall and heavily built, he was also one of the wealthiest people in town. He was not a man to be pushed around. ‘Who the devil are you?’ he said.

‘My name is Kenelm Mackintosh,’ said the young man with a touch of pride.

He was expected, Elsie knew. The resignation of Canon Midwinter had triggered a series of promotions among the cathedral clergy that had left a vacancy in the bishop’s personal staff, and Elsie’s father had appointed a distant relative, a young clergyman recently graduated from Oxford University. So this was him. He must have just got off the stagecoach.

He quickly unbuttoned his coat to reveal clerical robes beneath. ‘I am the aide to Bishop Latimer. This is the house of God. I order you to take your quarrel elsewhere.’

Culliver noticed Elsie for the first time and said to her: ‘Who does he think he is? Little whippersnapper.’

‘Go home, Sport,’ Elsie said quietly. ‘And if you let Sid Gittings gamble on credit, you must take the consequences.’

Sport was clearly furious at this scornful remark from a young woman, and he looked as if he was about to argue; then he thought better of it and, after a pause, the two men sloped off, heading for the south porch door.

Elsie looked with interest at the newcomer. He was about her age, twenty-two, and good-looking enough to be a girl, with a shock of fair hair and interesting green eyes. And he had guts, to stand up to a big bully such as Culliver. But his face wore a dissatisfied expression: clearly he was not content with the way the confrontation had ended.

Elsie said: ‘They don’t mean any harm.’

‘I was able to deal with them myself,’ Mackintosh said haughtily, ‘but all the same I thank you.’

Touchy, she thought. Never mind.

‘They seem to regard you as a person of authority,’ he went on, clearly surprised that a mere girl had been able to quell two angry men.

‘Authority?’ she said. ‘Not really. I’m Elsie Latimer, the bishop’s daughter.’

He was disconcerted. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Latimer. I had no idea.’

‘Nothing to apologize for. And now we’ve been introduced. Have you met the bishop yet?’

‘No. I sent my trunk to the palace and came straight here to give God thanks for a safe journey.’

Very devout, she thought; but is it real, or for show? ‘Well, let me take you to the bishop.’

‘Gladly.’

They left the cathedral and crossed the square. ‘I was told you were Scottish,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ he replied stiffly. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Not to me. I’m just surprised you don’t have the accent.’