‘I know everyone, and there’s nobody of that name in Kingsbridge. My oath on it.’ He clapped his hands once and spat into the fire.
The bishop was shocked into silence – as Elsie had hoped.
Jimmy added: ‘There’s a bargee from Combe comes up river now and again called Jason Cryer.’ He wagged an admonitory finger at Elsie. ‘Pound to a penny you’re getting his name wrong.’
Elsie pressed on. ‘Do you go to church?’
‘I went once, but they wouldn’t give me none of the wine, so I walked out.’
‘Don’t you want to have your sins forgiven?’
Jimmy was indignant. ‘I never committed no sins, ever, and thatpiglet that was stole off Mrs Andrews in Well Street was nothing to do with me, I wasn’t even there.’
The bishop said: ‘All right, all right, Elsie, you’ve made your point. Mason, take the child away.’
Elsie added: ‘And give him sausages.’
‘With mustard,’ said Jimmy.
‘With mustard,’ Elsie echoed.
Mason and Jimmy left.
Arabella clapped her hands and laughed. ‘What a splendid little tyke! He fears no one!’
Elsie said seriously: ‘He’s not unusual, Father. Half the children in Kingsbridge are the same. They never see the inside of a school, and if their parents don’t make them go to church they never learn about the Christian religion.’
The bishop was clearly shocked. He said: ‘But do you imagine there is something I can do about it?’
This was the moment she had been leading up to. ‘Some of the townspeople are talking about starting a Sunday school.’ This was not the exact truth. The school was Elsie’s idea, and although several people were in favour, it probably would not happen without her. But she did not want him to know how easy it would be for him to prevent it.
He said: ‘But we already have schools for little children in the town. I believe Mrs Baines in Fish Street teaches sound Christian principles, although I’m doubtful about that place in Loversfield where the Methodists send their sons.’
‘Those schools charge fees, of course.’
‘How else should they function?’
‘I’m talking about a free school for poor children on Sunday afternoons.’
‘I see.’ He was thinking up objections, she could tell. ‘Where would it take place?’
‘The Wool Exchange, perhaps. It’s never used on Sundays.’
‘Do you think the mayor would permit the floor of the Wool Exchange to be used by the children of the poor? Half of them aren’t properly house-trained. Why, even in the cathedral I’ve seen... But never mind that.’
‘I’m sure the children can be kept under control. But if we can’t use the Wool Exchange there are other possibilities.’
‘And who would do the teaching?’
‘Several people have volunteered, including Amos Barrowfield, who went to the grammar school.’
Arabella murmured: ‘I thought Amos would come into it somehow.’
Elsie blushed and pretended not to have heard.
The bishop ignored Arabella’s aside and failed to notice Elsie’s embarrassment. He said: ‘Young Barrowfield is a Methodist, I believe.’
‘Canon Midwinter will be the patron.’
