‘I think it’s a splendid notion.’
‘My father fears it will indoctrinate the children with Methodism. Canon Charles is to be the patron, and Amos Barrowfield will help with the teaching.’
‘My lord bishop is wise,’ said Spade.
He was supposed to support Elsie, not the bishop.
Spade went on: ‘I’m a Methodist myself, but I believe that children should be taught the basic truths, and not be troubled by doctrinal subtleties.’
It was a good plain argument, but Elsie could see that her father was unmoved.
Spade went on: ‘But if everyone involved in your school is Methodist, Elsie, the Anglican Church would have to start its own Sunday school, to provide an alternative.’
The bishop grunted in surprise. He had not seen this coming.
Spade said: ‘And I’m sure many townspeople would love the idea of their children being told Bible stories by the bishop himself.’
Elsie almost laughed. Her father’s face was a picture of horror. He hated the idea of telling Bible stories to the unwashed children of Kingsbridge’s poor.
She said: ‘But, Spade, I will be in charge of the school, so I can make sure the children are taught only those elements of our faith which the Anglican Church and the Methodist reformers have in common.’
‘Oh! In that case I withdraw everything I said. And by the way, I think you’ll be a wonderful teacher.’
The bishop looked relieved. ‘Well, have your Sunday school if you must,’ he said. ‘I must go about my duties. Good day to you, Mr Shoveller.’ He left the room.
Arabella said: ‘Elsie, did you plan that?’
‘I certainly did. And thank you, Spade – you were brilliant.’
‘A pleasure.’ He turned to Arabella. ‘Mrs Latimer, if you would like a garment of this lovely cloth, my sister will be delighted to make it.’
Spade’s sister, Kate Shoveller, was a skilled seamstress and had a shop on the High Street that she ran with another woman, Rebecca Liddle. Their clothes were fashionable and the shop did well.
Elsie wanted to reward Spade for the good turn he had done her, and she said to her mother: ‘You should order a coat, it will look wonderful.’
‘I think I will,’ said Arabella. ‘Please tell Miss Shoveller that I’ll call in at the shop.’
Spade bowed. ‘A pleasure, of course,’ he said.
4
THE NIGHT BEFOREthe funeral Sal lay awake, alternately grieving for Harry and worrying about how she would manage without his wage.
His body lay in the cold church, wrapped in a shroud, and she had the bed to herself. It felt empty, and she kept shivering. The last time she had slept alone had been the night before she married him, eight years ago.
Kit was in the small bed, and she could tell by his breathing that he was asleep. He at least was able to forget his sorrow in slumber.
Buffeted by bittersweet memories and anxiety for the future, she drifted in and out of a doze until she saw light around the edges of the shutters, then she got up and lit the fire. She sat at her spinning wheel until Kit woke, then made their breakfast of bread and dripping with tea. Soon she would be too poor to buy tea.
The funeral was scheduled for the afternoon. Kit’s shirt was worn thin and unmendably torn. She did not want him to look bad today. She had an old one of Harry’s that could be remade to fit the boy, and she sat down to cut and sew.
As she was finishing she heard gunfire. That would be Will Riddick, shooting partridges in Mill Field. He was responsible for her sudden poverty. He ought to do something about it. Anger rose in her throat and she decided to confront him. ‘Stay here,’ she said to Kit. ‘Sweep the floor.’ She went out into the cold morning.
Will was in the field with his black-and-white setter. As sheapproached him from behind, a flurry of birds rose out of the adjacent woods, and Will followed their flight with his shotgun and fired twice. He was a good shot, and two birds fluttered to the ground, grey with striped wings, about the size of pigeons. A man emerged from the trees and Sal recognized the lank hair and bony frame of Platts, the butler at the manor house. Evidently he was scaring up the birds for Will.
The dog raced to where they had fallen. It brought one bird back, then the second. Will shouted to Platt: ‘Again!’
By that time Sal had reached the spot where Will stood.
