‘I’m most curious to know what sort of man the archbishop is looking for.’
‘I’d be glad to satisfy your curiosity,’ Tattersall said in his soft, precise voice. ‘I assume you consider yourself a candidate – not unreasonably – therefore I must tell you right away that you have not been chosen.’
The quickest way was the kindest way, Elsie thought, but Kenelm could not hide how distraught he was. His face reddened, and for a worrying moment she was afraid he would burst into tears; but anger took over. He clenched his fists on the white tablecloth. ‘You think I am a good candidate, yet −’ He almost choked on the words. ‘Yet you imply that someone else has got the job.’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is he?’ Kenelm demanded. Then he realized he was being impolite and hastily added: ‘If you don’t mind my asking.’
‘I don’t mind at all. The archbishop has chosen Horace Tomlin.’
‘Tomlin? I know Tomlin! He was two years behind me at Oxford. I haven’t heard that he’s had a particularly distinguished career since then. Tell me honestly, Archdeacon – is it because I’m Scottish?’
‘Absolutely not. I can assure you of that.’
‘Then why?’
‘I’ll tell you. Tomlin has spent the last five years as chaplain to a regiment of dragoons, and has resigned only because of a sickness contracted in Spain.’
‘A chaplain?’
‘I know what you’re thinking. The cream of the clergy do not often become army chaplains.’
‘Exactly.’
‘In a way that’s the point. The archbishop feels strongly about the war. We’re fighting against atheistical ideas, he believes, and although Bonaparte has reversed some of the most offensive anti-Christian acts of the French revolutionaries, he has not returned the property stolen from the French Church. Our clergy should be part of the battle, the argument goes. Soldiers on the front line, knowing they may die at any minute, are most in need of God’s comfort. Our best clergymen must not stay at home in comfortable livings, they must go where they’re needed. This is the kind of service that the archbishop is most eager to reward.’
Kenelm was silent for a long moment. Elsie sensed this was not a time for her to speak. At last Kenelm said: ‘Let me make sure I understand you.’
Tattersall smiled encouragingly. ‘Please speak freely.’
‘You think I am deserving of a bishopric.’
‘I do. You’re intelligent, upright and hard-working. You would be an asset to any diocese.’
‘But you know that in the present circumstances the archbishop will always favour a man who has served as a chaplain.’
‘Correct.’
‘So the only way I can be sure of achieving my hopes is to become a chaplain.’
‘The only sure way, yes.’
Kenelm picked up his wine glass and drained it. He looked like a man facing execution.
Elsie thought: Oh, no.
‘In that case,’ Kenelm said, ‘I shall offer myself to the 107th Foot Regiment tomorrow morning.’
33
PASTORMIDWINTER SAIDhe would make the announcement on Sunday morning after communion. Amos was nervous all through the service. He could not foresee how much support he would get. Elsie said that people knew him and liked him, but would they really want him to represent them in Parliament?
They were in the third Methodist Hall to be built in Kingsbridge. This one was the largest – so imposing that some members felt it was too impressive. People should be awestruck by God’s work, not by the constructions of men, they felt. But others thought it was time Methodism started to look good as well as feel good.
Amos was neutral in that argument. He had more important matters on his mind.
Midwinter began: ‘You probably all know that Parliament has been dissolved, and a general election has been called.’
