Page 84 of Miss Devoted
“Thank you,” Michael said, moving up the aisle to take Psyche’s hand. “Thank you most sincerely.”
She smiled at him. “Dermot’s work?”
“And yours.”
She kissed his cheek. “Finish your sermon, sir, and then I have a few words to say.”
“This is insupportable,” Arbuckle bellowed, his words ringing through the shadowy church. “You accuse me, who took you into my trust and my congregation… You dare point fingers at your spiritual superior, when—”
“I’ll point a few more while I’m at it,” Michael said, and this time, he didn’t offer any mental apologies to heaven, or Papa, or to anybody else. He was burning bridges and cutting ties, but those ties had been holding him and his family down.
“You, Helmsley, should know that I needed but one meeting—one fairly short meeting—to organize the churches neighboring the slums into keeping a closer eye on their steps. Twelve little lives have been spared as a result ofone meeting.”
Michael took courage from the number and aimed his next words at Arbuckle too. “Where are the meetings for the old soldiers, the widows, the climbing boys, the children in the mines and factories? Not at Lambeth, where all and sundry are too busy supporting the Corn Laws and fighting against parliamentary reform and wider suffrage. You spend eternities condemning streetwalkers because they refuse to starve and damning the gin mills because they at least offer the downtrodden relief from pain. We offer them only thoughts, prayers, and judgment. I cannot in good conscience accept coin to remain associated with such a church.”
Helmsley stalked up to him, his bootheels ringing in the cavernous space. “You are making a mistake, Delancey. An enormous mistake. You have potential. Others have noted as much, but you are throwing it all away over some child who isn’t even related to you.”
Psyche took the place at Michael’s side and laced her fingers through this. If he’d had any doubts about the rightness of his decision, they fled at the touch of her hand.
“The Church is full of good people,” Michael said, “and those good people deserve better than the likes of Hannibal Arbuckle in the ranks of clergy. You know it, Helmsley,and that is why you will see to it that Arbuckle resigns, effectively immediately.”
“I will never!” Arbuckle roared. “How dare you, and by what authority do you make such an outlandish demand? Delancey, you are clearly daft if not dangerous. Somebody should summon the watch.”
Psyche took a firmer grip of Michael’s hand. “Somebody has, also a few judges and a rather large jury. Put your case to them, Arbuckle. Explain to them how you threw children to the poorhouse, abused your staff, and took advantage of your congregation, while your curate tended to the Church’s business and rescued what innocents he could. Let’s see what they have to say.”
Michael had not quite followed what Psyche was alluding to, but she seemed calm and even… happy?
She pointed up, to the balcony that ringed the nave and held the choir loft. Michael was astonished to see Ophelia Oldbach, swaddled to the ears, among a host of others. Goddard and various squirming children were up there, as well as some ladies in colorful plumage who were blowing MacKay kisses. Half the regulars from Meg’s tavern were present, as well as Twillinger, Ingram, and Danner. Some former soldiers of MacKay’s acquaintance were also among those assembled, as were three of the pastors who’d found babies on their church steps.
“Who are the ladies?” Michael murmured in Psyche’s ear.
“The proper ladies are Hazel’s charitable friends and some of Mrs. Oldbach’s cronies. The other ladies are acquaintances of Mr. MacKay and the former soldiers.”
“You did this?” Michael asked as a sense of peace and gratitude filled his heart. Bea and Thad were safe. If he could not see to their safety, Psyche would, as would these good, kind, generous, and fierce people.
“You did this,” Psyche said. “I merely announced the time and place of the meeting.”
Arbuckle was no longer pacing or slapping his walking stick against his palm. “Who in blazes are they?” His tone was aggrieved, though his eyes had taken on the furtive desperation of the cornered rodent.
“Helmsley,” Michael said, “Arbuckle, allow me to introduce the rest of my family and a few new friends. If you’re through attempting to bully, intimidate, and bother me and my children, I’d like to greet them properly.”
Psyche waved to Mrs. Oldbach. “Oh, and we’ll want Arbuckle’s resignation in writing.”
“By sundown,” Papa added.
MacKay pushed away from his pillar. “We’ll find pen and paper in the vicar’s study. Methinks now is a fine time to write a resignation. This way, Arbuckle.”
Arbuckle tossed one doomed glance at Helmsley, who was scowling resolutely in the direction of the altar. Working out what to say to his superiors, no doubt, and what not to say.
“Wishing yourself back in Shropshire?” Michael asked as somebody took up a robust version of “Amazing Grace.”
“Or Wales,” Helmsley said as others joined in. “My mother’s people were Welsh.”
“Perhaps you should visit them,” Psyche suggested sweetly. “A year or two in the country might do wonders for your disposition.”
The chorus from above grew louder and broke into soprano, alto, tenor, and bass parts, with Mrs. Oldbach and her friends warbling the descant.
If Helmsley had anything to say, he was drowned out by the joyful noise. He bowed to Psyche and then—how odd—to Michael and took himself off without another word.
