Page 209 of The Armor of Light
‘Come and share my supper.’
‘I couldn’t eat, but I’ll sit with you.’
They went to the kitchen. Amos poured wine for Jane and she took a sip. He said: ‘Hal is looking well.’
‘He’s lovely.’
‘In a few years’ time he may start to resemble his father – whoever that may be.’
‘Oh, Amos, he’s yours.’
Amos was startled. She had never said that before. He said: ‘You’re in no doubt?’
‘You saw him come out of the bookshop! Henry never bought a novel in his life. He only reads military history.’
‘That doesn’t really prove anything.’
‘I can’t prove anything. I just see you in him every day.’
Amos thought about that for a while. He was inclined to trust Jane’s instinct. He said: ‘Perhaps when Henry goes to Spain I might see more of Hal? But I suppose you’ll be living at Earlscastle.’
‘On my own? No, thank you. I’ll make Henry keep Willard House.I’ll have my own apartment, and the militia can use the rest of the building. I’ll tell him the nation needs it. He’ll do anything if he thinks it’s patriotic.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want some of this pie? It’s good.’
‘Perhaps I will.’
‘I’ll cut you a thin slice. You’ll feel better with some food inside you.’
She took the plate he passed her and put it down, but instead of eating, she stared at him.
He said: ‘What have I done?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘You’ve just been your usual thoughtful, loyal self. I should have married you.’
‘You should have,’ said Amos. ‘And now it’s too late.’
*
Elsie knew how lucky she was. She was still alive after having five children – the last, George, born in 1806. Many women died in childbirth and few lived to have this many. Even more unusual, all her children were perfectly healthy. But the birth of Georgie had not been like the others: the labour had been long and she had bled a lot. When it was over she had firmly told Kenelm that there were to be no more. He had accepted her ruling. Marital intimacy had never been a high priority for him and he had little regret about giving it up. Now, six years later, she was sensing changes in her body that told her she would soon lose the ability to conceive anyway.
She and Kenelm had never been really close. He was not good with children, so he took little part in raising his own. And he rarely visited her Sunday school. He was not lazy: as dean he carried out his duties energetically. But they shared little. Her real partner was Amos, who was quietly dedicated to the Sunday school and easy with youngsters, despite having none of his own.
All five children came to the dining room of the deanery forbreakfast. Kenelm would probably have preferred the younger ones to eat in the nursery, but Elsie said they were old enough – Georgie was six – and anyway this was really the only way to teach them table manners. Stephen, the eldest, was fifteen and attending Kingsbridge Grammar School.
Kenelm occasionally took the opportunity to test them on religious knowledge, and today he asked who in the Bible had no mother or father. He told them to answer in order of age, starting with the youngest.
Georgie said: ‘Jesus.’
‘No,’ said Kenelm. ‘Jesus had a mother, Mary, and a father, Joseph.’ Elsie wondered whether Kenelm would stumble into the question of how Joseph could be the father when the mother was a virgin. The older children might wonder. But he swerved around it by immediately asking: ‘Martha, do you know?’
Martha was a year older than Georgie and she had a better answer. ‘God,’ she said.
‘True, God has no parents, but I’m thinking of someone else, a man.’
Richie, ten, said: ‘I know, I know – Adam.’
‘Very good. And there’s one more.’
