London - Edward Rutherfurd [378]
They stared back at him, stunned.
It was Edmund’s usual practice to stand by the church door to greet his parishioners as they left. Today he did so with the vestry committee at his side. Most of the congregation hurried out without meeting his gaze. A few glared at him.
Julius had watched them all come out, and had started to follow his brother home, when he found himself facing Gideon.
There was no question, he felt awkward in the presence of Gideon. The young man was a sober citizen these days and had become sternly religious. He had also married the previous year. But that awful whipping could never be forgotten and with Gideon’s steady, brown eyes upon him now, Julius could not help reddening slightly.
“Your vestry committee authorizes such popery,” he said quietly. “But tell me this, Julius Ducket: by whose authority does the vestry committee sit?” Julius, staring at him, hardly knew what to say.
“If the congregation elected the vestry,” Gideon stated, “we should have godly men there and a godly minister. You sit in the vestry as though by Divine Right. You have no right. You are imposed upon us.” And he turned his back and departed.
When Julius told Henry about it later. Henry was scornful. “That fellow’s been whipped once. Perhaps he should be whipped again.”
But Julius, upon reflection was not so sure.
As for Meredith, he was happy with his day’s work. Three days later a request came from the secretary to Bishop Laud: the bishop would be interested to see his sermon. Had he by any chance a fair copy?
Two weeks later, when he heard a knock at the door one evening, he half expected that it might be an emissary from that august personage; and so he was mildly surprised when his housekeeper entered the parlour and announced instead that there was a lady who wished to see him. He enquired the lady’s name, but it meant nothing to him.
“A Mrs Wheeler.”
Moments later, he was face to face with Jane.
There was no mistaking her. The well-preserved woman before him still had the youthful air of the girl he had known. Her figure was fuller and it suited her. The silk dress she wore suggested a woman of means. As he gazed at her in astonishment the memories of what had once been, and of the long years when he had dreamed about her, came flooding back, taking him by surprise, and it seemed to him that here before him was the one long-lost love of his life. And Jane, looking curiously at Meredith’s still remarkably handsome face, wondered calmly to herself whether she should marry him.
She had not come to London with that intention. In fact, she had not returned with any definite plans. Her savings in Virginia meant she could live comfortably. And if, but only if, she could find a respectable man, she had thought she might marry again. For whatever else, after her roving life, she knew that she wanted one thing now: peace. Solid, respectable peace. God knows, she thought, I’ve earned it.
She had assumed that Meredith would either have found himself a rich wife, or possibly drifted into some vaguely theatrical occupation, but here he was, a clergyman and one of the best known preachers in London: handsome as ever, respectable, solid and, surprisingly unmarried. Did she feel a rush of the old emotion she had felt as a girl? Yes. But time had built its fortress round her heart. She surveyed him calmly.
“You are alive.” He was still staring in wonderment.
“As you see.”
“I always believed it to be so. You are married?”
“I am a widow, sir.” She saw his anxious look. “Well provided for. My husband Wheeler had a good farm. In Virginia. There were no children.”
“I see.” He gazed at her, smiling now. She found that, in her middle age, she could see easily into his mind. She saw that he, too, was struck,