up. We’ll forego the needlework. The people of this town are used to seeing me in frayed shirts. They’d be confused if I presented them with otherwise.”
“Thank you, Reverend—?”
“Fleischer.”
I ushered her through to my small kitchen and she sat at the table while I put a flame under the soup and set some water to boil. Later, if I could do so without sounding impolite, I’d offer her the opportunity to wash.
“Are you from the North, Miss Stark? I hear the vaguest trace of a Scottish burr in your voice.”
“Have you heard of Hufferton Hall?”
“The one near Edinburgh? Of course. It once housed a famous Museum of Mechanical Marvels.”
“I was born there.”
I turned and looked at her, my eyebrows raised. She smiled and shook her shaggy head. “No, no, I’m not one of the eccentric Huffertons. My mother was their cook, my father their groundsman.” She saw my expression and went on, “Ah! You’re surprised a child of servants is educated. The explanation is connected with the sorry state of my back and legs. When I was five years old, Lord Hufferton’s eldest son, Rupert, who was then in his thirteenth year, took his father’s autocarriage without permission and—”
“Autocarriage? What’s that?” I interjected.
“A conveyance that moves without need of a horse.”
I considered her reply while I ladled soup into bowls, set one before her, and put bread and a glass of water beside it.
“You mean like Étienne Lenoir’s Hippomobile?”
I remember that Miss Stark directed her face at me, and her eye lenses reflected the light from the kitchen window. I can still see every detail of that scene, as if it was preserved in amber. I don’t know why I recall it with such clarity. Maybe because it was the first moment she considered me with obvious respect.
“I’m astounded!” she exclaimed. “You’ve heard of Étienne Lenoir?”
I sat down opposite her and broke my bread. “I’m a reader, Miss Stark, and not merely in theology. I’m interested in where the human race is going, both spiritually and materially. I keep up with the latest inventions.”
She took a spoonful of soup, and it suddenly became apparent just how hungry she was, for our conversation was temporarily halted as she applied herself to the meal with an enthusiasm that was sad to witness.
I had led a very sheltered life in Theaston Vale. The only cities I’d ever visited were Southampton and Winchester. I’d yet to experience the teeming masses of London’s poor and had never seen starvation before. It shocked and humbled me.
Silently, I served the young woman a second bowl, cut her another chunk of bread, then crossed to a cupboard and took from it a bottle of red wine. After pouring her a generous glass, I finished my own meal before transferring the now boiled water from the stovetop to a tin bathtub in the scullery. I refilled the pan and set it back on the flame, then, without a word, left the kitchen and went to the church storeroom. There were bundles of clothes in it, all clean, all contributed by the charitable. I took up as many as I could carry and transported them back to the scullery.
“That was delicious,” Miss Stark said as I rejoined her. “Thank you very much. It’s been longer than I care to remember since my appetite was properly assuaged.”
I didn’t know how to offer her the opportunity to wash without sounding indelicate, so I opted for blatancy and hurriedly said, “When a couple more pans have boiled, you’ll be able to—to—to bathe. I’ve placed clean clothing beside the tub. Please take whatever you need.”
I felt my face glowing red.
“You are very kind,” she responded softly.
I topped up her glass and decided also to indulge. As I sat back down, she took a sip and muttered, “Bordeaux. From the Pomerol vineyards, I should say.”
“Great heavens!” I blurted.
She chuckled. “It’s not a claret I’d expect to find in the vicarage of a sleepy little Hampshire town. Are you a connoisseur?”
“It’s a hobby of mine,” I admitted. “How is it that you possess a knowledge of wines?”
“Reverend Fleischer, I’m happy to tell you my story in its entirety, and you must reveal to me how you know of the inventor Étienne Lenoir, but would you mind if we wait until after I’ve bathed? It is surely bad enough that I’ve intruded upon your day, but to do so with the odour of the road upon me, and to then remain and enjoy your hospitality without first