tall, thin dullard? Look at you! A bundle o’ bloomin’ sticks bound together in last century’s togs! Pah! I’d rather be alone for the rest o’ me life than be bonded to such a wretched scarecrow!”
With dreadful relish, she cleared her throat, spat onto my boots, and added, “I don’t even consider you a man.”
“Fifty pounds, lad!” Tanner added. “You’ll pay fifty pounds, and if I don’t receive the money by Friday, the town’ll know you for the degenerate you are!”
°
2. WHITECHAPEL AND KOLUWAI
“I’m ruined! If I don’t pay the money, the Tanners will destroy my good name!”
We were in my sitting room, Clarissa Stark in an armchair by the fireplace, while I anxiously paced up and down.
“Inform the police,” my friend advised. “You’ve been a respected member of this community your entire life. Your word will be believed over that of these newcomers.”
“Maybe so, but they’ll still be here to spread their vicious lies. They’ll still disrupt my Sunday services. I’ll still—I’ll still have to look upon Alice!”
Overcome by the awfulness of my position, I suddenly ran from the room and up to my bedchamber, where I threw myself down and wept, piteous fool that I was.
I didn’t emerge for two days. Miss Stark left trays of food outside the door, but I had no appetite, and by the time I descended the stairs on Thursday morning, I felt physically and emotionally hollow, and thoroughly exhausted.
I also felt determined.
As I entered the kitchen, where my sexton was preparing breakfast, I announced, “There is only one solution.”
She turned and presented me with the black circles of her goggles. “And what is that?”
“I shall pay Mr. Tanner his fifty pounds, then I shall leave Theaston Vale.”
“To go where?”
“To study at the Anglican Missionary College in London, and, after that, wherever they send me.”
“As a missionary?”
“Yes.”
“Reverend, forgive me, but don’t you think it a little extreme to—”
I held up my hand to stop her. “My mind is made up, Miss Stark. You were right. I’ve hidden behind books for too long. I have no experience of life. I didn’t recognise evil even when it looked me straight in the eye. I cannot believe this crisis has come into my life without there being some purpose to it. That purpose is clear—to do the greatest good, I must know its opposite. And in order to do that, I must start to live.”
She was silent for a moment, then limped over to me, held me by the elbows, looked up into my face, and said, “‘Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you. Discipline yourself, keep alert. Like a roaring lion, your adversary, the Devil, prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith. And, after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you.’”
I felt the muscles of my jaw flex. “For a non-believer, you quote the Book with more conviction than I can ever muster. But you chose a passage that suggests my problems have only just begun.”
“The attainment of wisdom inevitably involves a prolonged struggle with adversity,” she replied. “Much more so if the wisdom you seek is an understanding of evil. But the Tanners have set the course, so let us sail it, weather the storms, and see where it takes us.”
“Us?”
“You are my friend—my sole friend. In the time since I was ejected from Hufferton Hall, you’ve been the only person who’s judged me by who I am rather than by what I look like. You’ve been generous, attentive, and agreeable. In short, you are a good man, and, though you doubt it, you’re a good priest, too—but rather a naive one. It is my duty and my desire to accompany you, and to see that you come to no harm.”
I was incapable of immediate response, but that evening, I said to her, “We’ve been meticulous in our observation of social proprieties, but under the circumstances, it feels ridiculous to continue with such formality between us. I’d much prefer it if you would call me Aiden, and allow me to address you as Clarissa.”
She smiled. “Already, the crisis prompts progress.”
The following day, I visited the blacksmith’s, and, standing beside a blazing furnace, handed over the money.
“This’ll do for a start,” Oliver Tanner said with a contemptuous smirk.
“You have my forgiveness, Mr. Tanner,” I replied. “And I thank you.”