“Don’t fuss, lad,” Mr. Colby muttered, even as he accepted the offered arm. “I am not made of glass.”
Mrs. Godwin smiled. “Of course not. But I shall come again tomorrow to see what happens next in that ‘Gothic drivel.’”
That earned her a mocking scowl, but gratitude shone plainly in his eyes, warm and unguarded, and when he thanked her, Mr. Colby’s voice carried more feeling than words alone could express. And with shuffling steps, he showed them out (though Mrs. Godwin insisted he return to his seat), but once outside, Samuel lingered just long enough to hear Mr. Colby’s careful retreat before turning back to the lane.
Mrs. Godwin adjusted her shawl against the cool air, her expression composed, and they meandered along, side by side, as their feet found the path back to The Parsonage.
“I worry about Mr. Colby,” she whispered, though there was no one around to overhear. “May I ask…”
Her voice drifted off, and Samuel had to prod her before she finished the thought.
“He isn’t receiving as much aid as he requires,” she said, frowning. “I do not mean to criticize, but the parish offers him so little.”
Shoulders falling, Samuel nodded. “That is the unfortunate truth. Most aid is rendered to women and children—as it should be—and unfortunately, the stigmas against helping the menfolk remain even when he is unable to provide for himself. With the added difficulty of Mr. Colby belonging to another parish—”
“He belongs to us,” said Mrs. Godwin, her gaze jerking to him. “He has lived here for years.”
Samuel tucked his hands behind him with a sigh. “According to the law and the church, a person is the financial responsibility of the parish in which they were born, and though that obligation shifts to a new parish under certain circumstances, Mr. Colby does not meet those requirements. Legally, he is free to live here, but he cannot draw upon our parish funds.”
“Would it be better for him to return to his parish?” asked Mrs. Godwin, though her tone suggested she hoped otherwise.
“Assuming he could make the journey, he has no connections or family left there. Kingsmere is the closest thing he has to a home.” Samuel’s heart squeezed as he considered just how difficult it would be for the poor man. “I wrote to his parish, and as it is more economical for him to remain where he is, they send funds for his upkeep. But that is the extent of what I can do for him.”
“There must be something more,” she said, determination lacing her voice.
They walked on at a leisurely pace, the matter unfolding between them without the sharp edges that had marred so manyof their other conversations. Mrs. Godwin asked questions, testing the shape of the problem rather than pressing for an immediate solution, and though she did not grasp the full breadth of custom and law that governed parish aid, she listened and weighed what he said before offering opinions and insights on how they might continue forward.
Samuel found himself explaining more than he usually did. Not merely the rules themselves, but the vestry council and their accounting, and rather than bristling at the constraints, Mrs. Godwin accepted and altered course, and Samuel found himself more and more engaged with the exchange. This was not the strained negotiation of earlier weeks, nor the careful silence he so often employed. It was a proper conversation.
By the time they reached the end of the lane, they hadn’t settled on any course of action, but then, most troubles had no clear, concise solution, so Samuel did not expect some grand revelation that resolved everything perfectly. He said nothing of what he felt, but as they turned toward home, he recognized it all the same: it was good, unexpectedly good, to think alongside her.
“Do you ever feel a touch…” Mrs. Godwin’s voice faltered, but like so many times before, the words came forth when she was good and ready to share them. “Do you ever feel guilty that we are discussing his very survival when we have so much?”
“Yes. Often. But I fear I have no answers. How much is too much to give? Ought we to hold our heads in shame that we have a home whilst others live in hovels?” Samuel’s words drifted off as all those thoughts surged anew in his mind, poking and prodding his conscience. “If you discover an answer to that conundrum, I beg you to share it with me, for it has kept me up many a night.”
“Perhaps not having a definitive answer is for the best,” she said, her tone considering. “Though there is much wickednessin the world, few people knowingly seek it out. They simply convince themselves that their actions are good, and thus do it with a clear conscience. The difficult part of life is sorting out that which is truly good from that which we justify as being good, so it is probably better to constantly evaluate our choices and actions than rely on rote answers.”
Samuel’s rose brows as he considered the lady beside him. “I haven’t thought of it that way before.”
They slowed without quite meaning to, their thoughts drawing them inward as the road stretched ahead.
Mrs. Godwin gave a considering hum. “Surely, I can do more than simply pass out baskets of food and christening boxes with a few scraps of linen inside. It feels so… insignificant.”
“But it isn’t insignificant to them,” he replied. “Even a few days’ worth of food is a boon, and the cloth in those boxes is worth more than they can afford. If they were required to supply their babes with the necessary napkins and gowns, they would be beggared in a trice.”
Brows raised, her gaze darted to his. “Most of it is the poorest quality linen I have ever seen. It’s hardly worth making into rags.”
Samuel considered how to explain it to someone who’d never needed to ask the price of muslin, but before he grasped the words, Mrs. Godwin did so for him.
“Clearly, I haven’t the foggiest notion of household costs,” she sighed. “I must sound like an utter dunce.”
“You are learning, Mrs. Godwin. That is all,” he said. “Until I began my profession, I never thought about the price of bread or linen, so it is little wonder that the sums mean nothing to you.”
Turning a puzzled look at him, she asked, “What of Mrs. Johns and Molly? Whatever we spend on the servants could be allocated to Mr. Colby. Thea is learning to cook and clean for herself, surely I can as well—”
“And leave our cook and maid without an income?” asked Samuel. “Their families depend on it, and there are few positions in town that pay as well as we do. And though I do not doubt your ability to manage their chores, it would occupy all your time, leaving you unable to help me see to the parish’s needs.”
“You have managed well on your own until now.”
