Phoebe nodded and tried not to castigate herself. In the past two months, she’d striven to meet every member of the parish, but there were so many that she couldn’t expect herself to have visited them all. Yet. However, this child was living on the Godwins’ land, their lives bound together in a very real way.
“Well, I should very much like to visit your family. May I accompany you home?” asked Phoebe.
Bitsy’s mouth curved into a small, pleased smile. “Ma would like that.”
***
Pale evening light filtered through a single, narrow window set high in the vestry wall. What little daylight remained clung stubbornly to the glass, though it provided no warmth as it yielded, inch by inch, to the closing of the day. The room was small and utilitarian, its proportions dictated by function rather than comfort. This was a place for decisions. For accounts rendered and disputes settled. For the quiet, unyielding work that shaped the parish, one measured judgment at a time.
A sturdy table occupied the center, leaving little room for anything else. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with ledgers and parish records, their spines dulled by years of handling, and the air was heavy with the scent of paper and leather bindings.
Chair legs scraped against the stone floor as the men took their seats, the sound carrying more sharply in the confinedspace, and Samuel was grateful this was not one of the formal quarterly meetings. It was difficult enough to fit the council here, let alone all the vestry members who chose to attend; everyone stuffed together, one atop the other, as they postured and debated every detail of the parish.
Yet a single observer stood at the edge of the room, watching as the vestry council settled. Having been hired after the Easter appointments, Langley Court did not have a representative at the table, but as a rate-paying family, the Whitcombes’ man had every right to observe, even for this impromptu meeting. And come next year, Mr. Norcroft would find himself constable or churchwarden or one of the overseers, granting the Whitcombes even more power and presence in the parish.
“Attention, gentlemen,” called Mr. Kirk. “As we are all gathered, it is time we begin.”
“I, for one, am quite interested to know what drew us here today,” said Guy, his fingers tapping against the table. “Your summons was vague and rather mysterious.”
Clearing his throat, Mr. Kirk’s gaze darted to Mr. Norcroft, though they flicked right back to the papers before him, which he shuffled this way and that.
“It has come to our attention that someone living within our parish boundaries requires financial assistance, yet they are not a member of our parish,” said Mr. Kirk. “By law, they must be returned to their proper parish, who have the legal and moral obligation to see to his needs.”
The words landed with the weight of inevitability, and they settled low in Samuel’s chest. He kept his expression even, his hands resting flat upon the table, but all thoughts of placation and flattery fled as exhaustion and frustration overwhelmed him.
“There is no point in feigning ignorance, sir,” said Samuel, his voice steady despite the pressure building beneath it. “Thismatter was discussed and decided upon years ago. When it became clear that Mr. Colby required assistance, his parish agreed to pay his rent, and the council agreed it was best for him to remain, as he is not drawing upon our funds and has no remaining ties to his parish. Sending him away serves no purpose.”
“It is the law,” said Mr. Norcroft coolly from his place at the wall.
“Enough, sir,” Mr. Kirk said sharply. “Attendance at these meetings is a privilege, not a right, and you will refrain from interrupting.”
Mr. Norcroft inclined his head and fell silent: his mistress’s message had been delivered.
Samuel’s gaze returned to the men seated around him. He searched their faces for any sign that his words had gained purchase and found only grim resolve settling firmly into place. Clearly, this was no surprise to them, and the decision had already been made.
“No one disputes your compassion, sir,” Mr. Kirk said at last. “But Mr. Colby’s condition has worsened, and he requires more. A parish must see to its own. The law is clear.”
“We cannot assume responsibility by default,” added Mr. Harlow, though his voice was tinged with regret. “Not when the law is explicit.”
“And not when your wife is making such a ruckus,” muttered Mr. Flint. Mr. Poole’s pen paused at that, though the clerk recovered quickly and continued scribbling his notes.
“Ruckus?” asked Samuel.
Straightening, Mr. Flint glanced about as though he hadn’t intended the comment to be overheard. “She made inquiries about the parish poorhouse.”
“No doubt she was hoping that the rent his parish is paying can cover the cost of his living there,” replied Samuel. “They are better suited to manage his needs than his current lodgings.”
“That is the point, sir,” said Mr. Kirk, glancing at the others around the table. “Clearly, his needs are growing beyond what his parish can provide from afar, and it is our duty to return him to where he belongs. It is the law.”
“We can secure private funds. If he requires more, I give you my word it will not come from the church,” replied Samuel, his eyes pleading. “A man of his years will not survive the journey. Surely we can provide him with dignity and comfort in his last days.”
With a sigh, Mr. Kirk’s shoulder drooped. “But our council and everyone in it has a duty first and foremost toourparishioners. Our time must be dedicated to their needs, of which there are a great many. Even if Mr. Colby does not require a single farthing from our coffers, he is taking up that precious resource, which must be reserved for our parish.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. With so little sleep the night before, his thoughts were too sluggish to be of use.
“The removal order was issued this afternoon, and transportation to Kettering is arranged for tomorrow morning,” said Mr. Kirk, reading off the paper as he detailed the circuitous route Mr. Colby was to take.
Transport. Tomorrow morning.
