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upon is that we respect each other’s views. Eleanor knows how I feel, but I know her views.’
    â€˜But as a priest, have you done all you can to reveal her mistaken beliefs?’
    â€˜I am a priest, and I may well be a poor one in much I do, but to Eleanor I am a husband above all else.’
    There was an audible sigh from the Very Reverend Edgar Hartley Williamson, but for all his rank in the cathedral’s hierarchy, he felt checked by the gentle force of this parish priest’s words. ‘My Lord, the Bishop, had suggested that as you have now been in your parish for over twenty years, the future way in which you could serve the church might be discussed. However,’ he paused for a moment, ‘I have taken up a great deal of your time so let us keep that conversation for another occasion.’ He lent forward, placed his hands on the elaborate arms of his chair and stood.
    Arthur realised that the dean was indicating that he go: to Arthur the feeling was mutual. With almost unseemly haste the dean stretched out his hand, briefly and weakly shook hands and ushered Arthur to the door. A terse, ‘Thank you for coming, I know My Lord the Bishop will read with interest my summary of our time together.’

S IX
    Afternoon, Thursday, 28 March
    Leaving the bishop’s palace, Arthur felt a mixture of disappointment and anger; disappointment at not meeting the bishop or having any further clue to his future, anger at the dean and his questioning about Eleanor. He wondered if it had always been the intention that the dean, perhaps a new hatchet man, should see him. Such things were not unknown in the intrigues of the church.
    Distressed, even annoyed by his feelings of anger, Arthur checked his agitated stride, turned and hurried along the paved path to the main door on the west side of the cathedral. Apart from a lady arranging flowers and a family of three, probably visitors, the great building was empty. He gazed first at the wonderful fan-vaulted ceiling, remembering how he had felt overawed on his visit to King’s when at the age of thirteen his father had walked him around Cambridge. Arthur had never understood why his father intended to set him on a highly academic course which, in his own mind, Arthur knew he would never achieve. His eyes moved on to the beauty above the altar, a series of stained-glass windows revealing the life journey of Christ from humble birth to the cross.
    On one side was the smaller Beaufort Chapel to which he moved. Before its small but wonderfully clothed altar, he knelt, waited and gradually became consumed by the history and magnificence of the cathedral. He trembled at his own weakness in wanting a move to suit himself rather than his God. He waited, yet a certain emptiness caused him to feel that in some unexplained way God was further from him than when he knelt in his own church.
    He left, retracing his steps to the beginning of the narrow market lane; its downward slope matching his recent declining regard for the meeting at the bishop’s palace. Unlike his own feelings, the sky had cleared and a gentle sunshine lit up the street. Arthur purchased a newspaper from a young lad as he needed something other than the morning’s meeting to occupy his thoughts. The next train was in twenty minutes, a slow one stopping at each station on its way to Rusfield. He determined to read his paper.
    The main story revolved round the Women’s Enfranchisement Bill being defeated in the House of Commons. Clearly the
Canchester Daily Times
applauded this result, although Arthur knew that Eleanor and her friends would accuse the government of downright trickery in gaining a victory. All were waiting to hear news of Captain Scott’s attempt to reach the South Pole, but meanwhile, the newspaper gave details of Norwegian claims that Amundsen had reached it three weeks previously. Scott’s disappointment made his own frustration at the meeting with the