Once the great influx is complete, there are thirty followers living in the house. To Letty’s surprise, this number soon seems quite normal, and the house appears to absorb them easily.
‘Of course it does,’ Arabella says happily. ‘The Beloved would not suggest anything that isn’t possible. He makes it possible.’
‘Yes,’ Letty answers. It is true enough, but the success of the whole thing has really depended on the willingness of the followers to do as they are told and to accept that within the house is a mirroring of the hierarchies that govern them in the outside world. The poorer women, with their shapeless coats and battered suitcases, have brought nothing to the communal pot except their labour, so they are housed in the attics, in the old servants’ rooms, plentiful from the days when there were lots of staff, and they fulfil that role now, each given duties to ensure the smooth running of the house. They clean, wash, cook and tend to the gentlefolk so that they and, of course, most particularly the Beloved, live in comfort. Although it is clear to all that they are unpaid servants, they are not called by such a term. Instead they are called the Angels, which Letty finds rather funny considering that most of them are over forty and with the rough hands of working women. Perhaps it makes it easier, if you’re called such a pretty name. The bedrooms on the upper floors are distributed depending on what level of donation has been made to the community. Arabella, of course, is in a position of magnificence, and retains her well-appointed room overlooking the front drive. Letty has kept her, smaller, bedroom and tiny dressing room. Other ladies, who’ve signed over their incomes from stocks and shares or trusts, occupy the nicer rooms, but the grandest suite is saved for the Beloved and Sarah, where they are able to retire to relative privacy if they desire. But for the most part, life is lived communally.
‘Letty, come with me, I must talk to you.’ Arabella beckons Letty from the drawing room, where she is sewing while listening to Maud Digby playing the piano. It’s Chopin, and the music is wonderfully relaxing. One of the things I’m enjoying about the new arrangements, she reflects. In fact, the house seems to have come to life with its many occupants. She looks up at the sound of her sister’s voice.
‘Hurry up, Letty!’ Arabella says.
‘What is it?’ Letty follows her out. ‘Is there trouble?’ She wonders if it is anything to do with Cecily and Edward, who have taken their expulsion from the house with great bitterness. Their initial acceptance, it has turned out, was a bluff, a way to gain time to see what they could do to stop Arabella’s schemes. Angry letters have been exchanged. Cecily cut Arabella dead when they passed in the street and could hardly bring herself to nod to Letty. And from the looks that the villagers are giving anyone from the big house, the rumours must be in overdrive. Letty fears that evil gossip is being spread and suspects her sister is behind it.
Arabella says, ‘No, no, no trouble. But I must talk to you. Come on, the library’s empty.’ She pulls open the door and leads Letty inside. The light from the garden is obscured by the heavy red velvet curtains and as a result the library is swathed in gloom. Arabella goes and sits on the desk, swinging her legs underneath it like a schoolgirl. This is where the Beloved sits to do his correspondence and read great tomes of biblical study. Arabella is showing her power. Despite having given the house to the community, she considers it her fiefdom still. She is wearing the white dress stipulated by the reverend, but hers is not the long skirt and buttoned-up blouse that the older ladies wear. She has a white silk dress with a drop waist and a neckline that shows a small but noticeable expanse of smooth pale skin. A long pearl necklace is twisted several times around her neck. In a community of unadorned ladies, Arabella’s appearance makes quite an impact.
‘So?’ asks Letty. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to give up your rooms.’
‘What?’ She suddenly sees herself banished up to the servants’ quarters in the attic, given chores, turned into an Angel rather than a lady. ‘But why?’
‘They’re needed. Not for long. The Beloved is expecting some special guests who intend to join us. A family. Mr and Mrs Kendall and their son. We must have your room because it has a dressing room, where the son can sleep. It’s only until one of the cottages has been made suitable for them.’
‘The Beloved doesn’t want them to live in the house?’
‘Oh no. That would be quite unsuitable, considering they are a married couple and they have an unmarried son. They’ll move out when the cottage is ready. Mr Kendall is a most distinguished lawyer. His joining us has been incredibly important for the Beloved’s mission.’
‘And where will I sleep?’
‘You can move into my dressing room. I’ll ask one of the Angels to set up a bed for you. I’m sure you can make this one small sacrifice, when you think of what others have given up to be here.’
‘Of course.’ But Arabella barely waits to hear the reply. She knows Letty will be malleable. When has Letty ever said no to anything? She has accepted all the many changes that life has brought. Well, Arabella has brought, really.
Arabella goes on. ‘Anyway, you ought to think about the fact that you haven’t made your income over to the Beloved yet. It has been noticed. You ought to get around to it soon. Will you think about it?’
‘Of course.’ Letty knows it’s a condition of staying here. They’ve all done it, and she must too.
Arabella gets down from the desk and straightens her white dress. ‘Now, I must go to the Beloved. He needs me.’
Letty has noticed that the Beloved leans on Arabella more than any other woman here. He asks for her to be with him when he prays, because her spiritual gifts allow him greater access to the Divine. Letty wonders what Sarah makes of that, and whether he used to be content just with her spiritual gifts, before Arabella appeared on the scene. Sarah is never ruffled, though. She radiates a kind of goodness and serenity that draws people to her. She seems to float above them all on a cloud of holiness and the Angels adore her and minister to her whenever they can, as though by being close to her, some of her qualities might rub off on them. Letty can’t help thinking, in her heart, that it’s hard to understand how Arabella is considered of a greater spiritual merit than Sarah. But the Beloved must know what he’s doing.
As Arabella makes for the door, Letty says absently, ‘It will be strange to have men around the place, won’t it?’ Apart from the gardener, the odd-job boy and the groom, there are two aged priests, the Reverend Silas and the Reverend Gilbert, who have taken up residence in the lodge by the eastern gates, and a few doddery old fellows from the Army of the Redeemed, who are living in the lodgings over the garages and who like playing their brass instruments and marching around the grounds. Everyone else is a woman. Letty laughs. ‘So many females. It’s rather like a harem here!’
Arabella stops and turns back, her face flushing violently. ‘How dare you say that, Letty! How dare you! The Beloved is above – way, way above – such thoughts, such things! He has fewer male followers because not many of those brutes can accept the strictures of our life.’
‘Strictures?’ Letty thinks of the almost pleasant idleness in which the days are passed. She thinks of the piano tinkling music, the Angels labouring away to keep the house comfortable, the tea served every day at four in the drawing room, and the plentiful meals. Arabella has shown her plans for new electricity, heating and water systems so that the house can be made yet more luxurious. ‘What strictures?’
Arabella opens her mouth and closes it again. ‘I can’t say. But it will all become clear. The Beloved is about to reveal everything.’
The change in sleeping arrangements is made within a few days. Arabella’s dressing room is rearranged and a small bed put up by the door. Once inside, Letty can only leave by going through Arabella’s bedroom, which isn’t too much of a problem but it is unlike her previous independence. She has nowhere she particularly wants to go, but knowing she cannot come and go without being seen is strangely confining.
Letty clears her drawers, puts some things into boxes to be stored and others into piles for one of the Angels to move. In the event, it is Kitty who comes. Letty likes Kitty; she is thirty-four but looks younger with a round face and a button nose, and cheerful eyes.
‘Thank you, Kitty,’ Lettice says, when the other woman loads up a basket of clothing to take to Arabella’s.
‘It’s no bother to me,’ Kitty announces. ‘Everything here is part of the plan.’ She grins. ‘I’ve never been so cheerful to do work before in my whole life. In fact, I like it. As long as the Beloved wants it done, I know it’s the Divine Will, and that makes it a pleasure.’
‘Yes, Kitty,’ Lettice says warmly. ‘You’ve got it exactly right. The Beloved can’t do wrong.’
She believes that more and more. It is hard not to, when she spends her days among others who believe it so fervently. Surrounded by the utterly convinced, she too is convinced. The Beloved is wise. He is an incarnation. To think that she should be so lucky as to be able to spend her life close to a man like that.
When she leaves her room, Kitty is setting up the bed in the dressing room for the Kendalls’ son – a canvas strip with metal legs laboriously threaded through the sides. Letty wonders about the person who will be sleeping there, and what he will make of the small room with its walnut burr wardrobe, dressing table and mirror.
In the other dressing room, her own canvas bed awaits. Kitty has done her best to make it comfortable, with large cushions as a mattress and the best bedlinen.
Really, I don’t suffer, Letty tells herself. Imagine what the Angels are putting up with, two or three to a room in the attic.
Arabella is in the bedroom when Letty emerges from the dressing room, looking at herself in the mirror on her dressing table. She has wrapped a white silk shawl around her shoulders, with long, soft tassels falling over her arms. She turns as Letty comes in. Behind her in the mirror is the reflection of Arabella’s four-poster bed, hung with blue silk and trimmed in gold braid.
‘There you are,’ she says. ‘Is everything ready for the Kendalls?’
‘Yes, Kitty has seen to it.’
‘Good.’ Arabella goes back to examining her reflection. Her dark looks aren’t beautiful but they are dramatic, and she doesn’t need any enhancements to give her face character. Her lips are naturally red, her dark eyelashes give her eyes a strong frame. ‘They must be well looked after.’
‘Why are they so important?’ asks Letty.
‘They’re important to the plan, that’s all. You’ll understand in time.’ Arabella can’t conceal her pride at knowing the Beloved’s secrets.
‘When do they arrive?’
‘On Friday. Just at the time the church will be opened to us all for the first time.’ Arabella smiles happily. ‘It’s almost ready.’
Letty, like everyone else but the Beloved and Arabella, has not been allowed to see the progress on the church. She knows that windows were commissioned at great expense and have been installed over the last fortnight. The interior remains mysterious but she is excited to see what the final result is, and to hear what the Beloved says when he addresses them all for the first time as the leader of their flock. There is an atmosphere of anticipation and barely repressed excitement; all of them know that they are the chosen ones, with the good fortune to be allowed to exist alongside a great and holy man.
‘Many are called,’ the ladies murmur to each other, and reply, ‘But few are chosen.’
We are the chosen ones, Letty thinks now. The thought brings great comfort.
As the end of the week approaches, there is a festival air in the house. The church is almost ready and preparations are being made for its opening, and the feast that will follow it. But Tuesday brings a letter for the Beloved, the envelope bearing the address of the Bishop’s Palace and an engraved mitre on the front. It is brought to the Beloved at breakfast, where the Angels lay out bacon, eggs, mushrooms, kippers and porridge, and hot coffee in a silver urn. He picks it up and laughs as he notices the symbol. All eyes are on him as he opens it and reads the letter inside. The Beloved stares at the letter for some time, reading it over several times, and then throws back his head to laugh again, even more heartily.
‘As I thought,’ he says when his laughter has subsided. ‘The fools don’t realise how much they play the Devil’s game. They do his work for him! Isn’t it as I said, Sarah?’
‘Yes, my love,’ his wife returns from her end of the table. She is, as usual, utterly calm and unflappable.
‘Well, if he wants to see me, I shall certainly go. But we can be sure that whatever is said will make no difference to the plan.’
‘You’re going to see the bishop?’ Arabella asks. She always sits next to the Beloved, and she cranes to see what is written on the letter, but the Beloved smooths it away from her sight.
‘It is as I prophesied,’ the Beloved says to her, with a smile. ‘It is as I have foreseen.’
Other ladies around the table murmur, ‘Amen.’
‘When do you go?’ Arabella asks, buttering a slice of toast.
‘We shall leave tomorrow and return on Friday.’
‘Friday?’ Arabella looks dismayed. ‘But the service! The church!’
‘I shall be back in time. Everything will go ahead as planned.’
The following day, the Beloved and Sarah leave, collected in the motor and driven to the station. Sarah wears a fur-trimmed coat and black felt hat with a diamond brooch pinned at the front. The Beloved looks magnificent as usual in a black great-coat, gloves and a top hat. He carries his cane with the ivory head. As soon as they are gone with their luggage, the house feels desolate. The mood sinks and the ladies wander about all day with miserable expressions. Even the Angels seem to flag in their work and afternoon tea is served late. It’s as though the heart of the community, the source of its energy and purpose, has gone.
Letty is astounded by how low she is. She had not realised how vital the Beloved has become to her. She’s sometimes wondered what it would be like if Arabella decided to change her mind about the house, and everything went back to the way it was. Now she knows. It would be horrible. The Beloved brings with him so much of value, but most of all he brings his precious self.
The hunger for the Beloved’s presence grows as the time of his return draws closer. There was excitement before, but now the celebration of his return adds a new thrilling flavour to the preparations. The Angels start to plan the feast that will be served, reinvigorated with the task ahead. The tea arrives in the drawing room on time. The kitchen fills with food and the reception rooms are vigorously cleaned. Arabella wanders about, giving orders and going to the church to ensure that all is well. The organ, ordered from a famous company in Somerset, is having its final checks ready for its inauguration. Maud Digby teaches the ladies the new hymns she has written for the community’s songbook, and they spend hours trilling them out until they are as familiar as the old ones.
The Beloved brings joy and gladness to all
We heed his voice, we heed his call
For his is the word the Almighty doth speak
He uses his arm to strengthen the weak . . .
It is almost as though the Almighty is speaking the Beloved’s words rather than the other way around, Letty thinks as she sings. But Maud has done her best, and the hymns are pleasing enough.
On Friday morning, all hands are on deck and even the ladies are working, dusting the best furniture or arranging flowers, to make sure that all is ready. A telegram arrives from the Beloved to say that he and Sarah will be with them later that day, and Letty is filled with excitement at the thought of his return. When the doorbell rings that afternoon, she’s in the hall dusting the gilt-framed mirror and, thinking it could be the Beloved, she rushes to open it before any of the Angels can arrive. But standing on the doorstep is a quite different man: rather plump and red-faced, his coat buttons straining over his stomach, and wearing a trilby hat. Next to him is a small fair lady with anxious eyes, holding a valise. Behind them both lurks a figure in a dark coat, a hat pulled low over his face, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.
‘You must be the Kendalls!’ cries Letty. She had forgotten all about them in the Beloved’s absence but now she recalls in a rush.
‘Yes.’ The man smiles, his plump cheeks rising up like little red cushions. ‘I’m Mr Kendall. This is my wife. And this is my son, Arthur.’ He nods to the figure skulking on the steps behind him.
‘Please come in!’ Letty stands back, beaming, to let them into the hall. ‘Where is your luggage?’
‘It’s being brought later from the station.’
The trio enter the hall, blinking in the bright light after the gloom of the descending evening outside. Mr Kendall looks about. ‘Is the Reverend Phillips here?’
Letty doesn’t understand for a moment, and then says, ‘Oh, you mean the Beloved! I’m afraid he was called away. But he’ll be back any moment. Please come and I’ll show you to your room.’
‘This is quite a house,’ remarks Mrs Kendall, taking off her shawl. She seems impressed by the chequerboard floor and the vast mirrors, the marble busts standing on the torchières either side of the drawing room door. On the round mahogany table in the centre, hothouse flowers spill over a huge pink and gold porcelain vase.
‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here,’ Letty says politely. Both Mr and Mrs Kendall are dressed well, in expensive clothes, and she suspects their standards are high. The house, gleaming in anticipation of the evening’s celebrations, is looking its very best.
She leads them upstairs and shows them to what used to be her room; it already feels as though it is not her own, even though it looks the same: decorated in pale blue with silk hangings around the bed, and heavy damask curtains.
‘Very pretty,’ says Mrs Kendall, happier than ever as she notes the well-made French furniture and the gilt lamps with pleated shades.
‘The dressing room is made up for you, Arthur,’ Letty says, looking at the boy. He’s not really a boy, she notices, too tall for that, but it’s hard to see much of him. He flicks a gaze at her from under the low brim of his hat and grunts.
Mrs Kendall says, ‘I’m sure he’ll be most comfortable, Miss . . . ?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I should have said. I’m Miss Evans. Lettice Evans.’
Mrs Kendall raises her eyebrows and Mr Kendall says, ‘Then this was your house?’
‘No . . . well, I’ve always lived here. But it belonged to my sister, Arabella. You will meet her very soon.’ Letty thinks that Arabella is probably taking a long, scented bath in order to be ready for the Beloved’s return. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in. Please come down when you’re ready and there will be some tea for you. Our inaugural service is due to begin at eight o’clock.’
‘And the reverend will be back?’ Mr Kendall casts a glance at his watch.
‘Oh yes. He promised.’
The hours move on and the Beloved does not return. As eight o’clock nears, the community begins to gather in the hall, murmuring and nervous.
‘Have faith!’ declares Arabella. ‘He will be here.’ She is in a white gown, with a high neck and long, tight sleeves. The fullish skirt ends at the calf, the hem fringed in white feathers. It’s not like anything Letty’s seen before. The other ladies are in the prescribed uniform of white blouses and long skirts, some very plain and others adorned with lace and jewellery.
‘What if he’s been prevented from returning?’ asks Ethel Channing-Davies, who is a fretful sort. ‘He was seeing the bishop, wasn’t he?’
Everybody knows that the bishop is at loggerheads with the Beloved. There has been talk of defrocking. Could it be any worse than that? A nervous flutter goes through the assembled women. The idea of the community without its beating heart is unsupportable.
The ancient Reverend Silas lifts a trembling finger. ‘I can take the service if, for any reason, our leader is unable to be with us.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ declares Arabella, shooting him a furious look, ‘and utterly unnecessary. He will be here.’ With her chin high in the air, she stalks out in a flounce of shaking feathers.
The Kendall family have come downstairs, dressed according to the Beloved’s instructions: the men in plain black trousers and a double-breasted waistcoat over a white shirt. Mr Kendall wears a bow tie with his, but his son Arthur has a sombre necktie in black satin. Mrs Kendall’s sober white dress is belted at the middle but her large bust and bottom give her the appearance of an Edwardian matron. All three stand together watching proceedings with a grave wariness. Arabella has hardly noticed them, she is so preoccupied with the evening ahead and the whereabouts of the Beloved.
The Angels move among them all, handing out glasses of barley water and plain biscuits, to help sustain the congregation until the feast. Letty watches the son Arthur take a biscuit with an expression of scorn on his face. He is taller than both of his parents and their soft, plump features have taken an unexpectedly craggy turn in his face; or perhaps, she thinks, it is just his youth that gives him hollows in each cheek and a hungry look. He must be around twenty, she thinks. His hair is long at the top and combed back, some kind of oil giving it a burnished appearance, but it looks as though it is dark blonde in its natural state. His slate-grey eyes wander over the crowd of middle-aged women and ancient men without interest, then they land on Letty and for a moment they stare at each other. Despite their ignorance of one another, they acknowledge their common bond of youth. But in Arthur’s eyes is a resentment that she guesses is his lack of desire to be here. He shifts his gaze away carelessly.
Letty looks at the grandfather clock. It shows almost a quarter to eight. What are we to do? Is the Beloved not coming then? She can hardly bear to think it, not because of the fact that he will not be able to lead their service, but because he promised. Surely, surely, he is not capable of breaking a promise.
‘Listen to me!’ Arabella stands at the top of the stairs, looking out over them all. ‘Everyone! Please listen. We will go now to the church. We will prepare for him. For he will surely come. We must have faith.’
Her strident, confident voice calms and restores them all. Arabella descends the stairs with majestic poise, and the crowd in the hall parts to let her through, then forms behind her into a procession. Kitty rushes forward to open the door and Arabella marches through, the band of followers behind her. One of the Army of the Redeemed, a Mr Wilson, has brought his trumpet and he starts to toot away while a few of the ladies clap along, and soon they are all processing jauntily along, clapping.
Letty joins in, her spirits rising. She checked her reflection before she came downstairs, and was content with it. Her dark brown hair, thick and hard to tame, has not been bobbed, much as she would like it, and she has to be content with tucking it back hard and crimping the front to imitate the fashionable hairstyles. It is probably vanity, but she can’t help wanting to make the most of herself. Her looks are somewhere between Arabella’s sharp, dark drama and Cecily’s softer prettiness. She has a pert chin and upturned nose that she wishes were straight, but her complexion is good and she’s glad that her black lashes give boldness to her slightly too pale and rather slanting, catlike green eyes. Perhaps it is living among so many older ladies, but today she feels young and fresh and bright. She is wearing a white woollen skirt and a soft white jersey silk top, the prettiest and most festive things she has in the right colour. No one has stopped for a coat but the evening air is balmy enough. It is May and the day has been a warm one. Arabella leads on and they follow, heading along the newly made path around the rhododendron thicket towards the church.
‘Come, come,’ calls Arabella, her tone excited and happy. ‘See the holy place ahead!’
They all gasp as they come around the side of the thicket to see the new church, with its lights blazing from within, the great stained-glass window glowing like a jewel. By some unseen cue, the organ within strikes up and a riotous peal of music flows out into the night. The trumpet stops, and the clapping, as they listen to the wonderful noise.
But where is he? Where can he be? Letty is aware that this holiday mood, infectious though it is, will come crashing down if Arabella’s promise is not fulfilled.
Arabella doesn’t stop on the threshold, but continues on into the bright new interior, every chair polished, the red velvet-pile carpet pristine, the brass chandeliers glimmering. Up at the organ sits Maud, pounding away on the keys, her feet dancing across the pedals as she peers over the top of her glasses to read her music. When they reach the front of the church, the followers begin to take their places in the chairs. Letty sidles into a seat, and sees the Kendall family on the opposite side, the parents with their faces aglow, Arthur’s expression still stony but with a hint of interest at what will happen next.
Arabella stands before the altar, her back to everyone and her head bowed, the hem of feathers swinging about her calves, her pearls glimmering. Then the moment comes: the organ finishes with a flourish and the notes fade away. There is silence, heavy with expectation. Slowly Arabella raises her head, turning her face to the great window over the altar. She lifts her arms high, spreading out her palms to the image of the lamb in the centre of the window, the lamb with the flag carried in its mouth and the sword beneath its feet.
‘Oh Beloved!’ she cries, her voice loud and piercing. ‘Oh Beloved, come to us! Do not leave your children hungering for your presence! Thirsting for your presence!’ She takes a deep breath and begins to recite:
‘By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth:
I sought him, but I found him not.
I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets,
and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth:
I sought him but I found him not.’
There is a kind of sigh from the listening congregation, a wispy sound of longing.
Letty thinks, It’s the ‘Song of Solomon’. Spoken like an invocation.
Arabella turns to them all, her arms still aloft. She stares down the aisle of the church between the rows of people. Then a radiant smile bursts over her face and a great voice bellows from the doors.
‘I am here. I am come!’
They turn as one and there in the doorway stands the Beloved, his arms also held high.
Arabella cries ecstatically, ‘The voice of my Beloved! Behold, he cometh leaping on the mountains and skipping on the hills!’
For a moment, Letty has a vision of the Beloved skipping up a hill in his black suit and is seized by an impulse to laugh, but it is replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief and joy. The Beloved is home, as he promised. All is well. Around her, the followers sigh and moan with happiness and fulfilment. Maud squints at her music and starts up with the hymn they have all been practising in order to welcome him home, and everybody begins to sing. The Beloved walks slowly up the aisle, blessing those he passes, touching their outstretched hands, nodding and smiling, listening to the hymn in his praise. Behind him walks his wife, Sarah, her face tired and drawn but her eyes as serene as ever.
When the hymn is over, the Beloved has reached the altar, and he turns to them and motions for them all to sit. Letty sinks down, unable to take her eyes off him. They have missed him more than she ever thought possible in such a short time. She hopes that he will never go again.
We cannot survive without him. She knows it’s true. Then her soul is filled with joy, because she knows that the Beloved’s promise is that death is conquered. They shall never, any of them, be separated from him.
The Beloved is speaking, his magnificent voice filling the room. ‘Today, I did battle with dark forces. With evil forces! Today I have finally cut my binds to the old ways. I am free. And so, my brothers and sisters, are you. We are free to live as the truth demands! It was no longer possible for me to conceal myself from you all. Some of you already know, you have had the knowledge vouchsafed to you, most from divine visions.’ He pauses, then says loudly, ‘Today I cease to be the Reverend Phillips. I gave the bishop back the symbols of my allegiance to his way. I go now on a greater path. A holy path. The path to salvation! And you are my chosen to accompany me on this road.’
A tremor of excitement passes over the congregation.
‘This path will not be easy. There will be trials. There will be sacrifices. The day is at hand, and much is asked of the elect. It is required that we re-enact the mystical union of the Lamb and his people. I myself am married, as you know, to Sarah. Our union is the holiest of holy. It is a spiritual union only, like that of the Lamb with his Church.’ The Beloved’s eyes flash and he points at his wife, now sitting in the front row. ‘That woman and I refrain from physical intimacy! We reject it!’
There is a muffled gasp among his listeners.
‘Yes.’ He begins to walk back and forth in front of the altar. ‘That’s right. We have renounced the flesh, and so must you all. The kingdom is at hand. The Devil is putting up his strongest fight in his frenzy to hold this world in his grasp. Do you think he wants to give up this prize, this sordid den of iniquity in which every vice brings him pleasure? Of course not. We must fight him at every turn. We have no need to bring children into this world, not when the day is near, the day when we will all be judged. We must concentrate our efforts on battling the Devil, and on saving the souls that exist today. Now! Here!’ The Beloved slams his hand down on a hymn book. Letty jumps at the sound.
There is a breathless silence as the Beloved stalks back and forth, staring at them all with blazing eyes.
‘We will begin our fight with spiritual marriages that will bring our brothers and sisters together and yet deny the Devil his pleasure in carnality. I announce here that our first couple to be united will be Reverend Silas and Albertina Johnson.’
Letty gasps, as everyone else does, and no one can help turning to look at the astonished couple in their different pews. The Reverend Silas, aged and bent and held up by his walking stick, almost bald with just a fringe of white hair around his ears, appears quite bewildered, while his betrothed, a sedate lady in her mid-forties with grey hair and fat, soft hands, looks fearful. But the jubilation of the people around them, and the immediate congratulations, seem to buoy them up and soon they are smiling and happy, nodding and waving to each other from their places.
The Beloved quietens them down with a gesture. ‘There will be more unions, brothers and sisters.’
Letty can’t help darting a glance around the church. There are many more women than men. One of the men is Reverend Gilbert, almost as aged as Reverend Silas. There are old boys from the Army of the Redeemed, but one of those is already married. Apart from that, there are the gardeners, a groom, a handyman and the boy who does the errands.
Surely he can’t mean us to marry them? Letty thinks, puzzled. Then her gaze falls on Arthur Kendall. He is staring directly back at her. At once, she flushes bright red and she looks away.
By the altar, Arabella is watching the Beloved with shining eyes.