It is not like being in a church at all. Although the air is as solemn as it was at St Mary’s, and although a brilliant stained glass window throws rainbows of colour upon us, everything else is peculiar. The chairs are not the hard wooden ones I am used to, lined up in regimental rows, instead there is a gathering of wing-backed chairs, covered in velvet and chintz, and a few equally comfortable-looking sofas. There is also, strangest of all, a billiard table standing next to the altar.
I take a seat next to Beth, near to the back, and watch as the rest of the Parlour and at least thirty other finely dressed women, and a dozen children of all ages, stroll in to take their seats, all the while gossiping and laughing gaily. One of the others, a haughty-looking creature with lips pulled tight as a buttonhole, seats herself at the organ and begins to thump out a tune. It is no hymn that I recognise, but I stand with everyone else and listen as the whole congregation sings as heartily as factory workers clocking off after a hard week of labour.
As the final notes die away, there is some coughing and clearing of throats. Then a gold velvet curtain hanging behind the altar is pulled aside, and Henry Prince emerges. I am surprised to see Glory too, with her arm hooked through his.
The chapel stills. It seems even the flies that were buzzing around the ceiling beams have frozen their wings mid-flight. I hold my breath and the moment stretches as taut as piano wire. Then Glory drops her arm from his and moves to sit in a chair by his side.
He is wearing a long white gown which pools at his feet and unfurls like giant wings when he slowly, slowly spreads his arms wide.
‘MY FLOCK!’
His words hover in the air above us and then float down and settle on each and every shoulder. I imagine the words to be white feathers, soft and pure. I look around and see that every eye is upon him and every face is flushed with pleasure. I look back to him and my skin prickles with heat as his eyes lock with mine.
‘OUR NUMBERS HAVE SWELLED!’
He scoops an armful of air and throws it in my direction. Every eye is upon me now, and my skin is on fire. I want to shrink into the floor and melt into the flagstones. Then I feel fingers reaching for mine. Beth curls her hand around my hand and squeezes.
‘ANOTHER HAS JOINED US. ANOTHER WHO, COME THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT, WILL NOW BE SAVED. ANOTHER WHO WILL BOW DOWN BEFORE GOD HIMSELF AND BE MADE CLEAN IN THIS LIFE.’
My arms goose pimple. I wish they would all stop staring at me. Suddenly, Henry Prince drops his head to his chest and holds out his arms. There is silence again, thick and expectant. Beth nudges me. ‘Go to him,’ she whispers. ‘He is waiting for you.’
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
‘Go on,’ urges Beth.
I move slowly. The others, standing alongside me, move back to let me pass. Some of them smile and nod at me encouragingly. My footsteps echo on the flagstones as I walk towards the altar. I bow my head as I stand in front of him because it seems the natural thing to do. He moves close to me, so close that I can feel the heat of him, and I can taste the bitter aroma of stale cigar smoke. For a moment I am back in Papa’s study. I am doing this for you, I say to him. So you will forgive me.
Then Henry Prince lays his hand on the top of my head.
‘Are you ready to give yourself up to the worship of your Lord?’
The heavy warmth of his hand seeps through my skull and coats my mind. ‘I am ready,’ I whisper.
Henry Prince sighs deeply, and his hand trembles and presses harder on my head, so I sink to my knees. He begins to talk, to pray. His words are long and flowery and complicated and they drift away from me. I try to catch them, like butterflies in a net. But the ones I do catch do not make sense on their own.
‘Immortal’
‘Judgement’
‘Salvation’
‘Lamb of God’
‘Reckoning’
‘Anointed’
Then the whole chapel is filled with voices and the organ starts up again.
‘You may get up now, my child.’
I look up and he is smiling down at me with eyes that are soft and sparkling. He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. I feel as though I have done something wonderful, but I don’t know what. The feeling stays with me as I walk back to my seat and it carries me out of the chapel with Beth and all the others.
‘You are truly one of us, now,’ Beth says, and she hugs me tight to her chest. I think she is right – I already feel the weight of guilt being lifted from me. I hope that wherever Papa is, he will begin to forgive me for my selfish wishes and I hope that one day too, Mama will be able to love me.