Simon explained the problem, and Giles followed him up to the library, bringing with him a basket of kindling. Simon watched the butler’s expert moves before the fireplace, and asked him to explain the procedure. Giles, if he thought it odd to teach his master how to light a fire, did not express it, but patiently explained each step.
“Funny, I wager Miss Breton would have been able to start up this fire without calling for help.” Simon voiced this thought aloud.
Giles chuckled. “That she would, that she would. More’n once she started her own fire. We looked down on her at first for that, but then we understood. Aye, she was a rare ’un.”
“Yes, she was a rare one,” Simon echoed.
“You know, I’m ashamed to admit it now, but we were pretty hard on her those first few weeks she was here.”
Simon eyed him curiously, beginning to feel the heat of the flames from the fireplace. “Is that so?”
“Well, you weren’t here much, and we could pretty much do as we pleased.” Giles added a few more sticks to the grate. “We were suspicious of her, for one thing. You had told us to treat her as one of the family, for she was quality. But then, what was she doing working as a nurse? We didn’t know how to place her. Did she belong upstairs or down? Then, of course, there was her Methodism. We’ve been taught that’s as good as heresy.” Giles sat back on his heels, brushing off his hands. “We weren’t going to have her convert us. So, we didn’t hardly heed her summons—let her pretty much do things for herself, all the fetching and carrying for Rebecca.”
Simon rubbed his chin, feeling the beginnings of whiskers. “I had no idea.”
Giles grunted. “I’m sure we’d have all received a well-deserved reprimand if you had.” He shook his head, staring at the flames. “But it didn’t take her long to win our respect…and our love,” he added quietly.
“How did she do that?”
Giles set some of the coal onto the fire. “See how you put the coal on once you get a good flame?” The black coal sizzled as it touched the fire. Giles took a handkerchief from his pocket and finished wiping off his hands. “Well, you remember your dinner party back last winter?”
Simon smiled. “Yes, my first and last.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It was a successful party, if I’m any judge. And I don’t imagine it’ll be your last, whatever ye be feeling now. But getting back to Miss Althea. Do you know, you almost didn’t have any dinner to serve that evening?”
“No? Whatever do you mean?” Simon listened in amazement as Giles told him the drama of Mrs. Bentwood’s lapse.
“We knew she took a nip now ’n’ again, but she’d never fallen so as to get into a total stupor. There it was, getting on to three o’clock, when Miss Breton came down to check on things and found Cook passed out at the table.”
Giles chuckled. “Well, you can imagine how we felt below stairs at that moment. All was lost—we’d all be out on the streets by next morning, if not sooner. Not Miss Breton. She put on an apron, surveyed the work and started issuing orders like a commander. She soon had us each assigned some task. And she was right there in the midst, doin’ more’n any of us. Standing over that hot stove, stirring pots, checking the scullery maid chopping vegetables, showing Harry how to chop ice.” Giles shook his head at the memory.
“Mrs. Coates had to shoo her out o’ the kitchen so she could dress and join the company for dinner.”
Simon stared at Giles, remembering that evening. “You mean to tell me that when Miss Breton joined us for dinner, she had just come from cooking it herself?”
Giles chuckled. “I remember seeing her when she entered the drawing room. She was a mite late. I could see she had rushed downstairs, still flushed from the heat of the stove. There you were, fuming at her for coming late, maybe spoiling the dinner party, when she had saved it for you! Without her, you’da sat down to nothing.”
Simon frowned in amazement, thinking about it. So much he hadn’t known. So many mistaken assumptions he’d made.
Giles soon left him, having coaxed the new coals to a glow. Simon didn’t stay long in the library, but put on his greatcoat, muffler and hat, and went out walking. He felt too alive inside to waste the dawn indoors. He walked quickly along Park Lane until he reached Piccadilly. He walked past the Green Park until he reached St. James’s. By the time he reached Whitehall, his legs were beginning to tire. He glanced briefly down the street lined with the government buildings he’d haunted until recently. In the distance, the dawn sky showed the outline of the Parliament building along the Thames. Not far from it rose the towers of Westminster Abbey, that other bastion of power in England.
Simon turned his back on both buildings and kept walking until he came to the river’s edge. The sky was a luminescent pink over the arches of the recently dedicated Waterloo Bridge. The air hurt his lungs it was so cold, his breath gusted out a white puff each time he released it, but never had he felt so good.
He stood a while looking out over the water, watching the sky lighten and the small craft begin to leave their moorings. Behind him he could hear the sounds of the awakening city. When the cold began to seep through his clothes, he began walking again, not sure where to go. Passing by a hack stand, he decided, on the spur of the moment, to go to the one place that drew him.
Simon paid for the coach a few blocks from the mission, preferring to finish his journey on foot.
All was still quiet in that part of town—the majority of people still sleeping off a night of drinking, he imagined. He stood across the street from the mission, deciding not to disturb Althea at that hour. He was content to stand looking at the building where she lived and worked.
But suddenly she appeared in a fourth-story window and spotted him. She pushed up the sash and poked her head out the dormer window. “Simon?” she called down.
He held up a hand in acknowledgment, there being no point in hiding himself.
She leaned out the window, her braids dangling beneath her cap. “Simon, is that you? What are you doing here?”
“Close that window, you’ll catch your death,” he answered calmly, although he didn’t feel calm inside.
“But what are you doing here at this hour? Has something happened?”
“No. Yes.”
“Is something wrong?”
Her dear face looked so concerned. “No, nothing is wrong. Everything is perfectly fine. More than fine, in fact.” He started feeling ridiculous shouting from the street.
She leaned farther out the window, her braids swinging forward. “Simon, what’s happened?”
“Careful, Althea, don’t lean out so!”
“Never mind that!” But she moved back a little. “Tell me this instant what’s happened!”
“I’ll come by later, at a proper time, to tell you. Or better yet, come to my house.” He chuckled, and then laughed out loud. It felt good to laugh. “It’ll be quieter there.”
“Simon Aguilar, don’t you dare leave! If you don’t come inside and tell me this instant what’s happened, I promise I shall come straight down myself.”
He laughed out loud again, a deep joyous sound.
“I’m coming down!” she yelled, and slammed down the sash. When she opened the front door, he was waiting for her on the stoop. He just smiled at her. She was in her dressing gown, a flannel nightgown visible at the neck, her two long braids hanging sedately down each side now, a white cap tied neatly under her chin.
He couldn’t seem to stop grinning.
She looked at him searchingly. “Is it…have you? You have!” He nodded slowly, smiling all the while. She opened her arms and he received her into his embrace. Laughing, hugging and crying, he twirled her around on the stone step.
“He is real! Jesus is real!” he shouted.
When he put her down, he kept his arms loosely around her.
She looked deeply into his eyes. “Oh, yes, Simon, isn’t He? Nothing else matters when you know that. You know, don’t you? Really know, no
t just believe?”
He nodded. As if becoming conscious of their positions, she made a move to disengage herself. He let her go at once, remembering all the rest that still kept them separated. She shivered, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Please come in, it’s freezing out here. I’ll make us some tea, and you can tell me all about it.”
He didn’t dissuade her. He had no right to tell her anything else, but he didn’t want to be apart from her, not yet.
Only a few people were about in the mission, so they had the kitchen to themselves.
“Let me start up the fire,” Althea said as she went toward the stove.
“Do you know, I just learned to start a fire myself this morning?”
Althea gave him a glance before turning her attention back to her task. “Indeed? How was that?”
“Yes, Giles showed me how it’s done.” He recounted the story, ending with “He told me a few other things, as well.”
“Oh, yes? Such as?”
“Such as how miserably all the servants treated you when you first arrived and how you won them over the night of the dinner party.”
She brushed her hands off and surveyed the fire for a few seconds before turning to him. She didn’t say anything, although he could see the color rise in her cheeks.
“You never said a word to me. I was even displeased that evening with you, coming down late, making us wait for our dinner,” he said with a smile.
“How could I tell you? I didn’t want you to dismiss Mrs. Bentwood. Poor woman.”
“You saved us all that night,” he said.
She smiled at him. “And I know a certain family you saved from eviction and starvation.” She laughed when she saw his embarrassment.
“He promised not to say anything!”
“But not his wife,” she added.
He shook his head. “Women! Why is it they can never keep a secret?”
She came toward him. “Oh, Simon, I wanted to thank you. You don’t know what it meant to me—to them. When I found out what you’d done for Arnold and his family I went to your house, but you weren’t in. I was so disappointed that I couldn’t thank you in person. That’s when I decided to invite you to Pembroke Park for the holidays. I hadn’t planned on it when I went there.”
He took her two hands in his. “You saved me again with your kind invitation. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I’d stayed shut up by myself during that time.” He ran a hand through his hair, turning away for a moment. “You don’t know how close I came to ending my life.”
“Oh, no, Simon,” she breathed.
He turned back to her with a smile. “That’s all over now. I have found Him!”
The two looked at each other in joy for a moment, until Althea once again gently drew her hands away, as if conscious of their nearness to one another. Simon let her go, although he longed to take her in his arms.
She turned away from him quickly, going to pour water into the teakettle. He watched her as she bustled about, content to sit and drink in her presence, and to feel another presence as well. He knew he would never again feel alone. He knew God was with him.
Over tea, he began telling her of the past couple of weeks.
“You were there every night,” she commented softly.
“Yes, I couldn’t keep away, for some reason. I hated your words some nights, but something always drew me back.”
“But you never came forward, you never acknowledged me.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t. Not yet. Not until last night.” He began describing what had just happened to him. She listened to his every word. By the time he told her how he’d felt the Lord’s presence, he could see the tears glistening in her eyes.
Afterward they sat in silence a while, the sounds of the water simmering in the kettle behind them.
“I know what joy means now,” he said quietly, looking down at the teacup in his hands.
“Oh, yes.”
“Rebecca knew, too, didn’t she?” He needed to be reassured again.
Althea smiled. “Oh, Simon, if you’d seen her that day. She was radiant. She knew the Savior’s love.”
He swallowed. “That’s the only thing that was really unbearable. Not knowing where she’d gone.”
“But now you do, don’t you?”
He nodded. After a few seconds they again became conscious of looking at one another, and both looked away at the same time.
He fingered the whiskers along his jaw. “I really should go. I just rushed out this morning without changing my clothes or shaving.” But he didn’t move.
She fingered the buttons at the neck of her nightgown, as if drawn to an awareness of her own appearance.
After a moment, Simon cleared his throat. “Your brother told me before I left Pembroke Park that there was a chance for another seat in Commons. It’s in his district. He offered it to me.”
“Oh, Simon, that’s wonderful!” Her eyes glowed in encouragement. “When can you stand for election?”
He set his cup on the saucer beside him and shrugged. “I haven’t decided whether or not to accept it.”
“Why ever not? Isn’t…isn’t that what you want?” she asked slowly.
He gave a slight smile. “You of all people should understand how things have changed.”
She nodded. “Because of last night? Are you questioning if this is what the Lord has in store for you? Do you think perhaps He has something else?”
He searched for how to explain the results of the past few weeks. “It’s funny, I spent several years after university toiling away in different ministries, a lowly clerk under a lot of incompetent fools who had received their appointments through a sinecure, with no effort, much less talent, of their own, merely because they were related to someone who was owed a favor. I felt I was getting nowhere, with no chance of getting into Parliament, when less clever men than I were getting in.
“Then my father got a lord in his pocket, because the man was up to his ears in debt. In exchange for standing me up in his district, the man’s debts would be forgiven.” Simon snapped his fingers. “Like that. I didn’t have to appear in the county, or make any speeches. The only price was to uphold this man’s interests as well as my father’s.
“And then, just like that—” again he snapped his fingers “—I was back out again, made to resign because I was a Jew. I know that was merely a stratagem to get me ousted because I began voting according to my conscience and not according to the interests of the landed class.”
He looked at her, not sure if she understood what he was saying, not even sure if he understood himself. Everything was so new still.
“It’s ironic isn’t it, that I was accused of professing the Christian faith but practicing the Jewish in secret? I was branded a hypocrite. And now that I am a…Christian—” it felt odd to say the word “—no one would believe it to be true.”
Althea smiled in answer. “You know you won’t be the first.”
“No, I suppose not.” He looked at her closely. “You have endured your share of criticism.”
“The Bible calls it persecution. You had an ancestor named Paul, who got into lots of trouble because of people accusing him of all sorts of things. Do you know what he said?”
“Tell me.”
“He said that if he were still trying to please men, he should not be the servant of Christ. The Lord gave me that verse early on, when I first started out. It was a good one to have.”
They looked at each other, and Simon understood the difficulties she must have encountered. But she spoke of it lightly now.
She continued quietly. “All I can tell you is that you must search your own heart and seek the Lord’s counsel. Only He can tell you if what my brother is offering you now is for you. Don’t be afraid of it. If that’s where the Lord leads you, it means He has a purpose for you to fulfill there. All those things you were fighting for in Parliament—they were not wrong. But only the Lord can conti
nue guiding you in this.”
Simon looked down at his hands and rubbed his thumb against his knuckles. Suddenly he had a strong urge to say more. He hadn’t planned to say anything; he knew he shouldn’t, that he had no right. But he found himself unable to stop. “So you have no feelings about it either way?” he asked in an offhand tone, continuing to study his knuckles. “Would it make any difference to you whether or not I’m an ‘honorable’ or a ‘mister’?”
“Oh, Simon,” she answered, “you know the answer to that. I made it very clear to you.”
He dared to look at her then. There was no subterfuge in her eyes, only light and warmth. It emboldened him to continue. “You said once that you would follow me anywhere, face anything with me—whether a life of poverty or as a prime minister’s wife.” He swallowed, suddenly needing to know. “Were those merely words said in an emotional moment?”
“How can you even ask that?”
“Does…does that mean your feelings haven’t changed?”
He felt the charged atmosphere between the two of them. He looked down at his hands again, gripping them together. It was too soon. He shouldn’t. But he found himself speaking. “I would never presume to—That is, if before I had no right, I certainly haven’t any now—” His eyes pleaded with her to understand.
“No right to what?” she asked him softly, her eyes welcoming.
“It wouldn’t be easy. I could certainly not offer you the life of a prime minister’s wife now,” he said in an attempt at a jest. “I’ve lost whatever good name I once possessed, my honor—” He rubbed his jaw. “If it hadn’t been for last night…I would never even presume to ask you to sacrifice….”
In reply she held out both her hands to him. He clasped them in his as if clinging to a lifeline.
“What I’m trying to say, my dear, sweet Miss Breton—Althea—and botching it up dreadfully, is, would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
She smiled into his eyes, all the love she felt for him expressed in them. “Yes, Simon, the honor would be mine.”
He lifted their joined hands to his lips.
Then he drew her forward until she was sitting on his lap. His lips found hers as her arms went around his neck. “Oh, Althea—” he breathed against her. “How I’ve missed you….”
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