Chapter 11: Richard

“Are you trying to rip the Church apart?”

“No.” All that she’d said to Tom, about not hating him, was being stretched, though perhaps it wasn’t his fault she’d brushed off his attempts at niceness. “I’m answering a call, to help those in need. There are many forms of ministry, and since I have lost the ones I was accustomed to, I have had to look elsewhere. If the people like to praise me for it, that’s none of my doing, because God knows I haven’t been crying to the press. Believe me, I have no desire to pull the Church of England apart.”

“This is you not trying? People may love a rebel, but that’s not what we need. We need stability.”

“I disagree: we need truth. And we need to practise what we preach, if we’re to be taken seriously.”

“But without rioting or breaking the law. I thought we agreed on that.”

“And what, you’ve called me here to give me a telling off? Because I didn’t come here to listen to one. Did Jesus get Himself crucified for doing as He was told? And the martyrs? What if the law said we couldn’t worship, couldn’t preach, couldn’t baptise? Would we still have to follow the law then?”

He sighed. “We can’t do anything if we’re all in prison, or if the Church gets disestablished.”

“Once again, I refer you to the saints.”

“We are not living in the first century! We have inherited something bigger than us, built up over hundreds of years. None of us has the right to destroy that.”

“You think we can destroy the Church? You think I alone can destroy it? I’m not that big, Richard.” She breathed in slowly, and exhaled again, realising that she was getting worked up. The camp was getting to her, the boiling pot of emotions which seemed to hang in the air. She glanced at Lizzie. “I honestly don’t want to fight with you. We’ve done good things together, it’s a shame we disagree so much on this. I came here determined to listen to your side. You’re the one who will have to carry this forward, after all.”

“You’re only suspended, until the legal stuff is done, we’ll be working together again soon.”

She set her chin, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll have a criminal conviction, actually. You’ll be clear to make it permanent and start proceedings to find my successor. Have you started thinking about it? Obviously you’ll have influence.”

“You climbed on a wall and made a speech, is that really a crime?”

“Involvement in an unapproved protest is.”

“Surely it’s just free speech?”

She laughed bitterly. “Look at the state of the nation. When did we last have free speech? Anyway, surely the legal team have explained the situation. The marchers were asked to move along just before I arrived and spoke, so I defied that.”

“You’re good at arguing, I thought you and your solicitor would have found a line to battle it. It’s borderline whether it’s a crime at all – you weren’t there when they were asked to move on...”

“I’m not naïve enough to think I can encourage people to break the law and get away with it. As you said when all this started, we are citizens of this nation and bound by its laws. Anyway, why are you so keen to keep me on? God knows we have enough disagreements. Surely you’d rather have someone who’ll actually back you up?”

He sighed. “Please give me credit, I don’t want a puppet for a colleague, I want a partner. You’ve been an excellent Archbishop, and you will be again. And as I said, we need stability. We need experienced people with the confidence to push through. Even without this right now, the Church is in a mess. You’re popular, if you go, especially involuntarily, there will be a lot of anger. I and the rest of the Church will take the blame.”

“I hope you know that this is the last thing I want. If you ask me to resign, I will do so – I’ve found other things which I will turn to quite happily. I’d like to continue to minister as a priest, in some context – to be able to celebrate the Eucharist, to baptise, to bless and absolve, because I truly believe that is at the heart of what God is calling me to do. If that is threatened then,” she glanced at Lizzie again, “I will appeal, and I will bring up every issue in your handling of this case, which others have explained to me.” She forced herself to pause a moment, to let the silence weigh heavy between them. “But for all I’ve just said, I will do what I can to support you. I will resign as quickly and as far as you ask me to. I’ll make sure it’s known that I’m happy about it, too: that I’m going to other, valuable, work, stuff I feel strongly about.”

“Do you want to, though?”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to think about it, because what if I decide and then the choice is taken away? I might not get a choice. Imprisonment is grounds for dismissal for a Bishop – because I could hardly keep on in that situation. And the precedent we've set recently hardly helps.”

“How likely is it?”

“Anna says we’re pushing for a fine, or community service. A caution, and legal costs, would be ideal. A few others, from the same protest, are up before me on the same day, so we’ll have an idea from them, but naturally every case is different. I could get anything up to six months.”

“Dismissals are never automatic. It’s between me and the senior bishops, whether to pursue this further. A few weeks for a minor indiscretion, and one of this nature, I’m not convinced that would be enough to exclude you from the position. Enough to prevent you in the selection process, maybe, but you’re known now.”

“Don’t make exceptions for me. It wouldn’t be helpful, for me or you or the Church.”

“Losing you would be less helpful. Honestly, even without your many merits, we just don’t have the time and resources for a vacancy right now. It’s bad enough when everything’s running well, not when a quarter of sees are vacant and most of the other senior bishops hate my guts.”

“You flatter me.”

“It’s clear you don’t care much for me personally, so I may as well be open. I need you to know how important you are, how much we need you.”

That sank deep. More so, because he was rarely direct. An excellent politician, good at working everything he said in a way that wouldn’t let you disagree. She had to admire him, the way he got things done. She looked down. “I don’t hate you, believe me. I just disagree with you, on some fairly core things.”

“And I suppose I will have to be satisfied with that.” He shrugged. “Well… whatever happens, I will do whatever I need to do to ensure you retain the office of a priest. I’m not going to do anything yet, until we know which way things have gone, but I promise you that.”

She dipped her head. “Thank you.” A quick glance at his chaplain, who sat silently taking notes. Perhaps he shouldn't have made the promise, but he had and it was in writing now. She hoped she didn't have to use that, but as both Tom and Lizzie had impressed on her, she would be glad of all the ammunition if the worst happened.

Richard watched her for a minute, hands steepled together. “I have to go and celebrate the midday Eucharist in chapel shortly. Will you attend? The same invitation to you, Lizzie, though I expect you're busy.”

Lizzie shook her head. "I am indeed."

Would she? She could easily say she had to go, there was always work to be done at the camp. But she really should stay.

“No,” she heard her voice saying, though she was still uncertain. “I... need to go, get back to work.” She forced herself to look at him. “You should come and visit the camps – one of them, at least.”

“You don’t think you have that side covered?”

Just like that, the emotions bubbled back up. “The camps are important. Just because I’m working in them, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t visit. You need to see.”

“Ruth's right,” added Lizzie, beside her. “I've only been once, but... you should go.”

Ruth glanced at her, and Lizzie replied with a small nod, reminding Ruth of the conversation they'd had earlier. Even Lizzie hadn't really understood, though she'd tried.

“I’ll look into finding a time.” Richard stood up. “Let me know when you get a verdict.”

“Will do. And you'll let me know what you decide? Ideally before the rest of the country.”

He looked away tiredly “I expected Anna to tell you. And yes, I know I made a few mistakes, they've been highlighted to me - including by yourself already. We don't all have your instinct for bureaucracy.”

“It's not instinct, it's training,” she told him. “You make it sound like you think following policy is optional.”

“Obviously that's not what I'm saying.”

“I hope not.”

“As I said, Anna was supposed to tell you. I had to announce it, the press were clamouring for news. It was Anna and your chaplain who decided to wait.”

“One might almost think Anna and I had been focused on other things.”

He shook his head. “The sarcasm doesn't become you.”

“I'm not trying to be comely.” She felt Lizzie's hand brush against her arm and stopped herself before she said anything else. Too much rested on him.

“Can I pray for you?”

She stepped away towards the door and Lizzie. “I hope we always pray for one another.”

“Of course.”

“The other thing...” Lizzie prompted her gently, looking between them. “You mentioned you wanted to ask.”

Oh. Yeah. Ruth took another slow breath. She seemed to have so little patience at the moment, and Richard managed to stretch her at the best of times. Of all the people to need favours from, why did it have to be him? “Thanks for reminding me. I need... permission. I'm not entirely sure if it's possible, I doubt there's any precedent, but if possible I would like permission... to offer prayer with anointing, before my chaplain has an operation. Under the terms of my suspension I don't believe I'm allowed. He can go to someone else, but... he'd like it to be me, for pastoral reasons, and so would I, if there's any way it would be possible.”

“I... can't see why not,” said Richard, after a moment's silence. “Though if you're not sure if it's possible, I have no idea how I would...”

“Ask the provincial registrar?” suggested Lizzie.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The fact he'd had to have it suggested said a lot, thought Ruth. “Thank you for considering it.” No thanks for making me have to ask, thought Ruth. But no. She understood his decision. “Let me know.”

“I will.”

Perhaps, she thought as she and Lizzie made their way through the corridors, she should have stayed for the Eucharist. After all, it was so easy, and wasn't it the best thing to be doing? But there was something, a feeling in her stomach, that had stopped her, and she couldn't place it. For a moment she contemplated mentioning it to Lizzie, but that wasn't the sort of relationship they had, so instead she just said goodbye outside Lambeth, thanking her for her support, and they parted ways.

She caught a bus in the direction of the camps, and then walked the rest of the way. Through the edge of the city, then into the wasteland, about a mile between tents and cardboard huts until she reached the aid station. The service would be about over by now. What was Richard thinking? How eminently reasonable he'd been, how... indulgent. Making her feel stupid with no effort at all. And she'd snapped back, risking what little goodwill he might have had left towards her.

“Ruth!”

She'd arrived at the aid station, when the call broke through her musings. Something was definitely wrong.

“What’s up?”

It was Esther, one of the team leaders. “They reckon there’s cholera at East Station. One of the first aiders is a retired doctor, diagnosed it. They’ve had a death – an immigrant, probably the one who brought it in - and five more ill, that they’ve identified so far. All the most qualified medics are meeting now to discuss and confirm the diagnosis. They’ve also told the authorities but you know what they’re like, putting everything down to natural causes…”

“Murder’s natural. If you stab someone so they sustain massive blood loss, naturally they’re going to die.”

“Charming, you're in a good mood today. Anyway, this obviously means more work for us.”

“Just what we need.”

Since Ruth had started working here, they’d improved the setup a little, combining with a couple of other small stations for improved efficiency and acquiring additional equipment. That was definitely needed now. They were trying to cook the usual meals on eight camping stoves, the remaining four having been repurposed to boil water – until they knew for sure, and had a proper strategy, they’d rather not trust the standpipes.

From the first aid tent, the sound of retching. Ruth and Esther looked at each other.

Esther said it. “We’ve tried so hard. If it's the hygiene, what else can we do?”

Ruth forced calm over herself. “If it’s the water, the water companies should be responsible. But looking at the state of every public service in this country…”

“People use the river to wash and do laundry, too. And we know that isn’t clean. We’ve been careful about warning them, just for the Weil’s disease risk. We’ve tried so hard to keep the rats down…”

“Yeah, I thought Weil's would be the issue too.” Ruth scrubbed and sanitised her hand, then grabbed a crate of carrots. “I can’t say I know much about cholera, but it’s certainly not something I expected to be hearing about in this country in the twenty-first century.”

“Apparently the biggest issue is rapid dehydration. Which sucks, when the danger is in the water.”

“What’s the treatment?”

“Mostly rehydration, you can get special sachets to add to the water to help. And antibiotics in severe cases, if we can get them. And there’s a vaccine, there’s no way we can organise it for this many people though. You’d be talking tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of pounds.”

“It needs to be the government doing it, this being a health emergency.”

“They’re more likely to shut down the camps. Call them a health risk.”

Ruth stared down at her chopping board. “How is that even a conceivable option? Less disease, more starvation. Loss of the poor attempt at healthcare we’re currently offering. Less solidarity.”

Esther nudged her with an elbow. “Come on, you've had the morning off, you're supposed to be fresh and ready to go. We’re still waiting on the confirmation from the doctors. It might be nothing.”

It was on the news that evening: suspected cholera in the London homeless camp. Believed to be brought in by an immigrant from the Middle East. The dark side of social media sprang to life: the dangers of immigration, retold.

“Have you booked your vaccination yet?”, Tom asked her that night when she told him about it.

“It’s not official…”

“Since when have we relied on the government to tell us anything, especially not in a timely fashion? Your insurance will cover it, you have all the extras included, and your provider’s so good you won’t have to wait more than a couple of days. I looked it up – it’s a drink, not even needles for you to worry about. But it takes a couple of weeks for the effects to take hold properly.”

She looked at the floor. “I have good insurance, but the people I’m working with don’t. Why should I leave them to take risks I’m not willing to face myself?”

“You already have the insurance, not using it isn’t going to change anything. As for solidarity…” he shook his head. “You’re giving plenty of that just by going along there most days. But you’re not sleeping in a cardboard box surrounded by snow, are you? And that is not inspiration for you to do so! You can’t be of any use unless you look after yourself.”

“I don’t want to use unnecessary resources. Anyway, we have more work than ever now, I can’t afford the time…”

“I’m about to go in for my operation. If you don’t have the vaccine, you won’t be visiting me. Can’t risk bringing it into a hospital, right?”

“It doesn’t spread like…”

“Stop being stubborn and get it, you fool,” he snapped, taking her aback.

She held up her hands. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

He sighed. “Sorry. Now, how did the meeting go?”

The memories, pushed back by the events of the afternoon, rushed back in.

“I’m an idiot, Tom.”

“I know that. What did you do this time?”

“We had a good meeting. Better than I thought. He… he actually wanted me to return as Archbishop of York. Even if his reasons were purely pragmatic. Obviously that depends on outcome of the court stuff, and discussions with other senior bishops. But he said…” There was a lump in her throat. “He said that I could be a priest again.”

He grinned. “That’s great! Surely?” His face sank again. “So what went wrong?”

“I was just so... irritable, the whole time. Like he said something and I couldn't help but snap. And then he invited me to attend the midday eucharist.”

“But it was too much for you?”

“I just… couldn’t take the thought of it, made some stupid excuse, snapped at him, and fled with Lizzie.”

He sat back in silence for a moment, and she wished she could run away again.

“You,” he said slowly, “need to be gentle on yourself. I know you want to believe it’s all fine, but you’re under a lot of pressure, it’s natural for you to be stressed. If Richard can’t see that, he’s more insensitive that I thought. I’m fully sympathetic with you just getting out of the situation.”

“It ought to be a joy,” she told him. “It should have felt like that, but... I just couldn't. And I wonder if it's that I’m so used to leading I can’t… not lead, anymore.”

“You’ve not had a problem sitting in my congregation, this past couple of weeks, today was the only time you've avoided it. And you literally spend most of every day chopping veg in a homeless camp, your problem is not humility.”

“Then what is it? I mean obviously I don't expect you to know but... it bothers me.”

“Why?”

“Well… because it was the Eucharist.”

“Now, without denying the importance of the Sacrament… you went to other work just as important. For “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink. When? When you did it for the least of these.” Right? Jesus is not only found in bread and wine. Just to reassure yourself, you can always pop into the city after you've dropped me off at hospital and find a nice midweek communion.”

“Good idea.” She smiled slightly. “I’m tempted to correct your quotations.”

“I’m fully aware it’s a paraphrase. Just as Jesus is found in many places, so scripture may be expressed in many ways!” He stuck his tongue out at her.

Ruth snorted. “It was entirely reasonable until you used that phrase.” She laughed and changed the subject. “Thanks for making me feel better. Ready to go to the hospital tomorrow?”

He pulled a rather less playful face. “Ready as I’ll ever be…”

“All packed?”

“I think so. It’s only two weeks, and the first of those I’ll be confined to a hospital ward, it’s not like I’m going out to meet anyone…”

“Got your Bible and prayer book?” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll just use the app. I’m going to have my bones hacked apart and you’re worried about whether I’ll be flaunting Canon.”

“I suppose the one after you have your operation might be considered exceptional circumstances. As for the rest, you’ll need something to keep you occupied!”

“For someone who is not currently an Archbishop, you are far too strict. I thought you said you were my friend…”

She turned serious. “I am, and that’s why. I’m not worried about the rules – God knows that’s the most broken Canon out there, I broke it enough often enough myself. I’m worried about you staying sane, and I’m not sure crosswords and romance novels will quite address your emotions. There is a psalm for everything.”

“I will keep his bones so that not one of them is broken?”

“Not that one.” She sighed. “I’ll see you in the morning. Keep up the positivity. And keep believing.” 

© 2021 E G Ferguson