Chapter 5 #4
“A fair point,” he said, surprised at feeling no indignation at being spoken to so by such a man as the Reverend Honeywell, for he was too good and too kind for a man like King to harbour any anger or resentment towards him.
“The truth is what it is, and whether or not the boy is any blood of yours, you are kin to him in a manner of speaking, for you know what it is to be alone and despised in this gentle town of ours. You know what path he treads upon and where it will lead him.”
“But, Reverend, surely that path led me to where I am, and made me the fine gentleman you see before you,” King said sardonically, gesturing to himself and the suit he wore that probably cost twice as much money as his own father had seen in his entire life.
Honeywell sighed, levelling a look at him that made King grin despite himself.
The old chap must know he was a criminal, and a damned successful one, for Boreas had known it, and King suspected anything that fellow knew would find its way into Honeywell’s ear, eventually.
Yet the reverend still treated him with the amiable and avuncular manner he had used upon King when he was still a snot-nosed boy, making him feel at once fondly scolded and oddly regretful that he was not a better man and worthy of the fellow’s admiration.
“Don’t fence with me, Jasper. You’ve led a harsh life, we both know it, and whilst I wish it were otherwise, you have survived, prospered too, though at what cost I do not know. But would you wish that life on another boy if you could set him, right?”
“How on earth do you suppose I can do that?” King demanded, uncertain whether to be outraged or to laugh himself sick. “He’s as likely to take one look at me and think a life of crime is exactly what he’s after.”
“Not if you explain to him the cost of it, Jasper, the truth of it with no prettying up, and if, perhaps… you gave him an alternative,” he added nonchalantly.
“Bleedin’ hell!” King exclaimed, his time in the gutter showing through despite his best efforts in the light of the reverend’s audacity. “You do want me to adopt the little ba—bugger.”
“Not at all, I just wish for you to speak with him, to give him a few home truths, and… and if there is any honest work you could find for him, away from this place where he has been so unhappy—”
“What makes you think he’d listen to the man he thinks abandoned him to his fate?”
“Because you are not really his father, a fact that is perhaps more obvious now than it was then, and you are such a fine man, a man he will admire despite himself and wish to emulate,” the reverend said guilelessly.
King’s temper rose as he realised how very much he did not wish to do this thing and how very guilty he would feel when he refused to do it. “And have the entire town believe they were right about me all along? Not on your life!”
“Oh, Jasper,” the reverend sighed sadly and shook his head. “I can't believe that after all you have accomplished, you still care about what the small-minded gossips of this out of the way place say about you.”
“I don’t give a goddamn what they say about me!” King replied, quite furious now.
“Excellent,” Honeywell said, beaming at him.
“Then I consider the matter placed in your capable hands. I am beyond grateful to you, dear boy, I cannot tell you what a burden you have relieved from these old shoulders. I was losing sleep over the lad, I can tell you, and at my age… well, I sleep so little anyway,” he added sorrowfully, giving a little cough and patting his chest as if he might succumb to a fit of ague at any moment.
King ground his teeth, quite beyond speech and cursing himself for having stepped so neatly into the trap he had bloody well known was there before he’d even entered the vicarage.
He seethed for a long moment as Honeywell regarded him with a thoughtful frown.
Then, resigned to his fate, he held out his glass to the reverend, who obligingly filled it, his eyes twinkling merrily. King snorted and shook his head.
“Bested by a blasted clergyman. If this gets out, I’m a dead man.”
“It will never pass my lips, Jasper, of that you may be certain.”
“Jiggered, and I knew I would be before I even set foot in the door,” he repeated, shaking his head in wonder. “I could do with a man like you in St Giles,” he said gruffly.
Honeywell gave a wistful smile. “I have often thought of what I might achieve in such a wretched place, but I am too old now, I fear, and my darling Mary is buried in the churchyard yonder. I could not bear to leave her, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” King stopped, not having considered that Mrs Honeywell had not poked her head around the door, as she would certainly have done when he was a boy, after being hauled off to the vicarage to have his injuries tended or a hot meal set before him.
“I did not know, I… I am so very sorry. She was without a doubt the kindest lady I have ever known.”
The reverend’s eyes grew misty. “She was. She was indeed.” He then raised the bottle beside him and looked comically surprised to see how much of it was gone. “Good heavens!”
“Heaven had nothing to do with it,” King said dryly. “And I think you’d best have a nap and then a large pot of coffee before you go about the town, for I know who will be blamed for leading you into wickedness if you try at the moment.”
“A nap does sound like a splendid idea,” Honeywell said, smothering a yawn as King pushed to his feet.
“Well, don’t stir, old man. I’ll find my own way out.”
“And I shall arrange a meeting for you and Thomas,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t forget your promise.”
“I never—” King began and then gave it up. There really wasn’t any point at all.