“Yes indeed. Sometimes you meet a poor fellow dressed in rags and looking like he’s on his last leg, but under that disguise there may be a bright, shining, mighty angel. That’s the reason,” he added, “when I see a poor beggar I always try to give them something.You know what I’d hate?”
“What, Mr. Dylan?”
“I’d hate when I go to heaven to have an angel come to me and say, ‘I was that beggar outside your door. You had money in your pocket, but you didn’t help me.Why didn’t you do that?’”
David’s eyes were like saucers, and he began to ask questions about angels.
Serafina listened and marveled at Dylan’s ability to weave his Christian beliefs into ordinary conversations. Most people she knew were nominal Christians at best. They had everything in neat compartments—so much time for work, so much for family, so much for playing games—and perhaps a little slice left over for God. She had always felt there was something wrong with this, but now she had met a man whose entire being was saturated with a love of God, and it disturbed her.
“I want you to pray for my Uncle Clive, Mr. Dylan. If you pray, you can get him home again.”
Dylan was startled. He did not want to offend Serafina, whom he knew did not like religious talk, so he simply said, “Of course I’ll pray for your uncle.”
“And God will get him out of the prison?”
Again Dylan hesitated. He did not want the boy to see anything like doubt in him, so he smiled and nodded. “We know that God is good, don’t we?”
They finished the meal, and David went upstairs to take his nap. Dylan prepared to leave. “I’ve got a lot of people to check with. I asked Callie and her brother to be on the lookout for a man with a steel hook for a hand.”
“I thought about going to Superintendent Winters. He offered to help.”
“I suppose he could.”
Serafina shook her head. “I don’t know, Dylan. I’m tired. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“I can tell you what to do.”
“What?”
“Go to church with me in the morning.”
Serafina straightened and looked Dylan directly in the eye. It was the first time he had asked this. “You know I don’t go to church.”
“You’re a scientist, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, that’s what I am, I suppose.”
“I thought scientists were supposed to examine all the evidence before they made a conclusion.”
“They are, but what—”
“I don’t think you examined the other side of the evidence. Your father has taught you about the material world, but there’s another world.” He was looking at her with a strange expression, a half smile but with a gleam in his eye that she could not interpret. “I wish you’d go with me, Serafina,” he said quietly.
Serafina knew he would say no more, and impulsively she said, “All right, I’ll go with you, Dylan.”
“Fine! I’ll be by to pick you up in the morning.”
EIGHTEEN
Serafina had puzzled over how to dress for her visit to church with Dylan. SShe went through her wardrobe twice, and finally settled on a modest pearl grey skirt and jacket with dark green buttons. The only ornament was a touch of delicate white lace, edged with green, that showed at the opening of the tight-fitting, short jacket.
She paused before her mirror, studied her face, and passed her hand over her hair, which fell loosely down her back. “Well, I don’t know if this is a proper churchgoing outfit or not, but it will have to do.” Turning, she walked out of her room, and as she approached the stairs, she saw her father coming down the hall from the opposite direction. “Good morning, Father.”
“Good morning, Serafina. Where are you off to this morning?” Septimus was carelessly dressed. He wore a pair of tired brown trousers with frayed cuffs, a white shirt with no necktie, and a green smoking jacket, although he never smoked.
For a moment Serafina was tempted to prevaricate, but she had always been able to talk with her father about anything, and anticipating his response, she smiled, saying, “Why, I’m going to church, Father.”
As Serafina had expected, her father reacted strongly to her announcement. His eyes flew open, and she knew that he thought he had misunderstood her. “To church?” he said. “Why, you never go to church!”
“Well, I’m going this morning.Dylan wanted me to go with him, and I promised that I would.He spends so much time with David, Father, and that’s meant a lot to him. And this is the only thing he ever asked of me.
He wasn’t pushy about it at all. He just simply asked me if I would go. I hated to say no, so here I am.”
“Going to church.” Septimus shook his head. “I don’t remember the last time either of us went to church.”
“Well, I’m going as an experiment.”
“An experiment?”
“Yes. Dylan told me that a true scientist will look at both sides of a truth. I’ve looked at the rational side of man and his being for many years now, so I think it’s time that I look at the other side.”
Septimus stared at her and shook his head. “That may be a good thing, Serafina. I’ve often wished that I had given more attention to that side of man’s being.”
“Well, it’s not too late, Father.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Would you care to go with me?”
“No, I think one of us at a time will be sufficient.”
Serafina kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
She left her father with a puzzled look on his face and understood his problem. He had never been an anti-Christian man. He would never give a rebuke to those who chose to go the way of the church and of Jesus Christ.
Even as Serafina was on her way down the stairs, she heard the knock at the door and saw Daisy, her mother’s maid, go to answer it. Serafina heard her greet Dylan by name. “Come in, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Thank you, Daisy,” Dylan said. He stepped inside and said, “You’re looking very nice today.” Daisy, a meek young girl of twenty-four years, smiled and looked down at her feet.
Even as Serafina approached, she could see the flush on the maid’s cheek. He has a way with women, she thought, but she had noted that before. As she approached, she saw him look at her with approval in his eyes. “Good morning, Dylan.”
“Good morning, Viscountess. You look very nice this morning.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure what kind of costume to wear to church.”
“Almost any costume will do. You’ll see some dressed in finery, others almost in rags. Are you ready?”
Dylan stepped back and opened the door, and as she stepped outside, she heard Dylan say, “Daisy, you’ll have to come to Mr. Spurgeon’s church one day. You would like it, I’m sure.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tremayne. I would like it very much.”
Dylan had hired a carriage, and he helped her into it, then told the driver, “New Park Street Chapel. Do you know it?”
“Why would I not know it? Everybody knows Mr. Spurgeon’s church.”
Dylan winked at him, got into the carriage, and sat across from Serafina. She noticed that he was versed in social amenities such as this. “Mr. Spurgeon seems very well known,” she said. “Does he have a title?”
“You mean like Bishop, something like that?”
“Yes.”
“No, as a matter of fact, he’s never been ordained.”
Serafina, who only knew the workings of the Church of England, was surprised by this. “Not ordained? I thought one had to be ordained to preach.”
“Well, it is customary.”Dylan shrugged. He was immaculately dressed in a black jacket and faintly striped trousers. His cravat was perfectly tied, and Serafina knew that he was one of those men who could put on any sort of clothing and make it look as if it were tailored especially for him. Other men, she knew, no matter how much they spent, always looked as if they were wearing somebody’s cast-off clothing.
“I’ve been reading what the newspapers have to say about Mr. Spurgeon,” she said. “He seems to have created quite a furor in the ecclesiastical world.”
“Not of his making,Viscountess.”Dylan shook his head firmly. “He’s not a political man at all, but God has blessed him so greatly in building a great church that some in the Establishment are a little upset. They think that religion has to go through channels.”
“I more or less thought that myself. What little I remember of church, everything is all done very methodically.”
“I suppose that’s true enough, but one of the things that I remember a preacher saying was, ‘I’d like to see things in the service get out of control.’”
“Out of control! Why, that sounds like Methodist enthusiasm.”
“What he meant was that we program our worship so strictly that there is no liberty to it. You’ll find the services to be quite regular at the New Park Street Chapel, but Mr. Spurgeon somehow gives it an air of spontaneity. Still, he has his detractors.”
As the carriage rolled along the street toward the centre of London, Serafina listened as Dylan spoke of Charles Haddon Spurgeon. It was not difficult to ascertain that he was an admirer of the man, and she was curious to see what sort of preacher Dylan would like. He himself seemed almost wildly unorthodox. In the first place, very few actors were active Christians, and then there was his tendency to just speak his faith wherever he was, in the kitchen with Nessa or talking about horses with the groom.
It didn’t seem to matter. For some reason she found this intriguing, and she questioned him gently about how he had come to know God.
“I wasn’t converted when I was a lad, which would have been better,”
Dylan said. He frowned and shook his head. “When I came to England, as I told you, I fell in with a family that were basically burglars. They taught me their trade, and I thought that God was not interested in a man who was a thief, so I put Him off.”
“What about when you were in the Army?”
“That’s when I found the Lord, ay. I told you,” he said, “about losing—”He hesitated as if he found it difficult to speak the words.“About losing Eileen.”
“Yes, I remember.” Serafina saw it pained him still to talk of the young woman he had loved. “Did she have something to do with your becoming a Christian?”
“Yes, in a rather indirect way,”Dylan said soberly. He looked up, and she saw his eyes were filled with painful memories. “When Eileen died, I hated God for taking her. I’ll not tell you all the things I shouted out at God in my grief. I thought I was going to lose my mind really.”
“What changed you?”
“A very simple thing it was, Viscountess. I had left the barracks and gone out to walk. It was a day of rest for us, and most of the men were laughing and gambling. I couldn’t stand it, and I left the camp and went for a walk. There was a copse there, and I entered into it and sat down on a log to think of nothing but Eileen and how I’d never see her again. I remember I put my head in my hands and wept like a baby. First time I’d done that in years,” he mentioned. He fell silent then for a time.
“And then what?” Serafina asked quietly.
“I remember when I had just about worn myself out with grief, I had thrown myself down face forward on the ground and was crying out to God that He was unfair. Like a crazy man, I was, and then—” He paused, and a smile turned the corners of his lips upward. “And then something happened.Never have been able to explain it. There are instances in the Bible where God spoke audibly to men and women, but I’ve never had that experience. But somehow within my heart, which had been nothing but a raging storm, there was suddenly a quiet and a peace such as I didn’t know existed. A verse of Scripture that I heard years before came to me. I didn’t even know it was in my heart, but it seemed to mount up until it filled my mind.”
“What was it?”
“A verse you probably know. ‘God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life.’ The words came to me as clearly as if they were printed on a page. I knew it was the Lord, so I began to pray, asking God why He had taken Eileen. I never did get an answer for that really, but I began to call upon God to ask Him to give me peace, and He did. I asked Him to save me, for I knew the Gospel, and when I called, He answered. I stayed out in those woods all day long praying, but the burden had lifted. I still missed Eileen as much as a man would miss his arm that he lost, but somehow the peace of God had come upon me, and from that day to this I have walked in it.”
Serafina wanted to answer, but she did not know what to say. It was exactly the sort of religion that she had doubted. She was relieved, in a way, when the carriage pulled up, and Dylan said,“We’re here.”He stepped outside, helped her to the ground, and paid the cabby. “Come you, then,” he said, and when she took his arm, they moved toward the entrance.
Serafina was rather startled as she watched the crowd. People from everywhere, from all walks of life, were headed toward the large building with the massive pillars in front—the New Park Street Chapel that housed Charles Spurgeon’s flock had caught the attention of all of England. She held on to Dylan’s arm and joined the people passing through the gates. It was still half an hour before the time of the service, and when they reached the doors, they were greeted by a man who said, “You can’t get in without a ticket.”
“Oh, I have tickets,”Dylan said.He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out two tickets. The usher smiled and said, “Go right in, sir, and you, ma’am. Take your place.”
“Is it always this crowded?” Serafina asked as Dylan led her to the seats.
“Always. Sunday mornings, Sunday night. Even on Thursday night for prayer meeting sometimes.”
“I never heard of needing a ticket to get into a religious service.Why is that?”
“Too small the church is for all who want to come and hear Mr. Spurgeon. I’ve heard him urge people to go worship in their own churches. He wants the lost to hear the Gospel, see? And many times I’ve seen Christian people give their tickets to a sinner so they could hear the Gospel. I’ve done it myself, yes.”
“He must be a great orator.”
“That he is not,”Dylan said. “You won’t be impressed with his looks, for he is not a handsome man, he. And you’ll be surprised at his sermon, how simple it is. He has a sense of humour, too, which I like.”
Serafina took her seat with Dylan. The large clock on the platform pointed to ten minutes until eleven, and she was shocked to hear people talking in unabated voices, and even laughing. It was not at all like her memory of the Church of England services! Eleven o’clock came then. The doors at the back of the platform opened, and a stout, plain man stepped out.
“That’s Mr. Spurgeon,” Dylan whispered to her.
Serafina studied the famous preacher. He was somewhat under medium height, short from loin to knee, with a deep chest and a very massive forehead.He was not a handsome man, as Dylan had warned her, but his presence held her attention as he stepped forward and addressed the congregation. And what a voice he had! When he greeted the congregation and then gave the pastoral prayer, his voice was like an organ. Without effort it filled the massive building. It seemed to be not the voice of a man preaching to six thousand people; instead she felt as if the preacher were speaking to her alone, and she was relatively certain that everyone else felt the same way.
After the prayer, Mr. Spurgeon said, “We will now worship the Lord in songs of praise.” The singing began then, and it was like nothing Serafina had ever heard. There was no choir. A middle-aged man simply stood beside Mr. Spurgeon, and his high tenor voice rose above the others. She took the hymnal that Dylan gave her, and she saw that the hymns were simple, not ornamented with flowery language as many she had seen.
She could not join in the singing, but she could hear Dylan and was impressed at what a clear, ringing, bell-like voice he had. As he was an acto
r, of course, she had expected this.
Finally it was time for the sermon, and the massive crowd grew still. Spurgeon read a Scripture verse: “Come unto Me all that labor, and I will give you rest.” The sermon was simple, almost to the point of basic language, and personalized somehow. She listened as Spurgeon ticked off points, first saying, “I will give you rest. You all need rest. There may be in here a marquis, perhaps a countess . . .” When he said this, Serafina flinched and knew that Dylan felt it. “There may be a duke. There are certainly many of you this morning who barely know where your next meal will come from, but duke, marquis, countess, poor shoemaker, widow without any support—you all need this rest that the Lord Jesus has promised.”
His next point was simple. “I will give you rest.”And Serafina listened as Spurgeon spoke, his eyes gleaming and his plain features alive with passion. He paused often to tell simple stories to illustrate his message. She listened throughout the rest of the sermon, and all through it she noticed that the name of Jesus was often spoken. Everything was Jesus, according to Mr. Spurgeon’s own words.
Finally, as the sermon went on, she felt herself seized by a peculiar sensation. Have I missed something? Is there something to this religion after all?
The feeling grew, and finally, when the service was over, she heard Mr. Spurgeon say, “Are you here this morning, and your heart is like a troubled sea? Jesus can calm that sea as He did the storm on Lake Galilee.
He just simply said, ‘Peace, be still,’ and the sea abated. He will say the same to your troubled heart, my dear friends. Be you king or beggar, it’s all the same. The ground at the foot of the cross is level.”
The service ended then, and Dylan escorted her back to the carriage.
He helped her in, then took his place across from her. He had a peaceful look on his face. “It always does me such good to hear Mr. Spurgeon. I’m glad I know one man that means every word he says.”
Serafina wanted to answer, but she found that the rest that Mr.
Spurgeon had spoken of was not something she possessed. She realised her emotions had been for many years like a troubled sea, exactly as the preacher had said. She found herself wishing that somehow she could find the rest that the passage of Scripture had offered. She looked up to see Dylan watching her cautiously, and knew that he would not question her. He did say, “Thank you for coming with me, Viscountess.”
The Mermaid in the Basement Page 25
