In the fourteenth month of his curacy came a letter postmarked Ventnor in the Isle of Wight. It said: Dear Mr Henry James Prince, or if you will forgive this impertinence, Dear BROTHER Henry James Prince, I must see you as soon as possible since no merely written language can express my feelings, my gratitude. I, my wife and sister are coming with all possible haste to visit you in the rectory, our old family home. Expect us on the evening of the day after you receive this epistle. Ever, My Very Dear Sir,
Yours in the Lord,
Sam Starky.
This, from the rector Henry had been told he would probably never see, was encouraging. He ordered fires lit in the four main bedrooms, two of which had stood empty since Martha left. He ordered sheets and blankets to be aired, beds to be made, the house thoroughly cleaned for the following day. Though he had never reproved the servants they were slightly in awe of him, even more in awe of the returning rector whose father they remembered and who was nephew of a Lord. By the following afternoon the rectory was in a cleaner, neater state than Henry had ever seen. He watched the maid set a tea table, suggested improvements, retired to his study. For a while he stood at a window allowing a view of the crossroads. After two or three carriages had passed he sat down and tried to concentrate on a vague but inspiring chapter by the German psalmist, Gerhard Tersteegen. Only on hearing approaching hoof beats did he go to the entrance hall and stand, hands folded meekly before him, waiting for the housemaid to open the front door. She did, and when three people entered he bowed, saying softly, “Welcome.”
“Hello!” said the foremost visitor, removing his hat and extending a hand, “Sam Starky! Are you indeed —?”
Henry murmured, “Henry Prince,” and shook the slightly moist hand of a man who seemed breathless and excited.
Starky was tall and not much older than Henry and wore dark expensive clothes of fashionable cut, only a white neckcloth suggesting his clerical status. His handsome face had the nobility of a marble bust, perhaps because it was so pale. His manner was excited but oddly evasive. He clasped Henry’s hand longer than usual without looking straight at his face. Henry saw that here was one who knew he needed guidance. “This is my belovéd wife,” said Starky gesturing to a woman who appeared to be all a prosperous and respected husband in those days could wish: pretty, well dressed, submissive and slightly alarmed at meeting someone new. Henry bowed to her. “And here is my dear sister Julia,” said Starky. “We find in her a tower of strength.”
“I am reading your Letters to the Lampeter Brethren, Mr Prince,” said Julia with emphasis suggesting approval. While the maid helped Mrs Starky remove her bonnet and shawl Julia removed her own in a way that showed she was thoroughly at home.
“I am honoured,” said Henry. “I regret that my own wife is not here to receive you all. A liver ailment has taken her to recuperate at my mother’s home in Bath. Shall there be tea after the maid has shown you to your rooms? Tea and something to eat after you have had time to wash and settle in?”
“Yes,” said Julia, “that will be thoroughly welcome when my dear sister-in-law has had a little rest and I have supervized unpacking. But I know Sam cannot wait for a word with you.” With the keen eyes of a natural housekeeper she watched a servant carry in a box and portmanteau. Henry said to Starky, “Let me take your hat.”
Starky stared at the hat in his hand as if astonished to see it then cried, “ O no no no no no!”, and hurriedly placed it with his overcoat on the hallstand saying, “Julia is right. I must speak with you alone for a while.”
“Certainly. Of course,” murmured Henry and led him to the study.
With a gesture he invited Starky to take an armchair by the fire but, “No no no no no, you sit. I am overwrought. I must pace about a bit,” said Starky. Henry settled down with elbows on armrests, watching his visitor across fingertips placed together in the shape of a tent.
“Pardon my agitation,” said Starky abruptly, “You have been my curate here for fourteen months, and I am a stranger to you. But you are no stranger to me!”
“Yes?”
“Miracles still happen, do they not?”
“It is blasphemy to doubt it.”
“You have performed a miracle. And another miracle is, that you do not know it.”
“You will tell me of it,” said Henry quietly.
“A fortnight ago I lay very ill at Ventnor, and in the morning the nurse told me I would not live until night. At noon the post brought me a letter from a clerical friend in Bath with a printed slip of paper which he prayed might be read to me before I died. The words described how a man may know he believes in Christ.”
“Ah,” said Henry.
“When the reading was done I asked the preacher’s name and only then heard he was you, my curate. I thanked God he had sent such a pastor to my flock. I felt very happy in mind, said the last few words to my wife and sister, and lay back to depart in peace.”
“But did not die,” said Henry mildly.
“Yes! My pulse beat quicker, my tongue was loosened, strength returned to my limbs and — I am here.”
He stood suddenly still and gazed open-mouthed at Henry who, smiling, rose to his feet and held out his arms. Starky stepped between them and hugged Henry passionately. Henry’s embrace was more paternal. When he lowered his arms Starky moved away whispering, “It is wonderful!”
“May I call you Brother Starky?” asked Henry softly.
“Please!” said Starky with a vehement nod, “To be accepted as one of the Lampeter Brethren is an honour I hardly dared pray for.”
“Then sit down Brother Starky,” said Henry in a louder voice than Starky had yet heard from him, “It is now your turn to listen and mine to render up accounts of my service here.”
“Eh?”
“Sit down, if you please.”
Starky sat with mouth slightly open while Prince stood before him, hands clasped behind back, saying grimly, “You thanked God for making me pastor of your flock. I confess to not dealing well with it. I am a bad pastor.”
“How so?”
“For more than a year I have laboured in Charlinch Church, school and homes and found only a disobedient and gainsaying people. I have told them how much they need Christ’s salvation; I have exhorted, I have begged those who see they need guidance to visit me here for instruction and prayer. Shall I tell you how many have answered that call?”
“Please do.”
“Three.”
“Horrible! Horrible!”
“And these three are from neighbouring parishes, not from Charlinch. But for these three I would have quit this place when my wife’s illness forced her to leave a fortnight ago — the very time when you were miraculously cured by my words. God has preserved us both for this meeting. His Holy Spirit must have work for us here in Charlinch.”