Miss Purdy's Class by Annie Murray Page B

round hers. They squelched uphill through the mud, dark trees to one side of them. Edwin told her news about his work, the latest on some of his parishioners. There were people he was worried about: he had misgivings about his preaching. Was it relevant to anything? Once Edwin got talking there was no stopping him. She had always been his audience.
    ‘Tell you what I have done.’ He reached for his wallet. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About war and so on. There was a little meeting here last week – look – I’m going to send this off.’
    He held out a little buff-coloured card. Printed along the top were the words, ‘I renounce war and will never support or sanction another.’
    Gwen frowned. ‘Is this the white poppy people?’
    ‘It’s Dick Sheppard’s Peace Movement. Now there’s a priest setting a real example. He’s quite right,’ Edwin was becoming emphatic. ‘The whole thing is lunacy. The way things are going we’ll be into another war soon. And it’s utterly un-Christian! How can we ever justify such violence against other human beings? It says very clearly in Micah that we must beat our swords into ploughshares. Look at the Great War – do we want that again?’
    ‘No, of course not.’
    Edwin put the card away. ‘Sorry, darling.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Am I keeping on?’
    ‘No – it’s quite all right. I entirely agree with you. But you can step out of the pulpit now.’
    He laughed, helping her over a stile. They climbed, chatting, to the top of the hill, where they rested, looking over towards the dark peaks of the Malverns. Edwin hugged her from behind, arms wrapped round her shoulders.
    ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ His mouth was close to her ear.
    ‘Umm,’ Gwen agreed. For some reason, she found herself thinking about Lily Drysdale, wondering what she did at the weekend. She imagined her moving briskly from house to house, asking for clothes for her charges. At the thought of returning to Birmingham on Tuesday evening she felt a pang of dread and excitement mixed.
    ‘We’ll be able to come up here every week, if we want to,’ Edwin was saying. He turned her round, looking deeply into her eyes and she could see the longing in his. ‘When we’re Mr and Mrs Shackleton.’
    ‘Reverend and Mrs,’ she corrected him, teasingly.
    ‘I’m so lucky, my love.’ He looked down at her and she could see he was moved. She smiled back, touched by the look in his eyes. Edwin was so good, so true and lovely to her. She loved him, she was sure . . . wasn’t she? How was anyone supposed to be sure about love? In church they sometimes said love was more about actions than just emotions. About caring for people: doing the right thing. But wasn’t it possible to feel more than this? Edwin took her smile as encouragement and leaned down, gently fastening his lips on hers. His tongue searched her mouth longingly and Gwen kissed him back, feeling excitement rising in her, and a great surge of relief that she could feel this way. Edwin’s desire, the constant conflict between it and his sense of duty to restrain himself until they were married, could move her more than anything. His hands pressed her close and she shut her eyes and ran her hands up Edwin’s strong back. It’s all right , she thought, with a sense of peace. It’s going to be all right . Then, abruptly, he pulled away, shamefaced.
    ‘Oh God, darling. I’m sorry. I mustn’t.’ He was blushing. ‘I don’t want you to feel that I’m – well, I don’t know. Taking advantage – or anything like that.’
    ‘It’s all right. I don’t. I know you wouldn’t dream of it.’ Released from his embrace, she felt suddenly cold.

 
    Nine
    They were kissing. She had never, ever felt like this before. Even as she saw his lips moving closer, her body seemed to shiver into life as if all her skin had been scraped raw. She was trembling, the touch of his hands throbbing through her, leaving her helpless, only able to