Saint Paul's Chapel

Anthony took the short walk from Chavenage to the chapel in the early morning. The sky was bright already and the sun promised a warm afternoon. The rolling pastures, owned by Anthony and cultivated by his workers, were still wet with morning dew. As he meandered to the parish, in nought but his shirt and breeches, the labourers on the fields bowed their heads and took off their hats to Anthony who was well respected and liked among the people here. He paused to chat casually with some of the men who had become his good friends since he had bought property here. His wages were ample, his rules fair and his hearth always welcome for those who worked for him. He often considered how well he got on with common folk, how their morals seemed better than them at court.

Eventually he reached the quiet chapel, nestled between hills. He could hear only the gulls circle and caw outside. He took a deep breath and sat in one of the back pews, the smell of incense comforting and homely. He did often come to the chapel, not for services but for solitary thought and calm.