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cottages. She could barely see the mine, which was farther down the valley. The mine was by far the largest employer in the area. It was also the greatest threat to the community, a hazard as volatile as the explosives sometimes used for blasting.
     
    The thought clarified her churning mind. She might have behaved badly today, succumbing to pride and anger, but the reasons for her mission were nonetheless valid. Fighting for the welfare of the village couldn’t be wrong; the challenge would be for her to save her own soul from becoming a casualty of war.
     
      The weekly class was the heart of Methodist fellowship, and Clare’s group had its regular meeting that evening. That was convenient; she would be able to speak to her closest friends all at once. Still, as the group sang an opening hymn, her stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety.
     
    The class leader, Owen Morris, led a prayer. Then it was time for members of the small group to share the spiritual joys or challenges they had experienced during the previous seven days. It had been a quiet week; all too soon, it was Clare’s turn to speak. She rose to her feet and looked in turn at each of the five men and six women.
     
    At their best, classes were a model of joyful Christian fellowship. When Clare’s father had died, class members had supported her through the ordeal, as she had supported others in their troubles. The people gathered in this room were her spiritual family, the ones whose opinions she valued most.
     
    Praying that her faith in them would not prove to be misplaced, she said, “Friends … brothers and sisters … I am about to embark on an enterprise that I hope may benefit all of Penreith. It is unorthodox—even scandalous —and many will condemn me. I pray that you will not.”
     
    Owen’s wife Marged, who was Clare’s closest friend, gave her an encouraging smile. “Tell us about it. I cannot believe that you would act in a way that would earn our censure.”
     
    “I hope you’re right.” Clare looked down at her tightly linked hands. Her father had been beloved of all of the Methodists in southern Wales , and the awe and affection he had inspired had spilled over onto her. Because of that, the other members of the local society gave her more credit than she deserved. Lifting her head again, she said, “The Earl of Aberdare has returned to his estate. I went today to ask him to use his influence to help the village.”
     
    Edith Wickes, who was never short of an opinion, looked horrified. “You spoke with that man! My dear, was that wise?”
     
    “Probably not.” Clare gave a terse description of the bargain she and Aberdare had struck. She did not mention how she felt, how the earl had behaved, or the fact that she must let him kiss her once a day. Nor could she bring herself to reveal the intemperance of her own reactions. Shorn of those details, the explanation didn’t take long.
     
    By the time she was done, her friends were staring at her with varying degrees of shock and concern. Edith spoke first. “You can’t possibly go ahead with this!” she declared. “It’s indecent. You’ll be ruined.”
     
    “Perhaps.” Clare lifted her hands in a gesture of supplication. “But you all know how matters are at the pit. If there is a chance that Lord Aberdare can change the situation, I have an obligation to try to secure his cooperation.”
     
    “Not at the price of your reputation! A good name is a woman’s greatest treasure.”
     
    “Only in a worldly sense,” Clare replied. “It is a prime tenet of our faith that each person must act according to his or her own conscience. We must not let ourselves be deterred by what the world might think.”
     
    “Yes,” Marged said dubiously, “but are you sure that you have a call to do this? You have prayed about it?”
     
    Trying to sound confident, Clare said, “I am sure.”
     
    Edith frowned. “What if Aberdare ruins your reputation and then doesn’t do as