Highgate Rise tp-11 Page 12

  Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The strength of his emotion was so obvious she could not dismiss it, but the sentiment was one she longed to quarrel with.

  “Love your children and teach them by your example,” Hatch went on, unaware of her, or anyone else. “Be chaste-and above all, be dutiful and be loyal to your family; therein lies your happiness and the happiness of the world.”

  “Amen,” Angeline said with a sweet smile, her eyes raised as if in thought she could feel her father somewhere above her. “Thank you, Josiah, you have again reminded one of the purpose and reason for life. I don’t know what we should do without you. I do not mean to speak slightly of Theophilus, but more than once I have thought you were Papa’s true spiritual heir.”

  The color spread up his cheeks and for a moment there seemed to be tears in his eyes.

  “Thank you, my dear Angeline. No man alive could wish for a finer compliment, and I swear to you, I shall endeavor to live worthily of it.”

  She beamed at him.

  “The window?” Celeste said quietly, her face also softer and an expression of pleasure filling her eyes. “How is it progressing?”

  “Very well,” he answered after a sharp sniff and a shake of his head. “Very well indeed. It is most gratifying to see how everyone in Highgate, and far beyond, wishes to remember him and give all they can. I think they truly realize that these are dark times full of the doubts and misguided philosophies that these days pass as some kind of greater freedom. If we do not show very plainly what is the right way, God’s way, then many souls will perish, and drag the innocent down with them.”

  “You are so very right, Josiah,” Celeste put in.

  “Indeed,” Angeline nodded. “Indeed you are.”

  “And this window will be a powerful influence.” He would not be cut off before he had spoken his mind, even by agreement. “People will look at it, and remember what a great man Bishop Worlingham was, and revere his teachings. It is one of the achievements of my life, if I may say so, to perpetuate his name and the good works that he performed in his mortal existence here.”

  “I’m sure we are all indebted to you,” Angeline said heartily. “And Papa’s work will not die as long as you are alive.”

  “Indeed we are most grateful,” Celeste agreed. “I’m sure Theophilus would say so too, were he alive to do so.”

  “Such a loss,” Clitheridge said awkwardly, two spots of pink coloring his cheeks.

  His wife put her hand on his arm and her grip was surprisingly firm; Charlotte could see the white of her knuckles.

  A pinched expression crossed Josiah Hatch’s face, drawing tight the corners of his mouth, and he blinked several times. It seemed a mixture of sudden envy and disapproval.

  “Ah-I–I would have expected Theophilus to initiate such a project himself,” he said with wide eyes. “I am sometimes tempted to think, indeed I cannot avoid it, that Theophilus did not truly appreciate what an outstanding man his father was. Perhaps he was too close to him to realize how far above that of others were his thoughts and his ideals, how profound his perception.”

  It seemed no one had anything to add to this, and there were several moments of uncomfortable silence.

  “Ahem!” The vicar cleared his throat. “I think, if you will excuse me, we will leave you, and go and visit Mrs. Hardy. Such a sad case, so difficult to know what to say to be of comfort. Good day, ladies.” He bowed rather generally in the visitors’ direction. “Good day to you, Josiah. Come, Eulalia.” And taking his wife by the arm he went rather hastily out into the hallway and they heard the front door open and close again.

  “Such a kind man-so kind,” Angeline said almost as if she were pronouncing an incantation. “And so is dear Lally, of course. Such a strength to him-and to us all.”

  Charlotte thought that perhaps without her the vicar would collapse into incomprehensibility, but she forbore from saying so.

  “He preaches a very good sermon,” Celeste said with faint surprise. “He is really very learned, you know. It doesn’t come through in his conversation, but perhaps that is as well. It doesn’t do to overwhelm people with more learning than they can understand. It offers neither comfort nor instruction.”

  “How very true,” Prudence agreed. “In fact I admit at times I do not know what he is talking about. But Josiah assures me it is all extremely good sense, don’t you, my dear?”

  “So it is,” he said decisively, nodding his head a little, but there was no warmth in his tone. “He is always up to date on what the learned doctors of theology have said, and frequently quotes their works; and he is always correct, because I have taken the liberty of checking.” He glanced briefly at the three visitors. “I have a considerable library, you know. And I have made it my business to take such periodicals as are enlightening and enlarging to the mind.”

  “Very commendable.” Grandmama was frustrated with her enforced silence for so long. “I presume Theophilus inherited the bishop’s library?”

  “He did not.” Celeste corrected her instantly. “I did.”

  “Celeste wrote up all Papa’s sermons and notes for him,” Angeline explained. “And of course Theophilus was not interested in books,” she went on, looking with a nervous glance at Prudence. “He preferred paintings. He had a great many very fine paintings, mostly landscapes, you know? Lots of cows and water and trees and things. Very restful.”

  “Charming,” Caroline said, simply for something to add to the conversation. “Are they oils or watercolors?”

  “Watercolors, I believe. His taste was excellent, so I am told. His collection is worth a great deal.”

  Charlotte was curious to know if Clemency had inherited it, or Prudence; but her family had already disgraced itself more than enough for one day. And she did not believe that the motive for Clemency’s murder, which they had all skirted delicately around mentioning, was money. Far more likely was the dangerous and radical reform she so passionately worked for-and apparently so secretly. Why had she not told even her aunts and her sister? Surely it was something to be proud of, most particularly with such a history of service as her grandfather’s?

  Her speculation was cut short by the parlormaid arriving yet again to announce Dr. Stephen Shaw. And again, he was so hard on her heels that she almost bumped into him as she turned to leave. He was not above average height and of strong but not stocky build, but it was the vitality in his face that dominated everything else and made the others in the room seem composed of browns and grays. Even tragedy, which had left its mark on him in shadows around his eyes and more deeply scored lines around his mouth, did not drain from him the inner energy.

  “ ’Afternoon, Aunt Celeste, Aunt Angeline.” His voice was excellent with a resonance and a diction full of character and yet in no way eccentric. “Josiah-Prudence.” He gave her a light kiss on the cheek, more a gesture than anything else, but a shadow of irritation crossed Hatch’s face. There was the bleakest flicker of amusement in Shaw’s eyes as he turned to look at Grandmama, Caroline and Charlotte.

  “Mrs. Ellison,” Celeste explained, introducing Grandmama. “She was a friend of ours some forty years ago. She called to give us her condolences.”

  “Indeed.” The shadow of a smile became more distinct around his mouth. “For the bishop, for Theophilus, or for Clemency?”

  “Stephen-you should not speak flippantly of such matters,” Celeste said sharply. “It is most unseemly. You will allow people to take the wrong notion.”

  Without waiting for invitation he sat down in the largest chair.

  “My dear aunt, there is nothing in creation I can do to prevent people from taking the wrong notion, if that is what they wish to do.” He swung around to face Grandmama. “Most civil of you. You must have a great deal of news to catch up on-after such a space.”

  Neither the implication nor his amusement were lost on Grandmama, but she refused to acknowledge them even by an excuse. “My daughter-in-law, Mrs. Caroline Ellison,”
she said coldly. “And my granddaughter, Mrs. Pitt.”

  “How do you do.” Shaw inclined his head courteously to Caroline. Then as he looked at Charlotte, a flash of interest crossed his features, as though he saw in her face something unusual.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Pitt. Surely you are not acquainted with the Misses Worlingham also?”

  Hatch opened his mouth to say something, but Charlotte cut across him.

  “Not until today; but of course the bishop was much admired by repute.”

  “How excellently you choose your words, Mrs. Pitt. I presume you did not know him personally either?”

  “Of course she didn’t!” Hatch snapped. “He has been gone about ten years-to our misfortune.”

  “Let us hope it was not to his.” Shaw smiled at Charlotte with his back to his brother-in-law.

  “How dare you!” Hatch was furious, spots of color mottling his cheeks. He was still standing and he glared down at Shaw. “We are all more than tired of hearing your irreverent and critical remarks. You may imagine some twisted modicum of what you are pleased to call humor excuses anything at all-but it does not. You make a mock of too much. You encourage people to be light-minded and jeer at the things they should most value. That you could not appreciate the virtue of Bishop Worlingham says more about your own shallowness and triviality than it does about the magnitide of his character!”

  “I think you are being a trifle harsh, Josiah,” his wife said soothingly. “I daresay Stephen did not mean anything by it.”

  “Of course he did.” Hatch would not be placated. “He is always making derisory remarks which he imagines to be amusing.” His voice rose and he looked at Celeste. “He did not even wish to donate to the window. Can you imagine? And he supports that wretched man Lindsay in his revolutionary paper which questions the very foundations of decent society.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Shaw said. “It merely puts out certain ideas on reform which would distribute wealth more equitably.”

  “More equitably than what?” Hatch demanded. “Our present system? That amounts to overthrow of the government-in fact, revolution, as I said.”

  “No it does not.” Shaw was overtly annoyed now and he swung around in his chair to face Hatch. “They believe in a gradual change, through legislation, to a system of collectivist state ownership of the means of producing wealth, with workers’ control-full employment and appropriation of unearned increment-”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, Stephen,” Angeline said with her face screwed up in concentration.

  “Neither do I,” Celeste agreed. “Are you speaking about George Bernard Shaw and those fearful Webbs?”

  “He is talking about anarchy and the total change or loss of everything you know!” Hatch replied with very real anger.

  This was far deeper than the reopening of an old family quarrel. They were profound issues of morality. And turning from him to Shaw, Charlotte believed that in his eyes also she saw a fire of seriousness beneath the perception of a very surface absurdity. Humor was always with him, it was deep in all the lines of his face, but it was only the outer garment of a passionate mind.

  “People can get away with anything these days,” Grandmama said unhelpfully. “In my youth, Bernard Shaw, Mr. Webb, and their like would have been put in prison before they were permitted to speak of such ideas-but today they are quite openly quoted. And of course Mrs. Webb is quite beyond the pale.”

  “Be quiet,” Caroline said sharply. “You are making bad into worse.”

  “It is already worse,” the old lady retorted in a stage whisper audible to everyone in the room.

  “Oh dear.” Angeline wrung her hands nervously, looking from one to the other of her nephews-in-law.

  Charlotte attempted to repair some of the damage.

  “Mr. Hatch, do you not think that when people read the ideas proposed in these pamphlets they will consider them, and if they are truly evil or preposterous then they will see them for what they are, and reject them out of hand? After all, is it not better they should know what they stand for and so find them the more repellent and frightening, than merely by our recounting of them? Truth cannot but benefit from the comparison.”

  Hatch stopped with his breath drawn in and his mouth open. Her premise was one he could not possibly deny, and yet to do so would rob him of his argument against Shaw.

  For seconds the silence hung. A carriage rattled past the street going up Highgate Hill. A snatch of song came from somewhere upstairs and was hushed instantly, presumably some young housemaid disciplined for levity.

  “You are very young, Mrs. Pitt,” Hatch said at last. “I fear you do not fully grasp the weakness of some people, how easily greed, ignorance and envy can draw them to espouse values that are quite obviously false to those of us who have had the advantage of a moral upbringing. Unfortunately there are an increasing number”- here he shot a bright, hard glance at Shaw-“who confuse freedom with license and thus behave completely irresponsibly. We have just such a person here, named John Dalgetty, who keeps a shop of sorts, selling books and pamphlets, some of which pander to the lowest possible tastes, some which excite flighty minds to dwell on subjects with which they are quite unable to deal, questions of philosophy disruptive both to the individual and to society.”

  “Josiah would have a censor to tell everyone what they may read and what they may not.” Shaw turned to Charlotte, his arms wide, his eyebrows raised. “No one would have had a new idea, or questioned an old one, since Noah landed on Ararat. There would be no inventors, no explorations of the mind, nothing to challenge or excite, nothing to stretch the boundaries of thought. No one would do anything that hadn’t been done before. There would certainly be no Empire.”

  “Balderdash,” Charlotte said frankly, then blanched at her temerity. Aunt Vespasia might be able to get away with such candor, but she had neither the social status nor the beauty for it. But it was too late to withdraw it. “I mean, you will never stop people from having radical thoughts, or from speaking them-”

  Shaw started to laugh. It was a rich, wonderful sound; even around all the black crepes and the somber faces, it was full of joy.

  “How can I argue with you?” He controlled his mirth with difficulty. The room seemed alight with his presence. “You are the perfect argument for your case. Obviously not even Josiah’s presence in person can stop you from saying precisely what comes into your mind.”

  “I apologize,” she said, uncertain whether to be offended, embarrassed, orto laugh with him. Grandmama was outraged, probably because Charlotte was the center of attention; Caroline was mortified; and Angeline, Celeste and Prudence were struck dumb. Josiah Hatch struggled between conflicting emotions so powerful he dared not put them into speech. “I was extremely discourteous,” she added. “Whatever my opinions, they were not asked for, and I should not have expressed them so forcefully.”

  “You should not have expressed them at all,” Grandmama snapped, sitting bolt upright and glaring at her. “I always said your marriage would do you no good-and heaven knows you were wayward enough to begin with. Now you are a disaster. I should not have brought you.”

  Charlotte would have liked to retort that she should not have come herself-but it was not the time, and perhaps there was no such time.

  Shaw came to Charlotte’s rescue.

  “I am delighted that you did, Mrs. Ellison. I am exceedingly tired of the polite but meaningless conversation of people who wish to express their sympathy but endlessly repeat each other simply because there is nothing anyone can say that is deep enough.” His face lightened. “Words do not encompass it, nor do they bridge the gap between those who grieve and those who do not. It is a relief to talk of something else.”

  Suddenly the memory of Somerset Carlisle and the sorrow in his face was as clear in Charlotte’s mind as if he had been here in the room with them.

  “May I speak privately with you, Dr. Shaw?”

  “Really!” Prudence
murmured in amazement.

  “Well …” Angeline fluttered her hands as if to brush something away.

  “Charlotte,” Caroline said warningly.

  The same smile touched Shaw’s mouth with amusement.

  “Certainly. We shall repair to the library.” He glanced at Celeste. “And leave the door open,” he added deliberately, and watched her scowl with irritation. A protest rose to her lips, and she abandoned it; the explanation of what she had not thought, or implied, was worse than its absence. She shot him a look of intense annoyance.

  He held the door open for Charlotte and then as she swept out, chin high, he followed her and strode ahead. Since she had no idea where she was going, he led the way to the library, which turned out to be as impressive and pompous as the hall, with cases and cases of leather-bound books in brown and burgundy and dark green, all lettered with gold. Pious scripts were framed in mahogany on the free wall space, and there was a large picture of some high church dignitary above the mantelpiece, carved in marble and inset with quartz pillars supporting the shelf. Massive leather-covered chairs occupied much of the dark green carpet, giving the whole room a claustrophobic feeling. A large bronze statue of a lion ornamented the one table. The curtains, like those in the withdrawing room, were heavily fringed, tied back with fringed sashes, and splayed carefully over the floor at their base.

  “Not a room to put you at your ease, is it?” Shaw met her eyes very directly. “But then that was never the intention.” A smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Are you impressed?”

  “That was the intention?” She smiled back.

  “Oh assuredly. And are you?”

  “I’m impressed with how much money he must have had.” She was perfectly frank without even considering it. He was a man whose honesty demanded from her exactly the same. “All these leather-bound books. There must be a hundred pounds’ worth in every case. The contents of the whole room would keep an average family for at least two years-food, gaslight, a new outfit for every season, coal enough to keep them thoroughly warm, roast beef every Sunday and goose for Christmas, and pay a housemaid to boot.”