“I intend to be Ashworth’s wife,” Emily said with an aplomb that staggered Caroline. “Which seems to me to be excellently practical.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Caroline said sharply. “Ashworth won’t marry a girl with neither family connections nor money. Even if he were minded to, his parents certainly wouldn’t permit it.”
Emily stared straight ahead of her and continued marching down the street.
“His father is dead, and he is quite equal to his mother. There is no point in trying to dissuade me. I have made up my mind.”
“And you have the temerity to say that Charlotte is impractical,” Caroline said in dismay as they turned into Cater Street. “At least keep your own counsel and don’t say anything-committing-in front of the vicar.”
“I shouldn’t dream of saying anything of any sort at all in front of the vicar,” Emily replied sharply. “He doesn’t understand such things.”
“I’m sure he understands them, but as a man of the cloth he would not be interested. All men are equal before God.”
Emily gave her a look that stripped bare her own dislike of the vicar and made her feel a hypocrite. It was an uncomfortable feeling, especially when it was generated by one’s own youngest child.
“Well, if you imagine you’re going to be a lady, you’ll have to learn to exercise good manners, even to those you dislike,” Caroline said sharply, aware that the reminder was possibly as timely to herself as to Emily.
“Like Miss Decker,” Emily looked sideways at her with a tiny smile.
Caroline could think of no reply, and fortunately they were at the Prebbles’ door.
Ten minutes later they were in the back parlour. Martha Prebble had ordered tea and was sitting on the overstuffed sofa facing them. Incredibly, Sarah was also there, deep in conversation. She did not seem the least surprised to see them. Martha apologized for the vicar’s absence in a tone that left Caroline feeling that in some way Martha Prebble was perhaps as relieved as they were.
“So good of you to help, Mrs. Ellison,” Martha said, leaning forward a little. “I sometimes wonder how this parish would survive if it were not for you and your good daughters. Only last week Sarah was here,” she smiled sideways at Sarah, “helping with our charity for orphans. Such a delightful girl.”
Caroline smiled. Sarah had never been any concern, except perhaps briefly when both she and Edward had wondered if Dominic had been a wise choice. But it had proved excellent, and everyone was happy with it-except perhaps Charlotte. Once or twice she had thought. . but Martha Prebble was talking again.
“. . course we must help these unfortunate women. In spite of what the vicar says, I feel some of them are the victims of circumstance.”
“The poorer classes do not have the advantages of proper upbringing, such as we have,” Sarah nodded in agreement.
Really, Sarah was pompous at times: just like Edward. Caroline had missed the beginning of the conversation, but she could guess. They were planning an evening lecture, with a collection plate and tea and refreshments afterwards, in aid of unmarried mothers. It was something Caroline had been drafted into in a moment of absentmindedness.
Martha Prebble’s face showed a sense of loss for a moment, as if she had meant something quite different. Then she recollected herself.
“Naturally. But the vicar says it is our duty to help such people, whatever their station, however they came to-fall.”
“Of course.”
Caroline was delighted when the maid came in with the tea. “Perhaps we had better discuss the programme. Who did you say was going to address us? I’m afraid if you mentioned it I must have forgotten.”
“The vicar,” Martha replied, and this time her face was unreadable. “After all, he is best qualified to speak to us on the subjects of sin and repentance, the weaknesses of the flesh, and the wages of sin.”
Caroline winced at the thought, and privately thanked providence she had brought Emily and not Charlotte. Heaven only knew what Charlotte would have made of that!
“Very suitable,” she said automatically. It ran though her mind that it was also totally useless, except to those who felt better for expressing such sentiments. Poor Martha. It must at times be very trying to live with so much rectitude. She looked across at Sarah. She wondered if it had ever occurred to her to consider such things? She looked so bland, so satisfied to agree. What thoughts were there behind her pretty face? She turned to Martha again, who was staring at Sarah. Was that grief in her face, hunger for a daughter she had never had?
“Oh I do so agree with you, Mrs. Prebble,” Sarah was saying eagerly. “And I’m sure the whole community looks to you for a lead. I promise you we shall all be there.”
“My dear, you may promise for yourself,” Caroline added in haste, “but you cannot for others. I shall certainly attend, but we cannot speak for Emily or Charlotte. I have an idea Charlotte has a previous engagement.” And if she had not, Caroline would soon contrive one for her. The evening would be bad enough without the kind of disaster Charlotte could cause with a few ill-considered remarks.
They all turned to Emily, who opened her eyes with apparent innocence.
“When did you say the occasion was, Mrs. Prebble?”
“Next Friday week, in the evening, at the church hall.”
Emily’s face fell.
“Oh, how most unfortunate. I have promised to do a favour for a friend, to visit an elderly relation with her; you understand of course that she would not make the journey alone. And visits mean so much to the elderly, especially when they are not in the best of health.”
Emily, you liar, Caroline thought, afraid lest it show in her face. But she had to concede, lie though it was, Emily did it uncommonly well!
And so the visit progressed: polite, largely meaningless conversation; excellent tea, hot and fragrant; rather gluey cakes; and everyone hoping the vicar would not return.
They all walked home together, Sarah and Emily talking, Sarah the more. Emily seemed a little short of temper. Caroline came a step or two behind them, her mind still on Martha Prebble, and what manner of woman she must be to enjoy living with the vicar. Had he perhaps been very different when he was young? Heaven knew, Edward was pompous enough at times; perhaps all men were. But the vicar was infinitely worse. Caroline had often ached to laugh at Edward, even at Dominic; only a lack of courage had prevented her. Did Martha also long to laugh? It was not a face of laughter. In fact the more she thought about it, the more it seemed a face of suffering: strong-boned, reflecting deep feelings; not a face of peace.
A month later the whole event was only an embarrassing memory. Charlotte was delighted to have been prohibited from attending and had agreed, as fervently as was politic, that she might well say something to cause ill-feeling-inadvertently, of course.
Tonight it was gusty and cold for August. Mama, Sarah, and Emily had all gone to a further affair at the church hall, and since Martha Prebble had a summer cold, it was all the more necessary that it should be well supported by people like Mama, capable of organizing, seeing that those in charge of the catering attended to details, that things were done on time, and all was adequately tidied up afterwards. Again, Charlotte was happy to remain at home, with a quite genuine headache.
She thought it might be caused by the heavy, stormy weather, and she opened the garden doors to let in the air. It worked surprisingly well, and by nine o’clock she felt much better.
At ten o’clock she closed the doors as it was now dark. Sitting with the darkness intruding she felt a little vulnerable, remembering that there was nothing between the garden and the street except the rose wall. She had been reading a book her father would not have approved of, but a perfect opportunity since both he and Dominic were also out.
It was half past ten, and quite dark outside, when Mrs. Dunphy knocked on the withdrawing room door.
Charlotte looked up.
“Yes?”
Mrs. Dunphy came in, her hair a little untidy, her apron screwed up in her fingers.
Charlotte stared at her in surprise.
“What is it, Mrs. Dunphy?”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t ought to bother you, Miss Charlotte, but I don’t rightly know what to do about it!”
“About what, Mrs. Dunphy? Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
