terrible?” she asked. “More than just … a forced kiss, perhaps a torn gown?”
Vespasia’s mouth pulled tight in deep unhappiness. “She appears a healthy young woman. I’m sure she could slap someone hard enough to make her refusal known very plainly. And from what you say, she was not acquainted with this young man Andersley.”
“No. He introduced himself. It seemed they had not met until that point.”
“But she was so frightened that she backed away from him even though he did not actually touch her?”
“Yes. She didn’t look just unwilling, or even as if it were merely distasteful. She looked terrified.” Charlotte pictured Angeles’s face again. Her expression had been unmistakable. “You believe she was far more seriously assaulted, don’t you?”
“I think that is probably so,” Vespasia agreed, her voice low and strained with pity.
“What are we going to do?” Charlotte’s mind raced over the possibilities, beginning with talking to Pitt.
“Nothing,” Vespasia replied.
“Nothing! But if she was actually raped that’s one of the worst possible crimes.” Charlotte was outraged. It was totally out of character for Vespasia, of all people, to be so callous. “She must be helped,” she said hotly. “And above all, whoever did it must be punished, put in prison.” The thought of the man getting away with such a thing was intolerable.
Vespasia put her hand very gently on Charlotte’s arm. “And if Angeles names a young man and says that he raped her, what do you suppose will happen?”
Charlotte tried to imagine it. The anguish would be profound. Isaura Castelbranco would be distraught for her daughter. Charlotte felt cold throughout her body at the thought of such a thing happening to Jemima. It was almost impossible to hold in the mind, it was so appalling. But if it ever happened, she would injure somebody in the most terrible revenge she could imagine. She would destroy him!
And it would change nothing. All the pain she could inflict would do nothing to help Jemima.
“Exactly,” Vespasia agreed gently, as if she had followed Charlotte’s train of thought. “It is an injury no punishment is ever going to heal. To blame anyone else, even if you could prove her total innocence-”
“Of course she’s innocent!” Charlotte interrupted. “She’s sixteen! She’s a child!”
“For goodness’ sake, my dear, were you innocent at sixteen?”
“Of course I was! I was innocent until-”
“I’m not questioning your chastity,” Vespasia said a little more tartly. “I took that for granted. I am speaking of innocence in the sense of offering no temptation to a man with more appetite than decency, and no belief that he needs to exercise self-control.”
Charlotte remembered her passion for Dominic Corde, and how far she might have gone, quite willingly, had he given her the chance. She felt blood surge to her face. She did not know whether to be furious or humiliated.
“It is not so simple, is it?” Vespasia observed. “And if this wretched young man should accuse her of being just as willing as he was, how does she convince people that she was not? I saw no cuts or bruises to prove her reluctance, did you?”
Charlotte was amazed. She stared at Vespasia with complete disbelief. For once she was at a loss for words.
“People can be very cruel,” Vespasia continued, her voice very quiet. “Which, if you think about it, my dear, you know as well as I do. Perhaps I have a few years’ advantage on you, but it makes little difference. Think what she will face: the whispers, the disapproval, the sniggers from young men, the alarm from other young women, the prurient interest. There will be questions from those who imagine it might secretly have been rather fun, because they have no idea that it has nothing to do with romance or passion, but rather the desire to humiliate and conquer.”
Charlotte looked at Vespasia’s face and saw that the pain on it was even greater than the anger.
“You knew someone it happened to, didn’t you?” The words were spoken before she gave them thought. Immediately she regretted them.
Vespasia’s mouth pulled tight in remembered grief and she blinked several times.
“I did, long ago. More than one. Some things are bearable only if no one else knows of them. Then at least you do not imagine that every remark you don’t quite hear is about you, every joke you don’t understand is an oblique reference to your shame.” She winced. “You do not believe that every party to which you are not invited is because you are no longer considered eligible. Above all, you do not suppose that you are soiled forever and that no man will want to touch you, except for his own amusement; that you will never marry and never have children.”
“But that’s-” Charlotte stopped as the full impact of what Vespasia had said overwhelmed her. “But it’s not her fault,” she said quietly, her own voice choking now. “Do we really have to just … just pretend it didn’t happen, and let him walk away, untouched? For heaven’s sake, won’t he do it again?” She was so angry, so horrified she could hardly get her breath. The act itself almost paled compared with the misery that must follow, the lifelong guilt and loneliness.
“Almost certainly,” Vespasia agreed. “But it is not our decision to make. If you were her mother, would you want any stranger, or even a friend, to make the choice and use your daughter in order to prosecute this man, on the chance that you might win-if proving to the whole world that your daughter had been raped would be regarded as winning? Would you do that to Jemima?”
Vespasia knew the answer as she asked. Charlotte saw it in her eyes.
“No. I … I would find some way of taking revenge myself,” she admitted.
The ghost of a smile touched Vespasia’s mouth. “And would you tell Thomas?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure? What do you think he would do?”
“I don’t know, but he’d certainly do something!”
“Of course he would, in fury and pain, without thinking of his own safety or comfort,” Vespasia said.
“Naturally! He’d be thinking of Jemima!” Charlotte protested.
Vespasia shook her head very gently. “Charlotte, my dear, you would have to protect Thomas just as much as you would Jemima. If he accused some young man from a good family-” she lifted her head slightly and indicated an elegant, wealthy young man moving easily from one group to another, laughing, flirting very slightly “-what do you imagine would happen to him?”
Charlotte stared at the young man, and then at Vespasia. She felt suffocated, even though they were standing in the open air and there was a very slight breeze tugging at parasols and ruffling the flower heads. She tried to remember her own days before her marriage, when she had moved in Society, the rules she had known implicitly, the fun, the laughter … and the cruelty.
Vespasia supplied the answer for her. “The oldest defense has always been to blame the victim. They would tell him his daughter was a whore in the making, and although they pitied him, if he made any more trouble he would find himself without a job. He, and you, would no longer be welcome in Society. And Jemima would feel even guiltier because she was inadvertently the cause of your ruin.”
“That’s monstrous.” Charlotte’s voice trembled.
“Of course it is.” Vespasia put her hand on Charlotte’s arm. Her touch was warm and very gentle. “It is one of the very worst of the private tragedies we have to bear in silence and with as much dignity and grace as we can. Kindness is perhaps the only gift we can offer. And perhaps we will then have a little more gratitude for the griefs we do not personally have to bear.”
Charlotte nodded, too full of emotion at that moment to answer.
BUT THAT NIGHT, WHEN Pitt was sitting downstairs in the parlor, absorbed in reading papers he had brought with him from his office, she went upstairs alone and soundlessly opened Jemima’s bedroom door.
Jemima was asleep, lying on her back, arms spread wide, smiling a little. She looked very young and desperately vulnerable. She thankfully could not even imagine the kind of pain that Charlotte and Vespasia had been talking about, the kind that had already begun for Angeles Castelbranco-if, of course, their assumptions were correct.
Perhaps two years ago Isaura had stood in Angeles’s bedroom doorway and watched her sleep. Had she been full of dreams for her daughter’s future happiness, or had fear touched her as it did Charlotte now?
