serious-”
“Not for you.” She found it suddenly very painful to speak. She knew how deeply it would hurt him, and yet she could not evade it. “But you mocked him-”
“Good God, Charlotte-he asked for it! He was a hypocrite-all his values were absurd. He half worshiped old Worlingham, who was a greedy, vicious and thoroughly corrupt man, posing as a saint-and not only robbing people blind but robbing the destitute. Josiah spent his life praising and preaching lies.”
“But they were precious to him,” she repeated.
“Lies! Charlotte-they were lies!”
“I know that.” She held his gaze in an uncompromising stare, and saw the distress in his, the incomprehension, and the terrible depth of caring.
It was a bitter blow she was going to deal him, and yet it was the only way to healing, if he accepted it.
“But we all need our heroes, and our dreams-real or false. And before you destroy someone else’s dreams, if they have built their lives on them, you have to put something in their place. Before, Dr. Shaw.” She saw him wince at her formality. “Not afterwards. Then it is too late. Being an iconoclast, destroying false idols-or those you think are false-is great fun, and gives you a wonderful feeling of moral superiority. But there is a high price to speaking the truth. You are free to say what you choose-and probably this has to be so, if there is to be any growth of ideas at all-but you are responsible for what happens because you speak it.”
“Charlotte-”
“But you spoke it without thinking, or caring-and walked away.” She did not moderate her words at all. “You thought truth was enough. It isn’t. Josiah at least could not live with it-and perhaps you should have thought of that. You knew him well enough-you’ve been his brother-in-law for twenty years.”
“But-” Now there was no disguising any of his sudden, newfound pain. He cared intensely what she thought of him, and he could see the criticism in her face. He searched for approval, even a shred; understanding, a white, pure love of truth for its own sake. And he saw at last only what was there-the knowledge that with power comes responsibility.
“You had the power to see,” she said, moving a step away from him. “You had the words, the vision-and you knew you were stronger than he was. You destroyed his idols, without thinking what would happen to him without them.”
He opened his mouth to protest again, but it was a cry of loneliness and the beginning of a new and bitter understanding. Slowly he turned away and looked at Josiah, who was now regaining his senses and being hauled to his feet by Pitt and Jack Radley. Somewhere in the hallway Emily was bringing Constable Murdo in, carrying handcuffs.
Shaw still could not face Angeline and Celeste, but he held out his hands to Prudence.
“I’m sorry,” he said very quietly. “I am truly sorry.”
She stood motionless for a moment, unable to decide. Then slowly she extended her hands to him, and he clasped them and held them.
Charlotte turned away and pushed between the crowd to find Great-Aunt Vespasia.
Vespasia sighed and took Charlotte’s arm.
“A very dangerous game-the ruin of dreams, however foolish,” she murmured. “Too often we think because we cannot see them that they do not have the power to destroy-and yet our lives are built upon them. Poor Hatch- such a deluded man, such false idols. And yet we cannot tear them down with impunity. Shaw has much to account for.”
“He knows,” Charlotte said quietly, raw with regret herself. “I told him so.”
Vespasia tightened her hand on Charlotte’s. There was no need for words.
