A Christmas Homecoming - Anne Perry [6]
“Excellent?” Alice challenged. “What does that mean? That she did her duty, as her husband saw it?”
Douglas kept his temper with an effort that even Caroline could easily see, and she did not know him. To Alice it must have been as clear as daylight.
“As she saw it herself, Alice,” he said. “I met her, if you remember? She was gracious, composed, a good wife, and a loving mother. You should not forget that. Playing the viola, like any other pastime, is a fine thing to do, in its place. Aunt Delia knew what that place was, and she still played occasionally at dinner parties and was much admired.”
“For what? Playing well, or having given up being brilliant in order to be dutiful?” Alice challenged him again.
“Living a life of love and generosity mixed with duty, rather than chasing after self-indulgence and an illusion of fame,” he told her. “Only to end up old, lonely, and probably destitute among strangers.”
“Lie to yourself that you are happy, when what you really mean is that you are safe,” she interpreted. “If you take risks then of course they may turn out badly. But if you marry that can turn out badly, too.” She glanced at him, her lips closed tightly as if to stop them from trembling. “And so can having children. Not all children grow up to be charming and obedient. They can be anything: wanton, spiteful, spendthrift; they can drink too much, even steal. Nothing is certain in life, except that you should not be too afraid of it to accept its challenges.”
“You are very young, Alice.” He still kept his voice under weary control, but Caroline could see the edge of fear in him now. He did not understand her, and mastery of the situation was slipping out of his grasp. She felt a twinge of pity for him, even though it was Alice she was able to relate to, to understand.
“I am working on getting older!” Alice snapped, and swung around again to continue on toward the theater.
Douglas reached out to grasp Alice’s arm, but Caroline prevented him. She stepped a yard or so in front of the path he would have to take, making it impossible for him to catch hold of Alice.
“Don’t,” she said quietly enough that Alice would not hear her. Her own footsteps and the rustle of her skirts drowned it out. “We probably none of us know whether Aunt Delia was happy or not. The point is that Alice imagines herself in Delia’s place, and feels trapped for her. You see her as gracefully letting go of an unreality and embracing a better path.”
He looked at her with surprise. “Of course I do. Wouldn’t anyone, if they thought about it without theater footlights in their eyes?”
Caroline smiled at him; it was almost a laugh. “Perhaps. But then I can’t say; I have the same lights in my eyes. Or had you not noticed?”
“Oh.” He blinked. For a moment he looked far younger, and not at all unattractive. “I’m so sorry … I …”
“Think nothing of it,” she said cheerfully. “Let us allow Alice to show us the stage, and all its charms and limitations. She will do it anyway. We may as well be gracious about it.”
He did not move. “Do you think this … play … will come to anything?” There was a real anxiety in his eyes. “Is she … talented?”
Caroline read a world of fear behind the words. What he was really asking was, was Alice bored with Whitby, even with Douglas himself? To him the theater was a tawdry world of make-believe, while to her it was the gateway to freedom of the mind, the wings to carry her to an inner life far brighter than any outer clay could be.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, remembering that Joshua had said the play was desperately amateur, close to unworkable. “But if she has the courage to put it to the test,