Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [123]
“I’ve no idea,” Charlotte answered. “Probably some, not all. The thing is that hatred can become a habit until you do it for its own sake, long after you’ve forgotten the reason. You begin to look for reasons to justify the way you feel, and then you create them. Don’t let them make you feel guilty for something that has nothing to do with you, Gracie. And don’t accept that all the songs and stories are true.”
“Do you think that if they knew the truth, Mr. Doyle and Mr. O’Day would feel better about each other?” Gracie asked with a very faint lift of hope in her voice.
“No,” Charlotte answered without hesitation. “Their families were in the wrong. Nobody ever feels better for knowing that.”
“Even if it’s the truth?”
“Especially if it’s the truth.”
Nevertheless, when she had time, after breakfast, Gracie went up to Charlotte’s room and took the two pieces of newspaper, then went to look for Finn Hennessey. Surely he would want to know the truth? Charlotte might be right about some people hating from habit, but Finn was not like that. He hurt for the real suffering of his people, not the imaginary.
She found him in the boot room, but she waited until Mr. O’Day’s valet had gone and he was alone before she went in. He still looked pale after his concussion, and he was very grave. He had no job anymore, no reason to polish boots or brush coats or see to any of the other tasks of a gentleman’s gentleman, but he did it automatically. It was better than standing around idle. He had a pair of boots now. Perhaps they were somebody else’s and he was merely helping.
“ ’Ow yer feelin’?” she asked, standing in the doorway and looking at him anxiously. “I bet yer got a crackin’ ’eadache.”
He smiled thinly. “Sure I have, Gracie. Like a dozen little men with hammers were shut in there an’ trying to get out. But it’ll pass. That’s a lot more than can be said for some.”
“Yer got anythin’ for it?” she asked sympathetically. “I’ll get yer summink if yer like.”
“No, thank you,” he declined, relaxing rather more. “I took something already.”
“I’m terribly sorry about Mr. McGinley,” she said, looking at him as he leaned against the bench, the light shining on his dark head. There was a grace in him unlike that in anyone else, almost a kind of music. And he cared so much. There was nothing in him that was lukewarm, nothing indifferent or callous to the pain of others. It must be terrible to be part of a people who had suffered so much, being the victim of such deep wrongs. She admired him for his compassion, his anger and his courage. He was a bit like Pitt, really, fighting for justice in his own way. Perhaps she should care for her own people more, be concerned to fight for better things for them? Who were her own people? The poor in London? Those who had grown up cold and hungry and ignorant like herself, fighting for every scrap of food, for a place of shelter and a little warmth, fighting to stay alive without stealing or going into prostitution?
Here she was in Ashworth Hall, living like a lady and trying her best to forget about them. Would Finn despise her if he knew that? She did not want to go back to Clerkenwell or anything like the people she had left behind. How do you fight for change for them, except by changing yourself?
“Mrs. Pitt went up ter town yesterday, ter see ’er great-aunt,” she said aloud. Thinking of Vespasia always gave her a little lift of excitement, like a beam of sunshine.
Finn looked surprised. “Did she? All the way up to London, after what happened yesterday morning?” Perhaps he did not mean there to be, but there was criticism in his voice, as if he thought she had somehow abandoned her duty and she should have remained here with them at Ashworth.
Gracie was immediately defensive.
“Lady Vespasia’s very special indeed! She’s one o’ the greatest ladies in the ’ole country. Wot she don’t know in’t worth bothering wif.”
“Well, if she knows how to get us out of this mess, I wish Mrs. Pitt had brought her back here,” he said