Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [97]
“If angels sing,” Fergal said dryly, “perhaps they dance, or paint pictures.”
“Is there paint and canvas in heaven?” Lorcan asked. “I thought it was all insubstantial … no body, parts or passions?” He looked sideways at Fergal, and then at Iona. “Sounds like hell to me … at least for some.”
“They take messages,” Charlotte stated decisively. “Which would be very difficult to make clear if you had to dance them!”
Justine burst out laughing, and almost everyone else did also, at the release in tension if nothing else. Absurd pictures of mime filled the imagination, and one or two offered suggestions in good humor. When they sobered a little, O’Day asked Jack about the local countryside.
Charlotte wondered as she watched them all if O’Day would be the next leader of the Nationalist cause if Parnell were forced to resign.
He seemed far more open to reason and to compassion. And yet he had a heritage, just as they all had, and a powerful man’s shoes to step into. His elder brother was crippled by tuberculosis, or it would have been his duty; now Carson had to achieve it for both of them. It was a heavy burden.
She looked sideways at his face, with its straight angles, smooth, rather heavy cheeks and level brows. It was in every way different from the face of Padraig Doyle; there was imagination in it, but not the wit or sudden laughter. Instead there was a directness, a concentration and a clarity. He would be a very difficult man to get to know, but she felt that once you had it, his loyalty would be complete. She would have understood it had Iona ever pursued him for the challenge. Except that challenges were no fun unless you believed there were some chance of success, however remote. Charlotte did not think anyone manipulated Carson O’Day, except for his own inner compulsions to succeed.
Pitt also found breakfast difficult, but not for the same reasons as Charlotte. He felt no duty to try to ease the social difficulties, although he was sorry for Emily’s predicament. He would not willingly have distressed her. His mind was absorbed in the problems of who had killed Ainsley Greville, and his fear that in spite of her protestations, Eudora did know something that she resolutely refused to say, perhaps even to herself.
He could not blame her. She had been hurt so very much; if she chose to be loyal to her brother, even in thought, it was easy to understand.
Pitt looked around the table also, weighing and judging. Doyle was talking eloquently, his face full of concentration, his hands held a little up from the white linen cloth with the Ashworth crest embroidered in self-color on the edges. He used his hands to emphasize what he was saying.
Fergal Moynihan was listening as if he were interested, but every few moments his eyes would go to Iona. He was not very good at covering his feelings.
If Lorcan McGinley noticed, he was far cleverer. His thin face with its intense expression and almost-cobalt-blue eyes stared into the far distance, then when Padraig made some especially telling point he would smile suddenly, illuminating his face, making himself dazzlingly alive. When the moment was past, he would relapse into his private world again, but it did not seem one of pain so much as dream, and not one which hurt or displeased him.
Pitt caught Charlotte’s eye several times. She looked lovely in the sharp, autumn light, her skin the warm color of honey, her cheeks very slightly flushed, her eyes dark with anxiety. She seemed to be worried for everyone. Many times she looked at Kezia, nervous of what she might say in her still-smoldering temper. She was busy supporting Emily, guiding the conversation, attempting to be cheerful and avoid the pitfalls of controversy.
He was delighted when he could acceptably excuse himself and go to look for Tellman, who would be curt and still ruffled by his situation, by the house and its wealth, by the fact that four-fifths of the people in it were servants, but Pitt would not have to defer to his feelings. He could be blunt.
He was followed from the room almost immediately by Jack,