Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [117]
“No, far from it,” Caroline assured her. “I believe she is enjoying herself enormously.”
Vespasia smiled. The light was silver on her hair and warm on her face, which was beautiful as much because of her age as in spite of it. All the lines were upward, the faint prints of time left by courage and laughter, and an inner certainty no one had seen waver.
“Then you had better tell me what it is,” she offered. “I have instructed my maid that I am not at home to anyone else, but I have no taste to play games with words. I have reached the age when life seems too short as it is; I do not wish to spend any of it uselessly . . . unless it is fun? And from your face, this is not so.”
“No, I am afraid it is not. But I should greatly appreciate your advice,” Caroline admitted. “I am not sure what I should do for the best.”
Vespasia looked at her steadily. “What have you done so far?”
As succinctly as possible, Caroline told her of meeting Samuel Ellison at the theatre and of his visits to the house and Mrs. Ellison’s increasing tension.
Vespasia listened without interruption until Caroline reached the point where she had retrieved the letter and confronted Mrs. Ellison and demanded to know the truth. Then she found it unexpectedly difficult to repeat the obscenity of what the old lady had finally recounted.
“I think you had better tell me,” Vespasia said quietly. “I presume it was extremely unpleasant, or she would hardly have gone to such lengths to keep it concealed.”
Caroline looked down at her hands, locked together in her lap.
“I did not know people behaved in such ways. I have always disliked my mother-in-law. I have never admitted that before, but it is true.” She was embarrassed to confess it. “She is a bitter and cruel woman. All my married life I have watched her look for ways to hurt people. Now I find myself sorry for her . . . and angry with myself because I can’t think of any way to help. She is dying of rage and humiliation, and I can’t touch her. She won’t let me, and I can’t break the barrier.” She looked up. “I ought to be able to! I’m not the one who has been abused and degraded!”
Vespasia sat silently for so long Caroline began to think she was not going to reply. Perhaps Vespasia was too old to deal with such things and she should not have trespassed.
“My dear,” Vespasia said at last, “wounds such as you imply can sometimes be healed, if they are reached soon enough. A gentle man, a tender man, might have taught her differently, and she would have learned what love can be. In time she might have put the past to the back of her mind, where it could do no more harm. I think for your mother-in-law it is far too late. She has hated herself so long she can find no way back.”
Caroline felt herself go cold, her hands stiff. It was not what she wanted to hear.
“It is pointless to blame yourself for not being able to ease her pain,” Vespasia went on. “It is not your fault, but more to the point, self-blame will help neither of you. I do not mean to be harsh, but it is a kind of self-indulgence. The most you can do for her is to treat her with some nature of respect, and not allow your new knowledge of her to destroy what little dignity she has left.”
“That’s not very much!” Caroline said angrily. “That sounds like self-preservation.”
“My dear,” Vespasia said gently, “I have found that when something very dreadful happens, and has to be faced, it is wisest to consider the matter in the most practical terms. What is fair or unfair no longer really matters, only what is or is not. It is a waste of energy you will desperately need to expend anger on injustice you cannot alter. Concentrate your attention on the pain you can reach, and weigh very carefully what is the most likely result of your actions and if it is what you wish for. When you have made the wisest judgment you can, then do it. Let the rest take care of itself.”
Caroline knew Vespasia was right, and yet she could not help a last protest. “Is that really all? I feel so . . . there ought to be