Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [16]
“She is disloyal,” Mr. Marchand said for his wife. His voice was not raised in the slightest, but there was a ring of unshakable conviction in it. “Disloyalty can never be right. We should not portray it as such and seek sympathy for it. To do so confuses people who may be uncertain. Women may be led to feel that the wife’s behavior is excusable.”
The smile stayed fixed on Joshua’s face. “And on the other hand, men may be led to question if perhaps their wives have as much need, even right, to happiness as they have,” he countered. “They may even realize that life would be better for both of them if they were to understand that women cannot be married and then safely considered to be purchased, for use when desired, like a carpet sweeper or a clothes mangle.”
Mr. Marchand looked confused. “A what?”
“A clothes mangle,” Joshua replied with a sudden shift to lightness. “A machine for wringing the excess water out of laundry.”
“I have no idea what you mean!” Marchand looked at Caroline.
But it was Pitt who interpreted for him. “I think what Mr. Fielding is saying is that one person’s protection may be another person’s imprisonment; or one person’s idea of freedom another’s idea of license,” he explained. “If we refuse to look at anyone else’s pain because it is different from ours and makes us feel uncomfortable—or because it is the same and embarrasses us—then we are neither a liberal nor a generous society, and we will slowly suffocate ourselves to death.”
“Good heavens!” Mr. Marchand said softly. “You are very radical, sir.”
“I thought I was rather conservative,” Pitt said with surprise. “I found the play distinctly uncomfortable as well.”
“But do you think it should be suppressed?” Joshua said quickly.
Pitt hesitated. “That’s a harsh step to take. . . .”
“It subverts decency and family life,” Mrs. Marchand put in, leaning forward over her taffeta skirts, her hands folded.
“It questions values,” Joshua corrected. “Must we never do that? Then how can we grow? We shall never learn anything or improve upon anything. Worse than that, we shall never understand other people, and perhaps not ourselves either.” His face was keen, the emotion naked now as he forgot his intended moderation. “If we do that we are hardly worth the nobility of being human, of having intelligence, freedom of will, or the power of judgment.”
Caroline could see the imminent possibility of the discussion’s becoming ugly and a friendship’s being lost.
“It is a matter of how they are questioned,” she said in haste.
Joshua regarded her seriously. “The image that has the power to disturb is the only one that has the power to change. Growth is often painful, but to not grow is to begin to die.”
“Are you saying everything perishes sooner or later?” Mr. Marchand asked. He sounded almost casual, but there was a rigidity in his hands, in his body, which belied any ease. “I don’t believe that. I am sure there are values which are eternal.”
Joshua straightened up. “Of course there are,” he agreed. “It is a matter of understanding them, and that is more difficult. One must test the truth often, or it will become polluted by ignorance and misuse.” He smiled, but his eyes were steady. “It’s like the dusting in a good household. It has to be done every day.”
Hope Marchand looked puzzled. She glanced at Caroline, then away again.
Mr. Marchand offered her his arm. “I think it is time we returned to our seats, my dear. We don’t wish to spoil other people’s enjoyment by disturbing them when the performance has begun.” He turned to Caroline. “So nice to see you again, Mrs. Fielding.” Then to Pitt and to Joshua he added, “And to meet you, Mr. Pitt. I hope you enjoy the evening.” A moment later they were gone.
Caroline took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Joshua grinned at her. The expression lit his face with warmth and laughter, and her fear evaporated. She wanted to warn him how close he had come to confusing and hurting people, to explain why they were afraid, but her anger evaporated,