Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [59]
“Of course you didn’t,” she agreed quickly. “I expect Shakespeare was considered outrageous in his time, at least by some.”
“Do you think so?” He looked hopeful. “It all seems so . . . historical! Sort of . . . safe . . . the histories happened . . . and we know they did.”
She laughed. “I expect even Mr. Ibsen will be a classic one day, and perfectly ‘safe’ as well.” She knew that was what Joshua would have said. “And we don’t know what really happened in the histories, only what Shakespeare told us for the sake of his drama.”
He was surprised. “Do you think it wasn’t true?” It was obviously a new thought to him. “I suppose it doesn’t have to be, does it? Maybe there was no one to stop libel and blasphemy then.” He was frowning. “Only it wasn’t, of course . . . I mean, not Shakespeare. Maybe all the things that were have been stopped . . . either by some censorship, or because we learned they were untrue, so we didn’t watch them anymore.”
“I should think it is more likely we became so used to them, we now believe they are the truth,” she replied, and then instantly wondered if perhaps she was speaking too freely. He was only a child, after all. “You may well be right,” she amended. “In the long run we are fairly competent judges of what is good.” She hoped Joshua would forgive her for such arrant nonsense. “What are you studying?”
“Julius Caesar,” he said instantly.
“Marvelous!” she responded. “My favorite . . . except that all the characters that matter are men.”
He looked surprised.
“How about Hamlet? You would appreciate that, and perhaps understand him.” She was certain he would be familiar with the great scenes, if not with all of it. “And one must surely feel a terrible pity for Ophelia?”
He was startled, then embarrassed, and there was a fleeting moment when she thought she saw revulsion in his eyes, then it was gone again. “Oh . . . yes.” But he looked away, the blood pink in his cheeks. “Of course.” He struggled for something else to say, away from a subject that apparently disturbed him.
Ralph Marchand moved very slightly.
Caroline sensed she was treading on ground full of unknown fears and assumptions, far too dangerous to continue when she knew him so little.
“Perhaps in the future,” she said lightly. She turned to Mrs. Marchand. “I hear there is a new political satire. I am not sure whether I wish to see it or not. Sometimes they are so obvious there is no point, and other times they are so abstruse I have no idea what the point is.”
The tension dissipated. They talked for a few minutes longer on harmless subjects. Lewis, having paid his respects to the visitor, excused himself, leaving the adults to go in to dinner.
It was a very traditional meal, unsurprising but excellently cooked. It took Caroline into the safety of the past, when so much had been familiar with all the reassurance of the knowledge that she understood it, that she knew the questions and the answers and was certain of her own place. Now there were countless situations where she had to think harder, weigh her responses. She seemed to spend half her time struggling to say something appropriate, trying to keep her balance between being true to her beliefs and yet not sounding insensitive, old-fashioned and exhibiting precisely that bigotry her new friends despised. Although it was Joshua who really mattered. How much did she disappoint him? He was too innately kind to look for fault or to express criticism where it could do no good. The very knowledge of that brought a sudden closing of her throat, and she rushed into speech to drive it away.
Mrs. Marchand was talking about censorship. Behind her, her husband’s face was dark, his body tense as he listened.
“. . . and we have to protect the innocent from the darkness of mind which can so easily injure them permanently,” she was saying.
“Darkness of mind?” Caroline had not heard the beginning and did not know to what she referred.
Mrs. Marchand leaned