Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [81]
Mariah drew in her breath sharply, and it caught in her throat, making her choke. It was several moments before she could speak.
“Nonsense!” She coughed violently. Caroline was staring at her. “What I mean . . .” She tried again: “. . . is that you are who you are, regardless of your father.” This was terrible. She must say something that would not make him suspicious. Her mind raced futilely.
Caroline came to the rescue.
“Papa-in-law was very charming,” she said gently, as if she thought the old lady’s coughing were to hide emotion—as it was—she thought of grief, not cold, gripping fear. “He was tall, about the height you are, I should think,” she went on. “And he dressed beautifully. He had a gold watch, and he wore the chain across his waistcoat. He liked very good boots, and always had them perfectly polished till you could see your reflection in them.” There was a faraway look in her eyes. “He did not smile very often, but he had a way of listening that gave you his complete attention. You never felt as if he were merely waiting for you to stop so he could say something, without being rude.”
It was all true. Mariah could picture Edmund as Caroline was speaking. She could almost hear his voice. It surprised her that after all this time she could recall it so perfectly. In her mind she imagined his step across the hall, brisk and firm. Whenever she smelled snuff she thought of him, or felt the faint scratch of good tweed. He used to stand in front of the fire, warming himself and keeping the heat from other people. Edward had done just the same. She wondered if Caroline had noticed it as she had, and if it had annoyed her as much. She had never said so, but then one did not.
Caroline was talking about Edmund again, telling Samuel some of the stories he used to enjoy, and how he sang sometimes, and how fond he was of the girls, Sarah, Charlotte, and Emily, especially Emily because she was so pretty and she laughed easily when he teased her.
Was that really how Caroline remembered him, how she had seen him when he was drunk? Why not? It was true, it was all exactly true. What did anybody really know of anybody else?
And Samuel sat there listening with his eyes on Caroline’s as if he believed every word of it.
“Your mother must have spoken of him,” Caroline exclaimed ingenuously. “Whatever her reasons for leaving, she knew he was your father, and therefore you had to care about him.” She did not add that he must have asked her, but the implication hung in the air between them.
Mariah could hear her own heart beating. She was holding her breath, as if that could somehow stop him from answering. This was her worst nightmare come back, no longer a dream but as real as tea and toast, the maid’s footsteps on the stairs, and the smells of soap and lavender or the morning newspapers. It would become part of life, as inescapable as the past, only worse, because the wound had healed over. This would be a second time, without escape ever, and she had not the strength anymore. The first time you don’t know what is coming, and ignorance shields you. This time she did know, and the fear before would be as bad as the fact, and the morning afterwards. Except there would be no afterwards. It would never stop. As long as Caroline knew, it would be there in her eyes every time they met.
And she would tell Emily and Charlotte, and that would make life unbearable. Emily might tell Jack. The old lady could picture the pity and then the revulsion in his wide, dark-lashed eyes.
Samuel was talking about his mother again, about Alys. His face was lit with the same tenderness as before, his eyes shining.
“. . . people made the mistake of thinking that because she carried herself like a lady that she hadn’t the courage to speak out or stick to her beliefs,” he said urgently. “But I never knew a woman with more courage.”
Mariah cringed inside as if he had struck her. He knew! He must know. It was there in his words, just under the surface. If it was true of Alys, then it was true of Mariah. He would know that,