Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [144]
He jerked up again, his foot kicking against the brass fender around the hearth. “What good would it do? They had no responsibility for it. They gave their whole lives to looking after and pandering to that old swine. They couldn’t bear it now to think it had all been a farce, all the goodness they thought was there a whited sepulcher if ever there was one!”
“But she told Prudence,” Charlotte said quietly, remembering the haunting fear and the guilt in Prudence’s eyes.
He frowned at her, his expression clouded where she had expected to see something a little like relief.
“No.” He was quite definite. “No, she certainly didn’t tell Prudence. What could she do, except be plagued with shame too?”
“But she is,” Charlotte said, still gently. She was filled with sorrow, catching some glimpse of how it would torment Prudence, when her husband admired the bishop almost to hero worship. What a terrible burden to live with, and never to let slip, even by hint or implication. Prudence must be a very strong woman with deep loyalty to keep such a secret. “She must find it almost unendurable,” she added.
“She doesn’t know!” he insisted. “Clem never told her—just because it would be, as you say, unendurable. Old Josiah thinks the bishop was the next thing to a saint—God help him. The bloody window was all his idea—”
“Yes, she does,” Charlotte argued, leaning a little forward. “I saw it in her eyes looking at Angeline and Celeste. She’s terrified of it coming out, and she’s desperately ashamed of it.”
They sat across the table staring at each other, equally determined they were in the right, until slowly Shaw’s face cleared and understanding was so plain in him she spoke automatically.
“What? What have you realized?”
“Prudence doesn’t know anything about the Worlingham money. That’s not what she is afraid of—the stupid woman—”
“Then what?” She resented his calling her stupid, but this was not the time to take it up. “What is she afraid of?”
“Josiah—and her family’s contempt and indignation—”
“For what?” she interrupted him again. “What is it?”
“Prudence has six children.” He smiled ruefully, full of pity. “Her confinements were very hard. The first time she was in pain for twenty-three hours before the child was delivered. The second time looked like being similar, so I offered her anesthetic—and she took it.”
“Anesthetic—” Suddenly she too began to see what terrified Prudence. She remembered Josiah Hatch’s remarks about women and the travail of childbirth, and it being God’s will. He would, like many men, consider it an evasion of Christian responsibility to dull the pain with medical anesthesia. Most doctors would not even offer it. And Shaw had allowed Prudence her choice, without asking or telling her husband—and she was living in mortal fear now that he might break his silence and betray her to her husband.
“I see,” she said with a sigh. “How tragic—and absurd.” She could recall her own pain of childbirth only dimly. Nature is merciful in expunging the recollection in all save a small corner of the mind, and hers had not been harsh, compared with many. “Poor Prudence. You would never tell him—would you?” She knew as she said it that the question was unnecessary. In fact, she was grateful he was not angry even that she asked.
He smiled and did not answer.
She changed the subject.
“Do you think it would be acceptable for me to come to