Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [156]
Pitt wondered what Shaw had said to Hatch, when Hatch asked him for a contribution. That must have been a rich moment: Hatch holding out his hand for money for a memorial window depicting the bishop as a saint; and Shaw newly aware that the bishop’s fortune came from the wretchedness of thousands, even the exploitation and death of many—and his wife had just given away every penny she inherited to right at least a fraction of the wrongs.
Had Shaw kept his temper—and a still tongue?
Pitt looked again across the crowd at that passionate, dynamic face with its ruthless honesty.
Surely not?
Shaw was banging the table, his glass high in his other hand.
Gradually the buzz of conversation died and everyone turned towards him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a clear, ringing voice. “We are met here today, at the kind invitation of Miss Celeste and Miss Angeline Worlingham, to honor our departed friend, Amos Lindsay. It is appropriate that we say a few words about him, to remember him as he was.”
There was a faintly uncomfortable shifting of weight in the room, a creaking of whalebone stays, the faint rattle of taffeta, someone’s shoes squeaking, an exhalation of breath.
“The vicar spoke of him in church,” Shaw went on, his voice a little louder. “He praised his virtues, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he praised a list of virtues which it is customary to attribute to the dead, and no one ever argues and says, ‘Well, no, actually, he wasn’t like that at all.’ ” He raised his glass a little higher. “But I am! I want us to drink in remembrance of the man as he really was, not some hygienic, dehumanized plaster replica of him, robbed of all his weaknesses, and so of all his triumphs.”
“Really—” Clitheridge looked pale and dithered between stepping forward and interrupting physically—and the more restrained action of simply remonstrating, and hoping Shaw’s better taste would prevail. “I mean—don’t you think—?”
“No I don’t,” Shaw said briskly. “I hate the pious whimperings about his being a pillar of the community, a Godfearing man and beloved of us all. Have you no honesty left in your souls? Can you stand here and say you all loved Amos Lindsay? Balderdash!”
There was an audible gasp of indrawn breath this time, and Clitheridge turned around desperately as if he were hoping some miraculous rescue might be at hand.
“Quinton Pascoe was afraid of him, and was horrified by his writings. He would have had him censored, had he been able.”
There was a slight rustle and murmur as everyone swiveled to look at Pascoe, who turned bright pink. But before he could protest, Shaw went on.
“And Aunt Celeste and Aunt Angeline abhorred everything he stood for. They were—and still are—convinced that his Fabian views are unchristian and, if allowed to proliferate though society, will bring about the end of everything that is civilized and beneficial to mankind—or at any rate to that class of it to which we belong, which is all that matters to them, because it is all they know. It is all their sainted father ever allowed them to know.”
“You are drunk!” Celeste said in a furious whisper which carried right around the room.
“On the contrary, I am extremely sober,” he replied, looking up at the glass in his hand. “Even Theophilus’s best burgundy has not affected me—because I have not drunk enough of it. And as for his superb Port—I have not even touched it yet. The very least I owe poor Amos is to have my thoughts collected when I speak of him—although God knows I have enough provocation to get drunk. My wife, my best friend and my house have all been taken from me in the last few weeks. And even the police, with all their diligence, don’t seem to have the faintest idea by whom.”
“This is most undignified,” Prudence said very quietly, but still her voice carried so at least a dozen people heard her.
“You wanted to speak of Mr. Lindsay,” Oliphant prompted Shaw.
Shaw’s face changed. He lowered the glass and put it on the table.
“Yes, thank you for reminding me. This is not the time or the occasion for my losses.