Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [66]
But Celeste was busy being the bishop’s daughter and conducting the funeral supper as it should be done. The conversation should be elevated and suitable to the occasion. Maude Dalgetty had mentioned a romantic novel of no literary pretension at all, and must be put in her place.
“I don’t mind the servants reading that sort of thing, as long as their work is satisfactory of course; but such books really have no merit at all.”
Beside her a curious mixture of expressions crossed Prudence’s face: first alarm, then embarrassment, then a kind of obscure satisfaction.
“And a lady of any breeding is far better without them,” Celeste went on. “They really are totally trivial and encourage the most superficial of emotions.”
Angeline became very pink. “I think you are too critical, Celeste. Not all romances are as shallow as you suggest. I recently—I mean, I learned of one entitled Lady Pamela’s Secret, which was very moving and most sensitively written.”
“You what?” Celeste’s eyebrows rose in utter contempt.
“Some of them reflect what many people feel …” Angeline began, then tailed off under Celeste’s icy stare.
“I’m sure I don’t know any women who feel anything of the sort.” Celeste was not prepared to let it go. “Such fancies are entirely spurious.” She turned to Maude, apparently oblivious of Prudence’s scarlet face and wide eyes. “Mrs. Dalgetty, I am sure with your literary background, your husband’s tastes, that you found it so? Girls like Flora Lutterworth, for example … But then her status in Highgate is very recent; her background is in trade, poor girl—which of course she cannot help, but neither can she change it.”
Maude Dalgetty met Celeste’s gaze with complete candor. “Actually it makes me think of my own youth, Miss Worlingham, and I thoroughly enjoyed Lady Pamela’s Secret. Also I considered it quite well written—without pretensions and with a considerable sensitivity.”
Prudence blushed painfully and stared at the carpet.
“Good gracious,” Celeste replied flatly, making it very obvious she was thinking something far less civil. “Dear me.”
Shaw had returned with Vespasia’s glass of claret and she took it from him with a nod of thanks. He looked from one to another of them and noticed Prudence’s high color.
“Are you all right, Prudence?” he asked with more solicitude than tact.
“Ah!” She jumped nervously and met his concerned expression with alarm, and colored even more deeply.
“Are you all right?” he repeated. “Would you like to retire for a while, perhaps lie down?”
“No. No, I am perfectly—oh—” She sniffed fiercely. “Oh dear—”
Amos Lindsay came up behind her, glanced at Shaw, then took her by the elbow. “Come, my dear,” he said gently. “Perhaps a little air. Please allow me to help you.” And without waiting for her to make up her mind, he assisted her away from the crush and out of the door towards some private part of the house.
“Poor soul,” Angeline said softly. “She and Clemency were very fond of each other.”
“We were all fond of her,” Celeste added, and for a moment she too looked into some distance far away, or within her memory, and her face reflected sadness and hurt. Charlotte wondered how much her managerial attitude and abrasively condescending manner were her way of coping with loss, not only of a niece but perhaps of all the