The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [113]
“I . . . I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Charlotte stammered. She was embarrassed by Martha’s intensity, by the passion she felt just beneath the surface of these words. She was almost tangibly conscious of some deep pain in the room with her, something beyond all her previous experience. It frightened her, because she did not know how to comfort Martha.
“You must,” Martha said urgently. “That is how it is. Sin is ever-present, deep in our hearts and minds, the devil striving to claim us for his own, seeking the weaknesses of the flesh, seeking to govern us. He is cleverer than we are, and he never sleeps. Remember that, Charlotte! Always be on your guard. Pray continually for the saving grace of Our Redeemer to show you the Evil One in his true light, that you may recognize him, and tear him out of your bosom, destroy his influence, and remain clean.” She suddenly stopped and stared down at her hands in her lap. “I have the great blessing of a man of God in my house to guide me. God has been extremely good to me, to save me from all my weaknesses, and show me the way. I am not sure I can ever be worthy of such a blessing.”
“There, there, my dear,” the vicar put his hand on her shoulder. “I am sure we all receive blessings appropriate to our deserts, ultimately. You have no need to chastise yourself. God made women to be the handmaids of His servants, and you have acquitted yourself excellently in your calling. You never cease to labour for the poor and the fallen. I’m sure it does not go unseen in heaven.”
“It does not go unseen on earth either,” Charlotte said quickly. “Sarah was always saying what wonderful work you do.” She found herself embarrassingly near to tears again at the mention of Sarah’s name. Above all things she did not wish to weep in front of the vicar.
“Sarah.” An indescribable look came over Martha’s face. She seemed to struggle with some inner torment, a mighty effort to control herself which lasted visibly, and to Charlotte’s unbearable pity, for several moments.
“I’m sure she rests in peace now.” Charlotte put her hand over Martha’s, forgetting her own grief and attempting to ease the other woman’s. “If all we are told of heaven is true, we should not grieve for her, but only for ourselves because we miss her.”
“Heaven?” Martha repeated. “May God be merciful to forgive her all her sins, and remember only her virtues, and wash her clean in the blood of Christ.”
“Amen,” the vicar said sonorously. “Now, my dear Miss Ellison, we must leave you to your deliberations and such privacy as you may require. Please advise your brother-in-law that I shall be available to him at whatever hour is convenient. Come, Martha, my dear, we have other duties to perform. Good morning, Miss Ellison.”
“Good morning, Vicar.” Charlotte held out her hand to Martha. “Good morning, Mrs. Prebble. I am sure Mama will be most touched by your sympathy.”
The vicar and Martha departed and Charlotte sat down hard on the overstuffed chair in the withdrawing room feeling suddenly cold and painfully unhappy.
Naturally Charlotte reported the substance of the vicar’s call when Mama and Emily returned for luncheon. No comment was passed, except the acknowledgement required by courtesy.
Mama returned to her room to spend the afternoon writing the necessary letters to inform other members of the family, godparents, cousins, of Sarah’s death. Emily found something to do in the kitchen. Charlotte busied herself with mending. It was really Millie’s job, but Charlotte wished for something to keep her from idleness; Millie would have to find another task, perhaps even doing the ironing again.
It was nearly three when Pitt came again. For the first time she admitted freely that she was pleased to see him.
“Charlotte,” he took one of her hands gently.