The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [3]
Charlotte wondered why either the country or the poor should comfort anyone, least of all Mrs. Abernathy.
“Oh, yes,” her mother encouraged. “That would be an excellent idea.”
“You might take her some preserves,” Grandmama added, nodding her head. “Always nice to receive preserves. Shows people care. And people are not as considerate as they used to be, in my young days. Of course, it’s all this violence, all this crime. It’s bound to change people. And such immodesty: women behaving like men, and wanting all sorts of things that aren’t good for them. We’ll have hens crowing in the farm yard next!”
“Poor Mrs. Abernathy,” Mrs. Winchester agreed, shaking her head.
“Has Mrs. Abernathy been ill?” Susannah enquired.
“Of course!” Grandmama said sharply. “What would you expect, child? That’s what I keep saying to Charlotte.” She gave Charlotte a piercing glance. “You and Charlotte are alike, you know!” That was an accusation aimed at Susannah. “I used to blame Caroline for Charlotte.” She dismissed her daughter-in-law with a wave of her fat little hand. “But I suppose I can hardly blame her for you. You must be the fault of the times. Your father was never strict enough with you, but at least you don’t read those dreadful newspapers that come into this house. I had you too late in life. No good comes of it.”
“I don’t think Charlotte reads the newspapers as much as you fear, Mama,” Susannah defended.
“How many times do you require to read a thing before the damage is done?” Grandmama demanded.
“They are all different, Mama.”
“How do you know?” Grandmama was as quick as a terrier.
Susannah kept her composure with only the faintest colour coming to her face.
“They print the news, Mama; the news must be different from day to day.”
“Nonsense! They print crimes and scandals. Sin has not changed since Our Lord permitted it in the Garden of Eden.”
That seemed to close the conversation. There were several minutes’ silence.
“Do tell us, Aunt Susannah,” Sarah began at last, “is the country in Yorkshire very pretty? I have never been there. Perhaps the Willises would permit Dominic and me . . . ” she left the suggestion delicately.
Susannah smiled. “I’m sure they would be delighted. But I hardly imagine Dominic enjoying such a very rural life. He always seemed to me a man of more—cultivated tastes than visiting the poor and attending tea parties.”
“You make it sound terribly dull,” Charlotte said without thinking.
She received a general stare of surprise and disapproval.
“Just the thing poor Mrs. Abernathy needs, I don’t doubt,” Mrs. Winchester said with a sage nod. “Do her the world of good, poor woman.”
“Yorkshire can be uncommonly cold in April,” Susannah said quietly, looking from one to the other of them. “If Mrs. Abernathy has been ill, don’t you think perhaps June or July would be better?”
“Cold has nothing to do with it!” Grandmama snapped. “Bracing. Very healthy.”
“Not if you’ve been ill—”
“Are you contradicting me, Susannah?”
“I am trying to point out, Mama, that Yorkshire in early spring is not an ideal place for someone in a delicate state of health. Far from bracing her, it might well give her pneumonia!”
“It will at least take her mind off things,” Grandmama said firmly.
“Poor dear soul,” Mrs. Winchester added. “To leave here, even for Yorkshire, would surely only be an improvement, change her spirits.”
“What’s wrong with here?” Susannah asked, looking at Mrs. Winchester, then at Charlotte. “I’ve always thought this an unusually pleasant place. We have all the advantages of the city without the oppression of its more crowded areas, or the expense of the most highly fashionable. Our streets are as clean as any, and we are within carriage distance of most that is of interest or enjoyment to see, not to mention our friends.”
Mrs. Winchester swung round to her.
“Of course, you’ve been away!