The Cater Street Hangman - Anne Perry [44]
“Of course,” Emily smiled. He apparently had no idea that the exercise had nothing to do with skill at cards. “I had presumed you would.”
“I can’t bear vulgarity,” he went on aggrievedly. “Bad taste for a woman to make an exhibition of herself.”
Again Emily agreed, although privately she thought it was no worse for a woman than for a man; but that was not the way society saw it, and she knew the rules well enough to play by them, and too well to imagine one could break them and still win.
It was only when she was at home, lying in bed staring at the gaslight patterns on the ceiling, reflected from the lamps outside, that she reviewed the evening. There was no question in her mind that she still intended to marry George Ashworth, but there must be a weighing of his faults, a decision as to which might reasonably be changed, and which she would have to learn to live with, and herself change. Perhaps it was too much to require of any man of breeding and wealth that he should be faithful, but she would most certainly require that he be discreet in his liaisons. He must never make her an object of public sympathy. When the time was right, she must make that quite clear.
Again, he might gamble his own money as much as he chose, but never mortgage that which she might in good conscience regard as his provision for her—in other words their house, the wages of servants, a carriage and good horses, and a dress allowance sufficient to permit her to appear as becomes a lady.
She fell asleep, still thinking of the practicalities.
The following Thursday she went with Sarah to visit the vicar and Mrs. Prebble for tea, and to discuss the forthcoming church bazaar.
“But what if the weather is inclement?” Sarah asked, looking from one to another of them.
“We must trust in the Lord,” the vicar replied. “And September is frequently the most delightful month of the year. Even if it rains, it is unlikely to be cold. I don’t doubt our faithful parishioners will suffer it with good grace.”
Emily profoundly doubted it, and was glad that Charlotte was not there to express her opinion.
“Is it not possible to arrange some form of shelter, in case of misfortune?” she asked. “We can hardly rely upon the Lord to favour us above others.”
“Us above others, Miss Ellison?” The vicar raised his eyebrows. “I fear I have not grasped your meaning.”
“Well, perhaps others may require rain,” she explained. “Farmers?”
The vicar looked at her coolly. “We are about the Lord’s business, Miss Ellison.”
There was no courteous answer to that.
“It may be quite easy to arrange to borrow some tents,” Martha said thoughtfully. “I believe they have some at St. Peter’s. No doubt they will be happy to lend them to us.”
“It will be something of a social occasion,” Sarah observed. “People will be wearing their best clothes.”
“It is a church bazaar, Miss Ellison, to raise money for charity, not for women to disport themselves.” The vicar was cold, his disapproval obvious.
Sarah blushed in embarrassment, and Emily charged to her defence in a manner worthy of Charlotte.
“Surely to appear on the business of the Lord one would wish to wear one’s best, Vicar,” she said blandly. “We can still behave with decorum. We do at church, where you would not expect us to come higgledy-piggledy.”
A curious expression flickered across Martha’s face, something like triumph and fear at the same time, and an obscure humour also, gone before it could be recognized.
“True, Miss Ellison,” the vicar said piously. “Let us hope everyone else has the sense of duty and fitness that you do. We must set an example.”
“We must also hope that people enjoy themselves,” Martha offered. “After all, they will be little likely to part with their money if they feel miserable.”
Emily glanced at the vicar.
“We are not a public amusement,” he said icily.
Emily could think of nothing less likely to amuse the public than the vicar’s frozen face. “Surely we can be happy,” she said deliberately, “without being remotely like a public amusement?” As if Charlotte were at her