The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [70]
The joy went out of Caroline’s face, leaving her so intensely vulnerable Emily wanted to clasp her in her arms and hold her, as she would have a child.
“I shall be older, alone, and have memories of a glorious time when I was happy, and loved, even if it could not be mine forever,” Caroline replied very quietly, looking down at the rose-colored quilt. “I shall have had laughter, imagination and friendship such as few women ever have, and I shall keep my memories without bitterness.” She raised her eyes to Emily’s. “That is what will happen. I shall not go into a decline, or expect you or Charlotte to sit with me while I weep over it. Does that make you feel any better?”
Ridiculously, Emily found there were tears in her eyes.
“No—I shall—I shall hurt for you so terribly!” She sniffed and fished for a handkerchief unsuccessfully.
Caroline passed her one from under her pillow.
“That is the price of loving, my dear,” she said softly. “Usually it is parents who agonize for their children, but sometimes it is the other way too. The only way to avoid that is not to love anyone enough for their pain to hurt you. But that is like having part of you that is dead.”
Emily let out her breath in a long sigh. There was nothing to say to that, no argument.
“Tell me about the campaign,” Caroline suggested, retrieving her handkerchief. “And about the new house of Charlotte’s—have you seen it?”
“Yes. It’s awful, at the moment. But it could be really very nice indeed, with a great deal of work, and at least a hundred pounds spent on it, possibly even two.” And she proceeded to tell Caroline about it.
As she was leaving half an hour later she met her grandmother in the hallway. The old lady was dressed entirely in black, as was her custom; she believed widows should behave like widows. She leaned heavily on her stick and watched Emily come all the way down the stairs to the bottom before she spoke.
“Well,” she said viciously, “so you have been to see your Mama. The place looks like a harlot’s place of work! She’s taken leave of her senses—not that she ever had much. It was my poor Edward who kept her in some sort of dignity while he was alive. He must be turning in his grave to see this.” She banged her cane on the floor. “I don’t think I can remain here any more. It is all beyond tolerating. I shall come and stay with you.” She twitched angrily and turned to stare up the hall. “Staying with Charlotte is out of the question. Always was. She married beneath her. I couldn’t abide that.”
Emily was aghast.
“Because Mama has had her bedroom redecorated?” Her voice rose with incredulity. “If you don’t care for it, don’t go in there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” the old lady said, swinging back to face her. “Do you suppose she did it like that for herself? She intends having that man in there. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
Emily really did not think she could endure having Grand-mama living with her. Even Ashworth House, enormous as it was, was not big enough to share with the old lady.
“I’m not living in a house of scandal and immorality,” the old lady went on vehemently, her voice rising in both pitch and volume. “That my old age should have come to this!” Her boot-button eyes were brilliant. “I shall go down to my grave in sorrow.”
“Rubbish!” Emily said tartly. “Nothing has happened yet, and it probably never will.” Although she did not entirely believe that, and she avoided the old woman’s stare.
“Don’t you ‘rubbish’ me, my girl!” Grandmama banged the stick again furiously, scarring the wooden floor with its metal ferrule. “I’ve seen what I’ve seen, and I know a loose woman when I have one under my roof.”
“It’s not your roof. It’s Mama’s. Anyway, you’ve never had a loose woman here so you wouldn’t know one if you had.”
“You remember who you are speaking to, my girl,” the old woman snapped. And as Emily moved towards the front door, she added, “And stand still