The Shifting Tide - Anne Perry [105]
He frowned, unprepared for the degree of gravity she was touching. He had intended theory; she was speaking of reality. It made him uncomfortable.
She saw it in his shift of position, the way his weight moved backwards a little. She could not afford to be sensitive, either for him or for herself. She gazed very briefly around the room with its bright, chattering company, the plump arms of the women, the pink cheeks, and the freshly barbered faces of the men. Then for an instant she saw it in her mind as it would be if they failed; the wasted flesh, the fever, the despair, the sick no one dared go near to nurse, the dead no one buried. In weeks these people could be so many corpses, their laughter silent.
She forced the image away.
“I admire generosity enormously,” she went on. “Don’t you? I see it as a great part of Christian duty.” Now was no time to be squeamish about coercion. She added the final twist. “Of course, within the bounds of what we can afford! The last thing I should wish is for anyone to feel they have to give what is beyond their means. That would be quite cruel. Debt must be such a misery.”
The Honorable Barker Soames looked urgently at his friend, hoping for rescue. However, his friend was now giving Margaret his full attention, and tasting a certain enjoyment in the situation.
“For the sick, you say, Miss Ballinger? What particular charity would that be? One of the African ones, I daresay?” he asked.
“No, it is one here at home,” Margaret answered, now far more careful. She was perfectly happy to bend the truth a little—the need was desperate—but she did not wish to be caught out. “For young women and children in the Farringdon Road area. It is a clinic that treats injuries, and at the moment is trying to give food and shelter to many struck down with pneumonia. It is most kind of you to care sufficiently to take an interest.” She put a warmth into her voice as if he had already offered a gift.
Sir Robert smiled. “Where may we donate, Miss Ballinger? Would you be able to see that it reached the right people if we gave it to you?”
“Thank you, Sir Robert,” she said with relief and a gratitude so deep it lit her face. For a moment she was truly beautiful. “I shall buy the food and coal myself, but of course I am more than happy to send you receipts, so you know what we have done.”
“Then please accept five pounds,” he replied. “And I’m sure Soames can at least match that, can’t you?” He turned to Soames, who was looking distinctly cornered.
Margaret did not care in the slightest. “That is very kind of you,” she said quickly. “It will do a great deal of good.”
With intense reluctance Soames obeyed. In a wave of triumph Margaret moved on. The next encounter did not go as fortunately, but by the end of the evening she had elicited promises of a reasonably large sum.
The following morning she took the money she had gained, went to the coal merchant, and bought an entire wagonload. She went with the delivery man to Portpool Lane, instructing him as he tipped it all down the chute from the street into the cellar.
She stood in the sharp wind and stared at the walls of the house. It was damp and bitterly cold, and the air smelled of soot and the sour odor of drains, but it was not infected. She breathed it in with a sense of guilt. Hester was only a few yards away behind the blank bricks, but it could have been another world. She looked up at the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone, but there was only blurred movement, no more than light and shadow.
The wind stung her cheeks. She wanted to shout, just to let someone know how much she cared, but it would be worse than pointless; it could be dangerous. Slowly she turned away and walked back towards the coalman. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I’ll let you know when