refreshments afterwards, in aid of unmarried mothers. It was something Caroline had been drafted into in a moment of absentmindedness.
Martha Prebble’s face showed a sense of loss for a moment, as if she had meant something quite different. Then she recollected herself.
“Naturally. But the vicar says it is our duty to help such people, whatever their station, however they came to—fall.”
“Of course.”
Caroline was delighted when the maid came in with the tea. “Perhaps we had better discuss the programme. Who did you say was going to address us? I’m afraid if you mentioned it I must have forgotten.”
“The vicar,” Martha replied, and this time her face was unreadable. “After all, he is best qualified to speak to us on the subjects of sin and repentance, the weaknesses of the flesh, and the wages of sin.”
Caroline winced at the thought, and privately thanked providence she had brought Emily and not Charlotte. Heaven only knew what Charlotte would have made of that!
“Very suitable,” she said automatically. It ran though her mind that it was also totally useless, except to those who felt better for expressing such sentiments. Poor Martha. It must at times be very trying to live with so much rectitude. She looked across at Sarah. She wondered if it had ever occurred to her to consider such things? She looked so bland, so satisfied to agree. What thoughts were there behind her pretty face? She turned to Martha again, who was staring at Sarah. Was that grief in her face, hunger for a daughter she had never had?
“Oh I do so agree with you, Mrs. Prebble,” Sarah was saying eagerly. “And I’m sure the whole community looks to you for a lead. I promise you we shall all be there.”
“My dear, you may promise for yourself,” Caroline added in haste, “but you cannot for others. I shall certainly attend, but we cannot speak for Emily or Charlotte. I have an idea Charlotte has a previous engagement.” And if she had not, Caroline would soon contrive one for her. The evening would be bad enough without the kind of disaster Charlotte could cause with a few ill-considered remarks.
They all turned to Emily, who opened her eyes with apparent innocence.
“When did you say the occasion was, Mrs. Prebble?”
“Next Friday week, in the evening, at the church hall.”
Emily’s face fell.
“Oh, how most unfortunate. I have promised to do a favour for a friend, to visit an elderly relation with her; you understand of course that she would not make the journey alone. And visits mean so much to the elderly, especially when they are not in the best of health.”
Emily, you liar, Caroline thought, afraid lest it show in her face. But she had to concede, lie though it was, Emily did it uncommonly well!
And so the visit progressed: polite, largely meaningless conversation; excellent tea, hot and fragrant; rather gluey cakes; and everyone hoping the vicar would not return.
They all walked home together, Sarah and Emily talking, Sarah the more. Emily seemed a little short of temper. Caroline came a step or two behind them, her mind still on Martha Prebble, and what manner of woman she must be to enjoy living with the vicar. Had he perhaps been very different when he was young? Heaven knew, Edward was pompous enough at times; perhaps all men were. But the vicar was infinitely worse. Caroline had often ached to laugh at Edward, even at Dominic; only a lack of courage had prevented her. Did Martha also long to laugh? It was not a face of laughter. In fact the more she thought about it, the more it seemed a face of suffering: strong-boned, reflecting deep feelings; not a face of peace.
A month later the whole event was only an embarrassing memory. Charlotte was delighted to have been prohibited from attending and had agreed, as fervently as was politic, that she might well say something to cause ill-feeling—inadvertently, of course.
Tonight it was gusty and cold for August. Mama, Sarah, and Emily had all
Martha Prebble’s face showed a sense of loss for a moment, as if she had meant something quite different. Then she recollected herself.
“Naturally. But the vicar says it is our duty to help such people, whatever their station, however they came to—fall.”
“Of course.”
Caroline was delighted when the maid came in with the tea. “Perhaps we had better discuss the programme. Who did you say was going to address us? I’m afraid if you mentioned it I must have forgotten.”
“The vicar,” Martha replied, and this time her face was unreadable. “After all, he is best qualified to speak to us on the subjects of sin and repentance, the weaknesses of the flesh, and the wages of sin.”
Caroline winced at the thought, and privately thanked providence she had brought Emily and not Charlotte. Heaven only knew what Charlotte would have made of that!
“Very suitable,” she said automatically. It ran though her mind that it was also totally useless, except to those who felt better for expressing such sentiments. Poor Martha. It must at times be very trying to live with so much rectitude. She looked across at Sarah. She wondered if it had ever occurred to her to consider such things? She looked so bland, so satisfied to agree. What thoughts were there behind her pretty face? She turned to Martha again, who was staring at Sarah. Was that grief in her face, hunger for a daughter she had never had?
“Oh I do so agree with you, Mrs. Prebble,” Sarah was saying eagerly. “And I’m sure the whole community looks to you for a lead. I promise you we shall all be there.”
“My dear, you may promise for yourself,” Caroline added in haste, “but you cannot for others. I shall certainly attend, but we cannot speak for Emily or Charlotte. I have an idea Charlotte has a previous engagement.” And if she had not, Caroline would soon contrive one for her. The evening would be bad enough without the kind of disaster Charlotte could cause with a few ill-considered remarks.
They all turned to Emily, who opened her eyes with apparent innocence.
“When did you say the occasion was, Mrs. Prebble?”
“Next Friday week, in the evening, at the church hall.”
Emily’s face fell.
“Oh, how most unfortunate. I have promised to do a favour for a friend, to visit an elderly relation with her; you understand of course that she would not make the journey alone. And visits mean so much to the elderly, especially when they are not in the best of health.”
Emily, you liar, Caroline thought, afraid lest it show in her face. But she had to concede, lie though it was, Emily did it uncommonly well!
And so the visit progressed: polite, largely meaningless conversation; excellent tea, hot and fragrant; rather gluey cakes; and everyone hoping the vicar would not return.
They all walked home together, Sarah and Emily talking, Sarah the more. Emily seemed a little short of temper. Caroline came a step or two behind them, her mind still on Martha Prebble, and what manner of woman she must be to enjoy living with the vicar. Had he perhaps been very different when he was young? Heaven knew, Edward was pompous enough at times; perhaps all men were. But the vicar was infinitely worse. Caroline had often ached to laugh at Edward, even at Dominic; only a lack of courage had prevented her. Did Martha also long to laugh? It was not a face of laughter. In fact the more she thought about it, the more it seemed a face of suffering: strong-boned, reflecting deep feelings; not a face of peace.
A month later the whole event was only an embarrassing memory. Charlotte was delighted to have been prohibited from attending and had agreed, as fervently as was politic, that she might well say something to cause ill-feeling—inadvertently, of course.
Tonight it was gusty and cold for August. Mama, Sarah, and Emily had all
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