Anne Perry - Highgate Rise

Perhaps fire, secretly and in the night, burning to its terrible conclusion, when they were safely back in their own beds, was just the weapon they might choose. It was horrible to think of, close, like suffocation, and terrifying as the change from mildness to hatred in a face you have known all your life.

Had these women, who had given the whole of their lives, wasted their youth and their mature womanhood pandering to their father, killed to protect that same reputation-and their own comfort in a community they had led for over half a century? It was not inconceivable.

“I heard so well of her from other people,” Charlotte went on, her voice sounding gushing in her ears, artificial and a little too highly pitched. Was she foolish to have come here alone? No-that was stupid. It was the middle of the day, and Aunt Vespasia’s coachman and footman were outside.

But did they know that?

Yes of course they did. They would hardly imagine she had walked here.

But she might have come on the public omnibus. She frequently traveled on it.

“Which other people?” Celeste said with raised eyebrows. “I hardly thought poor Clemency was known outside the parish.”

“Oh indeed she was.” Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to sound normal. Her hands were shaking, so she clasped them together, digging her nails into her palms. “Mr. Somerset Carlisle spoke of her in the highest terms possible-he is a noted member of Parliament, you know. And Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould also. In fact I was speaking to her only this morning, telling her I should call upon you this afternoon, and she lent me her carriage, for my convenience. She is determined that Mrs. Shaw shall not be forgotten, nor her work perish.” She saw Celeste’s heavy race darken. “And of course there are others,” she plowed on. “But she was so discreet, perhaps she was too modest to tell you much herself?”

“She told us nothing,” Celeste replied. “Because I believe, Mrs. Pitt, that there was nothing to tell. Clemency did the sort of kindnesses among the poor that all the women of our family have always done.” She lifted her chin a fraction and her tone became more condescending. “We were raised in a very Christian household, as I daresay you are aware. We were taught as children to care for those less fortunate, whether through their own indigence or not. Our father told us not to judge, merely to serve.”

Charlotte found it hard to hold her tongue. She ached to tell them precisely what she thought of the bishop’s charity.

“Modesty is one of the most attractive of all the virtues,” she said aloud, gritting her teeth. “It seems that she said nothing to you of her work to have the laws changed with regard to the ownership of the very worst of slum properties.”

There was nothing at all in either of their faces that looked like even comprehension, let alone fear.

“Slum properties?” Angeline was utterly confused.

“The ownership of them,” Charlotte continued, her voice sounding dry and very forced. “At present it is almost impossible to discern who is the true owner.”

“Why should anyone wish to know?” Angeline asked. “It seems an extraordinary and purposeless piece of knowledge.”

“Because the conditions are appalling.” Charlotte murmured her answer and tried to make it as gentle as was appropriate to two elderly women who knew nothing of the world beyond their house, the church and a few of the people in the parish. It would be grossly unfair now to blame them for an ignorance which it was far too late for them to remedy. The whole pattern of their lives, which had been set for them by others, had never been questioned or disturbed.

“Of course we know that the poor suffer,” Angeline said with a frown. “But that has always been so, and is surely inevitable. That is the purpose of charity-to relieve suffering as much as we can.”

“A good deal of it could be prevented, if other people did not exercise their greed at the expense of the poor.” Charlotte sought for words they would understand to explain the devastating poverty she had seen. She looked at the total lack of comprehension on their faces. “When people are poor already, they are much more prone to illness, which makes them unable to work, and they become poorer still. They are evicted from decent housing and have to seek whatever they can get.” She was simplifying drastically, but a long explanation of circumstances they had never imagined would only lose their emotion. “Landlords know their plight and offer them room without light or air, without running water or any sanitary facilities-”

“Then why do they take them?” Angeline opened her eyes wide in inquiry. “Perhaps they do not want such things, as we would?”

“They want the best they can get,” Charlotte said simply. “And very often that is merely a place where they can shelter and lie down-and perhaps, if they are lucky, share a stove with others so they can cook.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Celeste replied. “If that is all they can afford.”

Charlotte put forward the one fact she knew would reach the bishop’s daughters.

“Men, women and children all in the same room?” She stared straight into Celeste’s strong, clever face. “With no lavatory but a bucket in the corner-for all of them-and nowhere to change clothes in privacy, or to wash-and no way of sleeping alone?”

Charlotte saw all the horror she could have wished.

“Oh, my dear! You don’t mean that?” Angeline was shocked. “That is-quite uncivilized … and certainly unchristian!”

“Of course it is,” Charlotte agreed. “But they have no alternative, except the street, which would be even worse.”

Celeste looked distressed. It was not beyond her imagination to think of such conditions and feel at least a shadow of their wretchedness, but she was still at a loss to see what purpose could be served by making the owners known.

“The owners cannot make more space,” she said slowly. “Nor solve the problems of poverty. Why should you wish to discover who they are?”

“Because the owners are making a very large profit indeed,” Charlotte replied. “And if their names were public, they might be shamed into maintaining the buildings so they are at least clean and dry, instead of having mold on the walls and timbers rotting.”

It was beyond the experience of either Celeste or Angeline. They had spent all their lives in this gracious house with every comfort that money and status could supply. They had never seen rot, never smelled it, had no conception of a running gutter or open sewerage.

Charlotte drew breath to try to depict it in words, and was prevented from beginning by the parlormaid returning to announce the arrival of Prudence Hatch and Mrs. Clitheridge.

They came in together, Prudence looking a little strained and unable to stand or to sit with any repose. Lally Clitheridge was charming to Celeste, full of smiles to Angeline; and then when she turned to where Charlotte had risen to her feet, recognizing her before introductions were made, her face froze and she became icily polite, her eyes hard and a brittle timbre to her voice.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pitt. How surprising to see you here again so soon. I had not thought you such a personal friend.”

Celeste invited them to be seated, and they all obeyed, rearranging skirts.

“She came to express her admiration for Clemency,” Angeline said with a slight nervous cough. “It seems Clemency really did look into the question of people making extreme profits out of the wretchedness of some of the poor. We really had no idea. She was so very modest about it.”

“Indeed?” Lally raised her eyebrows and looked at Charlotte with frank disbelief. “I had not realized you were acquainted with Clemency at all-let alone to the degree where you know more of her than her family.”