Anne Perry - Highgate Rise

Angeline held both her hands to her mouth, knuckles white, tears running down her face. Celeste did not even look at her. They were quite separate in their overwhelming shock and the ruin of their world. She stood strong-faced, staring into some distance beyond everyone present, hatred and an immense, intolerable anger hardening inside her.

“Theophilus knew it,” Shaw went on relentlessly. “And in the end when he thought he was dying it terrified the hell out of him. He tried to give it back-and it was too late. I didn’t know it then-I didn’t even know that ass Clitheridge had been there, or what the money was for. I simply put it in the bank because it was Theophilus’s, and shouldn’t be left lying around. I only discovered where it came from when Clemency did-and told me. She gave it all away in shame-and to make whatever reparation she could-”

“That’s a lie! Satan speaks in your mouth!” Josiah Hatch lunged forward, his face scarlet, his hands outstretched like talons to grip Shaw by the throat and choke the life out of him, and stop his terrible words forever. “You blasphemer! You deserve to die-I don’t know why God has not struck you down. Except that He uses us poor men to do His work.” Already he had carried Shaw to the ground with the fierceness of his attack and his own despair.

Pitt charged through the crowd, which was standing motionless and aghast. He thrust them aside, men and women alike, and grasped at Hatch’s shoulders, trying to pull him back, but Hatch had the strength of devotion, even martyrdom if need be.

Pitt was shouting at him, but he knew even as he did so that Hatch could not hear him.

“You devil!” Hatch spoke from between his teeth. “You blasphemer! If I let you live you’ll soil every clean and pure thing. You’ll spew up your filthy ideas over all the good work that has been done-plant seeds of doubt where there used to be faith. You’ll tell your obscene lies about the bishop and make people laugh at him, deride him where they used to revere him.” He was weeping as he spoke, his hands still scrabbling at Shaw’s throat, his hair fallen forward over his brow, his face purple. “It is better that one man should die than a whole people wither in unbelief. You must be cast out-you pollute and destroy. You should be thrown into the sea-with a millstone ’round your neck. Better you’d never been born than drag other people down to hell with you.”

Pitt hit him as hard as he could across the side of the head, and after a brief moment of convulsing, wild arms flailing and his mouth working without sound, Josiah Hatch fell to the ground and lay still, his eyes closed, his hands clasped like claws.

Jack Radley pushed his way from the side of the room and came to Pitt’s aid, bending over Hatch and holding him.

Celeste fainted and Oliphant eased her to the ground.

Angeline was weeping like a child, lost, alone and utterly bereft.

Prudence was frozen as if all life had left her.

“Get Constable Murdo!” Pitt ordered.

No one moved.

Pitt jerked up to repeat his command, and saw out of the corner of his eye Emily going towards the hallway and the front door, where Murdo was patrolling.

At last life returned to the assembly. Taffeta rustled, whalebone creaked, there was a sighing of breath and the women moved a little closer to the men.

Shaw climbed to his feet, white-faced, his eyes like holes in his head. Everyone turned away, except Charlotte. She moved towards him. He was shaking. He did not even attempt to straighten his clothes. His hair was standing out in tufts, his necktie was under one ear and his collar was torn. His jacket was dusty and one sleeve was ripped from the armhole, and there were deep scratches on his face.

“It was Josiah!” His voice was husky in his bruised throat. “Josiah killed Clem-and Amos. He wanted to kill me.” He looked strained and there was contusion in his eyes.

“Yes,” she agreed, her voice soft and very level. “He wanted to kill you all the time. Lindsay and Clem were only mistakes-because you were out of the house. Although perhaps he didn’t mind if he got Amos as well-he had no reason to suppose he was out, as he did with Clemency.”

“But why?” He looked hurt, like a child who has been struck for no reason. “We quarreled, but it wasn’t serious-”

“Not for you.” She found it suddenly very painful to speak. She knew how deeply it would hurt him, and yet she could not evade it. “But you mocked him-”

“Good God, Charlotte-he asked for it! He was a hypocrite-all his values were absurd. He half worshiped old Worlingham, who was a greedy, vicious and thoroughly corrupt man, posing as a saint-and not only robbing people blind but robbing the destitute. Josiah spent his life praising and preaching lies.”

“But they were precious to him,” she repeated.

“Lies! Charlotte-they were lies!”

“I know that.” She held his gaze in an uncompromising stare, and saw the distress in his, the incomprehension, and the terrible depth of caring.

It was a bitter blow she was going to deal him, and yet it was the only way to healing, if he accepted it.

“But we all need our heroes, and our dreams-real or false. And before you destroy someone else’s dreams, if they have built their lives on them, you have to put something in their place. Before, Dr. Shaw.” She saw him wince at her formality. “Not afterwards. Then it is too late. Being an iconoclast, destroying false idols-or those you think are false-is great fun, and gives you a wonderful feeling of moral superiority. But there is a high price to speaking the truth. You are free to say what you choose-and probably this has to be so, if there is to be any growth of ideas at all-but you are responsible for what happens because you speak it.”

“Charlotte-”

“But you spoke it without thinking, or caring-and walked away.” She did not moderate her words at all. “You thought truth was enough. It isn’t. Josiah at least could not live with it-and perhaps you should have thought of that. You knew him well enough-you’ve been his brother-in-law for twenty years.”

“But-” Now there was no disguising any of his sudden, newfound pain. He cared intensely what she thought of him, and he could see the criticism in her face. He searched for approval, even a shred; understanding, a white, pure love of truth for its own sake. And he saw at last only what was there-the knowledge that with power comes responsibility.

“You had the power to see,” she said, moving a step away from him. “You had the words, the vision-and you knew you were stronger than he was. You destroyed his idols, without thinking what would happen to him without them.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but it was a cry of loneliness and the beginning of a new and bitter understanding. Slowly he turned away and looked at Josiah, who was now regaining his senses and being hauled to his feet by Pitt and Jack Radley. Somewhere in the hallway Emily was bringing Constable Murdo in, carrying handcuffs.

Shaw still could not face Angeline and Celeste, but he held out his hands to Prudence.

“I’m sorry,” he said very quietly. “I am truly sorry.”

She stood motionless for a moment, unable to decide. Then slowly she extended her hands to him, and he clasped them and held them.

Charlotte turned away and pushed between the crowd to find Great-Aunt Vespasia.

Vespasia sighed and took Charlotte’s arm.

“A very dangerous game-the ruin of dreams, however foolish,” she murmured. “Too often we think because we cannot see them that they do not have the power to destroy-and yet our lives are built upon them. Poor Hatch-such a deluded man, such false idols. And yet we cannot tear them down with impunity. Shaw has much to account for.”