Read The Angel Court Affair (Thomas Pitt 30) for Free Online

destructive. Some are ill-phrased, too soft or too hard. We need time if we are to change, and gentleness.’
    ‘I know,’ Jemima replied. ‘You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. You are always telling me, just as Grandmama does. But is there time for that? Sofia Delacruz didn’t seem to think so.’ She hunched her shoulders a little and her voice was quiet and very serious. ‘When is the right time to tell people something they don’t want to know? If you wait until they want to hear it, it’s probably too late. You’re always telling me what to do, and even more, what not to do.’
    ‘You’re my daughter!’ Charlotte said quickly. ‘I love you! I don’t want you to be hurt, or make any mistakes that matter, or—’
    ‘I know,’ Jemima interrupted, reaching across and touching Charlotte lightly on the arm. ‘It upsets me sometimes, because it sounds as if you think I’m really silly. But I know why you do it. And . . . and I think I might be frightened, and a bit lonely if you didn’t.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘And if you ever remind me I said that I’ll never speak to you again!’
    Charlotte wanted to put her arms around her daughter and hold her tightly, but she thought at this moment Jemima was too grown up for that, and perhaps too full of her own emotion to deal with Charlotte’s as well. Instead she put her other hand over Jemima’s gently, and they rode on in silence.
     
    Charlotte was seeing Jemima and Daniel off to school when the maid, Minnie Maude, brought in the newspaper and handed it to Pitt. Her face was weary because she could read, and she had already seen the headline of the article. Her usually cheerful expression had darkened and she was now watching him unobtrusively, pretending to be busy putting the same things away over and over, so she could keep him in sight. Uffie, the stray dog she had adopted, was sitting in his basket near the stove, his head swinging around each time she passed him. He had begun his life secretly in the cellar, and was permitted to remain only if he stayed in that corner. The rule had lasted less than a month.
    Pitt opened the paper and found the piece immediately. He began to read, forgetting his tea and allowing it to go cold. The article was well-written, which he would have expected from his conversation with Laurence in the street the previous evening. What surprised him was the approach.
    Laurence described Sofia vividly. His words brought her presence back to Pitt as if she had only just left the room: the sweep of her hair; the challenge of her eyes, probing, almost intimate; above all, the energy in her.
    ‘Is this woman a saint as her admirers claim?’ Laurence wrote. And then he answered his own question. ‘I have no idea, because I don’t know what makes a saint. Am I looking for sublime goodness? Which is what? The absence of all sin? Sin in whose judgement? Or is it mercy, gentleness, self-effacement, humility, generosity with worldly goods, and with time? Meekness?’
    Pitt could hear Laurence’s mellow voice in his ears as he looked at the printed page. He could hear the amusement in it, the echo of self-mockery. He read on.
     
Or are saints people who see further than the rest of us, catch a glimpse of some brighter star? Should they make us feel at ease, comfortable with what we have? Or should they disturb us, make us question, strive for more? As Señora Delacruz demands, reach for the infinite and strive to become like God Himself?
Are saints perfect, or do we permit them to have the same flaws as the rest of us? Why do we want them, or need them? To tell us what to think, and make our decisions for us?
     
    Again Pitt could hear the mockery in Laurence’s tone. And yet the questions were seriously meant. People said ‘saint’ easily. It was a catch-all word with different meanings, or none at all.
    He turned back to the paper.
     
Señora Delacruz is going to do none of that. She demands that we ‘grow