Read Parents and Children Online
Authors: Ivy Compton-Burnett
âAnd what if I am asked what you ate at dinner?'
âOh, just tell a fib,' said Isabel, as if her previous injunctions had not involved this step.
âWell, my weary girl,' said Eleanor, âare you quite yourself again?'
âYes, thank you, Mother.'
âDid she have a good luncheon, Venice?'
âYes.'
âAnd James? How is he? Doesn't he think he might go to school this afternoon, and do some hours of work? It would be a little thing he could do for Father.'
âWhen we have a holiday, we are supposed to have one,' said James in a faint voice.
âDo you mean you would find it embarrassing to go back?'
âNo,' said James, who would have found it even more so to admit this.
âWhat does he mean, Isabel?'
âWell, he is not expected, and they are supposed to keep to what they say.'
âMother, I think Father has unwittingly put enough on the children today,' said Luce, with an unconscious glance at Sir Jesse.
âThe boy is right that he should do one thing or the other,' said the latter, with a suggestion of seeking to counteract his outbreak. âIf he has begun the day in one way, let him finish it.'
âThen he must have a walk and a rest,' said Eleanor, who seemed to consider widely varying courses adapted to her son. âHe is not having a holiday in the ordinary sense.'
âJames would not dispute it,' said Graham.
âI don't think he ever has one,' said Isabel. âDoes he know what an ordinary holiday means? To him a holiday must be a sort of tribute paid to other people's experience.'
James gave his sister a look of seeing someone familiar passing out of his sight.
âWouldn't any of you like to hear about your father's last moments?' said Eleanor.
Her chance use of words with another association caused some mirth.
âWhat an odd thing to laugh at, if you really took the words as you pretend!'
âIt is their bearing that interpretation that constitutes the joke,' said Daniel.
âJoke!' said his mother, drawing her brows together.
âWe had an ordinary little talk,' said Luce, in a tone unaffected by what had passed. âWe found ourselves discussing the best time for leaving England. The last moments' - her voice shook on the words - âtend to lack vitality and interest.'
âWhy did you insist on being present at them?' said Eleanor.
âTo prevent them from being worse for Father than they had to be, Mother.'
âSit on Grandma's knee,' said Nevill.
Regan lifted him and he settled himself against her in dependence on the effort to support his weight, and closed and opened his eyes.
âHe has missed his sleep,' said Venice. âIt was because of saying good-bye to Father.'
âSleep, school, everything missed,' said Eleanor, with a sigh.
âGood-night, Grandma,' said Nevill, meeting Regan's eyes with a smile.
âThe child will be a burden. Can't somebody fetch him?' said Sir Jesse, seeming to find no fault with a burden, if it were suitably disposed.
âLet him lie down, Grandma,' said Luce, with her eyes on the pair.
âNo,' said Nevill, struggling to his former position.
âHatton can carry him without waking him, when he is once asleep,' said Venice.
It was decided to rely on this power, making a temporary sacrifice of Regan, and Eleanor turned to her sons.
âHave you your father's directions clear in your minds?'
âYes. Habit has not yet overlaid them,' said Graham.
âI wish he had told you to learn to answer a serious question. It grows wearisome, this taking everything as an excuse for jaunt-iness. It will become a recognized affectation.'
âWe will not look at Graham at his hard moment,' said Daniel.
âI am glad to bear it for us both,' said Graham.
âMother, that is too severe,' said Luce, laughing. âIt is natural to the boys to be as they are.'
âWe cannot always leave our natural selves unmodified, and expect other people to bear with them.'
âIt is about what most of us do,' said Sir Jesse, with some thought of his own illustration of the point.
âI suppose it is,' said Eleanor, with a sigh that seemed to refer to herself.
âAre our natural selves so bad?' said Isabel.
âMore petty and narrow than bad,' said her mother. âNot that that is not poor enough.'
âMother, you have your own opinion of yourself and other people,' said Luce.
âDo you show your natural self, James?' said Eleanor, with one of her accesses of coldness.
âNo; yes; I don't know,' said James, looking surprised and apprehensive.
âDo you pretend to be different from what you are?'
âOh, no,' said James, suddenly seeing his life as a course of subterfuge.
âDo you, Venice?'
âNo, I don't think so.'
âDo you, Isabel?'
âI don't know. I have not thought. And I do not intend to think. Probably most of us do the same thing.'
âThat is not a gracious way to talk.'
âIt was not that sort of question. It was one to make people admit what they had better keep to themselves.'
âYou have answered it more plainly than you know.'
âWell, I suppose that was your object in asking it.'
âYou think people do disguise themselves?'
âUp to a point, of course. We should be sorry if they did
not. I should be grateful if you would resume your disguise.'
âIsabel, you must remember you are speaking to your mother.'
âIt is not a moment when I should choose to do so.'
âMy dear, I know you are tired and upset, but there is reason in everything. Do you think it is nice to take advantage of Father's going at once like this?'
âNo, not at all, but you were the first person guilty of it. And in James's case you wreaked your feelings on a helpless child.'
Graham rested his eyes on Isabel, as if he thought these words did not only apply to James.
âIsabel, I shall have to ask you to go upstairs,' said Eleanor.
âI have not the least wish to remain.'
âThen do not do so, my dear.'
Isabel rose and bursting into tears, ran out of the room. Luce rose at almost the same moment and went with a movement of her shoulders after her.
âWell, what a lot of smoke without any flame!' said Eleanor, not looking into anyone's face.
âThere was a certain amount of flame,' said Daniel. âAnd you put the match, Mother.'
âIt was very inflammable material.'
âThat did not make it wiser.'
âVenice, go and see what is happening,' said Eleanor.
Venice went out and found her sister weeping on the stairs, with Luce standing over her; and not being inclined to return and describe the scene, she simply joined it. The same thing happened to James, who was the next emissary, and to Honor, who succeeded him. Gavin was the first to report on the situation.
âIsabel is sitting on the stairs, crying, and the others are standing near.'
Nevill struggled to the ground and ran up to Eleanor.
âIsabel is crying, but stop soon, and Father soon come back and put his arm round her.'
Eleanor stroked his hair.
âDo you think you can go to Isabel, and try to bring her back to Mother?'
Nevill ran to the door, waited for it to be opened without looking at the operator, mounted the stairs to his sister, took her hand and tried to drag her to the dining-room. Luce came behind, as if not yet relaxing her vigilance, and Venice and James and Honor rather uncertainly followed. Sir Jesse put some viands on a plate and pushed it towards his granddaughter, who was moved to uncertain mirth by this method of encouragement, and Nevill took his stand at her side, with his eyes going from the plate to her face.
âNow you had better go upstairs and enjoy your good things there,' said Eleanor. âHere is another plate for the nursery children.'
Honor took it and Nevill ran by her side, openly yielding himself to the occasion. Hatton appeared in response to a summons, took both the plates in one hand, and Nevill's hand in the other, and led the way from the room. The other five children followed. Luce lay back in her chair and gave a sigh.
âDear, dear, the miniature world of a family! All the emotions of mankind seem to find a place in it.'
âIt was those emotions that originally gave rise to it,' said Daniel. âNo doubt they would still be there.'
âWhat a thing to be at the head of it!' said Eleanor.
Sir Jesse looked up, but perceived that the reference was not to himself.
âI think it is the place I would choose,' said Daniel.
âI would not,' said his brother.
âIsabel has a very deep feeling for Father,' said Luce, looking round the table. âIt seems to be something altogether beyond her age.'
âIt is unwise to imagine the months ahead, if that is her trouble,' said Graham.
Regan covered her face and sank into weeping. Luce left her chair, and with a movement of her brows in reference to the consistent nature of her offices, went to her relief. Sir Jesse beckoned to his grandsons to follow him in Fulbert's stead, and left the women to their ways, as his expression suggested. Luce stood a little apart from Regan, as if the moment to officiate were not yet at hand, and touched her shoulders from time to time in token of
what was in store. Eleanor looked at her mother-in-law with guarded eyes, and Regan felt the gaze and returned it almost with defiance.
âDon't try to control yourself, Grandma. Let yourself go; it will do you good,' said Luce, taking a sure, if unintended method of inducing recovery.
âSo your grandfather has gone,' said Regan. âMen don't feel things like women.'
âWell, perhaps they don't, Grandma,' said Luce, giving her hands a regular movement. âDo you know, I think Isabel is very like you in some ways?'
Regan's face and Eleanor's responded to this suggestion in a different manner.
âMother, I don't believe you like people to show their feelings,' said Luce.
âIt depends on their age and other things.'
âAge hasn't much to do with it, if we are to judge from Isabel and me,' said Regan, with a smile.
âGrandma, you are yourself again,' said Luce.
âShall we go to the drawing-room?' said Eleanor. âIf we are to support each other, we may as well do it at ease.'
As Regan led the way into the room, Hope sprang from the hearth.
âI told them I would wait for you. I know I ought not to have come. We do not intrude upon family privacy at such a time. But I know what such a condition can be, and it did seem I ought to prevent it, if I could. If I only annoy you, it will take you out of yourselves. That always seems to have to be done in some unpleasant way. I do want to sacrifice myself for you. I have sacrificed the others by leaving them at home. No sacrifice is too great.'
âYou have made Grandma laugh, Mrs Cranmer,' said Luce, in the tone of one pushing up with an assurance.
âThat shows I have forgotten myself, for I was really out of spirits. I see why the jesters of old were such sad people. If their profession was cheering people who needed it, it would have been unfeeling not to be. They couldn't have had enough sadness in their own lives to account for their reputation.'
âComic actors and writers and all such people are said to be melancholy,' said Luce. âAnd they do not come in contact with the people they cheer.'
âWell, it may just be the contrast of their professional liveliness with their normal human discontent. We might say that wrestlers and acrobats are lazy, because they sit on chairs at home. People do give their spare time to complaining. Well, I saw you and your brothers driving with your father to the station, and I said to myself. There are those dear children facing the hardest moments, and here am I, just running the house, that is, giving spare time to complaining. So I have come here to be rejected and unwelcome, because that will give me a hard moment, and I really cannot go on any longer without one.'
âMother is laughing now,' announced Luce. âAnd I did not think that would be contrived today.'
âI have been a sad, sour woman for a good many hours,' said Eleanor.
âWell, you have not been yourself,' said Hope. âSo that shows how different you really are.'
âThere is not much in my life that I can look back on with pride.'
âWhat an odd thing to think of doing! I thought people looked back with remorse, and thought of the might-have-beens, and how it was always too late. I should never dare to do it at all.'
âI have had such sad, little faces round me today, and I have not done much to brighten them.'
âI am quite above minding the number today, my dear.'
âThey will all be six months older before their father sees them again.'
âYes, they will, but does that matter? It is not like being ill or an anxiety.'
âNevill will be three and a half,' said Luce, in the same regretful tone.
âWill that be a disadvantage to him? Is there something about age that I don't understand?'
âTheir childhood is slipping away,' explained Luce.
âYes, but it won't do that any more quickly because Fulbert is gone. I expect every day will drag. And doesn't time always stand
still in childhood? I thought it was always those long, summer days.'
âIt has been a chill enough day today,' said Eleanor.
âSo I have come to bring it a little ordinary warmth. I know it is ordinary; I am not making any claim. I enjoy having a talk with women, and I know you will like to give pleasure to another in your own dark hours, because that would be one of your characteristics. I will begin by saying that Faith is so forbearing that it is impossible to live with her.'
âYou go on managing it,' said Regan.