Read Parents and Children Online
Authors: Ivy Compton-Burnett
âAnother laugh, Mrs Cranmer!' said Luce.
âI do it by being always in the wrong. And though that is not much to do for Paul, it is the little, daily sacrifices that count. They are so much more than the one great one.'
âI wonder if people would recognize that one, if they saw it,' said Eleanor.
âThere, see how much good I am doing you! It is a healthy sign to see the inconsistencies in others. It seems fortunate that it is almost universal.'
âDoes Ridley make any sacrifices?' said Regan.
âWell, he may be waiting for the one great one.'
âI hope we are not putting too much on him,' said Eleanor.
âI don't think you could have thought I meant that, dear,' said Hope.
Regan went into laughter and Eleanor looked puzzled for a moment.
âFulbert may come back to do his own work,' said Regan, with a return of grimness.
âAnd Ridley will go on waiting,' said Hope. âAnd I like my stepchildren to be frustrated. I can say it today, because it is to do you good.'
âDo you know, Mrs Cranmer, it does have that effect?' said Luce, bringing her brows together.
âWhere is Sir Jesse?' said Hope. âI keep being afraid he will come in.'
âHe is with the boys in the library,' said Eleanor.
âI always say people prefer their own sex. It is such a tribute to everyone, when they understand it so well. It means they
don't even mind being understood. I am glad Faith is not here, to look as if I were really saying something uncharitable.'
âFaith is here, Mrs Cranmer,' said Luce, in a just audible tone, glancing out of the window and trying to suppress a smile.
âI suppose she would be by now. So she has come to put me at a disadvantage.'
âI hardly think that is fair.'
âNo, dear, but I am here to do you good. Being fair would achieve nothing, and being put at a disadvantage may. We will wait for Faith to do her part. If it is for your sakes, I mind nothing.'
Faith looked with gentle inquiry from face to face.
âI am afraid it is the last of all days to call.'
âI don't think you can be, dear,' said Hope.
âI feel I must be an unwelcome visitor.'
âI don't think you can feel that either.'
Faith brought her eyes to rest on her stepmother.
âYou see it is happening,' said Hope, fidgeting. âBut I am only too glad to be of use.'
Faith's expression became one of inquiry.
âYou must have some errand that you have not said,' said Hope.
âI did not like the idea of your walking home by yourself, Mother.'
âBut when we walk together, we can't keep in step.'
âI will try and take shorter steps.'
âAnd if I do the opposite, we shall meet each other. It is quite a little parable for our daily life.'
âI am afraid I am rather tall,' said Faith, looking round with a deprecating smile. âBut I do not think it at all fair for the shorter person to adapt herself. It is for the taller one to do that.'
âIt must be nice to give out of abundance,' said Hope.
âOr bearable anyhow,' said Regan.
Luce exchanged a glance with Faith, in smiling reference to the attitude of the older women.
âHow are the children?' said Faith, turning to Eleanor.
âThey have had a sad day, I am afraid.'
âPerhaps I may go and see them.'
âWell, it would be very kind.'
âDo let us go from floor to floor,' said Hope, incurring a glance from Faith, who had wished to go alone with Eleanor. âI should not feel I had been here, if I had not done that. And it would be a pity not to take advantage of my unembittered mood. I must always have seen the children with a jaundiced eye.'
âI must just look in on my husband,' said Regan, as they crossed the hall.
âI see I have no conception of a true union.'
Sir Jesse was engaged on some game of his youth with his eldest grandson, while the second looked on. He had lost his skill with years, and Daniel was being hard pressed to give him play, and at the same time cover his lapses. Graham was pale with the effort of following and supporting the contest.
âYouth and Age,' said Faith, looking round with a smile. âIt makes me wish I were a painter.'
âThat was a picture in words,' said Luce.
âNot a very elaborate one, I am afraid,' said Faith, looking down as she turned to the stairs.
âWe see the older children first,' said Hope. âThe higher we go, the younger they get. It seems odd that the smaller ones should have to climb further. We read about little, sturdy legs toiling up the stairs, but why does it have to be like that?'
âThe nurseries are always furthest from the lower floors,' said Faith.
âYes, that is what I said, dear. But why?'
âWe don't want too many nursery sounds,' said Eleanor.
âI thought they were the most beautiful sounds in the world. I don't seem to understand the things I have missed. But I daresay that is natural.'
The schoolroom children were lying back in their chairs, listening to Miss Mitford reading aloud. They rose, looking rather conscious of their self-indulgence.
âSo they are in spirits again,' said Eleanor, who took any form of recreation as a token of this.
âHow do you know they are?' said Hope. âMiss Mitford may be trying to distract them.'
âI hope she has met with a measure of success. They are themselves again, are they, Miss Mitford?'
âNo.'
âAre they not? Why?'
âBecause their father has left them.'
âBut they are up to enjoying a book.'
âAnyone is equal to something done by someone else.'
âWell, I hope your time is not being quite wasted. What are you doing, James? You don't seem to be listening.'
James did not say he was sunk in the lethargy of exhaustion. He sat up and alertly indicated a box at his side.
âI am tidying my case of curiosities.'
âThey do not look as if they had had much attention,' said Eleanor, smiling in the belief that a boy could pursue such an occupation without result. âYou had better ask Venice to help you.'
âWhy Venice?'said Hope.
âShe is our obliging little woman.'
âMiss Mitford said she would help me to put labels on the things,' said James.
âWell, that would bring order out of chaos. Why do you prop up the box on a book? I never knew a boy put books to such odd purposes.'
âIt goes down without it,' said James, drawing out the book so that the box dropped with a crash, and taking the box into his arms as if to protect it.
âWhere did you get the book?' said his mother.
âFrom the dining-room,' said James, in immediate, cordial response.
âI saw a space on the shelves. Did you take more than one?'
âThree all the same,' said James, holding the box with his chin, while he adjusted his hands beneath it. âTwo of them are in my room.'
âThen run and fetch them, my dear. They are not books you want to read.'
James looked for someone to whom to entrust his box, yielded it to Faith's ready hands, and scampered upstairs.
âWhat is the book?' said Hope.
Eleanor met her eyes, while she addressed a casual remark to Miss Mitford, and everyone knew that the subject was not one for Isabel and Venice, including the pair concerned. James returned and put the books into Eleanor's hands without looking at them, and carefully retrieved his box.
âWhy did you take them?' said his mother.
âThey looked as if they were interesting,' said James, in an almost confidential tone. âThey have covers like Miss Mitford's German fairy tales. And there were nine all alike. But perhaps the leaves wanted cutting.'
âAnd can't you do that?' said Faith, at once.
âI always tear them, if I do it,' said James, looking at her with frankness in his eyes, if in no other part of him.
âThat would not do for the dining-room books,' said Eleanor. âThey must be left alone in future.'
âWould you like to have a paper knife?' said Faith.
âIs that a knife for cutting pages?' said James, with his customary unawareness of the purposes of things.
âYes. I will bring you one next time I come.'
âThen I shall have one like Miss Mitford,' said James, betraying that he had seen this one in use.
âIsabel looks tired, Miss Mitford,' said Eleanor. âAnd she has had a sleep. She cannot spend her life resting.'
âCertainly not, on such a day as this in her family.'
âEverything possible has been spared her.'
âI am sure it has. But that could hardly be much.'
âThey would be better in bed,' said Eleanor, taking an accustomed outlet for her anxiety and other feelings.
âYou need not stand, children,' said Luce. âWe know you have had a long day.'
âNeed they sit either?' said Hope. âI think they like to lie down. Are they prostrated by their father's going?'
âYes,' said Miss Mitford.
âI expect they would like to be rid of us,' said Faith, going with decision to the door. âAfter all, they did not invite us in here, did they?'
âYou seemed to have a standing invitation, dear,' said Hope.
âWhat an open expression James has!' said Faith, when she gained the landing.
Luce touched her arm and her own lips, and motioned towards the open door, and Faith nodded and smiled in suitable dumb response.
âWell, that wasn't a very gracious welcome,' said Eleanor, to her children. âIt is kind of people to come and see you. Don't you think it is, Isabel?'
âI don't suppose so, or they would not come so often. People are not so fond of being kind.'
âI don't think you have any reason for saying that, my dear. You have had great patience today.'
âOh, so have you,' said Isabel, raising her hands to her head.
Miss Mitford made as if to resume the book, and Eleanor left the room without requiring James's offices at the door, indeed shutting it herself with a certain sharpness. Her expression for the moment resembled Isabel's. Her daughter was at the end of her tether, and so was she.
The party went upstairs to the nursery, where Honor and Gavin were employed at the table, and Nevill was sitting on Hat-ton's lap, looking flushed and rumpled.
âToo tired to sleep,' he said, as he turned to the guests.
âIs he, Hatton?' said Eleanor, with a certain weariness in her own manner.
âHe missed his rest, madam. He will be all right in the morning.'
âBut not go to bed yet,' said Nevill, in a sharp tone.
âI hope he isn't sickening for anything,' said Eleanor.
âYou must hope so,' said Hope. âI am sure I do too. Indeed I hope no one is.'
âWhat are the others doing?' said Faith.
âWe are painting arrows for our bows and arrows,' said Gavin. âMiss Pilbeam helped us to make the bows. The arrows were in the shop.'
âHe has a bow-and-arrow,' said Nevill, pronouncing the last three words in one, and indicating a production of Mullet's on a chair.
âThat is not a real one,' said Gavin.
âA little bow-and-arrow,' said Nevill, in a contented tone.
âWhat will you shoot with them?' said Faith, with some misgiving in her tone.
âOh, birds and animals and things,' said Gavin. âThey are not toys. They could give a mortal wound.'
âI don't suppose we shall hit much,' said Honor. âAnd they are not poisoned arrows.'
âHe will shoot a bird,' said Nevill, his voice rising with his thought. âHe will shoot a chicken; he will shoot a cock.'
âA duck would be easy to shoot,' said Gavin.
âA duck,' agreed Nevill, settling down on Hatton's lap.
âThey must not make havoc among the poultry, Hatton,' said Eleanor.
âThen how are they to manage?' said Hope.
âWhy don't they have a target to shoot at?' said Faith.
âWhat is a target?' said Gavin.
âA piece of wood made on purpose for shooting,' said Faith, with mingled eagerness and precision. âIt has holes or marks on it, so that people can aim.'
âI would rather shoot at something alive. I expect I shall shoot at wild birds.'
âHe will too,' said Nevill.
âBut suppose you hit one and hurt it?'
âIt wouldn't know it was hurt; it would be dead,' said Gavin. âGrown-up men shoot birds.'
âAnd animals too,' said Honor. âThey shoot big game.'
âWhat would you do with a dead bird?' said Faith.
âCook it and eat it,' said Gavin.
âOr have a funeral,' said Honor.
âAnd say prayers,' said Nevill, in a lower tone, with a movement of his hands towards each other.
âBut it might be hurt and not dead,' said Faith.
âThen I would shoot it again and make it dead,' said Gavin.
âWell, if you can depend on your aim like that!'
âHe doesn't,' said Honor, defending her brother from this charge. âIf he shot a bird once, he could do it again.'
âWe might stuff a bird, to give to Father when he comes home,' said Gavin.
âHow would you do that?' said Faith, believing the process to involve objections.
âTake out the inside and fill it up with something else. Fred knows about it. He is the gardener's boy.'
âFred is a nice boy,' said Nevill.
âWouldn't a live bird be better than a stuffed one?' said Faith, looking at Nevill with disagreement.
âIt wouldn't be your own,' said Honor. âIt couldn't belong to anyone. It wouldn't be different from other birds.'
âFather likes stuffed birds. There is one in his dressing-room,' said Gavin.
âA little, red bird,' said Nevill. âHe will shoot a robin for Father.'