Read Parents and Children Online
Authors: Ivy Compton-Burnett
âWere they all together?' said Eleanor.
âYes, in the nursery with Hatton.'
âI suppose they cannot bear Miss Mitford's touch in sorrow,' said Hope.
âI wish I had gone in and said a word to Miss Mitford,' said Faith.
âWhy should you do that?' said Hope.
âWell, it is always nice to see a friend, Mother,' said Faith, her tone somehow making a point of the equality and friendship.
Sir Jesse and Paul came from the fire, continuing to talk. Paul went at once from the house, giving his family no chance to linger. Ridley bent over Eleanor's hand, and followed his father with an expression of controlled feeling.
âI wish we had only to sustain grief,' said Graham, when the family were alone.
âSo do I, Graham,' said Luce. âBut we have to support many burdens. I cannot say I don't see them as such, that I would not rather sorrow in peace. But there is no choice before us.'
âAnd not much else,' said her brother.
âNo, Graham, not much else.'
âThe way you dealt with Faith gave me a gleam of comfort, Luce,' said Daniel.
âI could hardly put my mind on her. I see what people mean by the selfishness of sorrow.'
âI take exception to the phrase. It suggests some personal advantage.'
âIf it means that people who are sorrowing, should give their attention to those who are not, it is a wicked thing to say,' said Graham.
âAnd why shouldn't we be absorbed in our own trouble?' said Luce.
âIf we were not, we should be called shallow,' said Daniel.
âPeople are indeed wicked,' said Graham.
âMother,' said Luce, as Eleanor passed them, âhad you not better sit down and rest?'
âI am not tired, my dear.'
âHonest, as usual, Mother. But it may be the false energy of exhaustion.'
âI wish exhaustion had that effect on me,' said Graham.
âI don't even feel it,' said Regan, in a tone that did not bear out her words.
Luce sat down at her grandmother's side, as though without the power to aid her further.
âWe have all to move forward,' said Sir Jesse. âSome of us can only go slowly, but our direction is the same. And my son left sons behind him.'
âYou talk as if women did not exist, Grandpa,' said Luce.
âIt is a pity men do not manage to do so,' said Regan.
âThey are more exposed to risk than women, Grandma. It is a thing that has its brighter side.'
âFor them perhaps.'
âYes, only for them, Grandma.'
âI belong to the sex that encounters perils,' said Graham. âThat does not seem very suitable somehow.'
âIt does not, Graham dear,' said Luce.
âWe must manage to keep him from them,' said Regan, in a tone that did not grudge her grandson the life her son had lost.
âHe does not strike me as a person who will incur them,' said Sir Jesse.
âIt is a pity that Grandpa has ever had to meet us,' said Graham. âThe mere idea of us seems to be satisfying to him.'
âRidley has done a great deal for us today,' said Eleanor. âI dare not imagine what things would have been without him.'
âWe should not have known what had happened,' said Graham. âI shall always see him as the bearer of ill tidings.'
âI wonder if we shall,' said Luce.
âI am afraid I am very restless,' said Eleanor, who was moving about the room. âI suppose I am in an unnatural state. I hope I shall be able to do my duty by you all. I don't seem to be able to reach my own sorrow. I am simply oppressed by a fear of the future.'
âWe all tremble a little before that, Mother,' said Luce.
âIt was good of Hope to come at once,' said Regan.
âGrandma, you don't often say a word in favour of anyone outside,' said Luce.
âShe is a deal better than most people.'
âI like her very much, Grandma, but is she
better?
Is that quite her word?'
âIt does as well as any other.'
âGrandma, I should never have suspected you of making a woman friend.'
âI have to do what I can with the people left. And it seemed to me that I had one.'
A silence fell on the family.
âMother,' said Luce, âshall we give ourselves a little help on this first day? Shall we have Nevill brought down to say good night?'
âOught we to make a sacrifice of him?' said Graham.
âWe shall not do that, Graham. We will not take him beyond his scope.'
Hatton obeyed the summons and led Nevill into the room. She had an air of disapproval and gave him no injunctions. He seemed preoccupied and stood waiting for what was required of him, before returning to his own sphere.
âSo you have come to say good night,' said Eleanor.
âGood night, Mother,' said Nevill, going up to her to get the first step over.
âHe has come to give us a glimpse of him,' said Regan.
âGood night, Grandma,' said Nevill, doing the same to her, and then sending his eyes round the room and speaking more quickly. âGood night, Luce; good night, Grandpa; good night, Graham; good night, Father; good night, Daniel.'
He turned and looked up at Hatton in inquiry as to the moment of withdrawal.
âFather is not here, my little one,' said Eleanor.
âYes, he is here,' said Nevill, in an absent tone. âFather has come back today.'
âNo, he cannot come back to us, my little boy.'
âGood night â Grandpa,' amended Nevill, looking about for a substitute for Fulbert.
âHow strange that he should say that, on this day of all days!' said Luce.
âHe has heard his father's name a great deal,' said Regan, in simple explanation.
âThat is all of his father he has left,' said Eleanor, sighing.
âWhen people accept the death of someone, are they always staggered by the general results of it?' said Graham.
âWell, what have you been doing upstairs?' said Eleanor to Nevill.
âHe played at soldiers. And Gavin did too.'
âDid you play together?'
âNo, he did it all by himself.'
âWhat did the soldiers do?'
âBury a general,' said Nevill, in a deepening tone. âBury a soldier man like Father. Beat the drum and make a thunder noise.'
There was a pause.
âHow did he think of that?' said Eleanor, to Hatton.
âI don't know, Madam. We can never tell how ideas come into their minds.'
âIt came into his mind,' said Nevill, with a pride that protected his brother.
âWas Gavin playing too?' said Eleanor, in a sudden tone.
âNo,' said her son, âGavin played all by himself.'
âWas Honor?'
âNo, poor Honor sat on a chair.'
âAnd James was not playing either?'
âOh, no,' said Nevill, in a virtuous tone. âNot talk to James when he is reading.'
âWell, good night, my little son.'
Nevill accepted this sign of release, but on his way to the door he returned to Regan.
âNot a drum was heard,' he began, and paused as his memory failed him, and turned and ran from the room.
âIt is a good thing some amusement can come out of it,' said Regan.
âWe do not realize the gulf between children and ourselves,' said Eleanor.
âWe do now,' said Daniel.
âThat is true of Mother,' said Graham.
âWell, Father used to say so,' said Luce.
âWhat used your father to say?' said Eleanor.
âThat you did not realize the gulf between yourself and your children, Mother,' said Luce, in an open, deliberate tone. âWhat you say of yourself. What no doubt he often said to you.'
âI shall have to do so now. I daresay it will be borne in upon me.'
âWhy will it be different?' said Regan.
âWell, I shall have to fulfil two characters.'
Regan was silent.
âSay what is in your mind, Grandma,' said Luce. âThat is not a fair way to deal with anyone.'
âIf we could be other people as well as ourselves, it would not
matter what happened to us. And a loss does not give us other qualities.'
âI suppose the days will pass,' said Eleanor, as though to herself.
âThere is little suggestion of it about this one,' said Graham.
âWould it be better if we were apart for a time?' said Daniel.
âWhy should it?' said Eleanor, with a change in her eyes.
âWe shouldn't have each other's feelings on us, as well as our own.'
âI should have yours. They wouldn't be off my mind for a moment. You could all forget mine, could you?'
âWe might have more chance of it, if we were separated. We shall have to learn to spare ourselves.'
âWell, I will go to my room and give you a rest,' said Eleanor.
âAnd have a respite from us, Mother dear,' said Luce.
âYou can put it as you like, to hide the truth from yourselves. You do not hide it from me.'
Luce stood still with her eyes down, as her mother left the room.
âIt has to be,' she said, lifting her eyes. âIt is no use to disguise it.'
âWe might have postponed it,' said Graham, with a look of trouble.
âIt would have done no good, Graham. The little, subtle miseries of sorrow have to be faced. I don't think they are the least part of it.'
âI think they should be,' said Graham.
âGo after your mother,' said Sir Jesse, roughly, to his grandsons. âWhat do your personal pains matter, since they only do so to yourselves? Go and do what you can to help a burden heavier than yours. What else should you do? What is your opinion of yourselves and your use in this house?'
His grandchildren left the room, Daniel with an expression of almost amused submission, Graham with a look of relief, and Luce with an air of resigning herself to service. Regan looked after them with compassion.
âThere is nothing you want of them, is there?' said Sir Jesse, with a note of excuse in his tone.
âI want nothing that anyone can give me; I could do with my three children.'
An almost humble expression crossed the husband's face.
âThings are not the same to men,' said Regan. âTheir family is only a part of their life.'
âI would have given my remaining years to save my son.'
âWhy should you?' said Regan. âThey are all you have left. He had no more to lose than you.'
A note was brought in, addressed to Eleanor, and put on a table to await her.
âFrom Ridley,' said Regan, looking at the envelope. âHe will always be thrusting himself in now.'
âThere was no other way. I might not have been alive. We could not foretell the future.'
âIt seems that Fulbert did so.'
âHe provided against its risks.'
âWhat does Ridley want to say to Eleanor? He has been with her half the day.'
âYou cannot see through the envelope,' said Sir Jesse.
Regan took up the letter, as if she were inclined to do her best.
âI have a good mind to open it.'
âSo I see. But must you not come to another mind?' said Sir Jesse, with a smile that suggested that he and his wife were both in their youth.
âIf Ridley wrote me a letter, I should not care if Eleanor read it.'
âYou would be surprised if she did. And you know she would not.'
âIt must be in a way a message to us all.'
âIn that case we shall hear the gist of it. It may be to say that he cannot come tomorrow.'
âI am sure it is not that. It is probably a piece of palaver.'
âYou do not seem to need to open it. And it sounds as if it might be awkward if you did. He has to explain Fulbert's affairs. They are not much, as I am still alive, but she is new to such things.'
âIt is a good thing Fulbert lived long enough to have a family,'
said Regan, again at the end of her control. âOr it would have been as little good to have him as the others.'
âWe have our memories,' said her husband.
âYes, you can add them to a stock of those.'
Eleanor came into the room and looked about for the letter.
âThey said there was a note for me.'
âThey should have taken it to you,' said Sir Jesse, seeming to welcome another subject.
âLuce and the boys were with me,' said Eleanor, as though to counteract the last impression given by her children. âThe servants would guess we did not want to be disturbed.'
Regan met Sir Jesse's eyes, but the latter's face told nothing.
Eleanor opened the letter and sat down to read it.
MY DEAR ELEANOR,
I could not let this day pass without expressing to you what I could not say to your face, my deep admiration for your selfless resolution and courage. Much will depend on your strength and wisdom, and I shall work with you with a growing sense of privilege.
Yours in sympathy and gratitude,
RIDLEY CRANMER.
âDoes Ridley call you Eleanor now?' said Regan, in comment upon the only part of the letter she had seen.
âHe does here. I always use his Christian name.'
âHe is a good deal younger than you.'
âOnly about five years.'
âIs there any message for the rest of us?'
âNo. It is just a word about our working together.'
âWhy couldn't it wait until tomorrow?'
âI suppose some things are better written,' said Eleanor, going to the door with the letter.
âWell, there wasn't room for much more than that,' said Regan. âIt hardly went down the first page. I wonder why she kept it to herself.'
âShe seems hardly to have done so,' said Sir Jesse.
âYou did not expect me today,' said Sir Jesse, entering the Marlowes' cottage.
âNo,' said Lester, âor you could have seen Priscilla by herself,'