Ivy Compton-Burnett - Two Worlds and Their Ways

Both children resembled both their parents, but they showed less likeness to each other. Clemence looked her father’s child, but her build was shapely and her own, and her features had a sharper mould. Sefton, still in a childish stage, already showed his mother’s massiveness. His features seemed to be Maria’s before life had changed them. They both had their mother’s grey-green eyes, Sefton’s the wider and more simply expressive. His sister’s seemed a veiled and deeper edition of them, but when the veil was lifted, held their own light. There was something uncertain and wary about them, and while they hardly saw Miss Petticott, they saw their father often, and their mother whenever her eyes fell upon them or attracted theirs.

“Aldom says the walls of the house are rotten,” said Sefton, in clear, conscious tones.

“I expect he said that the wall of the schoolroom had some rot in it,” said Maria. “Now is not that what he said?”

“Yes, I think it was.”

“We must quote people correctly another time. That is only fair to them, isn’t it? We must not give a wrong impression. Would you have waited upstairs until someone came to fetch you?”

“We thought the breakfast might come up. It is sometimes late.”

“Not as late as this. You are a very dependent pair. Would you like to go somewhere where you would learn to rely more on yourselves?”

“No,” said Sefton, his eyes changing.

“Go where?” said Clemence.

“Maria, say what you mean,” said Sir Roderick. “Children do not need to have things made puzzling for them.”

“Do they know what I mean?” said Maria, smiling.

“Oliver’s aunts have written again,” said Clemence, looking at the letters.

“They hardly need things to be made so easy,” said Maria. “And what have Oliver’s aunts to say, Clemence?”

“They want us to go to their schools.”

“Well, they think it would be better for you.”

“Then they ought to want it.”

The parents laughed, Maria with an exultant note, and Clemence smiled and avoided their eyes. Miss Petticott saw their amusement and showed some herself.

“I think they feel a real concern,” said Maria. “Indeed they show that they do. It is kind of them to take an interest in you.”

“We don’t want them to take it,” said Sefton. “Wouldn’t they be paid, if we went to their schools? Then it would be a good thing for them as well as for us.”

“We do not talk about that side of things,” said his mother.

“If you talk about one side of a thing and not the other, you only talk about half of it,” said Clemence. “Would they be paid as much for us as for children that were not related?”

“The same,” said her father. “You need have no doubt on that score.”

“Might it be better to go to people who were nothing to do with us?”

“You think that things would be less likely to be brought home, in more than one sense?”

“Well, that is what you think.”

“What could Miss Petticott do, if we went?” said Sefton.

“How do you mean? Do?” said Maria.

“She would do less, and that might be good for her,” said Sir Roderick.

“She would not leave us, would she? I mean, she would be here when we came home?”

“Now do you think we could spare her?” said Maria.

“No. That is why I wanted to know.”

“We should want her in the holidays,” said Clemence, feeling the need of one adult who made for ease.

“And we want her all the time,” said Maria. “You are not the only people whom she is glad to help.”

“They did not think they were,” said Sir Roderick. “They were afraid of her having the feeling in too wide a sense.”

“Well, you go and tell Miss Petticott how much you feel for her, and how glad you are that you can still depend on her,” said Maria. “Come, that is not too much to do for someone who has done so much for you.”

It was more than the children saw as within their power. Their code was rigid and immutable, and admitted of no breach. No word of sentiment, no gesture of affection escaped them. On the occasion of Miss Petticott’s holiday they had recourse to manifold ruses to avoid what threatened to be an annual embrace. She accepted a position whose nature forbade change, and on this occasion rose to it. She got up and brought a hand down on a shoulder of each.

“Oh, we understand each other. We should not do any better for putting it all into words.”

“But we ought to be able to express our feelings sometimes,” said Maria. “A reluctance to do so really comes from thinking of ourselves.”

“It would be hard to put an end to everything of which that may be said, Lady Shelley.”

“Is it all settled then?” said Sefton, looking at his mother.

“No, no, my dear. We are only talking about it. But you are a boy, and Clemence is getting older. It seems that a change will have to come before long.”

“You would not like always to be at home, would you?” said Sir Roderick.

“Yes,” said Sefton, looking him in the eyes.

“My little son!” said Maria.

“Why isn’t it a good thing always to be at home?” said Clemence with equal innocence.

“My little daughter!” said Maria.

A manservant, who had followed the children into the room, winked at them from behind the table. He was a small, insignificant man about thirty, with a sallow, crooked face, small, supple features that seemed to vary their form, and an oddly boyish look that suggested it would never leave him. His eyes watched the doings at the table from lowered lids, while his ears were always alive. He was the companion of Clemence and Sefton to an extent known only to Miss Petticott, who observed silence on matters beyond her control. He accorded her the easy respect that he saw as her due, but did not disguise his knowledge of his power. Some of it he used, and some he might not have known he possessed, as his sense of his obligations was not less, that he would not have acknowledged it.

“Where have you been, Aldom?” said Maria.

“Well, my lady, the workmen may not be any the worse for an eye upon them.”

“Did they do any better?” said her husband.

“Well, Sir Roderick, they might have made more confusion than was the case.”

“And did you help to make things right?”

“The moment was hardly ripe, Sir Roderick, some things having to get worse before they are better.”

“You might as well have been down here,” said Maria.

“Yes, my lady, though the day’s routine may be none the worse for the exchange of a word,” said Aldom, with a momentary exposure of eyes as blue as his master’s.

“Well, you can attend to your work now.”

Aldom carried a dish from the room, and Maria waited for the door to close.

“You should not exchange glances with Aldom, my dears. It is not a thing that is done by people who know how to behave. And to do it with a servant before your parents! Aldom himself would not think any more of you for it. And Miss Petticott must have been quite ashamed after the trouble she has taken with you. Do you think it is fair to her to do her so little credit?”

“I am glad I did not see it, Lady Shelley,” said Miss Petticott, who was expert at avoiding such sights, and had not done much more than feel it. “I. should have been as ashamed as you say.”

“Well, we will not think any more about it, except to be sure it will not happen again. Go on with your breakfast, my dears. Do not hurry because there has been a mistake, that will soon pass from our minds.”

Aldom returned and felt Maria’s eyes, knew what had passed, and continued his duties with an air of being unconscious of it.

“My boy, attend to Miss Petticoat,” said Sir Roderick to his son. “Keep your eye on her, and see she has what she needs. We shall think you do not look after her upstairs.”