Ivy Compton-Burnett: Elders and Betters

Jenney’s eyes showed that he was her chief concern; Anna gave him a rough caress; and Ethel took his bag before doing anything else. Neither his father nor his brother had thought of helping him, or rather the latter had not thought of it, and the former had been in the grip of his usual inner conflict. It was his habit to address his young son with ironic courtesy as an equal, but he failed to embarrass him by doing so, as Reuben saw him as an insoluble enigma, and simply withheld his thoughts.

The family had a faintly Jewish look, and biblical names had a way of recurring amongst them, but they neither claimed nor admitted any strain of Jewish blood. The truth was that there had been none in the last generations, and that they had no earlier record of their history.

They went into the drawing-room and faced each other with a sense of actually doing this. Their reunion in new surroundings showed them each other afresh. Anna was concious of her choice of the house, and wore an absent, indifferent air and hummed faintly to herself, while Claribel had almost the manner of a hostess.

The latter greeted Benjamin with bare cordiality and ignored his deliberate survey of herself. He had put her to his purpose of duenna for his family, and she felt that she owed him nothing, and would not suffer at his hands. Her attitude and Reuben’s were of the kind reputed to ensure respect, but failed to do so with Benjamin, who had little command of this feeling. He had not even much for himself, which tends to mean a meagre residue for other people.

“Well, we begin our new life,” he said, in the harsh, uneven tones that seemed to carry an undercurrent of emotion. “We shall feel that the house is our own, when we have planted memories in it.” His eyes rested on his sons, as if he awaited their fulfilment of this duty.

“We shall always remember Bernard’s half-shy look of welcome,” said Reuben, pulling at Jenney’s sleeve and raising his voice. “He may be ashamed of the feeling that brought him, but it makes us like him better.”

Esmond pushed through his family and stood in the middle of the room and looked up and down.

“Cannot your feelings find expression?” said Claribel.

“It seems that that is the case,” said Bernard.

“It is usual to reply to a question,” said Benjamin.

“A reply was not wanted,” said his second son.

“Well, that is true,” said Anna. “People who withhold their wisdom before the event, need not produce it afterwards.”

“It is a smaller house than the other,” said Reuben.

“There is plenty for the servants to do in it,” said Anna, “though it would not be wise to give them a hint of it.”

“They are the last people who should require it,” said Bernard.

“You seem to be agreed upon your course,” said Esmond.

“Bernard has been spoiling them, as usual,” said Anna. “It only makes them harder to manage.”

“Since when has he taken your place?” said Benjamin.

“He has not done so, Father, or he would know better.”

“They are both of them nicer than most of us,” said Bernard.

Reuben gave the laugh that he felt was appropriate, though Ethel and Cook had a larger measure of his affection than anyone but Bernard and Jenney.

“Now keep your tongues off them for the moment,” said Anna, in her rough manner. “Here is Ethel with the tea.”

“I had muffins for tea yesterday,” said Bernard.

“Oh, I forgot to have them toasted,” said Jenney, springing to her feet. “I can see about it in a minute.”

Ethel produced a covered dish, with a fleeting smile at Bernard.

“Oh, I am glad you remembered, Ethel,” said Jenney.

“It was Cook,” said Ethel, turning to the door to hide her smile of conscious pride.

“And what more suitable person?” said Anna, keeping her eyes on the door until it closed. “Is nothing further removed from Cook than her natural duties? Ethel should put the tray in front of me. Will she ever learn her business?”

“Oh, I know how you all like it,” said Jenney proceeding to pour out the tea.

“Experience does nothing for Anna in that matter,” said Esmond.

“I take the precaution of asking you,” said his sister.

“It is tiresome to explain the same things day after day.”

“That should hardly be too great a drain upon your energy.”

“It is upon my patience.”

“We may all come to the end of that quality,” said Benjamin.

“Well, it is nice to have one’s little ways remembered,” said Claribel. “After all, they are the outcome of one’s personality.”

“Pass the muffins to Reuben,” said Jenney, as if she were speaking to children who might keep them to themselves.

Her tone irritated Anna and Esmond, who made no movement; Bernard would not leave his easy chair; Claribel assumed that a woman did not wait upon a boy; Benjamin rose and handed the muffins to his son and then to Jenney.

“Considering the standard of your manners, Father, you might have passed them to Jenney first,” said Anna, who was more at ease with Benjamin than his other children, partly because she did not follow his mind or try to do so. This effort seemed to involve his sons in his own uneasiness.

“I did as she asked,” said Benjamin, returning to his seat.

“Jenney gets much more obedience than I ever get.”

“What claim have you to it?” said Esmond.

“I am supposed to be the mistress of the house.”

“That position involves certain functions.”

“Oh, does it?” said Anna. “Well, who arranged the house, and planned the move, and was here to receive the maids and assign the rooms, and do the hundred and one things that had to be done?”

“Jenney was that person,” said Esmond.

“No, she only worked under my direction. And Father and I chose the house by ourselves. Nobody else was with us.”

Esmond glanced round the room and subsided almost with a nod to himself, as if he could credit this statement.

“You may leave the house, if you have a better one,” said Benjamin.

“All in good time,” muttered Esmond.

“Then let your criticism wait for that.”

“I suppose we shall see the other household to-morrow,” said Claribel. “I wonder which of us is engaging their thoughts.”

“Oh, of course you will,” said Jenney, in an excited manner. “What a sudden plunge into a new life! I wonder how you will all manage in it.” She felt Benjamin’s glance and hastened to retrieve any false step. “I expect you will all enjoy being together.”

“We must see that we do so,” said Benjamin. “Anything else would dispose of the good in our presence.”

“Aunt Sukey will impose her demands, if I make no mistake,” said Anna.

“I hope you make none,” said her father. “We have come here to fulfil them.”

“Very morbid,” murmured Bernard.

Benjamin had lately retired from a government office, which had required his daily presence, and had moved nearer to his sisters, who desired his support. His sons had adopted the same occupation, a fact which caused Esmond to suffer, and Benjamin to smile to himself, and sometimes to suffer also, as he recalled his sons’ earlier hopes. Bernard worked with ambition and success, and Esmond in contempt for a task beneath him, and resentment that a conviction of ability did not command a price. The brothers lived together in rooms in London, always wishing that they were apart, but held from the change by Bernard’s lack of initiative, and Esmond’s leaning to the cheaper course. They took their holidays in brief and frequent spells, in order not to break their life at home. Esmond’s dislike of this life was extreme, and his father’s dislike of his part in it appeared to be on the same scale; but he did not dare to break away, and Benjamin contrived without word or look that he should not dare. It seemed that Benjamin must prefer his presence, and he had a feeling, both conventional and natural, for having his family about him.