Ivy Compton-Burnett - Elders and Betters

“And I could accept your cousin as a husband for you.”

“Well, anything else would lead to trouble now.”

“You did not consult me, Tullia.”

“I do not remember that you paid me that compliment either.”

“Tullia, I am your natural protector. You can hardly say the same to me.”

“I am sure I wish someone could. You were sorely in need of one.”

“Tulliola, may I feel that you will never change to me? May I take that feeling with me into the downhill path that lies ahead?”

Florence, crossing the hall with the group from the dining-room, looked about for Thomas and his daughter, who had left the table by themselves. She caught sight of them, standing just within the hall, protected by the shadow of the door, locked in each other’s arms. She paused and rested her eyes on them, and then went on with the others. When they came into the drawing-room, she took no notice, but presently moved towards Thomas and paused, as if by chance, before him.

“We don’t want to marry each other,” she said, in her low, even tones, as he met her eyes.

“Don’t we, my dear?” he said, his eyes looking as if he were living in another scene, and his voice sounding of it.

“You are too old for me. You have had too many people in your life. You have gone too far in it, to turn back again with me. And I do not want to give so much more than I am given. I am not a self-sacrificing person, and I should not like to be. I would rather have what is natural for my youth.”

“You are not jealous of the dead?” said Thomas.

“No,” said Florence, in a slow tone, that told him openly that her jealousy would not lie here.

She took his ring off her hand and put it into his, keeping her eyes on it, in order not to lift them to his face. He watched her as she did it, and then rose and took her hand, and putting the ring on another finger, seemed to hold the hand for all to see.

“Wear it in memory of me,” he said; “and as the memory dies, it will become your own.”

“Give it to Tullia,” said Florence, still looking at the ring. “It is more in her taste than mine. I believe you thought of her, when you were choosing it.”

“I should always think of Tullia,” said Thomas, turning the ring in his hand and saying no more.

“Give it to her as a wedding present,” said Florence,looking up at last and smiling from father to daughter.

“Well, if he thought of me when he was choosing it, it is fair that it should find its proper home,” said Tullia. “It will make a companion for Bernard’s, which does look rather lonely by itself.”

“There are your mother’s rings,” said Thomas. “I must give you those. She did not wear them often, but she wore nothing else. Some we will put aside for Dora, and the rest are yours.” He spoke as if the other matter had left his mind.

“It never rains but it pours,” said Tullia. “But Mother would like Terence to choose one for his wife.”

“Oh, I should like that,” said Anna. “One good ring would be just to my mind. I don’t care for a lot of nondescript things, but a single good one that is known as one’s own, is a different thing. I think everyone can do with it.”

“Would Florence have had the rings, if this marriage had come about?” said Terence to Bernard. “Now somehow I want to know that more than anything in the world, and my curiosity may never be satisfied.”

“It would not, if I were in Uncle Thomas’s place,” said Anna.

“I suppose only Father will ever know, and I believe I shall never forget it.”

Terence forgot it, but only Thomas ever knew.

“Mother thought I was too young for rings,” said Tullia, lifting her hand to the light. “And perhaps they do give a suggestion of staidness and maturity.”

“Well, that comes anyhow,” said Anna. “I don’t think that rings have much to do with it.”

Thomas looked at the last ring he had chosen, on the only living hand that he knew, and hid his pleasure at seeing it there, and his pain that it was not alone.

“And one day, when you give me a wedding present, give me something that you chose without thinking of anyone else,” said Florence, speaking with an ease that told of the end of the tale for herself, and in bringing no change to Thomas’s face, told also of its end for him.

“You must be relieved.” said Esmond, in a quiet tone to Miss Lacy.

“No, I do not think that is my feeling. I watched what happened, as a person apart. As a person apart, I saw it fade away. I had no other connection with it,”

“You must have wished that you could prevent the whole thing.”

“No, I do not choose to play such a part in people’s lives. I do not interfere with their course. I do not feel able for that,” said Miss Lacy, with a slight stress on the last word, as if her inability did not extend beyond a point.

“I suppose I have your permission to step into my uncle’s shoes?”

Miss Lacy looked into Esmond’s face.

“I do not give my permission. I do not refuse it,” she said, moving her lips very definitely. “I do not say anything. I have nothing to say. I feel I know nothing. Mine is not that particular knowledge.”

“But you will help me, if you can?”

“I would refuse my help to no one who needed it. I hope I have never done that.”

“Then ask Florence to come here,” said Esmond, in a driven tone. “I can’t wait for things to come about in their own way. There would never come an end.”

Miss Lacy simply signed to her niece.

“I have been asked to summon you. And I have done as I was asked. There seemed no reason to refuse. And I refuse no request without reason. But I am qualified to do no more.”

“I will do the rest,” said Esmond, his tone betraying that he was forcing himself to a point all but impossible. “I want to take my uncle’s place, and to say that I have always wanted it. He took it before I saw a chance for myself. It seems there must be some hope for me, if there was for him.”

Miss Lacy laughed, and continued the laughter to herself as if she could not help it, and Florence also gave a little sound of mirth.

“It is the fashion to make and break engagements in public here,” said Esmond.

“And you must be in the fashion,” said Miss Lacy, again moving her lips more than usual. “Yes, you must be that. What is the good of belonging to your generation, if your place is not in the van?”

“Shall I follow it to the end, and offer the whole thing to the general ear?”

“Well, fashion does not admit half-and-half dealings,” said Miss Lacy, whose powers of assistance in these matters went further than she had claimed.

“I must not be asked to do or say anything,” said Florence. “I have said and done enough.”

“Fashion does not require it of you,” said her aunt. “She makes her demand of the male. She is one of those rare females who consider their own sex. If that be rare; I have not found it so.”

Esmond put his arm about Florence and turned to face the room.

“One announcement more or less cannot make much difference,” he said, in an almost cold tone. “You must be too used to them, to think much of another. So we will make it and do no more.” He hurried his words and turned to a seat, and drew Florence down by his side.

There was the natural pause.

“Another engagement!” said Claribel. “I don’t feel that I can keep count of them. I shall soon have married three of my flock. I think I manage most successfully.”

“We have so many, that the same people have to be used over again,” said Tullia. “I have played a poor part, in that I have been only once at disposal. But I am glad to have come in at all.”

“Yes, you and I accept the one man and are done with it,” said Anna. “We do not pretend to be involved in a wider choice. But we shall flood the neighbourhood with our intermarryings. It does not seem that it could have been a very full one, as the engagements are between two households, and related ones into the bargain.”