Ivy Compton-Burnett: Elders and Betters

“WELL, SO THIS is the background from which we are to face the world!” said Clara Bell, bending towards her two companions. “I hope it will prove an advantageous setting for us.”

“It is quite a good house,” said Maria Jennings, the elder of these, standing with her eyes prominent with interest, though her tone matched her words.

“That is not much to say for it,” said the youngest of the three, in the tone of the leader of them.

“Well, I mean it is a very good little house indeed,” said the second speaker.

“It is not so very little,” said Anna Donne, turning and going through the door, as if she were pushing her way. “And it will keep the weather off us. I believe it is wind-proof and watertight.”

Miss Jennings followed with an air of adapting herself as a matter of course to Anna’s moods, and Miss Bell walked, upright and deliberate, after them, looking about in self-possession and interest.

Anna Donne was a short, high-shouldered woman of thirty, with a large head that seemed to dwarf her height; round, open hazel eyes set under a receding forehead and close to an irregular nose; and an unusual reddish tinge in her hair and brows, that contributed to an odd appearance. Her father’s first cousin, Clara Bell, known as Claribel to the family, and to as many people outside it as she could contrive, was a tall, thin, upright woman of fifty-six, with an air of being distinguished and good-looking, that made her small, rough features a surprise; carefully dressed grey hair, that she frequently touched with a view to her reassurance; and a rather discordant voice, that was generally used, and often raised, to draw attention to herself. Maria Jennings, whose daily name was Jenney, and who was housekeeper in the motherless home, was a woman of similar age but different attributes; having a frame at once spare and sturdy, small and strong; prominent features that seemed to rise from her face with eagerness or interest; large, gentle, happy eyes, an even, almost absent manner, and an air of asking little from life, and being content and almost excited when she got it.

“What made you choose the house?” she said, coming to a sudden pause in the hall, as if she must be satisfied on the preliminary point, before passing on to others.

“Well, we had to live somewhere,” said Anna, in her rather rough tones, pursuing her way without turning.

“But there must have been other houses,” said Jenney, taking some running steps after her.

“Why must there in a place where the inhabitants are few and far between?”

“Oh, I suppose there were very few,” said Jenney, pausing to grasp the circumstance.

“There were three or four others, too large or too small, or too dear or too cheap, or too ugly or too pretty, or something.”

“A house could hardly be too pretty,” said Jenney, in a tone of speaking to a child.

“There is a certain sort of prettiness that I could not face.”

“Indeed no,” said Claribel, seeming to shrink into herself.

“But it would be as well to have it cheap,” said Jenney, in a more tentative tone.

“A certain sort of cheapness!” said Claribel, bending towards her cousin.

“Well, I think this avoids both,” said Anna. “I think we can settle here, without feeling either pretentious or too easily satisfied.”

“If we escape the first, it is enough,” said Claribel. “I should be much less troubled by the second. But I think this house will take our stamp; and if it becomes our own, we will ask no more of it.”

“We are very fortunate to have it,” said Jenney, speaking for Anna’s ears. “And there is not much to be done to it, is there?”

“There is nothing now,” said Anna. “What was necessary has been done.”

“So you had to attend to all that!” said Jenney, in a tone of appreciation.

“And it was a more complex business than might appear.”

“We are very grateful to you,” said Claribel. “For laying the foundations, and leaving us free to complete the artistic whole.”

“We shall all do our share of the last,” said Anna. “But the fundamental part had to be done. And Father did not give the right kind of help.”

“No, I don’t suppose he did,” said Jenney, in a tone of suddenly seeing the matter in all its bearings.

“He wanted a bargain, and did not know where to stop. I also inclined to one, but I knew how far we could go. It is no good to think that other people are out to serve our interests.”

“Masculine arrogance, masculine simplicity, whatever it is!” said Claribel.

“Oh, I wonder if the boys will like the house,” said Jenney, recalled to the male half of the community.

“There is no reason why they should not,” said Anna, “if it appeals to other people.”

Jenney again took some little, rapid steps to overtake her. Claribel followed with her calmer, longer tread, her small, alert, black eyes darting from point to point.

“The bookcase will stand here,” said Jenney, in a final tone, pausing at a bend in the hall.

“Here or there or somewhere,” said Anna, hardly glancing back.

“There isn’t anywhere else where it could go,” said Jenney, in grasp of the accommodation that she was on her way to discover.

“There is Father’s upstairs study.”

“Is his study to be upstairs?”

“Well, I implied it, didn’t I?”

“Will he like that?” said Jenney.

“He prefers to sit upstairs when he can. In the last house he clearly could not.”

“No, there wasn’t a room for him, was there?” said Jenney, in almost agitated recalling of the situation. “How good he has been about it all these years!”

“Wonderful, not to complain about what could not be helped,” said Claribel. “So much more than should be expected by our humble sex.”

“Well, now that demand upon him will cease,” said Anna. “But others may succeed it, with a family of relations living at a stone’s throw.”

“What a different life for all of you!” said Jenney, standing with a withdrawn expression to follow the change.

“I am not conscious of so much misgiving,” said Claribel “I feel that my personality is wasted, if it is not allowed a certain play on other people’s.”

“I don’t look forward with too much confidence,” said Anna. “I have not discovered why there is this advantage in our presence.”

“I always feel that my company is a boon to those who have it,” said Claribel, bending her head and hardly articulating the guilty words.

“It is Father who is the desired person in this case.”

“Oh, I do not withdraw from equal competition with him. I do not believe in these foregone conclusions.”

Anna pushed on in the laborious, ungainly manner that seemed to be the outcome of her physique. Her hands and feet were too small for her frame, and her movements were stiff and over-mature, though her face was young for her age. Claribel paid her no attention, and Jenney regarded her with the unthinking acceptance of one who had brought her up from birth, and never paused to consider whether the process was worth while. The feeling was tempered now by a touch of submissiveness, that was hardly enough to disturb her ease.

“I wonder how Reuben will take to the house,” she said, with an increase of feeling.

“Why should he be an exception?” said Anna.

“Well, in a sense he can’t escape being one, can he?”

“I hope I am to have a room assigned to me, with due thought for my individuality,” said Claribel.

“Could he have a room on the ground floor?” said Jenney to Anna, in a manner of proffering a wistful personal request.