Ivy Compton-Burnett - A Heritage and its History

“You think so, Edwin?” said Julia. “I have thought you preferred men.”

“I do not put one above the other. It is a thing people are too apt to do.”

“Did you find my father ready to forget himself, Uncle?” said Simon.

“Simon, only you could put such a question at such a time,” said Julia.

“I think I need not answer it,” said Sir Edwin.

“Do Rhoda and Fanny feel my father’s death?”

“Yes, but not first for themselves,” said his uncle, turning away.

“I fear your uncle is beyond help,” said Julia, in a low tone. “And of course I am too in a different way.”

“I am glad it is not the same,” said Simon. “He might take a lesson from you, if it were worth while at his age.”

“When you come to the age, you will think less of it.”

“I shall think more,” said Walter. “I shall be so near to the grave.”

“You may die at any age,” said his brother.

“No, I shall live to the full span. And every year will take from it.”

“Mater, it is strange that we think of my uncle’s loss more than of yours,” said Simon.

“Well, I have my sons. And I gave your father up to his brother in a way. It was a thing I could do for both of them. It was a good thing I could do myself. I have not done enough good things in my life.”

“No wonder my uncle balks at trouble, when he is used to such dealings. I suppose you would give both of us up to him, if he needed us. Not that there is any likelihood of it.”

“I will not make the claim,” said Sir Edwin, with a faint smile. “I must serve my own need. It is true that I have not hidden it.”

“And what of your need, Mater? Of course you have your sons, but he does not rank that compensation high.”

“How high do I rank it?” said Julia, smiling and giving him her hand.

Simon leant back with it in his, and glanced about him.

“Four seems a comfortable number,” he said.

“Simon, think what you are saying!” said Julia.

“I am thinking. My father and uncle sat apart. There were the three of us together. And now my uncle has joined us.”

“You should remember the reason of the change.”

“So you feel it is possible to forget it?”

“You might almost make us think it was. You should be careful what you say.”

“I dislike people who have to do that. I have nothing to hide. It is better to talk honestly.”

“I think it is much worse,” said Walter. “It means all sorts of risks. Honest people can even say: ‘If you don’t mind my saying so,’ after they have said it. And they cannot know before. Dishonest talk is far better. I should like to hear myself described insincerely.”

“What do you think, Edwin?” said Julia.

“I am afraid I did not hear.”

“You are tiring your uncle,” said Julia, to her sons.

“No, I was lost in my own thoughts. It sounds egotistic, and is what it sounds.”

“Would you like to be alone?” said Julia, gently.

“I will remain in the flesh and be absent in spirit, if you will bear with it.”

“We like to have you with us in any sense. I am often sunk in my thoughts too.”

“Mater, you set an example,” said Simon. “You have your own change to face. You are making a brave beginning.”

“So honest conversation can be as good as this,” said Walter. “I must think of something honest to say.”

“Was my uncle absent in the spirit, when he was with Rhoda and Fanny?” said Simon, lowering his tone. “And did he tell them he did not hear what they said? They must have wondered why he called on them.”

“I have something to say to you,” said Sir Edwin, remaining at the table after a meal. “I am going to be married tomorrow to Rhoda Graham. I have not told you before. I will not say more than the one word now. I do not accept the idea of discussion or question. We shall be alone at the marriage, go from it on a short journey, and return in about two weeks. I have ordered the room next to mine to be prepared.”

There was a pause.

“Hamish’s room?” said Julia, saying what came to her lips.

“The room that was his. It is a better room than mine.”

There was another pause.

“Who will be the mistress of the house?” said Simon, in a sudden tone.

“My wife,” said his uncle.

“After my mother has been so for twenty-seven years?”

“After that. And after it, she is able to help another in the place. I will ask it of her.”

“I am glad you are to have more in your life, Edwin,” said Julia, in a fainter tone. “We are all glad.”

“You have been a friend to me, Julia. I will not ask you to be one now. It would be to throw doubt upon it. You will see that my life is my own.”

“Our lives are never our own,” said Simon. “They are bound up with other lives. They belong in part to other people.”

“They cannot move along a line with no crossroads. And one is here.”

“Rhoda’s life would be joined to one that has had its past, and may have no future. In other words she would share it in its last stage.”

“She will, you might say. And the first words would have served you.”

“Simon, that will do,” said Julia, in a low tone.

Sir Edwin rose from his seat.

“I will say the word I owe to you. You have a right to hear my reasons for a change in my life, that must bear on yours. I cannot live by myself amongst those who live in fellowship. I must have a semblance of it. I need it in order to face the time before me. I do not choose to say more.”

There was a pause.

“Do you wish us to remain in the house, Uncle?” said Simon.

“I am willing that you should.”

“I am glad my mother has not to seek another home. I infer that you do not think of having a family?”

“I have said that I do not accept the idea of question.”

“It must all be said, when you have left us. Would it not be better to say it to your face?”

“I do not know why that should improve it,” said Sir Edwin, going to the door. “Nor need I hear it, to know what it will be.”

“Well, we will say it behind his back,” said Walter. “So that he cannot really know.”

“We have not given him companionship,” said Julia, in a slow tone. “But it has been hard to give it. He has shrunk into himself. He has needed to be first with someone. It is what he has been.”

“You did what could be done,” said Simon. “More was not due from you or due to him.”

“He would not always have had it, if it had not been due in a way.”

“Well, what a shock for all of us! But if there is to be no family, the future remains the same. There will simply be Rhoda’s provision after my uncle’s death.”

“Simon, must you still harp on that? You must see it is his life, that is in question now.”

“I only meant there would be a limit to the change.”

“None to the changes. The house will be hers, and I shall be here to help her in it. I shall be a mere member of the household, after being its mistress for so long. But I have had no claim to the place.”

“You have earned it by filling it for all these years. There is such a thing as the right of tenure.”

“We see that there is not.”

“It cannot be true,” said Walter. “Now I know what it is to feel I am living in a dream. And I hardly want to wake. I feel a sort of excitement.”

“It is the shock,” said his mother. “The feeling will not last.”

“We might have foreseen it,” said Simon. “He has been going so often to the Grahams. And they have not come here. We might have deduced something from it. We were not to see them together. Of course I know it is wisdom after the event.”