Ivy Compton-Burnett - A Heritage and its History

“Simon, I wish you could. We know the risk is small. And the trouble you would cause, is great. If we weigh one against the other, on which side does the balance fall? Which would Naomi choose, if she were outside the truth? You have been so much the master of them all, the mentor, the absolute head. It would all be seen as empty, as a pose. Can you face it, and go on after it? If you know you cannot, is it any good to try?”

“I can do what I must, as we all can. And face the result, as we face what we cannot escape. And we must take account of my uncle. He would countenance no breach of faith. He would see the question in one way and no other, would not weigh the sides. We saw and heard him, when it arose.”

“Simon, I see and hear you and your family.”

“They will see the truth as it is. They will see I have expiated the early wrong, continue to expiate it. Yes, it is a sorry place for their head.”

“You are the hero of a tragedy. It is a pity you are the villain as well. I am humbled before your complex part.”

“I know you dread it with me, for me, for yourself. My dread is for Hamish and Naomi, for the ending of their hope. I pity myself for my sight of it. My own exposure should seem a secondary thing. I must see it as it is.”

“It is a hard pass, Simon. I wish we were on the further side. What is to be done? How is the disclosure to be made?”

“I must simply make it. There is no cover and no escape. I must ask Rhoda for her wishes and try to follow them. Wishes! It is an ironic word. If only I could spare her! We had better get this first step over. Are she and my uncle in the house?”

“They are alone in the morning room. Fanny is still upstairs. And Mater is somewhere by herself. The time is as good as any other.”

“There is no good time. You will come with me, Walter? It will be better for me, if you are there.”

“I will come indeed. We must be able to discuss it. And I would not miss any stage in the drama. I am so absorbed in it.”

“I shall depend on your help,” said Simon, realising that he was being given it. “We will face the moment. It is nothing by the one that is to come.”

Sir Edwin and Rhoda were standing silent, having come to the end of their words. They turned, as the brothers came to them, and Simon spoke.

“Uncle, Hamish and Naomi will marry in spite of us, will take the matter into their own hands. What is to be done?”

“The one thing. I saw they were unshaken. And I see, as you do, the one course.”

“I do not feel with you,” said Rhoda. “To me it is a wrong one. It would turn risk into a certainty. It would break up innocent lives. It would bring shame on you and me and Simon. On you, Edwin; for you would be seen to have no son, to have lived a lie. It serves an old man’s conscience at the expense of youth. At the cost of the family name; for nothing that is told, can be hidden. Should we sacrifice so much to gain so little?”

“It is the thing that must be gained.”

“I see it must,” said Simon.

“I cannot see it. Are you not in love with sacrifice? Your clear conscience, your clean breast, will they not cost too dear? Cost others too dear, I mean; they may serve yourself. And have you thought what the moment would be! Think while there is time.”

“I have thought,” said Simon.

“How will you break the truth? Will you contrive a scene, put on an act? Call your family together, to undo yourself in their eyes? In the prime of your life and your fatherhood?”

“It is what I shall do. It is not an act.”

“I would rather die than have Hamish know.”

“I feel the same. I dare not tell my children. But I shall do so. And we know we shall not die.”

“My life is at an end,” said Sir Edwin. “My time of durance will be short. I can the better judge of yours.”

“You are both too self-righteous,” said Rhoda. “You should see yourselves as they would see you. And I will not consent to the confession. I have the right to decide. Such a thing is settled by the woman. You are anxious to do no wrong to anyone. Then see that you do none.”

“I must face the wrong I have done,” said Simon.

“I will not be there when you speak. I will not face the pain for others and myself. I meant what I said. It is needless and not only mine.”

“You had better be there,” said Walter. “The numbers will protect you. The meeting with Hamish afterwards will be saved from the worst. Everyone should be there, as it will ease things for all.”

“It is too great a retribution,” said Simon. “I see it with Rhoda’s eyes.”

“It is,” said Sir Edwin. “Civilised life exacts its toll. We live among the civilised.”

“The conventions are on the surface,” said his wife. “We know the natural life is underneath.”

“We do; we have our reason. But we cannot live it. We know the consequences of doing so. If not, we learn.”

“I shall never think quite the same of you, Edwin.”

“The moment comes to most of us with each other. It came to me with you. I am happy in the time of my downfall. It is late.”

“I am not,” said Simon. “It could not be better chosen by a hostile fate.”

“Would you like me to say the word?” said Walter. “It would be better for me, as I am not involved.”

“No, I must say it myself. I could not stand by and hear it said, afraid to do my own penance, humbler than I had reason to be. I shall fall in the eyes of my wife, see my effort for my sons wasted, take from my daughter the meaning of her youth. And this to avoid something that in some days would have been lawful and right!”

“We live in our own,” said Sir Edwin.

“What Simon and I did, is done in all days,” said Rhoda.

“Hamish thinks you should be going,” said Fanny, coming into the room with her nephew and her children. “Simon and Walter have had the most of you, and it seems soon to say goodbye. Here is their mother come to say it with us.”

“I wondered if it would ever be said,” said Graham. “When have hours held so much?”

“They are to hold more,” said Walter, in a low tone. “You must be ready for it.”

“It cannot be said yet,” said Simon, standing still and seeming to hold his voice from defining his words. “I must keep you for a while. There is something else to be said. It is I who must say it. It will take only a moment. It is what will follow, that may be long. I dread it. I have reason to. I have thought of it for twenty-four years. I see now that I have. I trusted the time might never come. But it is here, and we must face it. It is I who have brought it on us. It is I who face the most.”

“Then say it, my son,” said Julia. “Do not ask more of yourself and us. A word is soon said, and waiting for it must be what it is. We shall imagine more than the truth, and the picture may never quite fade. Let us face it and forget it. That is best.”

“If it can be so,” said Simon. “But it cannot be. It is because it cannot be forgotten, that it must be said. It throws its light on much that has been dark, on much that has been so today. You have felt the need of light. — Hamish is my son. He is Rhoda’s child and mine. We were together in my uncle’s house after their marriage. They did not live as man and wife. My uncle accepted the child as his. He was its legal father. He has been one in every sense. He will remain so. Hamish will be his heir. But we must know the truth that lies beneath. There can be no marriage between Hamish and my daughter. They are half-brother and sister as well as sisters’ children. The dangers would be too great.”

There was a pause.

“I thought my father was different,” said Hamish, as if the words broke out. “Not as other fathers were. I see it now. I see it all. But he will be my father.”