Ivy Compton-Burnett - A Heritage and its History

“I shall go,” said Simon, moving to the door. “Whether I am in time or not, I can be of help. I will send the message.”

Before it was time for him to leave, the second telegram came.

‘Hamish died easily. No child coming. Marcia Challoner.’

“I must go to my sister,” said Fanny. “I will go with Simon.”

“Yes, go, my dear,” said Julia. “I will do what I can here.”

There was another silence.

“So Hamish has left us,” said Naomi. “Well, he had chosen to leave us. But this is not what he chose.”

“How Marcia is what she is!” said Simon, almost to himself. “To tell the whole, so as to leave no doubt or question.”

“And how Father is the same!” muttered Ralph. “Even at this moment I must say it.”

“Why must you?” said Walter. “No one else has had to.”

“The short, strange life!” said Fanny. “How much difference it brought, and how little it seems to leave! And how much will be left!”

“So the place and the title are united again,” said Graham. “And does either seem to matter?”

“Neither does,” said his father. “We are involved in things that do.”

The talk went on, lifeless, unrelated to the depths, until Simon and Fanny left them. There was a feeling that anything more must wait until they had gone, that it might delay their going. Julia watched them go, and then turned to her grandchildren.

“I have lost a grandson. I must say it once. I would not, while your mother was with us. I would not say it to you, if there was anyone else to hear. I know you have not lost a brother. But let me say once that I have thought of Hamish as what he is — what he was to me, and wished he could know I thought it. I wish I had told him. To live is nothing but wishing. It is always too late.”

“I don’t see how you could tell him,” said Graham. “It was what was not to be told. But for that reason he may have known.”

“So he is dead,” said Julia. “The boy who made so much trouble, brought so much change, whose nature had to be forgotten. It is over, what should not have been, what will never be as if it had not been. It is in the past.”

The words were true, and the past fell into its place. Things moved in the accustomed way and became a part of it. Simon returned for Hamish’s burial in the family vault, and with his sons followed him to it. Fanny came home later, leaving Hamish’s mother with his wife. The day came when the family gathered at the table, feeling they had reached a settled stage in their lives.

“So there can be no more change,” said Julia, “until one of us follows Hamish. I shall be the first.”

“It is a high destiny, Mater,” said Walter. “But do you sound as if your heart was in it?”

“I have dear ones here and dear ones there. This has added another to them. And there the truth will have its place. Nothing will have to be hidden.”

“Nothing should need to be,” said Graham. “Or the sphere you mean would hardly exist.”

“These are not matters for jest,” said Simon. “They are real to some of us. That should be enough. And perhaps it is hardly a time for jest at all.”

“Any time is good for that,” said Fanny. “A jest need be no more than it is.”

“Well, let it be the time. But let some subjects be forbidden.”

“So Marcia and Aunt Rhoda are to live together, like the pair in the Bible,” said Ralph.

“Yes,” said his father, without looking at him. “I have heard from Marcia. They are soon to return home. They will not remain in the other place without Hamish. And your aunt must be near your mother. They are thinking of the house by the river, where the roads meet. Our other house is too large for them.”

“Marcia is a Ruth indeed,” said Fanny. “Where Rhoda dwelleth she will dwell. Her people will be her people, and I daresay her God would be her God, if she felt there could be one.”

“Fanny, that is hardly talk for you,” said Simon. “And you will be glad to have your sister, and help her as you can. You know you felt her going.”

“She will have my help, if she needs it. She has always done so. This other dependence is a new one.”

“Such things are not a matter of time. Friendships are made in a moment; marriages are made. A feeling that will last a lifetime, may spring into being. We all know cases of it.”

“I do not. Tell me of one.”

“There is my feeling for you,” said Simon, smiling. “We were old friends when we married; but there was a time when there was a movement of one to the other. There must have been.”

“Well, then we can say there was.”

“There will be things to arrange, sir,” said Graham. “Death duties will have to be met. And there will be another widow.”

“Hamish made everything over to me but a small competence. The duty that Marcia will pay, will not be large. That on Hamish’s inheritance from his father has been decided. We are not the better for it, but with care we shall recover.”

“It is time that I died and made a widow less,” said Julia.

“And that many of us did, if the object is to save our expenses,” said Walter. “Mine are too small for it to be worth while. It will never be my time.”

“Either as a man or a poet,” said Ralph. “You should be doubly immortal.”

“Shall we ever learn that people’s life ambitions are not humorous to them?” said Naomi.

“They ought to be,” said Walter. “We are forbidden to take ourselves seriously.”

“But who else would do so?” said Graham. “And what would happen, if no one did?”

“Nothing does happen,” said Walter.

The door opened and Claud and Emma entered, bearing a garland between them.

“It is to celebrate things being usual again,” said Claud, putting it over his mother’s chair. “But we made it like a wreath, because of Hamish. And we like this house, now we are used to it. Of course it was a change for us to go up in the world.”

“How have you done that?” said Julia.

“Just by belonging to the family,” said Emma, lifting her brows. “We rise and fall together.”

“You can think of Hamish living in this house, when he was as young as you are.”

“Yes, we do; we shall always remember him. Of course he might have been our brother. I think some people say he was. But they must mean he would have been, if he had married Naomi.”

“It gives us a feeling for him,” said Claud. “But it is not our fault that he is dead. Perhaps Marcia did not keep an eye on him. Emma hardly dares to take hers off me.”

“He will always be a charge,” said Emma, with a sigh.

“We have not thanked you for the wreath,” said Fanny. “It is a very pretty one.”

“It is a simple offering,” said Claud. “But simple things are as good as any others.”

“It places people, if they don’t think so,” said Emma.

“How are you doing with your lessons?” said Simon, reminded of these by the signs of advance. “Is Miss Dolton pleased with you?”

“Yes, I can read as well as Emma now. And she can almost read handwriting. Here is something she has read.”

“ ‘Dear Simon,’ ” read Emma, opening a letter, “ ‘The bond between us is broken, but we have our own. And our lives will move on side by side. We shallhave help as we need it. There must be something to give—’ ”

“You must not read letters,” said Simon, taking it from her. “Where did you get this one?”

“It was on the floor in the hall. Someone must have dropped it. We have to read writing when we can, to get some practice. Or we shan’t be able to read it, when we are grown-up.”

“And it will be no good for people to write to us,” said Claud.