Ivy Compton-Burnett - A Heritage and its History

“The dusk fell early, sir,” said Deakin.

“Because we drew up the blinds?” said Simon, half laughing. “It tried to do our duty for us.”

“Have you been tampering with — touching your father’s papers, Simon?” said Sir Edwin. “They have been disturbed.”

“I have been going through his accounts, Uncle, and following his method. You cannot do his work and your own. I must take his place.”

“That is hardly a word to be said.”

“It is a thing that must be done.”

“You cannot expect to do it, Simon,” said Julia.

“Not as a man, of course. In his work I hope I can. I must do my best.”

“You should have waited for your uncle to suggest it.”

“So it seems to us,” said Sir Edwin. “But to him that time has passed. He has had his fill of waiting.”

“I could not help my father’s death. I would have done so, if I could.”

“You are alone in saying so. You would not have been alone.”

“The moths are falling into the lamps,” said Walter.

“They come from the creeper,” said Simon. “It grows apace.”

“They come from the night, sir,” said Deakin, in faint reproach. “There are none in the day.”

“I don’t know why we should suffer this oppression as well as our trouble.”

“It comes from it,” said Julia. “We are out of heart and hope. It is what has to be.”

“It is not the way to help each other. I suppose we cannot really want to do that.”

“I fear the words are true of you, my boy.”

“I shall do what I can in my new place. Whether you like it or not, that is the word. It is senseless to make me feel guilty over it. You cannot be revenged on Fate by venting your feelings on me.”

“It is a part of the truth,” said his uncle.

“Well, you can feel that Father is watching you, Simon. That will help you to learn from him.”

“Oh, I could not work under anyone’s eye. And the level was not such a high one. I mean, not so high that another man cannot reach it. Why should it have been?”

“I cannot bear this speaking of your father in the past tense,” said Julia, drawing in her shoulders.

“You are like my uncle. You resent my being his successor. It is a natural feeling, but he would not feel it a good one.”

“You talk as if you were royal, Simon.”

“You treat me as if I were. Neither of you is royal either. So you need not conspire against me, as if we were dynasts with a place in history.”

“Simon, you are a very cultured man,” said Walter.

“You were failing in respect to Father’s memory,” said Julia.

“His memory! What is that but speaking of him in the past tense? And we can hardly use any other. This is a feast for your ears, Deakin.”

“It had not struck me in that light, sir.”

“Well, you can listen or not, as you please.”

“That again is hardly the expression, sir.”

“My Walter has not much to say,” said Julia. “Does he feel his brother has enough for two? I like to hear my sons talk, if they do it in a way that pleases me.”

“We all like what is done in that way,” said Simon.

“Simon, you have become so quick and sharp. I do not understand the change in you.”

“There is no change. That is your trouble. You want me to be altered by my father’s death. And I have not been, and shall not be. I am what I am.”

“I cannot be that yet,” said Walter. “I have not decided what it is. I should not dare to be like Simon. What do you feel you are, Uncle?”

“One elderly man out of many left alone. I hope you will never have to dare to be it. It needs the quality.”

“You are not alone, Edwin,” said Julia. “You have your brother’s sons and me. And I don’t feel he is far from us.”

“I don’t feel he is anywhere,” said Simon. “I can’t feel it. It is best to be honest about it.”

“I wonder if it is,” said Walter. “All these things you are, don’t seem always to be best.”

“If I felt that, I should not find life worth living,” said Julia. “And I am sure your uncle would not.”

“I feel it, and do not find it so,” said Sir Edwin. “And I shall not.”

“I feel it, and do find it so,” said Simon. “And I am not ashamed of it. I think it is the braver thing.”

“Simon! Surely you are ashamed,” said Walter.

“I think we deserve something better,” said Sir Edwin. “It is a meagre dole.”

“What do you think, Deakin?” said Simon. “Were you listening?”

“I think I caught the words, sir.”

“Well, what is your own feeling?”

There was a pause.

“Do we leave the mistress alone on her side, sir?” said Deakin, in a low, incidental tone, not raising his eyes.

“She does not want any pretence from us.”

“No, sir?” said Deakin, in faint question.

“What if Father is near us, Simon, and knows what you think?” said Julia.

“He would understand it. It is what he thought himself.”

“He must know better now.”

“Well, in that case he realises we have not had his opportunities.”

“Simon, I dislike this ironic note, if that is what it is.”

“He likes it to be called that,” said Walter.

Sir Edwin gave a faint laugh.

“Well, we shall start again tomorrow,” said Julia. “And face a life full of difference.”

“There must be many changes,” said Simon. “There is the great one, and others must follow. One comes into my mind, Uncle. There is my father’s way of keeping the rent accounts in one schedule, when the conditions vary. Do you think it would be well to alter it, while changes are being made?”

“It would be a surface difference, not a real one. And I am not thinking of changes.”

“Do you object to my making this one?”

“Yes, but you may make it. I must see things go past myself; go onward, if that is the word. It is not in this case, or it is not mine. But make any pretence you will.”

“Bitterness does no good, Uncle.”

“None. But what you are doing will do none either.”

“Simon,” said Julia, “why have you started this way of saying ‘my uncle’ and ‘my father’ instead of ‘Uncle’ and ‘Father’? It is quite a new thing.”

“It is?” said Simon, with his laugh. “I suppose I have taken a step forward in my life. The ways of a boy are no longer mine.”

“I admire your ease in answering such a question,” said Walter. “I should have been most embarrassed. But I don’t know whether to copy you.”

“Be yourself, my boy,” said Julia. “I am content to have you different. Simon will be my progressive son, and you my dependable one.”

“But I am not sure that I am content.”

“Your ways would always be those of a boy to me. And to me this last fancy of Simon’s is really one of them.”

“Then it seems I need not copy him,” said Walter.

“The hall is as dim as the dining-room,” said Simon, looking through the door. “It is that great bookcase in the middle. Do you like it there, Uncle? I have heard my father speak of moving it.”

“You did not hear him order it to be moved. If you had, it would not be there. And you may come to have heard him speak of many things.”

“If it was put at the back of the staircase, the hall would be twice the size.”

“It would look so you mean, and that is overstated.”

“We like it where it is, Simon,” said Julia. “Or it would not have been there all these years. We want to keep all we can of our old life. That is the real one to us.”

“I do not believe in this fear of change. If we can never change, we can never learn. I hope I shall go on learning all my life.”

“We can make a change without learning,” said Sir Edwin. “Indeed change may involve a certain forgetfulness.”