Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Present and the Past

‘And we are to waste our pity!’ said Halliday. ‘I give it to other people and give him something else. A sorry course.’

‘The essence of sadness and helplessness, Halliday. The man of calibre at bay! It moves the heart like a child’s trouble.’

‘Well, he is. your child. Or was it your younger brother? When I have seen him, he has been something else.’

‘You are right that it is complex, Halliday.’

‘What does the mistress feel on the occasion?’ said Kate.

‘She takes the view to be expected, but violates nothing. And Mr Clare applied his touch in his own way.’

‘So the master had to appear in a sorry light.’

‘Strange to say, Kate, he did not do so. It was because he did not feel it. Nothing else was needed to prove him himself.’

‘Why did they want you all that time?’ said Halliday. ‘What could you do for them?’

‘They did not want me so much as assume my presence. I found it was taken for granted. And I could do nothing for them, Halliday. It was not the occasion. But something passed between us. I felt it going from me to them. My presence was not superfluous.’

‘You were a long time outside the door,’ said Simon.

‘And where were you?’ said Ainger, turning on him.

‘I came to see if I could help. But you were not doing anything.’

‘You are wrong. I was doing my duty, odd though that may seem to you.’

‘It may seem odd to him,’ said Mrs Frost.

‘Well, it will be a long time before his duty lies along that line.’

‘Mine has not done so yet,’ said Mrs Frost.

‘It might be said of all of us,’ said Kate. ‘But there are circumstances.’

‘The master will approve,’ said Ainger, on a satisfied note, ‘when I make use of easy reference. Indeed it has come to pass. It spares him words; it saves the shamefaced touch, and that I could not bear for him.’

‘You are birds of a feather,’ said Halliday.

‘Well, closeness tends to resemblance. I have heard it said. But when the gulf narrows, I establish it. The master may be trusted to me. I hold his position dearer than he does himself.’

‘Does Mr Clare know of your methods?’ said Madge.

‘Ah, there is not much that escapes that old gentleman. He and I have exchanged a look on the occasion. It would not be complete without one.’

The bell rang, and Ainger sped from the room with a startled look, as though fearing the meaning of the summons.

‘Will you have some more coffee, Cassius?’ said Flavia.

Her husband made no reply.

‘Will you have some more coffee?’

Cassius indicated the full cup at his elbow and looked before him.

‘What do you see that we do not?’ said Mr Clare.

His son turned his eyes on him.

‘We see what we see,’ he said in a moment. ‘Some of us nothing; some of us more; some of us much.’

‘And to which class do you belong?’

Cassius turned on his father a smile of some kindness.

‘To which do you? We all see ourselves in some way.’

‘Only one class would be needed,’ said Flavia. ‘We should all choose the same. If this talk has anything in it.’

Cassius transferred the smile to her, and kept it on her for a moment. If the talk had not anything in it, the smile had. It carried tolerance, amusement, perception.

Ainger bent towards his master’s plate in concerned inquiry.

‘I have not touched that,’ said the latter, in an incidental tone. ‘It need not be wasted.’

‘No, sir,’ said Ainger, in neutral acceptance of this thrift, as he removed the plate.

‘Are you not having anything to eat, Cassius?’ said Flavia.

‘You can see I am not. I saw you notice it some time ago. It was not worth your while to speak of it.’

‘That would have ensured your having nothing.’

‘It has been proved, my boy,’ said Mr Clare.

Cassius vaguely drummed his hands on the table.

‘Would you like some fresh toast?’ said his wife.

Her husband turned his head from side to side.

‘What are you doing today?’

‘Doing?’ said Cassius, with a faint frown. ‘How do you mean? In what way am I making myself useful?’

‘In what way are you to pass your time?’

‘Time passes of itself,’ said Cassius, in a deeper tone. ‘It does not need our dealings with it.’

‘But it has them,’ said his father. We use it for all we do. How are you using it today? That is your wife’s meaning.’

‘Bailiff; tenants; gardener,’ said Cassius, just enunciating the words.

‘And they are wearing you out?’

‘I suppose they do their part towards it day by day.’

‘If I may interpolate, sir,’ said Ainger, ‘they may not be available this morning. The flower show in the village will engross their attention.’

‘They will come to me if I want them.’

‘Yes, certainly, sir.’

‘It is not a public holiday.’

‘It has come to be observed as a local one, sir.’

‘Do you want to go gallivanting with the rest?’

‘I am familiar with our exhibits, sir. If the others are inferior, why see them? And if superior, we may want to see them even less.’

‘Ours are hardly up to standard this year.’

‘For a reason that need not be discussed, sir,’ said Ainger, as if this would be a needless breach of convention.

‘The want of another gardener? We cannot afford a second. We might perhaps have a boy.’

‘I doubt if William has the tolerance, sir.’

‘Do you find that yours is taxed?’

‘Well, I am inured, sir.’

‘And William will become so, if I wish it.’

‘We cannot add a cubit to our stature, sir.’

‘There are several boys without work in the village.’

‘We do not want Master Toby among them, sir,’ said Ainger, with a smile.

‘So your hours will be empty today,’ said Mr Clare to his son.

The latter just glanced at him and leaned his head on his hand.

‘Accounts,’ he said, in a just audible tone.

‘The library will be ready, sir,’ said Ainger.

‘I have said it is always to be so.’

‘The desk and the writing materials were my reference, sir.’

‘And the ledgers and rent accounts,’ said Cassius, still supporting his head. ‘I shall want them at my hand.’

‘That is their situation, sir.’

‘How are you passing your time, Flavia?’ said Cassius.

‘I shall be doing the usual things.’

‘And is that an answer?’

‘Housekeeping, letters, gardening,’ said Flavia, putting her own head on her hand and echoing his tone.

‘Smoking, newspapers, dozing,’ said Mr Clare, more lightly.

Cassius appeared not to see or hear.

‘Wine-cellar, silver, sideboard, sir,’ said Ainger, in a tone of coming to his master’ said. ‘Arrears accumulate as soon as effort fluctuates.’

‘How about the wine from London?’ said Cassius.

‘It is still in London, as far as I am informed, sir.’

‘When did you write for it, Cassius?’ said Flavia.

‘I cannot be sure of the exact day.’

‘Did you write at all?’ said his father. ‘It is a thing that would be hard for you.’

‘Then it would be natural if I did not write.’

‘And it is natural that the wine has not come,’ said his wife.

‘Can I indite the order for you, sir?’ said Ainger.

‘Well, you may copy the rough draft on my desk, if I have omitted to do so.’

‘The one I dictated, sir? I do not need to recapitulate. My memory is one of my characteristics.’

‘You have not been active in the matter, my boy,’ said Mr Clare.

Cassius leaned back in his chair, active in nothing.