Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Present and the Past

‘Yes, sir, we crowned it with success, as it were. Were the tablets where he would come on them?’

‘There are some in the desk. I keep them for myself, and must do so. I did not turn the key on them. Why should I do such a thing? He is a man of fifty and my son. And I felt he had done this once and for all. I thought there were signs of it. And there were signs. I know him.’

‘I should have said the same of myself, sir. It seems we are not to know each other.’

‘I know my son. I have foretold his actions. I have seen them in his words. I did not foretell this. Can there be a change?’

‘I should have thought not, sir. I should have said there was something immutable. I hope this is not part of it,’ said Ainger, ending almost with a smile.

‘We must see that it is not. We must protect him from himself, and ourselves from him. But it serves no purpose to stand with our eyes on him. He looks as he did last time, and for a while must do so. Last time! What a way to have to talk!’

Mr Clare turned with a silent step, as if his son were asleep.

‘Let me lead you away, sir,’ said Ainger, putting his hand under his arm. ‘I will look in on the master myself. Though he does not know it, my eye will be on him. It will not be the first time.’

‘Come to me, if there is any change. And when your mistress returns, bring her to me.’

‘I will break it to her myself, sir. I can spare you that. And you may rely on the method. It is fortunate that she is to be away for some hours. When she returns, the worst will be over.’

‘And the rest will begin. And we have had enough. I do not see why a woman should bear anything, or an old man either. He will not teach me to forget that I am his father, but I can only answer for myself.’

‘We all have to make our sacrifice for the master, sir. And it seems to bind us together. In a way it is the meaning of the house.’

When Flavia returned late in the day, Ainger was waiting in the. hall.

‘I am both glad and sorry to see you, ma’am. I hope we have done right. We have had our trouble again, and have had to use our own judgement. It could not have been foreseen.’

‘What is the matter?’

‘It is the same thing again, ma’am. The master was found as before. I happened to look in on him. It is a good thing the instinct prompted me. I don’t know if the coming event cast its shadow before.’

‘There was some kind of shadow. It has followed me all day. I ought to have stayed at home. What is the truth?’

‘Simply the same as previously, ma’am. Or I trust we can say it is. We thought it best to leave him, as the doctor found nothing to do. But as the hours passed and there was no change, I took it upon myself to send for him. He should be here at any moment. I did riot tell Mr Clare for fear of alarming him. Yes, ma’am, on the sofa, as before.’

Flavia was standing by Cassius, as his father had stood. She turned to Ainger at once.

‘You are not right that there has been no change. There have been more than one. When did the last one come?’

‘I admit I am alarmed myself, ma’am.’

‘It is useless for me to say that the doctor should have come at once.’

‘It may partake of wisdom after the event, ma’am.’

‘It is wisdom nevertheless,’ said Flavia, turning again to her husband.

The minutes passed in silence. There was nothing to do but live through them. Ainger waited at the door for the doctor, and they hastened to the library. Mr Clare entered with them, summoned by the sounds.

The silence, held and grew. The doctor bent over Cassius. Ainger moved to his hand, obeyed his hurried word. Some necessary things were done, and he turned and faced the wife and father.

‘It is worse this time,’ said Mr Clare. ‘Has he taken more than before?’

‘He has taken nothing. This is a different thing. It is a sudden illness. It is an affection of the heart not unusual in middle-aged men. If stimulants had been given in time, it might have been different. I can say it would have been. I should have been sent for at once, as, if you had known, you would have sent for me.’

‘But how could we know? How could we suspect this second thing? It had all the appearance of the first.’

‘You could not know. You are not to blame. You thought and did what was natural.’

‘And now is there any hope?’

The doctor did not answer, and Mr Clare turned to his son.

‘Poor boy, poor boy!’ he said.

‘Can nothing be done?’ said Flavia.

The doctor looked at the sick man, and Flavia followed his eyes. Nothing could be done but stand by Cassius, feeling there might be comfort in their presence, knowing there was none; nothing but watch the shortening breath, and feel their own stop, as a sudden deep sigh preceded a silence.

There was a faint stir as it came. The doctor bent over the couch. The wife and father remained with their eyes on it until they found they were alone. Voices were heard outside and seemed to liberate their own.

‘I could not know, my dear. How could anyone know? This takes more of my life than yours.’

‘What kind of a life did Cassius have?’ said Flavia, with a cry in her tones. ‘Did he find it worth while? Did it hold as much as other men’s? Did he feel that it did? Did he ever tell you how he saw it?’

‘It is no good to wish it different. It would be to wish him different, and this is not the time.’

‘I cannot help wishing it. It would have been better for him. I wish he had been happier. I wish he had had more. I wish I had given it to him. I had the opportunity day by day. I had it only a few hours ago, and to the end of my life I shall wish it.’

‘I hardly do so. I gave him what I had to give. And I do not need to talk of the end of my life. It is at its end. My son and I will be together, even if in emptiness.’

‘It is hard to think Cassius does not exist, harder than to think it of other men. It seems that he would be angry about it, that it ought not to have happened to him.’

‘Do we feel it should happen to any of us? Do our reason and our feeling work together? How should they do so? We do not welcome the truth.’

‘We cannot know what it is.’

‘We cannot prove that we know it. We may cling to that.’

‘How good a wife do you think I was to him?’

‘As good as any woman could have been. No one was the wife for Cassius. It was easier to be his father.’

‘What a difficult life! And yet why need it have been? He seemed to have the nature of a child and the feelings of a man. I see him like that suddenly, and feel I should always have done so.’

‘There is some truth in it, my dear. I said that my part was the easier.’.

‘So I shall live without Cassius,’

‘And I shall die without him. And I did not look to do that. I have thought of his living without me. He is more fortunate than I am, or I like to think so.’

Ainger returned to the room and went up to Mr Clare.

‘May I advisé you to accompany us, ma’am?’ he said, as he led him to the door. ‘It would have been the master’s wish. That is what remains to us.’

They followed Ainger to the drawing-room, and saw that he was serving them with a sense of fulfilling his master’s directions. It occurred to them both to wonder what these would have been.

‘So you and I will be here together,’ said Flavia to her father-in-law. ‘And when you die, I shall be here alone. I shall be alone with the children. I shall deal with them alone. Cassius would have said I should have Catherine, but I shall not have her. It will be a stretch of emptiness. I do not feel I can face it.’

‘We are able for what we must. If our strength fails, it brings our solution. And yours will take you on. I do not say you are fortunate. You will find a barren path and you will follow it.’