Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Mighty and Their Fall

“They know you would not have used it.”

“I am going to sleep,” said Selina, and closed her eyes.

“We have not been a success,” said Hugo. “Even you did not aim high.”

“It would have been to court failure. I chose to avoid it.”

“We have met it on a meaner scale. And she saw the meanness.”

“Yes, I saw it,” said Selina, dreamily.

As the pair went out of the room, they were noiselessly approached by Ainger.

“How is the mistress today, sir?”

“Very ill, as you know,” said Ninian. “Her heart is weak.”

“I can’t help feeling she is more herself,” said Hugo.

“Well, neither can I, sir. I have the intimation.”

“I think you might have it, if you heard her talk.”

“Yes, sir, that might support it,” said Ainger, who had found it did.

“You will see the hall is kept quiet?” said Ninian.

“Yes, sir. That accounts for my presence. Otherwise there are calls on my time.”

“When the post comes, do not take any letters to the mistress. One of us will take them later.”

“Yes, sir. Miss Lavinia sorts the second post. It can be left to her,” said Ainger, as the two men moved away.

“Well, has anything transpired, Ainger?” said another voice.

“Well, I have my impression, Cook. And Mr. Hugo shared it.”

“And what did you share? Words are at your disposal.”

“Well, I was on guard here to prevent disturbance. And I could not help hearing what passed.”

“I believe you cannot help it, Ainger,” said Cook gravely. “And it is time you conquered yourself. You will be hearing something to cause discomfiture.”

“For myself or somebody else?”

“Well, who was in the uncertain place? And is it a case for insinuation?”

“You are right, Cook. It is not the occasion. And I was not about to go further. But I chanced to hear the mistress, that is, to catch her words.”

“I throw no doubt on it. I fear it is the truth. And they acted as a check on you?”

“Well, perhaps that was hardly the case,” said Ainger, controlling a smile.

“Well, explain yourself. There is no call to be oracular.”

“To tell you the truth, Cook,” said Ainger, lowering his voice and leaning towards her, “if I were on the brink, as the mistress may be, I should not feel such words of a kind to pass my lips.”

“Why, they were not of a dubious nature?”

“Cook, if they were, should I pass them on? Should I betray a lady on the verge, and of an age and standing?”

“I hope not, Ainger. I go no further. And what are you doing?”

“Well, I have done it now,” said Ainger, changing his tone. “And it was not so much. Just her tendency, if you understand.”

“I do, Ainger. And the Almighty might do so too, having fashioned her as she is.”

“Well, in his place I should feel I might have done better. What is the good of being almighty?”

“It is not a place you would be in. And you may continue in another vein.”

“Well, there is more to come, if I am to tell the whole. But perhaps my lips should be sealed.”

“If it may fester, Ainger, if it may act in that way, you should cast it off. There are things that are better shared.”

“You said the Almighty would understand the mistress, as he had fashioned her. I wonder what he would say to his existence being questioned. Who would have fashioned her then?”

“Surely it was not what passed?”

“Cook, it was implied. The after life was doubted. And in a light spirit.”

“Well, she goes to what is before her. We do not penetrate further. It might be too much.”

“It might indeed in a sense.”

“Ainger, we will say no more. It is not our part to frame thoughts.”

“I don’t think the old lady will leave us myself. And we may feel it to be as well.”

“Myself I say one thing. I have had kindness from the mistress. Those remain my words.”

“You might say other things, if you heard what I do.”

“Ainger, you lower yourself. Listening is your snare. You carry it beyond a point. And here are the postman and Miss Lavinia; they warn us that we are wasting time.”

“One letter for the mistress, two for the master, one each for you and Mr. Egbert, miss,” said Ainger. “One for Cook, if I may take it. And none for your humble servant; I mean none for me, miss. Well, it saves the need of reply.”

“Don’t you like writing letters?” said Lavinia.

“Well, when I attain the mood, miss. Then the words out-distance my pen,” said Ainger, as he strode away.

“Any letters for me?” said Egbert, entering the hall.

“One each for you and me and Father,” said Lavinia, putting the last on the table. “Here are yours and mine. I will take Grandma’s to her room.”

“Will she be able to read it?”

“Well, it may be the last. And then what a home it will be! Grandma gone, Father gone in spirit, no change in anything else! We shall spend our lives waiting for a difference that does not come.”

Lavinia went in to Selina’s room, and as she came out met Ninian.

“There is a letter for you in the hall, Father. I have put one by Grandma’s bed. She seemed to see and hear me. I wonder how often she will do either again.”

“I can’t help feeling she is better. She seemed so like herself.”

“She will be that as long as she breathes. It is not in her to be different.”

“When we are near our end, there must seem to be less in us. It is not so with her. It may mean she has not reached it.”

“If only it could mean it, Father!”

Ninian put his hand on her shoulder, and they went together to the library. Her face was resolute and somehow uplifted, and his quiet and without hope. When they sat down, he put his arm about her in his old way, and she leant against him in hers. Egbert and Hugo looked at them, and at each other; and the old life seemed to return as a shadow of itself.

It was not many days before Selina was amongst them, weak and on a sofa, but alert to all that passed.

“How angry I feel,” said Egbert, “that we have suffered needless anxiety! And what a foolish word it is! As if anxiety did any good!”

“It has done some in this case,” said Selina. “It has enhanced my value.”

“It has made us realise it, Mother,” said Ninian.

“I will make the most of it. I am in no hurry for the usual round. And there is no need for what I do. I will just see my letters and answer those that want it.”

“There were not very many,” said Lavinia. “It is too soon for you to trouble. None of them would be urgent. There is none for you today, Uncle Hugo.”

“How kind to make it sound an exception! I am sorry not to have one today.”

“You had several a week or two ago,” said Egbert.

“Whom were they from?” said Selina.

“Oh, no one who mattered,” said Hugo.

“Don’t baffle me, my boy. Why should I suffer curiosity? You have letters so seldom.”

“Why should I suffer mortification? How do you know I have not a clandestine correspondence?”

“Perhaps it is what you were having,” said Lavinia, smiling.

“Were the letters from Teresa?” said Ninian.

“Yes. It was almost as Lavinia says. It was a covert interchange, and brought matters to a close. I betrayed what I was, in time. And she saw what I was not. And all was as if it had not been.”

“So it was as I knew,” said Selina. “Well, I always know.”

“So a chapter is ended,” said Lavinia.

“This was hardly a page,” said Hugo.

“Unlike my part of it,” said Ninian. “I will not deny the truth.”

“It was all the same one, Father. It is closed now.”

“I wonder what she saw in you, Hugo,” said Selina. “I suppose mothers always wonder that.”