Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Mighty and Their Fall

“I thought they saw what no one else could see.”

“You showed the best of yourself. And she took you at your valuation. That is what people do.”

“Only because we hope so. They really take us at theirs. And that is what she came to do. Mine was a little different.”

“It is a common position,” said Egbert. “We do tend to feel we might be taken at a higher one. Think how Miss Starkie must feel it.”

“I daresay she does. Indeed I have seen signs of it,” said Selina, as if this was not in Miss Starkie’s favour.

“She has no reason to hide them,” said Ninian.

“She only does her duty. She is in as good a place as she deserves.”

“As good as has come her way. She deserves a kingdom.”

“And she has one, Mr. Middleton,” said Miss Starkie’s voice. “Her own little kingdom of youth and hope, the kingdom of her choice. And she would not change it. Her own view of it is enough for her.”

“That is a happy thing for us. Can we help you in it?”

“I came for some reassurance for the children about their grandmother,” said Miss Starkie, her tone light on the last word, as though not bestowing on it any deep feeling. “Agnes has been in great — has been quite anxious about her.”

“And no one else anything at all,” said Selina. “If I had died, Leah would have said it made no difference. And Hengist would not have disputed it.”

“Oh, I think Leah uses those words in a sense of her own.”

“I don’t doubt she does. With the simplest meaning.”

“She is limited to her range. She does not yet deal in the wider issues. Oh, there is a great deal of good hidden in Leah.”

“I don’t see how we are to know about it.”

“It will emerge in time. We need have no fear. I have none. Deep things grow slowly.”

“I don’t know why they should. Or how we know they are deep.”

“Oh, I believe you have a soft spot in your heart for Leah, Mrs. Middleton,” said Miss Starkie, using her own powers of divination.

“It is to my credit, if I have. There is nothing to help me. Unless your faith is infectious.”

“Ah, I believe it is. I believe it is gaining a hold. I see the signs.”

“Well, tell the children their grandmother is almost herself,” said Ninian. “And thank you for coming to see.”

“I rejoice — shall be glad to be the bearer of such tidings. And, if I may, I will say she is quite herself. I see every sign of it. Thank you, Egbert.”

Miss Starkie smiled and passed through the door, and Selina rose.

“She reminds us that things must go on. It is a quality in her calling. I will go and deal with my letters. I have not looked at them.”

“No, don’t go yourself, Grandma,” said Lavinia, getting up. “I will fetch them, and you can sort them here. There are only a few.”

“I will go,” said Egbert. “The lid of that desk is stiff. I remember how to deal with it.”

“No, I will go,” said his sister, moving past him and checking herself. “It must be opened in a certain way. In one place the wood is broken.”

“Let Egbert go,” said Ninian. “You don’t need to do everything, Lavinia.”

His daughter sat down and opened a book, and her brother returned with the letters and gave them to his grandmother.

“Not so many,” she said. “I was not ill long. Some from people who do not matter. They are the ones who write. I suppose we mean less to the others. No need to answer them yet. It keeps the ball rolling. A letter without an envelope, that must have got in by mistake. Dated ten days ago, when I was at my worst. It is for you, Ninian, and from Teresa! Now how is that explained?”

“You must have opened it when you were ill, and hardly knew what you were doing. You thought it would trouble me, and put it out of sight. Your mind was out of control. That is what it must have been.”

“Or anyhow might have been,” said Lavinia.

“But was not. My mind was my own, when I used it. I should have thought you would remember. I did not open letters or put them anywhere. I should not have done either.”

“Of course you would not, Grandma; or not consciously,” said Lavinia.

“The letter would have been addressed to Father,” said Egbert. “And would normally have been put in the hall.”

“Unless it was enclosed in a letter to Grandma,” said Lavinia.

“That is an idea,” said her father. “That may be what it was. Teresa did not want a letter in her writing to be about. And there were reasons against it.”

“But where is the letter to me? And where are the envelopes?” said Selina. “I have none of them. And I opened nothing.”

“You may have forgotten,” said her son. “It is best not to think about it.”

He sent his eyes down to the letter, as if he could not keep them from it.

“What does it say, Father?” said Lavinia, in a tentative tone.

Ninian did not answer, and in a moment spoke almost to himself.

“So her word came and miscarried. It might not have come to light. How we are in the hands of chance!”

“In the hands of something else,” said Selina. “Chance is not equal to so much. I hold to what I have said. I was conscious or not all the time. There was no middle state.”

“That is the one that is not recognised by the person who is in it.”

“It is recognised by other people, indeed imagined by them. But it can serve its purpose. Let it all be as you say. We will leave it there.”

“Does the letter matter, Father?” said Lavinia, just uttering the words.

“It tells me something I was meant to know. Its coming to me late may matter. But I can hope not.”

“What does it say, my son?” said Selina.

“I was waiting for that. Do you expect me to read it aloud?”

“Not if it is only for yourself. You can give it to me later.”

“I will keep it in my own hands,” said Ninian.

“Does it say anything we are to know?” said Hugo.

“Well, it throws its light. On you and herself. It may be I, who lose the chance to appear as I am.”

“Let us hear it, if you can, Father,” said Lavinia. “It is the simplest way.”

Her father glanced at her and opened the letter.

“‘Dear Ninian,

I have a word to say to you, more honest than most women would say. I have now little feeling for my own life. The one I thought I had, has gone, as such feelings have gone before. So I have little to give, and little zest for giving it. But I will give it to you, if it is better than nothing for you. If it is not, do not answer this letter, and in a week I will put you and yours in a memory to be uncovered only by myself. Yours with regret and remembrance,

Teresa Chilton.’”

“Well, that is her offer,” said Selina. “So you may have what is left.”

“It has its own quality,” said Lavinia. “She has little to give, and so offers little. She does not evade the truth.”

“She offers all she has,” said Ninian. “I offered no more.”

“It seems a shadow of a letter, Father. It somehow has no substance.”

“It means what it does, as you have said.”

“Yes, we must give her her due. She is ending things as well as she can. Perhaps she could not do less. But she could not do more either.”

“I still do not want anyone’s opinion of her.”

“It is only mine, Father; not the same to you as any other,” said Lavinia, putting her hand on his. “And we share it, as we share everything.”

Ninian covered the hand with his own, but answered without looking at her.

“We will share what we can. Some things are only for ourselves.”

“I wish everything was,” said Hugo at once. “It is the first feeling I remembered. I was glad to grow up and no longer be reproached for it.”