Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Mighty and Their Fall

“Did Miss Starkie tell you all this?”

“She answered my questions. She did not know what she told me. She is used to teaching with her mind astray”

“The letters have come, ma’am,” said Ainger at the door, his eyes wavering from Selina to Teresa in an uncertainty he had not resolved. “Will Miss Lavinia sort them?”

“She is going to stay with Mr. Ransom,” said Ninian. “I will sort them for her. And in future I will do it myself.”

“What is behind it, Cook?” said Ainger in the hall. “There is something beyond even me.”

“Well, is your sphere so wide? And complacence occurs as we go downwards.”

“Then you can look for it in me,” said another voice. “And expect to find it.”

“I do not look for anything in you, James. The idea not having struck me. And is the hall your place? — And when I speak, I await reply.”

“You didn’t speak to me.”

“Oh, there is this trouble with the name, Cook,” said Ainger, idly. “He is one thing to himself and another to everyone else.”

“I am myself and no other person,” said James, with a heat the words hardly seemed to warrant.

“And is it so much to be?” said Cook. “That you claim it in the face of everything? The self you refer to is known as James, to those who are aware of it.”

“I am myself and not the last boy.”

“It is a good thing you are not both. But whichever you are, you hear who speaks,” said Ainger, perhaps hardly avoiding the resented confusion.

“Yes,” said James, more faintly, glancing at Cook.

“Yes—?”

“Yes, sir,” said James, as he disappeared.

“Not a penny of mine for his thoughts,” said Ainger. “They are not worth it.”

“They are hardly my concern, his actions happening to suffice.”

“But I am glad I am not under anyone.”

“We are all under Someone, Ainger. I am myself,” said Cook, in full humility.

“Are you indeed? Is it a piece of news? You would hardly be the Someone, I suppose?”

“I should not,” said Cook, gravely. “You are right to suppose it. It not being a matter for doubt.”

“I sometimes wonder how much doubt you have of it.”

“I am silent, Ainger, the words not calling for reply.”

The speakers moved aside, as Lavinia came downstairs, and Selina and her sons and grandson entered the hall. Ninian’s glance went to his daughter’s coat, swept over the pocket and withdrew. Hugo and Egbert followed it and dropped their eyes.

“Good-bye, my child,” said Selina. “Be careful of yourself and my son. I am glad to feel you are with him.”

“Good-bye, my daughter,” said Ninian, stooping to her gravely and saying no more.

“I will not say good-bye,” said Teresa. “I shall see you too soon.”

“Anyone can see her, who wants to do that,” said Ransom.

The uncle and niece went together from the house, seeming in their different ways to lean on each other. Ninian waited for the carriage to start, and turned away. Selina sat down in the hall and sank into tears.

“What is it, Mother?” said her son.

“So you need to ask? You cannot need to know.”

“It is Ransom. But we hope for the best. Anyhow you have seen him again.”

“When I might have had him always! How little I have had! How little!”

Ninian led her away and the others followed them.

“If anything else happens,” said Egbert, “I shall not be conscious of it. I can’t be alive to any more. But I hardly think anything can. It has all done so.”

“We must take our courage in both hands. If we take it in one, perhaps we cannot use it. There are still things to come. Ransom will die; Lavinia will return; your father will sort the letters. There will only be one change from the past, but what a change!”

Selina sat down on a lower chair than usual, looking smaller than usual herself. She spoke as if continuing her words.

“I had rather he was well and away from me, than with me and near to his death. He is to lose everything. Others will have what is his. They will have what he has worked for. And they would rather have it than him. Their thought is on themselves.”

“It is on their home and mine, as his has been,” said Ninian. “It is his wish that we should have it, and our descendants after us. Not to welcome it would show ingratitude, and be unworthy of us and him.”

“Yes, you may be grateful. You must be. You will have everything and he will have nothing. And I shall not have my son.”

“You have hardly had him for many years,” said Hugo.

“As much as I have had you. I have looked for his letters and thought of him. And it is everything to hope.”

“And you have valued him for his absence,” said Ninian. “You have imagined him more than himself. That is why his presence has failed you.”

Selina turned away and sank into herself and silence.

“So your future is safe, Ninian,” said Hugo. “Ransom is your benefactor, and you are humbled before him. But your mother would humble you too far.”

“She may exalt him as much as she pleases,” said Ninian, in a rising tone. “A great burden is lifted off me, a threat from the lands of my fathers. I have lived alone with the anxiety. I will share the relief. As I realise it, I grudge him nothing. I grudge myself what I shall have, that should be his. I grudge myself my very gratitude. But it comes from my heart. I hope I shall be able to show it.”

“I am sure you will. You seem to have a gift for it. And it is a rare one.”

“How seldom people really rejoice!” said Egbert. “There is usually an alloy.”

“There is one here,” said Ninian gravely. “It is nearer to me than to you. But my brother knows we would help it, if we could; that we will, if we can. And he will see the good that is to come. I will not disguise my debt.”

“Debts do meet another fate. But will he be content with the reward?”

“He will not deem it nothing. It is what he chose of what could be his.”

“He may feel that nothing can be his. Most people would in his place.”

“You are not my friend, my boy,” said Ninian, looking at him. “But it is your future in my mind as much as my own. Yours and your children’s children’s. I must not see you as a friend, but I am your father.”

There was a pause.

“I can only wish I could bear this moment for you, Egbert,” said Hugo.

“Yes, I take less thought for my descendants than their great-grandfather does.”

“Yes, turn it off easily,” said Ninian. “It is the thing to do. But I meant what I said.”

“That is why it was so awkward,” said Hugo. “It sounded as if you did.”

“We cannot be silent beyond a point. There could be no reason.”

“Well, you were not. But we can be up to a point.”

“You might both be boys,” said Ninian. “Your every word suggests it.”

“I see it is my place. And Ransom is doing nothing about it.”

“Your home will be safe as well as mine. My house is yours. But we are never grateful for a thing, when someone else has more of it.”

“What a day it has been!” said Hugo. “There is material for an epic. The fall of Lavinia; the return of Ransom; the uplift of Ninian; the tragedy of Ransom; the escape of Lavinia; the lament of Selina. I hope there will be no more.”

“And the lament of Egbert,” said Ninian, gently, looking at his son. “It has not been spoken, but it has not been unheard. My boy, I know what the day has been for you. I know how you felt to your sister.”

“As I now feel to her, Father. She has not failed me.”

“I wish I could feel the same and say it.”

“I wish you had said it. She encountered forces too strong for her. And you know what they were.”