Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Mighty and Their Fall

Selina passed with a faltering tread, conscious of it, if not causing it. And as it died away another followed.

“It is only me, Mr. Middleton. Only I, I should say. I am late in leaving the scene of my efforts today.”

“That is what it has been, I fear. It is good of you to help us.”

“It is good to be needed. That should be enough.”

“Suppose I were in your place!” said Hugo. “And people needed me!”

“Ah, you have your word, Mr. Hugo. But you are there in case of need. And you know what is said of those who only stand and wait.”

“I do. And I feel I may suggest it. I suppose our fears about ourselves are always well founded.”

“Ah, they are great words, Mr. Hugo,” said Miss Starkie, yielding to the didactic spirit, as she went to the door. “And they would be, even if we did not know from whom they came.”

“And that is not true of all great words. How clever and disillusioned you are! I must remember to say it.”

“Stay for a moment, Miss Starkie,” said Ninian. “We have our word to say. Our reluctance to say it shows it must be said. We make our judgement in order to forget it. It must be what it is.”

“Yes, we must not evade it, Mr. Middleton. It is unworthy to shrink from the truth. If we faltered in our guidance, it is we who have failed. It is ourselves whom we judge.”

There was a pause.

“Yes, I feel it indeed. The words might be mine,” said Ninian, accompanying her to the hall. “It is a thing in which we must be at one.”

“So your father had to make a false claim,” said Hugo. “It seemed to come easily to him. How much practice has he had? Miss Starkie judged him by herself. His mind is a sealed book to her.”

“I wish it was to me. Why isn’t it, when so many minds are?”

“I hardly think Miss Starkie’s is. Anyhow she has unsealed it.”

“I am given both a better and a worse character than I deserve,” said Ninian, returning in a manner at once absent and constrained. “I am neither so generous in shouldering blame nor guilty of so much.”

“Why could you not say so?” said Hugo.

Ninian just raised his brows.

“People used to instructing cannot accept instruction. It would have been to waste words. But it is no tribute to anyone to shift the just blame.”

“But it lessens what does not take the form of tribute.”

Ninian moved his brows again and turned to find Teresa at his side.

“What does my wife think about it?”

“I liked what Miss Starkie said. Even if it is not the whole truth.”

“Ah, that would lead us into perilous ways. There would be danger for my poor Lavinia.”

“Not of a kind that mattered. Not compared to her losing her feeling for her father.”

“Oh, I don’t think that danger is very great,” said Ninian, with easy candour. “It was in that feeling that the danger lay.”

“You don’t take your daughter as seriously as you took her trouble.”

“I am advised by Miss Starkie that she is not responsible. I am not allowed to take her as I would choose. But perhaps I may be persuaded. I should naturally like to be.”

“I can’t understand why she felt so much for you.”

“Come, come, who should understand it but you? And why the past tense? Has she lost the feeling? Oh, no, I don’t think so. And all this is to be forgotten. And the feeling will return as we both forget.”

“I don’t follow this lighter treatment of a thing you took with such solemnity.”

“The solemnity was disapproved. And I don’t wonder, if that was the word. It was not, as you know. My trouble was real and remains so.”

“It seems to be less,” said his wife.

“Well, we do not cling to a sense of someone’s sin. We let it fade in its day. We will leave it and have an hour with my mother. Other things have a claim.”

“What things?” said Hugo, as the door closed. “Or rather what thing? Are you too sensitive to frame the thought?”

“I must be, because I dismissed it. Are you going to put it into words?”

“It is the promise of Ransom’s money. Everything pales beside it. And it is also a promise for you, and so for Lavinia.”

“For the distant future. It does nothing for her youth or mine. Nothing for her after my uncle’s death. What does she feel about living with him?”

“It is the alternative to being here, and being with her father. And to being with you and me. We did our best. And no one can do more. But that is a great pity.”

“If only we could identify ourselves with what she did!”

“Yes, we failed her there. And it was not a failure that was greater than success. And she did not think so.”

“What hours those have been! I shall welcome an ordinary day.”

“I shall not. I should have to make a habit of it. It is a pity so much has happened on one. It could have gone much further.”

“If it had not been for this, Uncle Ransom would have lived alone. That may have influenced him.”

“Yes, I saw him being influenced.”

“You see so much,” said Egbert.

“Yes, it has been my life work. And I can feel I have done it well.”

“Will Uncle Ransom leave anything to you?”

“I have asked myself that, as I could not ask him. No one thinks of my wanting anything. I never speak of it, as it is humbling to have needs that are not fulfilled. And people would wonder what I should do with money, if I had it. And I have had no chance to learn.”

“To learn what?” said Ninian, returning to the room.

“What to do with money. It is a thing you know.”

“I know it well. Its uses are indeed defined. There is none over.”

“I don’t dare to voice my thought.”

“No, do not voice it,” said Ninian, in a grave tone. “It is not mine. Ransom is my younger brother. It is his right to outlive me. I hope he will. If not, the disposal of what is his, is a question for him alone.”

“He has answered it, Father,” said Egbert.

“He can give it any other answer. If he does, we shall see it as the right one.”

“I admire nobility,” said Hugo. “But it is a pity for it to be wasted. You can accept the truth.”

“I cannot, for the reasons I have given. It is not the truth to me.”

“I suppose he might leave everything to Lavinia,” said Egbert, lightly.

“I suppose nothing.”

“Or divide it between all of us.”

“I suppose nothing,” said his father.

“What do you feel about Lavinia’s being with him?” said Hugo.

“A young girl with an ageing man in uncertain health? It is late to ask me what I feel. What good would it be to say?”

“He is not as old as we are. And our age does not matter any longer. It will soon be said that we get younger with every day.”

“It will not be said of Ransom,” said Ninian, still gravely.

“He is fortunate to have Lavinia,” said Egbert. “And he showed that he thought so.”

“Yes, the help is not only for her. May they both have it. I wish it from my heart. Now I must return to your grandmother. I came to fetch something for her. Other people can need help.”

“Why cannot we like people in lofty moods?” said Hugo. “I suppose it is their being so unnatural to them. It produces discomfort.”

“And they like themselves so much,” said Egbert. “Father is ennobling himself enough to balance his dealings with Lavinia. Or can he really be what he suggests? People’s views of themselves may not be always wrong.”

“It is when they express it. Or why should they need to? They must know there is no evidence for it.”

“Would you dare to express yours?”

“Well, I should have to ennoble myself,” said Hugo.