Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Mighty and Their Fall

There were some outside the door.

“It is a thunderbolt, Cook,” said Ainger. “The old master! Who would have thought it?”

“Not you or I, unless we forgot ourselves.”

“So I am better in a way than he was.”

“There are other points of difference that we might be alive to.”

“Well, it seems the first can be last, and the last first.”

“Ainger, you should curb your tongue. It carries you onward.”

“It is not so much of a failing.”

“You are confident of yourself. No sin is venial.”

“You never lose your hope of me, do you?”

“Well, if I am struck by glimpses, it is not for you to express it.”

“What is it all about?” said another voice.

“You need not put questions, James. You go beyond yourself.”

“You can keep to your place,” said Ainger. “You are beginning to grace it.”

“Am I better than I was?” said James, with his face in a sudden glow.

“You are on the upward grade, James,” said Cook, in a severe tone. “But do not overestimate it and fall backwards. That is a snare.”

“And go and do something useful,” said Ainger, yawning.

“Yes, sir,” said James, his step, as he sprang away, causing Cook to start and glance aside.

“So you were ashamed of what you were doing,” said Ainger with a grin.

“Well, gossip is no ground for pride. Though we all stoop at times.”

“We don’t have to stoop so much, when we are already low.”

“I do not apply the term to myself. Nor is it used by others.”

“A thing I should not choose to be, is a governess.”

“Well, the choice might not fall on you, Ainger. You might be seen as lacking on some points.”

“I hope we shall listen to some further revelations.”

“There is no need for downrightness. Overhearing is a word.”

“It is hardly the right one.”

“Well, we can strain at a gnat.”

“I should call it swallowing a camel.”

“You need not cap me, Ainger. My words may stand. And we have talked enough. There are signs.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be on the other side of the door?”

“If I cannot deny it, it is where I should not be,” said Cook, as she walked away.

“Has the breakfast hour been changed?” said Ninian.

“You know it has not,” said Teresa. “We are observing the usual one. The others are late this morning.”

“Not late in coming down. I have ended that. They are loitering outside the house, expecting us to wait for them.”

“Well, they will be disappointed, and will not expect it again.”

“I am a solitary creature,” said Ninian, trying to smile. “Steering my course alone! Well, I should be used to it.”

“They will soon be coming in.”

Ninian raised his shoulders and dropped them in easy despair.

“Oh, I believe Hugo has returned! They have gone out to welcome him and hear his news.”

“Then they may as well stay out,” said Ninian, with a faint, frowning movement of his eyes towards Ainger. “Breakfast will be over before they come in.”

“Yours will be, if it proceeds at that rate.”

Ninian put aside his plate and turned to the next with an air of quiet attention.

“Shall I bring something hot, ma’am?” said Ainger, as he removed the plate.

“No, there is no need,” said Ninian, without looking up.

“Ainger was speaking to me,” said his wife.

“Well, I have answered for us both. You need not trouble.”

“Mr. Hugo has travelled at night, sir. He will want something.”

“There does not seem any sign of it. Perhaps he has had breakfast.”

“No, sir. The train has not long been in. He must be tired and hungry.”

“He can hardly be the last,” said Ninian, half-laughing. “Or he would be more anxious to remedy the matter.”

“He seems to have something to tell, that is detaining them, sir.”

“It does appear to have that result.”

“The mistress is with them, sir,” said Ainger, as if this was significant.

“Oh, I am glad she is equal to it. We need not keep you any longer.”

“No, sir,” said Ainger, with a readiness that disposed of any desire to remain.

As footsteps were heard, Ninian rose from the table, brushed his napkin across his lips and went to the door. Encountering the group, he waited for them to pass, and pursued his way.

“Stay, Father,” said Egbert. “Uncle Hugo has his news to tell.”

“Nothing urgent, I gather. There was no hurry to impart it.”

“We were spellbound by it. It may have far results. You must wait and hear it.”

“I have waited,” said his father.

“Tell him, Hugo,” said Selina, sinking into a chair and ignoring her son’s mood. “A few words will be enough.”

“You will hear it, Ninian?” said Hugo.

“Yes, if it concerns me. It seemed that it did not.”

“You will feel it does. It is what I had a hope it might be. A hope I hardly dared to frame. I have found out the truth about myself. And I am not your father’s son. I have traced the events to my birth, pursued the evidence, followed every track, and reached a certain result. My father was a widowed friend of your father’s, whose death your father caused in a moment of youthful violence. He suffered a lifetime’s remorse, never uttered a word of the truth, preferred any account of his adoption of me to the true one. That is the whole story. You see its meaning for me. I am not related to Lavinia. Our future is free and clear. You will rejoice with us, if you are a natural father.”

There was a pause.

“The certainty is absolute?” said Ninian. “As a natural father I must ask that.”

“It may be, my son,” said Selina. “The account agrees with what I know. There may be no room for doubt. There must be proof, if you want it and will follow it. But Hugo is prepared.”

“As a natural father I am disturbed,” said Ninian, in a lighter tone. “There is the risk that the threat of this marriage may return. But I hope it is only a natural father’s uneasiness.”

“A threat? It is a certainty,” said Hugo. “Of course it will return. That was the object of my effort, and is its reward. I thought you understood.”

“I feared it,” said Ninian, as if to himself. “It flashed into my mind as I heard. We must hope the danger will pass.”

“What have you against the marriage?”

Ninian gave a sigh, as if at a threadbare question.

“I will say one thing once. Your holding Lavinia to a life that denies her youth. That is, the sacrifice of it. Surely it is enough.”

“She will make the life for us both. I am willing to share what is hers. I am free from the pride that would satisfy itself at her expense.”

“Well, would not everything be at her expense?” said Ninian, with a little laugh. “It is true that you are without pride. But the words are empty ones. It is too late for the change’”

“It is the time for it, as you know. And I shall not touch what is not mine. Lavinia will deal with it.”

“But there would only be what was yours,” said Ninian, contracting his brows. “What was hers is put to other purposes. Both you and she know it.”

“There has been no change. She has taken no legal step. It has simply to remain in her hands.”

“Yes, we must ask that, Father,” said Lavinia.

“But what do you ask?” said Ninian, with a bewildered air. “It cannot be withdrawn now. Its uses are mapped out and settled as your uncle wished.”

“Nothing has been done,” said Teresa. “It has not been put to any use. Lavinia sees it as hers.”

“This series of steps!” said Ninian, smiling. “And the same money! How many times can it be given away?”