Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Mighty and Their Fall

“She can hear no more,” said Teresa. “No one else would have heard so much. It does harm and will leave a memory.”

“If you are equal to it, Egbert,” said Ninian, turning to his son, “we might go and review the new position. I would not suggest it today, but this talk has taken our minds from their natural course, and made it hardly fitting to return to it.”

“We have had enough of it all,” said his wife. “We will go out of doors and forget it. Your feelings need a rest, and not only yours.”

Ninian laid his hand on Egbert’s shoulder, paused for the women to precede him, glanced at his daughter as she waited for Hugo, and went from the house.

“Lavinia, what can be done? Shall we always be in his power? Will he always have it all?”

“Yes, always most of it. We could never cast him off.”

“I will say the truth. I think I could. He does all he can to help us. We will live at a distance from him.”

“No, I must be near him. I can’t help my feeling. I have tried to lose it and I have lost a part. But something remains and holds me to him. To give it up would tear up the roots of my life.”

“I have never believed in God. I believe in him now. We have known he is a father. And I see that he is yours. There are the anger, jealousy, vaingloriousness, vengefulness, love, compassion, infinite power. The matter is in no doubt.”

“If simplicity is our object, here is our scene,” said Ninian in a cold tone, as they approached the garden assigned to the children. “Let us see what is taking place.”

Leah was holding a tombstone in position, while Hengist piled up some earth to keep it secure. Agnes lay on the grass at hand, writing with a preoccupied expression.

“What are you doing?” said Ninian. “Where did you get the stone?”

“From the back of the churchyard,” said his son. “We are putting up a monument to Grandma. It is quite proper, as the tombstone is a real one. The words are worn away, and Agnes is writing some more.”

“It will be a sacred spot. People have more honour when they are dead,” said Leah, who perhaps gave her own support to the theory.

“It will be sacred to me,” said Ninian, turning to retrace his steps to the house. — “Now how our minds work on similar lines, when they are bound by affection and sympathy! The idea of my mother’s passing without visible remembrance was unnatural to them, as it was to me. They are at a stage when the first true instincts have not been blunted.”

“And are you still at the stage?” said Hugo.

“Yes, as regards my mother. I hope I shall always be. I wonder you do not feel more of a son to her.”

“I do feel one. She has given me reason.”

“I was not thinking of the legacy.”

“Neither was Hugo,” said Lavinia.

“Well I was. I do like to dwell on it. It improves me so much. Something of bitterness seems to melt away.”

“It is a strange thing,” said Ninian, almost with a smile. “But we do not accept change. It sometimes goes too deep. I almost found myself saying I must go to my mother.”

“Suppose you had quite said it?” said Hugo. “What should we have done?”

“You do not know?” said Ninian. “Lavinia would once have known.”

“It is true that I do not know now, Father.”

“I know,” said Teresa. “We should have waited for you to realise your mistake. And that would have been in a moment.”

“I could never have done any more,” said Lavinia.

“I should have been at a loss,” said Hugo. “But I don’t see how anyone could have known.”

“It would have been clear to me,” said Ninian.

“You are trying to be subtle. And I almost think you are succeeding.”

“You do not emulate me? You are open and simple in your outlook on your life.”

“Not more than the rest of us,” said Lavinia.

“Come, you have not found that,” said Ninian. “Have you forgotten your grandmother?”

“No, I remember her, and everything about her. It is you who are beginning to forget.”

“Why do you want to be estranged from me, my child? In order to marry against my will without compunction?”

“We shall both do that,” said Hugo. “And quite without it. And you are taking your own way to the estrangement.”

“And a sure one,” said Teresa.

“There is no way,” said Ninian.

“I hardly think there is,” said Lavinia, almost wearily. “If there was, it would have been found by now.”

“Would you like to see my mother’s will, Hugo?” said Ninian. “And her message to you at the end?”

“No, I should find it too much. Such things go very deep with me.”

“Would anyone of whom that was true, say it?”

“I thought you did not know, Ninian. You did not mean to make a heartless suggestion.”

“I think I should show you the message. She meant you to see it.”

“But must not time elapse, before I face the familiar hand?”

“So you really find it a subject for jest?”

“It is my way of steeling myself against it. In these matters we are always misunderstood.”

Ninian left them and returned with the will, laid it on the library table and stood aside. For a time no one moved or spoke. Then Hugo went up and looked at it.

“Well?” said Ninian, after a pause.

“Well, it is just as you said it was.”

“You see it with your own eyes now?”

“I had seen it through yours. You had the power to bring it before me.”

“You can see my mother forcing herself to form the words.”

“Oh, no, I cannot. It would be too much.”

“The writing wrung my heart,” said Ninian.

“Why did you ask me to see it? So that my heart would be wrung?”

“I hoped it would be touched enough for the words to be their work.”

“Why only touched, when yours was wrung?”

“My words were the right ones,” said Ninian, and left the room.

He came on the children returning from the garden.

“Well, is the memorial complete?”

“We couldn’t make it stand,” said Hengist. “And Agnes made the epitaph just from herself and not from all of us.”

“Is there any need to have one?”

“Yes, or it would be a memorial to someone else.”

“Who had no name,” said Leah, “and only lived nineteen years.”

“That disposes of the matter. Is not Miss Starkie with you today?”

“No, it is her free afternoon. Grandma used to wonder why she wanted one.”

“To have a respite from the three of you. I do not share the wonder.”

“I daresay her life does need courage,” said Agnes, lifting her brows.

“Well, run upstairs and behave as if she was with you.”

“Nurse will be there,” said Leah. “We can’t be left alone. It has been proved.”

“You turn your eyes on yourselves. I hope you are pleased with what you see.”

The children laughed and ran to the stairs, Agnes chancing to drop a piece of paper as she went. Ninian picked it up.

‘In memory of Selina, beloved and loving grandmother of Agnes Middleton, who died on the—’

His daughter paused and turned, and he let the paper fall and re-entered the library.

“Should not Hugo and Lavinia sometimes be left to themselves?” he said in a cold tone. “If their relation is accepted, it should be observed. Are you not too often with them?”

His wife and son rose and followed him, and the two were alone.

“So we shall never be forgiven,” said Lavinia. “It will work itself into our lives.”

“Further into his. He is planning it himself. He will lose the most.”

“I believe he is trying to serve me. He is honest in part of what he says.”

“What right has he to judge? Has he used you so well? You have not thought so. And I have always been with you. Always, as you remember.”