Ivy Compton-Burnett: The Mighty and Their Fall

“And that would be doing wrong indoors as well,” said Leah.

“Hengist, you thought we did not know. But there was Someone Who knew. Can you tell me Who saw what you did, and saw into your hearts as you did it?” Selina had no religion herself, but feared to let her grandchildren do without it.

“Well, God sees everything. And so in a way he can’t see anything. He must pass it over.”

“Leah and Hengist, He passes over nothing. What is there in your minds and lives that He does not know?”

“There isn’t much in our lives. Even Miss Starkie can’t say there is.”

“And she sometimes says there is nothing in our minds,” said Leah. “So he must have put it into them to do what we did.”

“I don’t think you needed help,” said Ninian.

“But he knows that children are innocent,” said Leah, her face grave.

“Well, of course he is one by himself,” said Hugo.

“What has Miss Starkie to say?” said Selina, resorting to the human sphere.

“Well, I am surprised and disappointed, Mrs. Middleton. I should be sorry to say I was not. I am glad Agnes did not join.”

“I thought something was happening,” said the latter. “But it seemed better not to look behind.”

“Ah, let us keep our eyes straight in front of us,” said Miss Starkie, illustrating the suggestion with her own. “That will be the way to steer our course.”

“Miss Starkie is very kind to you,” said Ninian. “I hope you know it.”

“She has to take us as we are,” said Leah.

“Indeed she does not. She will be wise to insist on a difference.”

“She might suppress our natural selves,” said Hengist. “And there is never gain without loss.”

“I think there are cases of it.”

“My lessons keep turning up, Mr. Middleton. They will find their setting in time.”

“Self-satisfaction is their snare,” said Selina, addressing her grandchildren’s backs, as they left the room. “That is what they should pluck out and cast from them.”

“But it does not offend them,” said Lavinia. “The condition is not met. And we all have our share of it.”

“I am surprised by mine,” said Hugo. “I should not have thought I should have any. I don’t know why I have.”

“Perhaps this pair are entitled to it,” said Selina, turning her eyes on her elder grandchildren.

“They are indeed by themselves,” said Ninian. “I fear I bear heavily on them. Lavinia would have had a different life, if her mother had lived.”

“Perhaps not a better one. She may not look back and wish it different.”

“It is for me to do that. For her and myself and all of us. I live with the might-have-beens.”

“Oh, I hope not, Father,” said Lavinia. “They should be left where they are, in the receding past.”

“They may be a guide for the future. There are lessons in our memories.”

“There is usually reproach in them,” said Hugo. “It may be the same thing. Is it not time for tea? I did not have very much luncheon. It was Hengist who did.”

“There was cold food on the sideboard,” said Ninian.

“I saw there was. And I saw it was cold. You are always so right, Ninian.”

“You can ring for tea, if you want it,” said Selina. “It is almost time.”

The bell was answered by the young butler, who glanced at Selina, turned to the door, and transferred a tray from an unseen hand to the table in one smooth movement.

“Did a spirit bring it?” said Hugo.

“It was Percival, sir,” said Ainger, in a tone that deprecated both the name and its bearer. “The new boy, if you have happened to notice. He is a pair of hands.”

“Then is he a sort of spirit? That he is so nearly disembodied.”

“You should see him at table, sir. You would hardly apply the term.”

“Must we call him Percival ?” said Selina. “What about the name of the last boy?”

“I made the suggestion, ma’am. And the rejoinder was that he was himself. A small point compared to others’ convenience!”

“The other name was James,” said Selina, considering it by itself.

“That is the case, ma’am. And it could well be the present one.”

“Well, arrange it in that way. And if necessary, refer to me.”

“I will exert my authority, ma’am,” said Ainger, as he left the room.

“Ainger does well in life,” said Hugo. “I wonder if he thinks the same of me. I can hardly bear the stamp of success.”

“It may be true of us all,” said Ninian. “The future does call for help. It is our time to move forward. We must remember the years ahead. There must be change in life. Indeed life itself is change.”

“It ends in death,” said Lavinia. “There is no need for haste. We go forward only too surely.”

“You talk in borrowed words,” said her father, smiling.

“And you talk in riddles,” said Selina.

“Well, the answer will come in its time.”

“Have your father’s words a meaning?” said Hugo to Lavinia. “Is anything coming that will throw us on each other?”

“I don’t think there is any fear.”

“I thought there might be hope.”

“Something is on us,” said Ainger. “There is something in the air. Well, we shall soon find out.”

“I am not one to ferret,” said the cook. “As I am not made on that line.”

“Well, he who has ears to hear! I am not sorry to have them.”

“You need not continue, Ainger. I am not a party to it.”

Ainger took his place by the kitchen fire, and Cook stood by him with a severe expression. She was a thin, sallow, middle-aged woman, with odd but definite features, undisguisedly toil-worn hands, and small, grey eyes that seemed to pierce any surface, and generally did so. Ainger was a tall man of twenty-eight, with a fresh, florid face, a broad, boyish nose, and blue eyes that penetrated nothing, which was perhaps why he used his ears. The bond between them did not come from their difference, but from their position above their fellows, which held them to a life apart.

“Well, the truth will come out,” said Ainger, turning on his heels. “Not that much seems to come to me.”

“Some things are withheld,” said Cook, looking unsympathetic towards this bearing. “We need not overestimate ourselves.”

“Well, no one saves us the trouble,” said Ainger, correcting it as if unconsciously. “And we can make a guess. Perhaps Mr. Hugo is going to be married. Well, he is not too young.”

“You need not make comments. And that is not my conjecture.”

“And you could not ever be wrong?”

“It might constitute an exception. But I take no credit.”

“Well, any change is better than none.”

“It depends on the nature. You should weigh your words.”

“The master will be in for luncheon. Straws point the way of the wind. It may mean the revelation. I aim to set the table for the whole party.”

“For the family,” said Cook, looking at him.

“And I shall be on the alert. Either at the table or behind it.”

“Ainger, you are in a mood. I pay no regard, as I see no reason.”

“Well, we have had no event for a long time.”

“And does that indicate that one is imminent?” said Cook, in a severe tone. “Not that I am without an opinion.”

“You are afraid to state it, in case it is erroneous.”

“I await what comes from the source. It is as yet sealed from our eyes.”

This was not to be the case much longer.

Ninian joined his family at the table, but was silent during the meal. At its end he rose, clenched his hands unconsciously, and spoke in a high, even tone, with a forced note of ease.

“I have a word to say. You have been expecting to hear one. I have felt something on my side, as you have on yours. Shadows are cast before. You know what my life has been. It is to be that no longer. You are to welcome someone in the stead of the mother you have lost. I do not say to replace her. That could not be, either for you or for me. But the blank in our life will be disguised, if not filled. And I will not deny that for me it is in a measure to be filled.”