Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Last and the First

There was a pause. Hollander vanished from the room as if feeling his presence an intrusion, allowing his demeanour to change at the door to one of eager purpose.

“It does mean what it says,” said Osbert. “All wills are meant as they stand. And this one stands like this. There is something we have not known. Did Uncle see much of Miss Heriot?”

“He saw her at the school when he went there with Amy and me. He showed an interest in her both before and after they met. Both before and after; that tells its tale; the feeling was half imaginary. It can’t have meant anything. He would not have kept it from his mother. What are we to do about it? It is clear that something should be done.”

“It seems she must have refused him,” said Erica. “Of course she knew him very little. She may not want to take the money. It seems possible that she will not.”

“Most people want to take money,” said Osbert. “It gives them so much else that they want. This is an unusual case, but it follows the usual line. There is no other for it to follow.”

“It is too unusual to be accepted,” said his grandmother. “He must have made the will in a mood of emotion, and then omitted to alter it. It is a trouble to change a will. My poor boy, he went through that alone. But it could not have gone deep.”

“He may have wished it did,” said Erica. “Perhaps he wanted an outlet for feelings he liked to imagine. And he could not know that he was going to die, and that the will would take effect.”

“That is another way of saying it means nothing. That is, in itself. Of course it has its legal meaning.”

“It has,” said Osbert. “And it is the whole of its actual meaning. The money belongs to Hermia Heriot, as his other possessions belong to you. That is how he has apportioned his effects. Is the money very much? Have you any idea of the amount?”

“No definite idea. He inherited a fortune and added to it. He was reticent about the figures, but they were on an unusual scale. If Miss Heriot had known it, and known him better, we can’t say what the result would have been.”

“But she would not have accepted him,” said Amy, unthinkingly, or rather saying what she thought.

“We shall never know what she would have done if she had seen more of him.”

Amy was silent on the probable result of this.

“We know nothing,” said Erica, “except how he felt to her or wished to feel.”

“It is true, poor boy! Oh, Hollander, you are there. You come and go without a sound.”

Hollander just smiled and inclined his head, and resumed the occupation he had left.

“How much have you heard of this matter? I suppose you know the whole?”

“It is chiefly snatches that reach me, ma’am,” said Hollander, not denying that he was receptive to these.

“We don’t want it gossiped about behind the scenes.”

Hollander’s smile deepened. “No ma’am. If gossip is in question, I am hardly the person to be cited.”

“Remember not to mention it. Or have you already done so?”

“No, ma’am, unless an incidental word may have passed my lips,” said Hollander, in a tone so incidental that it was hardly articulate.

“It will be all round the neighbourhood. But nothing could prevent it. There are things that can’t remain a secret.”

“Yes, ma’am. It will not be the word to be applied.”

“We need not be conscious about it. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No, indeed, ma’am, that feeling is not on your side. The slur of being supplanted should rest on the person who causes it.”

“We have no grievance. People can do as they will with their own.”

“Yes, ma’am, it seems to be the case. But the word is hardly a misnomer.”

“Shall we be much poorer?” said Osbert. “Did Uncle contribute much to the household?”

Hollander continued his movements, but his eyes were still.

“We will talk about all of it presently,” said Jocasta, using a weary tone.

Hollander turned as if at dismissal, left the room and closed the door.

“Hollander has had a treat,” said Osbert. “A thing that can’t be said of anyone else.”

“It does seem that Miss Heriot may waive her claim,” said Jocasta. “I feel I should in her place.”

“Why must we have places of our own?” said Erica. “We should do so well in other people’s, so much better than they do themselves.”

“There is no reason in her inheriting anything. She can regard nothing as hers.”

“People do regard what they inherit as theirs. That is the meaning of inheritance.”

“As she did not accept your uncle, she has no moral claim.”

“Perhaps she knew she would have it anyhow,” said Amy, “and so didn’t have to accept him.”

“You asked what your uncle gave to the household, Osbert,” said Jocasta, disregarding her grand-daughter. “I could hardly enlighten you and Hollander together. He gave nothing but the cost of his support. His interest lay in harbouring what he had; and I understood him and laid no hand on it. He was in his way such a very good son. It means that Miss Heriot inherits more, and we have less than would otherwise be the case. But we shall not be actually poorer. There will be no difference.”

“I may come in to finish the table, ma’am?” said Hollander, in a tone between question and statement, acting on the latter assumption.

“Yes, come in. We have no secrets from you. Indeed, I think from anyone. Perhaps there are no such things.”

“Well, ma’am, this occurrence would hardly be among them.”

“It is a surprise and shock. But it doesn’t bear on the real trouble.”

“No, ma’am,” said Hollander, in sympathy. “Not on the knowledge that after all his feeling was not yours.”

“No, I could not think that. I meant the trouble of his death.”

“Yes, ma’am, but the heart knoweth. And other words ensue.”

“Money is an accidental thing. And we must not grudge Miss Heriot what he wished her to have.”

“No, ma’am? I am inclined to do so for you. And in some people the feeling may partake of pity which has an unwelcome flavour.”

“Some of it will be sympathy, and we shall be grateful for it.”

“Yes, ma’am, if you can place the border line.”

“People sometimes like other people to be poorer,” said Amy.

“It may be so, miss. I have seen a glint in eyes myself.”

“Money played no part in my life with my son,” said Jocasta. “Our concern was with other things.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Hollander, cordially. “Those being fully at disposal.”

“And they were also the deeper ones.”

“Money may go with those, ma’am. It is often bequeathed on that basis.”

“This is a case by itself.”

“And in view of that, ma’am, might the lady relinquish her claim? The idea suggests itself.”

Jocasta was silent, knowing it had had no need to.

“What may have been a passing thought, ma’am, can have results that don’t pass with it. You would not see callers to-day, ma’am, I presume?”

“No, not to-day. It is unlikely that anyone will come.”

“Well, news travels, ma’am, and questions are on people’s lips.”

“Hardly on the lips of people who would come here.”

“Not in a literal sense, ma’am. But they can be tacit.”

“And so can the answers,” said Osbert. “I would be responsible for them.”

“This news is not known yet. Unless Hollander has already managed to spread it.”

“Managed is hardly the expression, ma’am,” said Hollander, with a faint laugh.

“We must be prepared for what has to come. And all wills give a wrong impression. Any lawyer would tell you so.”