Ivy Compton-Burnett: The Last and the First

“Madeline spoke with a touch of forbearance,” said Erica.

“Well, this is the end,” said Madeline, opening the paper. “Now who is to read the lines? I suggest one of the men.”

“A task for the stronger sex,” said Sir Robert. “I can speak safely as I am disqualified by age.”

“I am disqualified by awkwardness,” said Osbert. “I could not carry off any general embarrassment.”

“I was thinking of Father,” said Madeline.

“Well, nowyou must think of someone else,” said Eliza.

“I am disqualified by my respect for letters,” said Angus. “In my previous life I was a governess.”

“I wonder what I was,” said Eliza. “I should guess a general.”

“Miss Heriot!” said Amy, with a touch of sharpness, as if the choice was obvious.

“No, I have left the desk,” said Hermia. “And in my previous life I was not there.”

“So all this comes from writing lines of poems!” said Eliza.

“It seems that anything may come of that,” said Roberta.

“What line did you write?” said Eliza with mild interest.

“No, no, Mater,” said Angus. “Etiquette must be observed.”

“You say you meet no respite from duty, Mater,” said Madeline. “So suppose you illustrate your claim and read the lines.”

Eliza took the paper, as if almost unconsciously, and rendered the lines with justice both to them and to herself, making what she could of their lack of relation. There was some spontaneous mirth, a renewal of it that was less spontaneous, and a silence that perhaps had the best claim to the word.

“Well, the game was a fair success,” said Madeline. “But I hope the next will do better. We all need sheets of paper this time, but I think we all have them.”

“May I have another?” said Angus. “I made a rough draft of lines in the middle of mine.”

“May I too?” said Amy, glancing at her grandmother. “I began to draw on mine by mistake.”

“Your talent must be a natural one,” said Angus.

Amy gave him an uncertain glance, and rapidly crushed the paper in her hand.

“I must ask for another,” said Osbert. “I tore mine up under the mental strain.”

“I gave mine to Father,” said Roberta, “because he had made his into a hat and could not get it unmade.”

“And now I have lost this one,” said Sir Robert, looking bewildered. “And I have not moved from my place.”

“It is the paper that has done that, Father,” said Madeline. “It is on the floor under your feet. It is too crumpled to use. You must both have fresh ones.”

“I have preserved mine in its virgin state,” said Hermia. “I don’t know if I shall be believed.”

“I have done the same,” said Erica. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

“I have not done anything with mine,” said Jocasta, regarding hers as though struck by its blankness. “What ought I to have done?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Grimstone. Just what you have done,” said Madeline. “I wish everyone had followed your example. We shall be short of paper. I ought to have provided more.”

“We ought to have wasted less,” said Erica.

“You should not have wasted any,” said Jocasta.

“Grannie has a right to speak,” said Osbert. “She took no risks with hers.”

“There is paper in my desk,” said Hermia. “The desk by the window that I don’t often use. I keep it supplied in case of need.”

“But that would be good writing paper,” said Eliza, looking up. “We keep odd sheets for the games, so that people can use them as they please. There are some upstairs. I can soon get them.”

“No, no, Mater,” said Madeline. “Someone else will do that.”

“There is a pile of odd sheets in the desk,” said Hermia. “I have never liked wasting paper.”

“What have you liked wasting?” said Eliza with a smile. “I somehow don’t think very much. The desk is locked and the key has deserted it. I can fetch the paper in a moment.”

“I see it as my duty,” said Angus.

“Yes, so do I,” said his father.

“The desk is not locked,” said Hermia. “I have not used it since I lost the key. Anyone can open it.”

“But I hope no one does,” said Eliza, slightly raising her brows. “Well, of course, I am sure of it.”

“Get the paper from the desk, my boy,” said Sir Robert.

“No, no, we don’t go to desks,” said Eliza. “The rule is one to be obeyed. There is reason in it. Angus can run upstairs if I may not.”

“I could open the desk myself,” said Hermia. “It seems I might have thought of it.”

“Get the paper, my boy,” said Sir Robert, and said no more.

“Here is a wealth of material,” said Angus. “Sheets of all sorts and shapes. I will bring a sheaf of them and hand them round.”

“Yes, in a moment, to those who need them,” said Madeline. “I will just sort some of them first. Why, Hermia uses the desk more than she knows. There is an opened letter still joined to its empty half. And a recent one to judge by the date. I have not seen any further.”

“Well, I suppose not,” said Eliza, with a faint laugh. “It is hardly a thing you would do. Why not tear off the written sheet and destroy it? Then there will be no need to trouble.”

“No, give it to me,” said Hermia. “I don’t understand what has happened. I can’t use a desk without knowing it. And I have not touched this one for weeks. I suppose there will be an explanation. But I can’t think of one.”

“Is it a letter that matters?” said Sir Robert, reminded as Hermia sat with her eyes on it of an earlier scene.

“Well, it should have been read and answered, as is the case with most letters. And I have not seen it before. Was there an envelope with it?”

“I think there was. I will get it,” said Angus. “I assumed it was a used one that meant nothing. I suppose that is what it is.”

“It is what it must be,” said Eliza. “There can be no meaning in an envelope. Though I hope the letter still has its point. We will not make a mystery out of nothing.”

“It is not what we are doing,” said Sir Robert. “The mystery is here. I hope there will be a solution.”

“There may have to be a confession,” said Eliza, just shaking her head. “And that may not come very readily.”

“Here is the envelope,” said Angus, “addressed of course to Hermia. There is something in it, this little paper-knife of Mater’s. The culprit had no scruple in using what lay at his hand. We all know that knife is sacred.”

“He had not much to do with scruple,” said Eliza. “The knife is one of the few things that are really my own. It proves he was not one of the family. Not that it needed proof. Well, I daresay no harm is done.”

“I hope no great harm,” said Sir Robert. “Does anyone know anything?”

“I should say what I know,” said Osbert, rising. “I can guess what letter it must be. It is one I wrote to Hermia myself. Anyone can know about it. It is the last thing I could be ashamed of.”

“It almost seems we were led to the desk,” said Madeline.

“Someone might have been led away from it,” said Eliza. “But everything is as it should and would have been.”

Osbert met Hermia’s eyes and raised his own towards Sir Robert; and she turned and gave the letter to her father. He read it, glanced from her to Osbert and looked away.

“Whatever is it?” said Eliza. “Let us hear and be at peace. We are being teased without any reason.”

“It is an offer of marriage,” said Sir Robert, “dependent on an answer within a given number of days. It has not been answered, and a refusal is implied which of course means nothing.”

“Yes, it is true,” said Osbert. “That is how it is. I worded the offer as you say, so that, if Hermia did not accept it, she need send no reply. I had none, and assumed it was not accepted. Now I don’t know what to say or think.”