Read Parents and Children Online
Authors: Ivy Compton-Burnett
âI am glad to see you all. I should be happy to have young friends. I am now a childless man.'
There was a pause.
âYour son had a happy life,' said Susan.
âYou see that a reason for his losing it? People state it as if it were,'
âWe have to think of reasons,' said Priscilla. âIt is too shocking that there shouldn't be any. When people have had a sad life, we say that death is a release. It is to prevent things from being without any plan.'
âIt is unwise to criticize one of you in the presence of the others.'
âAnd we do not spoil it by criticizing each other to our faces, in the accepted way,' said Priscilla.
âYou hardly knew my son.'
âWe met him a few times.'
âI should have liked you to know him better, and him to know you.'
âWe did not realize that,' said Lester, looking surprised.
âWe did our best to know him to the extent you desired,' said Priscilla.
âI wish I had died instead of him,' said Sir Jesse.
âWhy do people wish that?' said Priscilla. âInstead of wishing that no one had died.'
âI should have liked to see you all together. I believe I never did.'
âIt could have been arranged. I think you could not have wanted it very much.'
âYou have your son's children,' said Susan.
âSusan does offer conventional comfort,' said Priscilla. âBut what other kind is there? She does not like to offer none at all.'
âThere is none,' said Sir Jesse.
âThat is where she is in a difficult place.'
âYou take my trouble lightly.'
âWe do not feel close enough to take an intimate view of it,' said Lester, at once.
âI have not done much for you. You might have asked much more.'
âWe should not have expected anything,' said Priscilla. âBut we have been the more glad to have it.'
âYou are a generous girl, my dear. And not without knowledge of life.'
âThen we have some points in common.'
âThat may be,' said Sir Jesse, looking into the fire. âThat may be.'
âI wish he would not keep gazing at the fire,' said Priscilla, aside to the others. âPeople are supposed to see faces in it, but I am so afraid he will see wood.'
âYou are not afraid of me,' said Sir Jesse. âYou would ask me for anything you wanted.'
âDoes that mean he knows we take it without asking?' said Priscilla.
âWe are not in need of anything,' said Lester.
Sir Jesse gave him an almost gentle look, that seemed to make some comparison.
âYou do not see much of my family?'
âDaniel and Graham come in sometimes.'
âLuce does not come?' said Sir Jesse, on his suddenly harsher note.
âNo, she never does,' said Lester, in simple assurance.
âWhy are we pariahs?' said Susan, looking Sir Jesse in the eyes.
âIt is your own word,' said the latter.
âIt is yours,' said Priscilla, âthough you have not used it. And we have no right to object to it. We know nothing about ourselves, except that you knew our parents.'
âThat is my reason for concerning myself with you.'
âIt was a fortunate friendship for us.'
âThat is for you to say.'
âThat is what I must have felt,' said Priscilla.
âI must go,' said Sir Jesse. âI am glad I have seen you. I hope
you don't think hardly of me. I have had your welfare in my mind.'
He left the house with his head bent, as though feeling he would not be seen by those whom he could not see, and raised his head as he passed into another road.
âWhat would he have done, if we had not been grateful for bare necessities?' said Susan.
âHe knew just how much he meant to do,' said Lester.
âHe knows why people dislike their benefactors,' said Priscilla. âIt is because they expect them to share equally with them, when of course they do not. That is why he expects us to dislike him.'
âWe are never to know our story?' said her brother.
âI feel that is confirmed today,' said Susan. âSomething made him go as far as he would ever go. It may be a good thing.'
âIt gives us a feeling of security,' said Priscilla. âI daresay it would be too much for us to know. We might not be able to forgive Mother.'
The housekeeper entered the room.
âSir Jesse spoke to me today, miss. He has never done it before. He said he hoped I was taking care of you all.'
âWhy does he break his records all of a sudden?' said Susan.
âHis son has broken one by dying,' said Priscilla, âand that has put him on the course.'
âHow shall we behave when Sir Jesse dies?' said Lester. âShall we have to go to the funeral?'
âYou will have to represent us,' said Susan.
âWhat a good thing Susan knows these things!' said Priscilla. âI could not answer such a question.'
âI hope he will leave us as much as he allows us,' said Lester, in an anxious tone. âHe must know he will cause us great trouble if he does not.'
âIt is wonderful of people to think of other people's needs after they are dead themselves,' said Priscilla. âI always feel it is too much to expect.'
âPeople don't find it so,' said Susan.
âAnd we must not talk as if people were about to die, because they are old.'
âThere is something in the view,' said Lester gravely.
âIt is too ordinary for us,' said Priscilla. âWe have tried to get our own touch, and we must not dispel it through carelessness.'
âIt does not sound as if it were natural,' said Susan.
âWell, things must often owe as much to art as to nature. I dare say the best things do.'
âDoes Sir Jesse respect or despise us?' said Lester.
âIt is possible to do both,' said Susan.
âOne feeling must get the upper hand,' said her sister. âAnd though it is extraordinary, when he supports us, I believe in his case it is respect.'
âHe has quite an affection for you,' said Lester.
âWell, I have done much to earn it. They say that a conscious effort is not the best way to win affection, but it seems a fairly good way, and often the only one.'
âWe cannot deal only in the best methods,' said Susan. âWhat would be the good of the others? And now they are so much good.'
âWe have got Sir Jesse's visit over,' said Lester. âHe won't come again for months.'
âThis is an extra visit, caused by the death of his son,' said Susan.
âYou need not see him when he comes,' said Priscilla.
âIt gives us a feeling of strain,' said Lester. âWe know we are in his power.'
âI see how real the trouble has been, that I thought I had taken off you. But Sir Jesse does not resent our being alive when his son is dead. He seems to think he has something left in us. He must love us better than we deserve, or his grief draws him closer to us. It is strange to see these things really happening.'
âEspecially between Sir Jesse and us,' said Lester.
âWould he mind if one of us were to die?' said Susan.
âHe would wish he had made things easier for us,' said her sister. âPeople always wish they had given more help, when people are beyond it. Wishing it before would mean giving it. One does see how it gets put off.'
âWe shall never have to wish we had given help to Sir Jesse,' said Lester, in a musing tone.
âIf one of us were to marry, would he reveal our parentage?' said Susan.
âI could not support a wife,' said Lester, in a startled manner.
âIf we cannot find out by less drastic means, we will leave it,' said Priscilla.
âIf only the photograph could speak!' said Susan. âSir Jesse never looks at it. It is not of much interest to him.'
âHe is careful never to look at it,' said Lester.
âWhy are inanimate things supposed to be so communicative?' said Priscilla. âIt might tell us nothing. And it may be on the side of Sir Jesse.'
âTo think what we could tell the photograph!' said Susan.
âWell, not so much,' said Lester.
âThere isn't so much to be told,' said Priscilla. âPhotographs would find that.'
âMr Ridley Cranmer,' said Mrs Morris at the door.
âYou are satisfactory friends to call upon,' said Ridley, pausing inside the room, as if its size would hardly allow advance. âWe can rely on finding you at home. It is not easy for an occupied man to appoint his time.'
âI wonder if Mother likes to hear that about us,' said Priscilla.
âYou still find that your mother's photograph adds an interest to your life,' said Ridley, resting his eyes on the chimneypiece. âI can understand that it suggests many pictures of the past. I wonder Sir Jesse did not grant it to you before.'
âHe only found it by accident,' said Susan.
âIs that the case?' said Ridley. âI believe Sir Jesse has paid you a visit this afternoon?'
âYes, he has just gone.'
âI saw him coming away from the house.'
âThen you would believe it,' said Priscilla.
âDoes he often honour you in that way?'
âNo, very seldom,' said Susan.
âIt is sad to think he is now a childless man.'
âHe said that of himself,' said Lester.
âDid he?' said Ridley, with a look of interest.
âDoes it strike you as a curious thing to say?'
âI can hardly imagine our friend, Sir Jesse, making such an intimate statement.'
âThe news had leaked out,' said Priscilla.
Ridley threw back his head and went into laughter.
âI wish I could have relied upon that process for making it known to the family. But it fell to me to reveal it by a more exacting method, by word of mouth.' His tone became grave as he ended.
âIt must have been a hard moment for everyone,' said Susan.
âBut I had my reward in the courage and resolution displayed by them all,' went on Ridley, âespecially by the chief character in the scene, Eleanor Sullivan. She indeed rose to the heights. No yielding to personal feeling or thought of self. A calm, firm advance into the future. It was an impressive thing.'
âShe will have a difficult life,' said Lester.
âLester, it seems almost too much,' said Ridley, turning in sudden feeling. âIt seems that something should be done to ease so great a burden.'
âShe has three grown-up children.'
âAnd the word relegates them to their position, points out how much and how little they can do. To her they are her children. Nothing can make them less; nothing can add to their significance. Nothing alters the deep, essential, limited relation.'
âShe has her husband's parents.'
âRather would I say, Lester, that they have her.'
âSo that is how Mother feels to us,' said Priscilla. âI feel half-inclined to take her away from the chimneypiece.'
âLeave her,' said Ridley, in a rather dramatic manner, resting his eyes again on the photograph. âNothing was further from me than to belittle the relation. She is your mother. You bear the traces of her lineaments. She is in her place.'
âPeople say we are like her,' said Susan.
âThat is what Ridley meant,' said Priscilla.
âI must leave you now,' said Ridley, seeming not to hear the words,, and perhaps not doing so in the stress of his feelings. âMy duties call me. I have more in these sad days. I hardly know why I came in. I happened to be passing.'
âWhy do people give that reason for calling?' said Susan. âThey can't drop in on every acquaintance they pass.'
âThey imply that they would not call at the cost of any trouble,' said Priscilla. âThey mean to give the impression of not wanting much to come. And really they give one of wanting to come so much, that they are embarrassed by the strength of the feeling. Sir Jesse called because that was his intention. We will always call in that spirit.'
âIt is not like Ridley to call by himself on people of no place and parentage.'
âHe had his own reasons,' said Lester.
âWell, my boy, I must solicit your help,' said Ridley, entering the Sullivans' hall. âI have come to seek a moment with your grandfather.'
âI don't know where he is,' said Gavin.
âCan you find out for me?'
âWe never do find out things about him.'
âGrandpa is in the library,' said Honor, coming up. âCouldn't you go and see him?'
âSo I am to beard the lion in his den.'
âGrandpa is a big lion,' said Nevill, pausing by the group. âHe can roar very loud.'
âHe can at times,' said Honor, making a mature grimace, and glancing to see if Ridley had had the advantage of it.
âDo you often play in the hall?' said the latter.
âSometimes when it is wet,' said Gavin.
âShall I play at lions with you?' said Ridley, looking at a skin on the floor, and seeming to be struck by an idea that would serve his own purpose.
âYes,' said Honor and Gavin.
Nevill turned on his heel and toiled rapidly up the staircase, and paused at a secure height in anticipation of the success of the scene. Ridley put the skin over his head and ran in different
directions, uttering threatening sounds and causing Honor and Gavin to leap aside with cries of joy and mirth. Nevill watched the action with bright, dilated eyes, and, when Ridley ran in his direction, fled farther upwards with piercing shrieks. Hatton descended in expostulation, and Miss Mitford in alarm, the latter not having distinguished between the notes of real and pleasurable terror in Nevill's voice. Regan hustled forward in the same spirit as Hatton, and smiled upon Ridley in a rare benevolence.
âI plead guilty, Lady Sullivan,' said the latter, standing with outspread hands, and the rug in one of them. âI am caught red-handed.'