A Heritage and its History (15 page)

“Ah, how seldom we do that!” said Rhoda. “We cannot lighten the dark. It is too hard a thing.”

“We must talk to our parents by themselves,” said Naomi. “We cannot do much in a general discussion.”

“Ah, do not, my dear,” said Simon. “Do something for your father. Leave the matter where it is. It is the first thing he has asked of you. You trust each other, and you trust time. Follow your own belief.”

“In itself it would be a good thing, sir,” said Ralph. “It would keep Naomi with us. And you would see your descendants where you once hoped to see them.”

“Do you think I had not thought of it? And that it would count to me, compared with my conscience? Do you think I am a father or not?”

“I have not always seen signs of it.”

“It seems you do not now. Perhaps you do not recognise them. They may not be on the surface.”

“No, it is true that they may not.”

“You appear to think you are the subject of discussion.”

“I am about to be,” said Graham. “My future is secure. I have been offered a post at Oxford. A college is better than the alternative, though I should think
they have something in common. All institutions have the same soul.”

“I am glad indeed,” said Simon. “I hope Ralph will do as well.”

“They came up and outshone me,” said Hamish. “My place was clear. It was a good thing I had not to earn my bread, as I was the least able to.”

“It is one I should find little fault with,” said Ralph.

“I found a good deal. But I find it no longer. I can offer a home to Naomi, without asking her to wait for it. She will bear with my being a subordinate inmate of it.”

“You must remember it yourself,” said Sir Edwin, speaking with an effort. “I dislike to remind you of it, but you are offering a home that is not yours. While it is mine, you will not do so. You have heard what we have said.”

“Father, I can hardly believe my ears, or accept the words as yours. They seem so unnatural in you. I wonder if I hear them.”

“I am glad you find them strange on my lips. That is all I can say.”

“You might as well say you will disinherit me, if I live the life that is my own.”

“I thought perhaps I should say it. I could not utter the words.”

“Perhaps we could wait for a while,” said Julia, “and see if they continue in this mind. And in that case regard the objections as outweighed by their feeling.”

“That is what I was going to say,” said Fanny.

“I am glad you did not say it,” said Simon. “You are my wife, and have heard what I said. Surely that is enough.”

“I must have a mind of my own. I am not an echo of you. It is not what you have asked of me.”

“You should support me in a difficult place. You have many times done so. Fanny, will you not do so now?”

“It is a hard place for many of us. And there does not seem enough reason. I cannot feel there is.”

“Fanny, you must trust me. I have knowledge of these matters that you have not.”

“I do not know how you have got it. You have not thought of them. You are not a stranger to me.

“My wife, do not be one to me.”

“Several of us are strangers to each other,” said Naomi. “I begin to wonder what anyone is.”

“Try to be what you are, my dear,” said Simon. “What you are to your father.”

“I look forward to discussing it up in the schoolroom,” said Ralph. “I am not at ease on this floor. Early memories are too much.”

“I will come up with you, if I may,” said Hamish.

“Yes, go and be together,” said Simon, in a full tone. “Go and be what you have always been. You will find it is enough.”

“Father is seeing us as worthy of trust,” said Graham, as they went, “or anyhow showing that he does so.”

“So my home is no good to me,” said Hamish. “The
workhouse might have been better, and may be so. At any rate Naomi and I could be together.”

“They separate the men and women there,” said Ralph.

“Well, then it would be no worse. This is a senseless struggle. We cannot break up our lives without a ground. We must take things into our own hands. I would not choose to do it. It is my nature to go where I am led. But I am a man like any other, when I am placed like this.”

“I wish I had a chance to describe myself as fully,” said Walter, who had followed them.

“You need not envy me the occasion.”

“I envy what arises from it, the place in the limelight, the chance to appear in your true colours. I do feel it a pity that mine are hidden. And your opportunity to submit to fate with dignity and disregard of self. You would not let it escape you? It is a chance to show greatness.”

“Greatness may not be achieved only at one's own expense. I think it usually is not.”

“I should so like to show it. It must be in me, as it is in everyone, though I don't know who found that out. It is the chance to prove it that is rare.”

“It must be,” said Naomi. “We seldom see it. I think I never have.”

“We are to see it now,” said Walter. “I envy you all, and you and Hamish the most. You will leave an impression on us, that will last our lives.”

“It is no good, Uncle,” said Naomi. “The cost of giving it would last ours. You must go back and tell
Father you have failed. You can tell him, if you like, that it is a great failure.

“It will be denied its greatness,” said Graham. “And a great failure tends to have some success in it.”

“There will be none in this,” said Naomi. “Uncle knows we shall not yield. He would not in our place. He could not have proved it better. Father makes it hard for us, especially for me, but we must simply turn our eyes from it. There is nothing against our marriage. We are not people apart. If there are reasons in anyone's mind, they should not be there. That is all that can be said.”

“Yes,” said Walter, slowly, “I see it is. All that can be said by you at the moment, in your place. I will go to your father and tell him I have failed. It is not a great failure, and he will not think it is.”

“Whatever is behind it?” said Hamish. “There is something that is not said. Is your father jealous, Naomi? He would lose you less to me than to anyone else.”

“No, not unless he hides it. He has never had those feelings. He is not an emotional father. You know what he has been.”

“He is a stranger to me. I did not know it, but he is. And my father is even more so. And naturally I did not know that.”

“I must say it again,” said Ralph. “It would be an auspicious marriage. Naomi would live in the family shelter instead of the public one. And Father's fears would be at rest. He should be the first to see it.”

“Has he become too fond of his picture to give it up?”
said Naomi. “He has never given any sign of affection for it.”

“He never foretold such things for you, as he did for us,” said Graham. “He would like you to carry on his line where he thought it would be. Though it would be through a daughter, the blood would be the same. Hamish must be right that there is something else.”

“I dislike these mysterious days,” said Ralph. “Is our childhood to be the happiest time of our life? I almost wish it would return.”

“So do I,” said his mother, opening the door. “They were simple days, if they were dull and bleak ones. And I was happy in them, or enough to think so now. There was none of this mystery and strong feeling unexplained. It is strange to be perplexed by the people you have lived with for half your life. Your grandmother and I seem to stand by ourselves, and to be at a loss for the reason.”

“Have you come to give us your sympathy?” said Naomi. “We welcome nothing else.”

“Yes, I have, my child, and to ask for yours. I am in great and simple need of it. There is a feeling between your father and me, that there has never been. We have differed and held our own, but we have never been apart. There has never been this strange, new distance. I cannot see this question of your marriage as he does. The obstacle does not seem to me so great. To tell you the truth, I have thought it might happen. To tell you more, I have hoped it would. To tell the whole, I should like it to do so now. It may be to say that I am a woman and a mother, but what is
there against my being both? And what is there to prevent it? And why should I be any better, if I were neither?”

“Power is vested in such things,” said Hamish. “If it is to be used for us, our way is clear. But I wish it had not happened as it has. It seemed an almost sinister thing. I hope we shall not remember it. But we know we shall.”

“Then is Father to be set at nought?” said Ralph. “I did not know it could be.”

“It cannot,” said Simon, from the doorway. “It will not, and I must face the result, the hostility of my family, the trouble for myself. I must meet it as a personal sorrow and suffer it as such. I cannot alter what I have said. I wish I could. If you knew how much I wish it! I have not wished even for the one thing more. But I must follow my conscience, if I do so alone.”

There was a silence before Hamish answered in a quiet tone.

“I must say the same to you, sir. We should understand each other, if we understand nothing else. And more I do not understand. I too must suffer the trouble for myself, the greater that Naomi must share it. It will do no good to say more.”

“I must say one word. I must trust you to do nothing at the time. To remember your youth and ignorance, and what is due to those to whom your debt is great. And due also to Naomi, due to yourself.”

“I promise it, sir. It is a thing you have a right to ask. I am troubled by our difference, wish I could see
it in its true light. But I must say I know I do not do so, and that in the end I must claim the right of every man to judge his cause for himself.”

Simon went down to the library and summoned his brother.

“Walter, we are living the evil days. I wish I had been happier, while they came not. I wish I had ensured that they should not come. I should have left the place, and put the helpless people out of harm. But my heart was here, and my roots were deep. I could not do it, and the harm is done. I wish I could leave it, shut my eyes to the danger and the wrong. But my daughter! Can I fail her in this crisis of her life? Can I do anything but the thing I feel I cannot do? Anything but tell the truth?”

“Simon, I wish you could. We know the risk is small. And the trouble you would cause, is great. If we weigh one against the other, on which side does the balance fall? Which would Naomi choose, if she were outside the truth? You have been so much the master of them all, the mentor, the absolute head. It would all be seen as empty, as a pose. Can you face it, and go on after it? If you know you cannot, is it any good to try?”

“I can do what I must, as we all can. And face the result, as we face what we cannot escape. And we must take account of my uncle. He would countenance no breach of faith. He would see the question in one way and no other, would not weigh the sides. We saw and heard him, when it arose.”

“Simon, I see and hear you and your family.”

“They will see the truth as it is. They will see I have expiated the early wrong, continue to expiate it. Yes, it is a sorry place for their head.”

“You are the hero of a tragedy. It is a pity you are the villain as well. I am humbled before your complex part.”

“I know you dread it with me, for me, for yourself. My dread is for Hamish and Naomi, for the ending of their hope. I pity myself for my sight of it. My own exposure should seem a secondary thing. I must see it as it is.”

“It is a hard pass, Simon. I wish we were on the further side. What is to be done? How is the disclosure to be made?”

“I must simply make it. There is no cover and no escape. I must ask Rhoda for her wishes and try to follow them. Wishes! It is an ironic word. If only I could spare her! We had better get this first step over. Are she and my uncle in the house?”

“They are alone in the morning room. Fanny is still upstairs. And Mater is somewhere by herself. The time is as good as any other.”

“There is no good time. You will come with me, Walter? It will be better for me, if you are there.”

“I will come indeed. We must be able to discuss it. And I would not miss any stage in the drama. I am so absorbed in it.”

“I shall depend on your help,” said Simon, realising that he was being given it. “We will face the moment. It is nothing by the one that is to come.”

Sir Edwin and Rhoda were standing silent, having
come to the end of their words. They turned, as the brothers came to them, and Simon spoke.

“Uncle, Hamish and Naomi will marry in spite of us, will take the matter into their own hands. What is to be done?”

“The one thing. I saw they were unshaken. And I see, as you do, the one course.”

“I do not feel with you,” said Rhoda. “To me it is a wrong one. It would turn risk into a certainty. It would break up innocent lives. It would bring shame on you and me and Simon. On you, Edwin; for you would be seen to have no son, to have lived a lie. It serves an old man's conscience at the expense of youth. At the cost of the family name; for nothing that is told, can be hidden. Should we sacrifice so much to gain so little?”

“It is the thing that must be gained.”

“I see it must,” said Simon.

“I cannot see it. Are you not in love with sacrifice? Your clear conscience, your clean breast, will they not cost too dear? Cost others too dear, I mean; they may serve yourself. And have you thought what the moment would be! Think while there is time.”

“I have thought,” said Simon.

“How will you break the truth? Will you contrive a scene, put on an act? Call your family together, to undo yourself in their eyes? In the prime of your life and your fatherhood?”

“It is what I shall do. It is not an act.”