A Heritage and its History (8 page)

“Now I see no reason for keeping back the tears,” said Walter. “Cry, Mater; it will do you good.”

“I suppose it is to be a formal marriage,” said
Simon. “My uncle implied there would be no issue. And there are to be two rooms. I think we can be sure of our ground there.”

“We cannot be sure of anything,” said his mother. “An hour ago we should have been sure of different things.”

“When my uncle dies, it will be Rhoda who meets the change. She has her place only for his life. The house will be mine, and you its mistress until I marry. Then you will share it with my family and me. We shall be more dependent on your income, with the demand for Rhoda's widowhood.”

“Simon can only conceive of Rhoda as a widow,” said Walter. “She is not to begin as one.”

“Well, where I am, my sons will be,” said Julia. “I must be grateful for that.”

“I do not envy Rhoda her homecoming,” said Simon. “And her meeting with us after these secret dealings.”

“She will have support,” said his mother. “And it is not all she will have.”

“I should have thought she would give up more. Her own life and her home and her sister. Though of course they will be waiting for her, when she returns.”

“At your uncle's death,” said Julia. “Is it never to be out of your thought? It is their life together that concerns them, not hers or ours when it is past.”

“She has an income of her own. I don't know how she will use it. She may help Fanny with her house. We cannot say how things will be.”

“They are not your concern, and must not appear to be.”

“We shall live our days over a morass of apprehension and suspense. I wonder how we shall manage in them.”

“We shall only have to live them,” said his mother.

“I wonder that Fanny has not come to see us and discuss it.”

“Surely you do not. It would not be permitted. And we see the reasons.”

“My uncle has gone too far in subordinating everything to himself. I shall think so to the end.”

“He has had the opportunity,” said Walter. “I expect people always use it. Think how you are looking forward to using yours.”

“When I am dead,” said Sir Edwin, as he returned. “And in the meantime I am to live. He is not in a satisfying place.”

“I shall be, Uncle, if I may continue to be of use to you.”

“You can, as you know. There will be further need for your help.”

“I will do my best, Uncle.”

“Has a great change come over Simon?” murmured Walter.

“Do you want any packing done for you, Edwin?” said Julia.

“Thank you. Deakin has done what I needed.”

“So Deakin has been in your confidence?” said Simon.

“Simon's true nature is not dead,” said his brother.

“He has known I am going away,” said Sir Edwin.

“But not with whom you were going?” said Simon.

“I have not told him more than I said.”

“And he has not told us anything. That shows he has known the whole.”

“There is nothing so strange about a marriage. It is an ordinary thing.”

“That is hardly true of this one. But you have every right to enter into it, as you do not need to be told.”

“It is true that the words are wasted. And there are others I need not have heard. When I return, I will hear no more of them. That means you will say no more.”

“What will Fanny do in that house by herself?” said Simon, not looking at his uncle.

“What other people do in similar case. And she will have a foothold in her sister's home.”

“I can't help the whole thing's being strange to me, Uncle.”

“Then you will be the person apart, as she will not.”

“We have not congratulated you, Edwin,” said Julia. “We were taken by surprise. You know we do so from our hearts.”

“Thank you. You have always served me. I owe much to you.”

“Your life with my father for twenty-seven years,” said Simon. “You will never feel that anyone fills that place.”

“My wife is to do something different, fill a place of her own.”

“No doubt you needed someone in your life, who belonged wholly to you. You had always had it.”

“You are right as far as you go. It is further than you have gone.”

“I hope I have not failed in sympathy, Uncle?”

“It has not been in my mind to ask it. Or in yours to give it.”

“I begin to have a feeling of guilt.”

“It is not your fault that I have not done so. But I have seen no reason.”

“I have not meant to put my life before yours.”

“Our own lives are first to us. You see that mine is to me. And you should understand it. It is something we learn from ourselves.”

“Simon, you will weary your uncle,” said Julia.

“I am tired, it is true. I will go and rest. I am travelling tomorrow.”

“Deakin,” said Simon, “you did not tell us that Sir Edwin was going to be married. You kept the knowledge to yourself.”

“I had none at first, sir, except by inference. And Sir Edwin was the one to impart it.”

“I expect you dreaded the moment for us.”

“Well, for the mistress, sir,” said Deakin, lowering his voice and glancing at Julia. “It is not to be a slight change.”

“I must not be called the mistress much longer,” said Julia.

“No, ma'am, I have seen the matter in its bearings.”

“And this is the worst to you?” said Walter.

“I could not apply the term to another, sir.”

“You will have to, Deakin,” said Julia. “It will be better for us all.”

“It will be lip service, ma'am.”

“Well, that is a kind that is recognised,” said Walter.

“Have you talked of the matter to Sir Edwin?” said Simon.

“Not to say that, sir. I merely had the information.”

“But no doubt you showed surprise?”

“I hope not unduly, sir. I try to fulfil my calling, as I see it.”

“I have a great respect for it,” said Walter.

“Yes, sir, it is what is said.”

“It is a great deal to say,” said Julia. “And it is what we feel for the most important things.”

“But not the need to say it, ma'am. There being no need.”

“What will Rhoda feel about her position here?” said Simon. “It must seem such a temporary thing.”

“She will live in the present, as we shall,” said Julia. “Well, the past is safe, and much of my life is there.”

“I wish I could know what my father would say to it. Do not you, Deakin?”

“It is a wish I can hardly feel, sir.”

“It may be that he knows,” said Julia.

“Then I wish I could know what he does say, and to whom he says it,” said her son.

“Sir Edwin is doing nothing wrong, Deakin,” said Julia.

“Well, ma'am, the words cover a wide ground.”

“You think he essentially is?” said Simon.

“Well, sir, if he had left things as they were, he would have remained where he was. He seems to have left his place. Though it is not for me to feel it.”

“It is a pleasant thing to hear. I am tired of being the one person to speak the truth.”

“I think we all stand together, sir. It is what is left.”

“Miss Graham will be Lady Challoner,” said Walter. “Had you thought of that?”

“Yes, it had struck me, sir. And I once hoped to use the words. But the years passed, and the mistress had the place. Now the time is late.”

“It sounds like Shakespeare,” said Walter.

“Well, sir, I understand he portrayed life. And that is what it is.”

“Everything comes into it,” said Julia.

“Yes, ma'am. It is a comprehensive term.”

“I have never felt less at ease,” said Julia. “How am I to yield a position that has never been mine? I cannot think of an example.”

“And not to be at ease is so humbling,” said Walter. “If only the cup would pass from us!”

“Walter, such words are not for our own lives.”

“But it is in those that things happen to us. There is nothing anywhere else.”

“It is no good to be clever at this moment,” said Simon.

“Oh, I thought it was rather brave.”

“What would my father say to the scene? We must ask ourselves that question.”

“He might in a way be glad of it,” said Julia. “He would not wish his brother to be alone.”

“It is a noble answer,” said Walter.

“I suppose he would expect him to be,” said Simon. “It is in a sense a debt to be paid.”

“He was not a person to exact payment,” said Julia.

“But he might accept it,” said Walter. “And no one could expect anyone to get over his death.”

“There may be no question of that. People may fill a place, because they cannot bear to have it empty.”

“I would not put up with it. Mine is to be filled with my memory.”

“That is the trouble,” said Simon, almost sighing. “A place has to be filled with something. And memories are at once not enough and too much.”

“Simon, you sometimes show us your real self,” said Julia.

Deakin came swiftly and silently through the hall.

“The sound of wheels!” said Walter. “How they are the heralds of fate!”

“Now here is my welcome,” said Rhoda's voice. “To the family to which I belong, of which I am to be a part. I feel I shall become one. I shall find my place.”

“It is surely prepared for you,” said Simon.

“No, I am to make it. As yet it is not mine. It is a thing I must do for myself.”

“We have wished you were here oftener,” said Julia. “Now the wish is to be fulfilled.”

“It is a kind word. It falls on a grateful ear. Kindness at some moments does and means so much.”

“Would you like to come at once and see your room?”

“If it is mine, if it is no one else's. I will take it from no one. It is for me to prove my claim.”

“It was my husband's. He liked to be near his brother.”

“Then he would wish me to be so. He would yield the place. He would see me as the substitute that I am, the thing I am proud to be.”

“We are forgetting your existence, Uncle,” said Simon.

“It is a moment when you may do so.” “You know us better than that, Edwin,” said Julia.

“Well, it can be said of you and me.”

“Would you wish to have tea before you go upstairs, my lady?” said Deakin.

“If that is when Mrs. Challoner has it.”

“It is to be as you say,” said Julia.

“No, as you do, as it has always been. I am a member of your household, one of the many who look to you.”

“That is what Rhoda wishes,” said Sir Edwin. “She will not alter the order of things. It is to be in your hands, as it has been.”

“Yes, that is the basis of the future,” said his wife. “The roots have gone down. They are too deep to be disturbed.”

“You are sure it is your wish?” said Julia. “Of course you can change at any time. You can easily say the word.”

“I shall not say it. My word is said.”

“Will you pour out the tea? Or shall I be your deputy today?”

“You will do it for me, and all of us. Today and other days. As it was, so it is to be.”

“Where would you like to sit?”

“At the side by Edwin, where his brother sat. If I may have the place, if it prove to be mine.”

“Well, everything is settled,” said Sir Edwin. “And nothing more need be said. Simon, I can give you some time later, if you need my help.”

“Everything can wait until tomorrow, Uncle.”

“There is no reason for it. We can return to our usual ways.”

“It is good to have them,” said Rhoda. “They are what we need. I shall be grateful to share them, to make them my own.”

“And you will have something to give to us,” said Simon. “And we shall be the better in our turn.”

“Not as much as I shall be. It is I who take and do not give.”

“You will be glad to see your sister,” said Julia.

“My Fanny, my little one! It is what I shall be. It is the thing I ask of you, a welcome for her. Then the house will be my home.”

“I think I know how you like your tea,” said Julia.

“It is for you to remember, to care for those dependent on you. You see me as one of them.”

“I am spellbound by the scene,” murmured Walter. “I did not know such things could be.”

“What did you say?” said Sir Edwin.

“I said it was an unusual scene, Uncle.”

“It is not a scene,” said Rhoda. “It is something else. It is the filling of a blank, or rather a disguise of it.”

“It depends on what sense we give the words,” said Sir Edwin.

“To disguise a lack helps someone to suffer it. When to face it might be too much.”

“You are here in a spirit of courage,” said Simon, in a lower tone.

“I know what is asked of me. I am here to give it. I
will not wish it was more. The risk would not be only mine.”

“I am going round the garden,” said Sir Edwin, with a hint in his voice that the scene was at an end. “If Rhoda will come with me, I shall not go alone.”

“Well, this is our gain,” said Julia, looking after them. “We shall not see him pacing those paths by himself. I have been afraid to look out of the window.”

“I am afraid to now,” said Walter. “I do not dare to face the sight. Are they walking close together?”

“Side by side, as your uncle is used to walking,” said his mother.

“There is a strangeness about everything. It is untrue in a deep sense.”

“Rhoda is sincere,” said Simon. “And she is wise not to undertake the house. It will be easier for her to withdraw, when the time comes.”

“Simon, you are beyond all hope,” said Julia. “And I agree that the scene was strange. There was something unreal in the surprise of it. I suppose I am right in taking her at her word?”