Parents and Children (28 page)

‘Were they all together?' said Eleanor.

‘Yes, in the nursery with Hatton.'

‘I suppose they cannot bear Miss Mitford's touch in sorrow,' said Hope.

‘I wish I had gone in and said a word to Miss Mitford,' said Faith.

‘Why should you do that?' said Hope.

‘Well, it is always nice to see a friend, Mother,' said Faith, her tone somehow making a point of the equality and friendship.

Sir Jesse and Paul came from the fire, continuing to talk. Paul went at once from the house, giving his family no chance to linger. Ridley bent over Eleanor's hand, and followed his father with an expression of controlled feeling.

‘I wish we had only to sustain grief,' said Graham, when the family were alone.

‘So do I, Graham,' said Luce. ‘But we have to support many burdens. I cannot say I don't see them as such, that I would not rather sorrow in peace. But there is no choice before us.'

‘And not much else,' said her brother.

‘No, Graham, not much else.'

‘The way you dealt with Faith gave me a gleam of comfort, Luce,' said Daniel.

‘I could hardly put my mind on her. I see what people mean by the selfishness of sorrow.'

‘I take exception to the phrase. It suggests some personal advantage.'

‘If it means that people who are sorrowing, should give their attention to those who are not, it is a wicked thing to say,' said Graham.

‘And why shouldn't we be absorbed in our own trouble?' said Luce.

‘If we were not, we should be called shallow,' said Daniel.

‘People are indeed wicked,' said Graham.

‘Mother,' said Luce, as Eleanor passed them, ‘had you not better sit down and rest?'

‘I am not tired, my dear.'

‘Honest, as usual, Mother. But it may be the false energy of exhaustion.'

‘I wish exhaustion had that effect on me,' said Graham.

‘I don't even feel it,' said Regan, in a tone that did not bear out her words.

Luce sat down at her grandmother's side, as though without the power to aid her further.

‘We have all to move forward,' said Sir Jesse. ‘Some of us can only go slowly, but our direction is the same. And my son left sons behind him.'

‘You talk as if women did not exist, Grandpa,' said Luce.

‘It is a pity men do not manage to do so,' said Regan.

‘They are more exposed to risk than women, Grandma. It is a thing that has its brighter side.'

‘For them perhaps.'

‘Yes, only for them, Grandma.'

‘I belong to the sex that encounters perils,' said Graham. ‘That does not seem very suitable somehow.'

‘It does not, Graham dear,' said Luce.

‘We must manage to keep him from them,' said Regan, in a tone that did not grudge her grandson the life her son had lost.

‘He does not strike me as a person who will incur them,' said Sir Jesse.

‘It is a pity that Grandpa has ever had to meet us,' said Graham. ‘The mere idea of us seems to be satisfying to him.'

‘Ridley has done a great deal for us today,' said Eleanor. ‘I dare not imagine what things would have been without him.'

‘We should not have known what had happened,' said Graham. ‘I shall always see him as the bearer of ill tidings.'

‘I wonder if we shall,' said Luce.

‘I am afraid I am very restless,' said Eleanor, who was moving about the room. ‘I suppose I am in an unnatural state. I hope I shall be able to do my duty by you all. I don't seem to be able to reach my own sorrow. I am simply oppressed by a fear of the future.'

‘We all tremble a little before that, Mother,' said Luce.

‘It was good of Hope to come at once,' said Regan.

‘Grandma, you don't often say a word in favour of anyone outside,' said Luce.

‘She is a deal better than most people.'

‘I like her very much, Grandma, but is she
better?
Is that quite her word?'

‘It does as well as any other.'

‘Grandma, I should never have suspected you of making a woman friend.'

‘I have to do what I can with the people left. And it seemed to me that I had one.'

A silence fell on the family.

‘Mother,' said Luce, ‘shall we give ourselves a little help on this first day? Shall we have Nevill brought down to say good night?'

‘Ought we to make a sacrifice of him?' said Graham.

‘We shall not do that, Graham. We will not take him beyond his scope.'

Hatton obeyed the summons and led Nevill into the room. She had an air of disapproval and gave him no injunctions. He seemed preoccupied and stood waiting for what was required of him, before returning to his own sphere.

‘So you have come to say good night,' said Eleanor.

‘Good night, Mother,' said Nevill, going up to her to get the first step over.

‘He has come to give us a glimpse of him,' said Regan.

‘Good night, Grandma,' said Nevill, doing the same to her, and then sending his eyes round the room and speaking more quickly. ‘Good night, Luce; good night, Grandpa; good night, Graham; good night, Father; good night, Daniel.'

He turned and looked up at Hatton in inquiry as to the moment of withdrawal.

‘Father is not here, my little one,' said Eleanor.

‘Yes, he is here,' said Nevill, in an absent tone. ‘Father has come back today.'

‘No, he cannot come back to us, my little boy.'

‘Good night – Grandpa,' amended Nevill, looking about for a substitute for Fulbert.

‘How strange that he should say that, on this day of all days!' said Luce.

‘He has heard his father's name a great deal,' said Regan, in simple explanation.

‘That is all of his father he has left,' said Eleanor, sighing.

‘When people accept the death of someone, are they always staggered by the general results of it?' said Graham.

‘Well, what have you been doing upstairs?' said Eleanor to Nevill.

‘He played at soldiers. And Gavin did too.'

‘Did you play together?'

‘No, he did it all by himself.'

‘What did the soldiers do?'

‘Bury a general,' said Nevill, in a deepening tone. ‘Bury a soldier man like Father. Beat the drum and make a thunder noise.'

There was a pause.

‘How did he think of that?' said Eleanor, to Hatton.

‘I don't know, Madam. We can never tell how ideas come into their minds.'

‘It came into his mind,' said Nevill, with a pride that protected his brother.

‘Was Gavin playing too?' said Eleanor, in a sudden tone.

‘No,' said her son, ‘Gavin played all by himself.'

‘Was Honor?'

‘No, poor Honor sat on a chair.'

‘And James was not playing either?'

‘Oh, no,' said Nevill, in a virtuous tone. ‘Not talk to James when he is reading.'

‘Well, good night, my little son.'

Nevill accepted this sign of release, but on his way to the door he returned to Regan.

‘Not a drum was heard,' he began, and paused as his memory failed him, and turned and ran from the room.

‘It is a good thing some amusement can come out of it,' said Regan.

‘We do not realize the gulf between children and ourselves,' said Eleanor.

‘We do now,' said Daniel.

‘That is true of Mother,' said Graham.

‘Well, Father used to say so,' said Luce.

‘What used your father to say?' said Eleanor.

‘That you did not realize the gulf between yourself and your children, Mother,' said Luce, in an open, deliberate tone. ‘What you say of yourself. What no doubt he often said to you.'

‘I shall have to do so now. I daresay it will be borne in upon me.'

‘Why will it be different?' said Regan.

‘Well, I shall have to fulfil two characters.'

Regan was silent.

‘Say what is in your mind, Grandma,' said Luce. ‘That is not a fair way to deal with anyone.'

‘If we could be other people as well as ourselves, it would not
matter what happened to us. And a loss does not give us other qualities.'

‘I suppose the days will pass,' said Eleanor, as though to herself.

‘There is little suggestion of it about this one,' said Graham.

‘Would it be better if we were apart for a time?' said Daniel.

‘Why should it?' said Eleanor, with a change in her eyes.

‘We shouldn't have each other's feelings on us, as well as our own.'

‘I should have yours. They wouldn't be off my mind for a moment. You could all forget mine, could you?'

‘We might have more chance of it, if we were separated. We shall have to learn to spare ourselves.'

‘Well, I will go to my room and give you a rest,' said Eleanor.

‘And have a respite from us, Mother dear,' said Luce.

‘You can put it as you like, to hide the truth from yourselves. You do not hide it from me.'

Luce stood still with her eyes down, as her mother left the room.

‘It has to be,' she said, lifting her eyes. ‘It is no use to disguise it.'

‘We might have postponed it,' said Graham, with a look of trouble.

‘It would have done no good, Graham. The little, subtle miseries of sorrow have to be faced. I don't think they are the least part of it.'

‘I think they should be,' said Graham.

‘Go after your mother,' said Sir Jesse, roughly, to his grandsons. ‘What do your personal pains matter, since they only do so to yourselves? Go and do what you can to help a burden heavier than yours. What else should you do? What is your opinion of yourselves and your use in this house?'

His grandchildren left the room, Daniel with an expression of almost amused submission, Graham with a look of relief, and Luce with an air of resigning herself to service. Regan looked after them with compassion.

‘There is nothing you want of them, is there?' said Sir Jesse, with a note of excuse in his tone.

‘I want nothing that anyone can give me; I could do with my three children.'

An almost humble expression crossed the husband's face.

‘Things are not the same to men,' said Regan. ‘Their family is only a part of their life.'

‘I would have given my remaining years to save my son.'

‘Why should you?' said Regan. ‘They are all you have left. He had no more to lose than you.'

A note was brought in, addressed to Eleanor, and put on a table to await her.

‘From Ridley,' said Regan, looking at the envelope. ‘He will always be thrusting himself in now.'

‘There was no other way. I might not have been alive. We could not foretell the future.'

‘It seems that Fulbert did so.'

‘He provided against its risks.'

‘What does Ridley want to say to Eleanor? He has been with her half the day.'

‘You cannot see through the envelope,' said Sir Jesse.

Regan took up the letter, as if she were inclined to do her best.

‘I have a good mind to open it.'

‘So I see. But must you not come to another mind?' said Sir Jesse, with a smile that suggested that he and his wife were both in their youth.

‘If Ridley wrote me a letter, I should not care if Eleanor read it.'

‘You would be surprised if she did. And you know she would not.'

‘It must be in a way a message to us all.'

‘In that case we shall hear the gist of it. It may be to say that he cannot come tomorrow.'

‘I am sure it is not that. It is probably a piece of palaver.'

‘You do not seem to need to open it. And it sounds as if it might be awkward if you did. He has to explain Fulbert's affairs. They are not much, as I am still alive, but she is new to such things.'

‘It is a good thing Fulbert lived long enough to have a family,'
said Regan, again at the end of her control. ‘Or it would have been as little good to have him as the others.'

‘We have our memories,' said her husband.

‘Yes, you can add them to a stock of those.'

Eleanor came into the room and looked about for the letter.

‘They said there was a note for me.'

‘They should have taken it to you,' said Sir Jesse, seeming to welcome another subject.

‘Luce and the boys were with me,' said Eleanor, as though to counteract the last impression given by her children. ‘The servants would guess we did not want to be disturbed.'

Regan met Sir Jesse's eyes, but the latter's face told nothing.

Eleanor opened the letter and sat down to read it.

MY DEAR ELEANOR,

I could not let this day pass without expressing to you what I could not say to your face, my deep admiration for your selfless resolution and courage. Much will depend on your strength and wisdom, and I shall work with you with a growing sense of privilege.

Yours in sympathy and gratitude,

RIDLEY CRANMER.

‘Does Ridley call you Eleanor now?' said Regan, in comment upon the only part of the letter she had seen.

‘He does here. I always use his Christian name.'

‘He is a good deal younger than you.'

‘Only about five years.'

‘Is there any message for the rest of us?'

‘No. It is just a word about our working together.'

‘Why couldn't it wait until tomorrow?'

‘I suppose some things are better written,' said Eleanor, going to the door with the letter.

‘Well, there wasn't room for much more than that,' said Regan. ‘It hardly went down the first page. I wonder why she kept it to herself.'

‘She seems hardly to have done so,' said Sir Jesse.

‘You did not expect me today,' said Sir Jesse, entering the Marlowes' cottage.

‘No,' said Lester, ‘or you could have seen Priscilla by herself,'