Parents and Children (29 page)

‘I am glad to see you all. I should be happy to have young friends. I am now a childless man.'

There was a pause.

‘Your son had a happy life,' said Susan.

‘You see that a reason for his losing it? People state it as if it were,'

‘We have to think of reasons,' said Priscilla. ‘It 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.'

‘It is unwise to criticize one of you in the presence of the others.'

‘And we do not spoil it by criticizing each other to our faces, in the accepted way,' said Priscilla.

‘You hardly knew my son.'

‘We met him a few times.'

‘I should have liked you to know him better, and him to know you.'

‘We did not realize that,' said Lester, looking surprised.

‘We did our best to know him to the extent you desired,' said Priscilla.

‘I wish I had died instead of him,' said Sir Jesse.

‘Why do people wish that?' said Priscilla. ‘Instead of wishing that no one had died.'

‘I should have liked to see you all together. I believe I never did.'

‘It could have been arranged. I think you could not have wanted it very much.'

‘You have your son's children,' said Susan.

‘Susan does offer conventional comfort,' said Priscilla. ‘But what other kind is there? She does not like to offer none at all.'

‘There is none,' said Sir Jesse.

‘That is where she is in a difficult place.'

‘You take my trouble lightly.'

‘We do not feel close enough to take an intimate view of it,' said Lester, at once.

‘I have not done much for you. You might have asked much more.'

‘We should not have expected anything,' said Priscilla. ‘But we have been the more glad to have it.'

‘You are a generous girl, my dear. And not without knowledge of life.'

‘Then we have some points in common.'

‘That may be,' said Sir Jesse, looking into the fire. ‘That may be.'

‘I wish he would not keep gazing at the fire,' said Priscilla, aside to the others. ‘People are supposed to see faces in it, but I am so afraid he will see wood.'

‘You are not afraid of me,' said Sir Jesse. ‘You would ask me for anything you wanted.'

‘Does that mean he knows we take it without asking?' said Priscilla.

‘We are not in need of anything,' said Lester.

Sir Jesse gave him an almost gentle look, that seemed to make some comparison.

‘You do not see much of my family?'

‘Daniel and Graham come in sometimes.'

‘Luce does not come?' said Sir Jesse, on his suddenly harsher note.

‘No, she never does,' said Lester, in simple assurance.

‘Why are we pariahs?' said Susan, looking Sir Jesse in the eyes.

‘It is your own word,' said the latter.

‘It is yours,' said Priscilla, ‘though 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.'

‘That is my reason for concerning myself with you.'

‘It was a fortunate friendship for us.'

‘That is for you to say.'

‘That is what I must have felt,' said Priscilla.

‘I must go,' said Sir Jesse. ‘I 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.

‘What would he have done, if we had not been grateful for bare necessities?' said Susan.

‘He knew just how much he meant to do,' said Lester.

‘He knows why people dislike their benefactors,' said Priscilla. ‘It 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.'

‘We are never to know our story?' said her brother.

‘I feel that is confirmed today,' said Susan. ‘Something made him go as far as he would ever go. It may be a good thing.'

‘It gives us a feeling of security,' said Priscilla. ‘I daresay it would be too much for us to know. We might not be able to forgive Mother.'

The housekeeper entered the room.

‘Sir Jesse spoke to me today, miss. He has never done it before. He said he hoped I was taking care of you all.'

‘Why does he break his records all of a sudden?' said Susan.

‘His son has broken one by dying,' said Priscilla, ‘and that has put him on the course.'

‘How shall we behave when Sir Jesse dies?' said Lester. ‘Shall we have to go to the funeral?'

‘You will have to represent us,' said Susan.

‘What a good thing Susan knows these things!' said Priscilla. ‘I could not answer such a question.'

‘I hope he will leave us as much as he allows us,' said Lester, in an anxious tone. ‘He must know he will cause us great trouble if he does not.'

‘It is wonderful of people to think of other people's needs after they are dead themselves,' said Priscilla. ‘I always feel it is too much to expect.'

‘People don't find it so,' said Susan.

‘And we must not talk as if people were about to die, because they are old.'

‘There is something in the view,' said Lester gravely.

‘It is too ordinary for us,' said Priscilla. ‘We have tried to get our own touch, and we must not dispel it through carelessness.'

‘It does not sound as if it were natural,' said Susan.

‘Well, things must often owe as much to art as to nature. I dare say the best things do.'

‘Does Sir Jesse respect or despise us?' said Lester.

‘It is possible to do both,' said Susan.

‘One feeling must get the upper hand,' said her sister. ‘And though it is extraordinary, when he supports us, I believe in his case it is respect.'

‘He has quite an affection for you,' said Lester.

‘Well, 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.'

‘We cannot deal only in the best methods,' said Susan. ‘What would be the good of the others? And now they are so much good.'

‘We have got Sir Jesse's visit over,' said Lester. ‘He won't come again for months.'

‘This is an extra visit, caused by the death of his son,' said Susan.

‘You need not see him when he comes,' said Priscilla.

‘It gives us a feeling of strain,' said Lester. ‘We know we are in his power.'

‘I 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.'

‘Especially between Sir Jesse and us,' said Lester.

‘Would he mind if one of us were to die?' said Susan.

‘He would wish he had made things easier for us,' said her sister. ‘People 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.'

‘We shall never have to wish we had given help to Sir Jesse,' said Lester, in a musing tone.

‘If one of us were to marry, would he reveal our parentage?' said Susan.

‘I could not support a wife,' said Lester, in a startled manner.

‘If we cannot find out by less drastic means, we will leave it,' said Priscilla.

‘If only the photograph could speak!' said Susan. ‘Sir Jesse never looks at it. It is not of much interest to him.'

‘He is careful never to look at it,' said Lester.

‘Why are inanimate things supposed to be so communicative?' said Priscilla. ‘It might tell us nothing. And it may be on the side of Sir Jesse.'

‘To think what we could tell the photograph!' said Susan.

‘Well, not so much,' said Lester.

‘There isn't so much to be told,' said Priscilla. ‘Photographs would find that.'

‘Mr Ridley Cranmer,' said Mrs Morris at the door.

‘You are satisfactory friends to call upon,' said Ridley, pausing inside the room, as if its size would hardly allow advance. ‘We can rely on finding you at home. It is not easy for an occupied man to appoint his time.'

‘I wonder if Mother likes to hear that about us,' said Priscilla.

‘You still find that your mother's photograph adds an interest to your life,' said Ridley, resting his eyes on the chimneypiece. ‘I can understand that it suggests many pictures of the past. I wonder Sir Jesse did not grant it to you before.'

‘He only found it by accident,' said Susan.

‘Is that the case?' said Ridley. ‘I believe Sir Jesse has paid you a visit this afternoon?'

‘Yes, he has just gone.'

‘I saw him coming away from the house.'

‘Then you would believe it,' said Priscilla.

‘Does he often honour you in that way?'

‘No, very seldom,' said Susan.

‘It is sad to think he is now a childless man.'

‘He said that of himself,' said Lester.

‘Did he?' said Ridley, with a look of interest.

‘Does it strike you as a curious thing to say?'

‘I can hardly imagine our friend, Sir Jesse, making such an intimate statement.'

‘The news had leaked out,' said Priscilla.

Ridley threw back his head and went into laughter.

‘I 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.

‘It must have been a hard moment for everyone,' said Susan.

‘But I had my reward in the courage and resolution displayed by them all,' went on Ridley, ‘especially 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.'

‘She will have a difficult life,' said Lester.

‘Lester, it seems almost too much,' said Ridley, turning in sudden feeling. ‘It seems that something should be done to ease so great a burden.'

‘She has three grown-up children.'

‘And 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.'

‘She has her husband's parents.'

‘Rather would I say, Lester, that they have her.'

‘So that is how Mother feels to us,' said Priscilla. ‘I feel half-inclined to take her away from the chimneypiece.'

‘Leave her,' said Ridley, in a rather dramatic manner, resting his eyes again on the photograph. ‘Nothing 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.'

‘People say we are like her,' said Susan.

‘That is what Ridley meant,' said Priscilla.

‘I must leave you now,' said Ridley, seeming not to hear the words,, and perhaps not doing so in the stress of his feelings. ‘My duties call me. I have more in these sad days. I hardly know why I came in. I happened to be passing.'

‘Why do people give that reason for calling?' said Susan. ‘They can't drop in on every acquaintance they pass.'

‘They imply that they would not call at the cost of any trouble,' said Priscilla. ‘They 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.'

‘It is not like Ridley to call by himself on people of no place and parentage.'

‘He had his own reasons,' said Lester.

‘Well, my boy, I must solicit your help,' said Ridley, entering the Sullivans' hall. ‘I have come to seek a moment with your grandfather.'

‘I don't know where he is,' said Gavin.

‘Can you find out for me?'

‘We never do find out things about him.'

‘Grandpa is in the library,' said Honor, coming up. ‘Couldn't you go and see him?'

‘So I am to beard the lion in his den.'

‘Grandpa is a big lion,' said Nevill, pausing by the group. ‘He can roar very loud.'

‘He can at times,' said Honor, making a mature grimace, and glancing to see if Ridley had had the advantage of it.

‘Do you often play in the hall?' said the latter.

‘Sometimes when it is wet,' said Gavin.

‘Shall 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.

‘Yes,' 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.

‘I plead guilty, Lady Sullivan,' said the latter, standing with outspread hands, and the rug in one of them. ‘I am caught red-handed.'