‘Dear, dear, the miniature world of a family! All the emotions of mankind seem to find a place in it.’
‘It was those emotions that originally gave rise to it,’ said Daniel. ‘No doubt they would still be there.’
‘What a thing to be at the head of it!’ said Eleanor.
Sir Jesse looked up, but perceived that the reference was not to himself.
‘I think it is the place I would choose,’ said Daniel.
‘I would not,’ said his brother.
‘Isabel has a very deep feeling for Father,’ said Luce, looking round the table. ‘It seems to be something altogether beyond her age.’
‘It is unwise to imagine the months ahead, if that is her trouble,’ said Graham.
Regan covered her face and sank into weeping. Luce left her chair, and with a movement of her brows in reference to the consistent nature of her offices, went to her relief. Sir Jesse beckoned to his grandsons to follow him in Fulbert’s stead, and left the women to their ways, as his expression suggested. Luce stood a little apart from Regan, as if the moment to officiate were not yet at hand, and touched her shoulders from time to time in token of what was in store. Eleanor looked at her mother-in-law with guarded eyes, and Regan felt the gaze and returned it almost with defiance.
‘Don’t try to control yourself, Grandma. Let yourself go; it will do you good,’ said Luce, taking a sure, if unintended method of inducing recovery.
‘So your grandfather has gone,’ said Regan. ‘Men don’t feel things like women.’
‘Well, perhaps they don’t, Grandma,’ said Luce, giving her hands a regular movement. ‘Do you know, I think Isabel is very like you in some ways?’
Regan’s face and Eleanor’s responded to this suggestion in a different manner.
‘Mother, I don’t believe you like people to show their feelings,’ said Luce.
‘It depends on their age and other things.’
‘Age hasn’t much to do with it, if we are to judge from Isabel and me,’ said Regan, with a smile.
‘Grandma, you are yourself again,’ said Luce.
‘Shall we go to the drawing-room?’ said Eleanor. ‘If we are to support each other, we may as well do it at ease.’
As Regan led the way into the room, Hope sprang from the hearth.
‘I told them I would wait for you. I know I ought not to have come. We do not intrude upon family privacy at such a time. But I know what such a condition can be, and it did seem I ought to prevent it, if I could. If I only annoy you, it will take you out of yourselves. That always seems to have to be done in some unpleasant way. I do want to sacrifice myself for you. I have sacrificed the others by leaving them at home. No sacrifice is too great.’
‘You have made Grandma laugh, Mrs Cranmer,’ said Luce, in the tone of one pushing up with an assurance.
‘That shows I have forgotten myself, for I was really out of spirits. I see why the jesters of old were such sad people. If their profession was cheering people who needed it, it would have been unfeeling not to be. They couldn’t have had enough sadness in their own lives to account for their reputation.’
‘Comic actors and writers and all such people are said to be melancholy,’ said Luce. ‘And they do not come in contact with the people they cheer.’
‘Well, it may just be the contrast of their professional liveliness with their normal human discontent. We might say that wrestlers and acrobats are lazy, because they sit on chairs at home. People do give their spare time to complaining. Well, I saw you and your brothers driving with your father to the station, and I said to myself. There are those dear children facing the hardest moments, and here am I, just running the house, that is, giving spare time to complaining. So I have come here to be rejected and unwelcome, because that will give me a hard moment, and I really cannot go on any longer without one.’
‘Mother is laughing now,’ announced Luce. ‘And I did not think that would be contrived today.’
‘I have been a sad, sour woman for a good many hours,’ said Eleanor.
‘Well, you have not been yourself,’ said Hope. ‘So that shows how different you really are.’
‘There is not much in my life that I can look back on with pride.’
‘What an odd thing to think of doing! I thought people looked back with remorse, and thought of the might-have-beens, and how it was always too late. I should never dare to do it at all.’
‘I have had such sad, little faces round me today, and I have not done much to brighten them.’
‘I am quite above minding the number today, my dear.’
‘They will all be six months older before their father sees them again.’
‘Yes, they will, but does that matter? It is not like being ill or an anxiety.’
‘Nevill will be three and a half,’ said Luce, in the same regretful tone.
‘Will that be a disadvantage to him? Is there something about age that I don’t understand?’
‘Their childhood is slipping away,’ explained Luce.
‘Yes, but it won’t do that any more quickly because Fulbert is gone. I expect every day will drag. And doesn’t time always stand still in childhood? I thought it was always those long, summer days.’
‘It has been a chill enough day today,’ said Eleanor.
‘So I have come to bring it a little ordinary warmth. I know it is ordinary; I am not making any claim. I enjoy having a talk with women, and I know you will like to give pleasure to another in your own dark hours, because that would be one of your characteristics. I will begin by saying that Faith is so forbearing that it is impossible to live with her.’
‘You go on managing it,’ said Regan.
‘Another laugh, Mrs Cranmer!’ said Luce.
‘I do it by being always in the wrong. And though that is not much to do for Paul, it is the little, daily sacrifices that count. They are so much more than the one great one.’
‘I wonder if people would recognize that one, if they saw it,’ said Eleanor.
‘There, see how much good I am doing you! It is a healthy sign to see the inconsistencies in others. It seems fortunate that it is almost universal.’
‘Does Ridley make any sacrifices?’ said Regan.
‘Well, he may be waiting for the one great one.’
‘I hope we are not putting too much on him,’ said Eleanor.
‘I don’t think you could have thought I meant that, dear,’ said Hope.
Regan went into laughter and Eleanor looked puzzled for a moment.
‘Fulbert may come back to do his own work,’ said Regan, with a return of grimness.
‘And Ridley will go on waiting,’ said Hope. ‘And I like my stepchildren to be frustrated. I can say it today, because it is to do you good.’
‘Do you know, Mrs Cranmer, it does have that effect?’ said Luce, bringing her brows together.
‘Where is Sir Jesse?’ said Hope. ‘I keep being afraid he will come in.’
‘He is with the boys in the library,’ said Eleanor.
‘I always say people prefer their own sex. It is such a tribute to everyone, when they understand it so well. It means they don’t even mind being understood. I am glad Faith is not here, to look as if I were really saying something uncharitable.’
‘Faith is here, Mrs Cranmer,’ said Luce, in a just audible tone, glancing out of the window and trying to suppress a smile.
‘I suppose she would be by now. So she has come to put me at a disadvantage.’
‘I hardly think that is fair.’
‘No, dear, but I am here to do you good. Being fair would achieve nothing, and being put at a disadvantage may. We will wait for Faith to do her part. If it is for your sakes, I mind nothing.’
Faith looked with gentle inquiry from face to face.
‘I am afraid it is the last of all days to call.’
‘I don’t think you can be, dear,’ said Hope.
‘I feel I must be an unwelcome visitor.’
‘I do
n’t think you can feel that either.’
Faith brought her eyes to rest on her stepmother.
‘You see it is happening,’ said Hope, fidgeting. ‘But I am only too glad to be of use.’
Faith’s expression became one of inquiry.
‘You must have some errand that you have not said,’ said Hope.
‘I did not like the idea of your walking home by yourself, Mother.’
‘But when we walk together, we can’t keep in step.’
‘I will try and take shorter steps.’
‘And if I do the opposite, we shall meet each other. It is quite a little parable for our daily life.’
‘I am afraid I am rather tall,’ said Faith, looking round with a deprecating smile. ‘But I do not think it at all fair for the shorter person to adapt herself. It is for the taller one to do that.’
‘It must be nice to give out of abundance,’ said Hope.
‘Or bearable anyhow,’ said Regan.
Luce exchanged a glance with Faith, in smiling reference to the attitude of the older women.
‘How are the children?’ said Faith, turning to Eleanor.
‘They have had a sad day, I am afraid.’
‘Perhaps I may go and see them.’
‘Well, it would be very kind.’
‘Do let us go from floor to floor,’ said Hope, incurring a glance from Faith, who had wished to go alone with Eleanor. ‘I should not feel I had been here, if I had not done that. And it would be a pity not to take advantage of my unembittered mood. I must always have seen the children with a jaundiced eye.’
‘I must just look in on my husband,’ said Regan, as they crossed the hall.
‘I see I have no conception of a true union.’
Sir Jesse was engaged on some game of his youth with his eldest grandson, while the second looked on. He had lost his skill with years, and Daniel was being hard pressed to give him play, and at the same time cover his lapses. Graham was pale with the effort of following and supporting the contest.
‘Youth and Age,’ said Faith, looking round with a smile. ‘It makes me wish I were a painter.’
‘That was a picture in words,’ said Luce.
‘Not a very elaborate one, I am afraid,’ said Faith, looking down as she turned to the stairs.
‘We see the older children first,’ said Hope. ‘The higher we go, the younger they get. It seems odd that the smaller ones should have to climb further. We read about little, sturdy legs toiling up the stairs, but why does it have to be like that?’
‘The nurseries are always furthest from the lower floors,’ said Faith.
‘Yes, that is what I said, dear. But why?’
‘We don’t want too many nursery sounds,’ said Eleanor.
‘I thought they were the most beautiful sounds in the world. I don’t seem to understand the things I have missed. But I daresay that is natural.’
The schoolroom children were lying back in their chairs, listening to Miss Mitford reading aloud. They rose, looking rather conscious of their self-indulgence.
‘So they are in spirits again,’ said Eleanor, who took any form of recreation as a token of this.
‘How do you know they are?’ said Hope. ‘Miss Mitford may be trying to distract them.’
‘I hope she has met with a measure of success. They are themselves again, are they, Miss Mitford?’
‘No.’
‘Are they not? Why?’
‘Because their father has left them.’
‘But they are up to enjoying a book.’
‘Anyone is equal to something done by someone else.’
‘Well, I hope your time is not being quite wasted. What are you doing, James? You don’t seem to be listening.’
James did not say he was sunk in the lethargy of exhaustion. He sat up and alertly indicated a box at his side.
‘I am tidying my case of curiosities.’
‘They do not look as if they had had much attention,’ said Eleanor, smiling in the belief that a boy could pursue such an occupation without result. ‘You had better ask Venice to help you.’
‘Why Venice?’said Hope.
‘She is our obliging little woman.’
‘Miss Mitford said she would help me to put labels on the things,’ said James.
‘Well, that would bring order out of chaos. Why do you prop up the box on a book? I never knew a boy put books to such odd purposes.’
‘It goes down without it,’ said James, drawing out the book so that the box dropped with a crash, and taking the box into his arms as if to protect it.
‘Where did you get the book?’ said his mother.
‘From the dining-room,’ said James, in immediate, cordial response.
‘I saw a space on the shelves. Did you take more than one?’
‘Three all the same,’ said James, holding the box with his chin, while he adjusted his hands beneath it. ‘Two of them are in my room.’
‘Then run and fetch them, my dear. They are not books you want to read.’
James looked for someone to whom to entrust his box, yielded it to Faith’s ready hands, and scampered upstairs.
‘What is the book?’ said Hope.
Eleanor met her eyes, while she addressed a casual remark to Miss Mitford, and everyone knew that the subject was not one for Isabel and Venice, including the pair concerned. James returned and put the books into Eleanor’s hands without looking at them, and carefully retrieved his box.
‘Why did you take them?’ said his mother.
‘They looked as if they were interesting,’ said James, in an almost confidential tone. ‘They have covers like Miss Mitford’s German fairy tales. And there were nine all alike. But perhaps the leaves wanted cutting.’
‘And can’t you do that?’ said Faith, at once.
‘I always tear them, if I do it,’ said James, looking at her with frankness in his eyes, if in no other part of him.
‘That would not do for the dining-room books,’ said Eleanor. ‘They must be left alone in future.’
‘Would you like to have a paper knife?’ said Faith.
‘Is that a knife for cutting pages?’ said James, with his customary unawareness of the purposes of things.
‘Yes. I will bring you one next time I come.’
‘Then I shall have one like Miss Mitford,’ said James, betraying that he had seen this one in use.
‘Isabel looks tired, Miss Mitford,’ said Eleanor. ‘And she has had a sleep. She cannot spend her life resting.’
‘Certainly not, on such a day as this in her family.’
‘Everything possible has been spared her.’
‘I am sure it has. But that could hardly be much.’
‘They would be better in bed,’ said Eleanor, taking an accustomed outlet for her anxiety and other feelings.
‘You need not stand, children,’ said Luce. ‘We know you have had a long day.’
‘Need they sit either?’ said Hope. ‘I think they like to lie down. Are they prostrated by their father’s going?’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Mitford.
‘I expect they would like to be rid of us,’ said Faith, going with decision to the door. ‘After all, they did not invite us in here, did they?’
‘You seemed to have a standing invitation, dear,’ said Hope.
‘What an open expression James has!’ said Faith, when she gained the landing.
Luce touched her arm and her own lips, and motioned towards the open door, and Faith nodded and smiled in suitable dumb response.
‘Well, that wasn’t a very gracious welcome,’ said Eleanor, to her children. ‘It is kind of people to come and see you. Don’t you think it is, Isabel?’
‘I don’t suppose so, or they would not come so often. People are not so fond of being kind.’
‘I don’t think you have any reason for saying that, my dear. You have had great patience today.’
‘Oh, so have you,’ said Isabel, raising her hands to her head.
The party went upstairs to the nursery, where Honor and Gavin were employed at the table, and Nevill was sitting on Hat-ton’s lap, looking flushed and rumpled.
‘Too tired to sleep,’ he said, as he turned to the guests.
‘Is he, Hatton?’ said Eleanor, with a certain weariness in her own manner.
‘He missed his rest, madam. He will be all right in the morning.’
‘But not go to bed yet,’ said Nevill, in a sharp tone.
‘I hope he isn’t sickening for anything,’ said Eleanor.
‘You must hope so,’ said Hope. ‘I am sure I do too. Indeed I hope no one is.’
‘What are the others doing?’ said Faith.
‘We are painting arrows for our bows and arrows,’ said Gavin. ‘Miss Pilbeam helped us to make the bows. The arrows were in the shop.’
‘He has a bow-and-arrow,’ said Nevill, pronouncing the last three words in one, and indicating a production of Mullet’s on a chair.
‘That is not a real one,’ said Gavin.
‘A little bow-and-arrow,’ said Nevill, in a contented tone.
‘What will you shoot with them?’ said Faith, with some misgiving in her tone.
‘Oh, birds and animals and things,’ said Gavin. ‘They are not toys. They could give a mortal wound.’
‘I don’t suppose we shall hit much,’ said Honor. ‘And they are not poisoned arrows.’
‘He will shoot a bird,’ said Nevill, his voice rising with his thought. ‘He will shoot a chicken; he will shoot a cock.’
‘A duck would be easy to shoot,’ said Gavin.
‘A duck,’ agreed Nevill, settling down on Hatton’s lap.
‘They must not make havoc among the poultry, Hatton,’ said Eleanor.
‘Then how are they to manage?’ said Hope.
‘Why don’t they have a target to shoot at?’ said Faith.
‘What is a target?’ said Gavin.
‘A piece of wood made on purpose for shooting,’ said Faith, with mingled eagerness and precision. ‘It has holes or marks on it, so that people can aim.’
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