Parents and Children

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

  ‘We were keeping the news for an opportune moment,’ said Daniel, not mentioning that they had postponed it until after their mother’s marriage. ‘And then we forgot it in the excitement of your return. It was in the Times on Tuesday, and Grandpa scanned the lists this morning and found our place. Somehow it seems an odd thing for him to do.’

  ‘There is no limit to what he is capable of,’ said Graham. ‘But I suppose not even he will think it a moment for dwelling on people’s weaker sides.’

  ‘Have you already forgotten that some things are not to be mentioned?’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I will remind myself of it, Mother. I am all for following the course.’

  ‘You shall have my support, my boy,’ said Fulbert, ‘I have not come back to expect great things of you. I have done little myself but survive. I ask nothing but your welcome.’

  ‘He has it,’ said Graham, in a fervent undertone.

  ‘You could not make an effort for your mother, Graham?’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Graham, some day you may tell people what was the bitterest moment of your life,’ said Daniel.

  Fulbert signed towards the dining-room.

  ‘Is it wise to keep the old man waiting for his luncheon?’

  Luce tiptoed to the room and back again, with a smile spreading over her face.

  ‘We have not done so, Father.’

  ‘We may as well go and catch him up,’ said Fulbert, walking through the open door.

  Sir Jesse gave no sign while his family took their seats, but presently turned to Graham.

  ‘I mentioned to you that I saw those lists in the Times. I asked you if I was to believe the evidence of my eyes. You did not answer my question.’

  ‘Well, I wish you would not do so, Grandpa.’

  ‘Am I to gather there is some mistake?’

  ‘Things in the Times tend to be true. And the same must be said of the testimony of people’s senses.’

  ‘Are you speaking to me?’

  ‘I am answering you, Grandpa.’

  ‘Would you prefer to be apprenticed to a shoemaker or a shoeblack?’

  ‘The first; I should say there is no comparison. The work would be more skilled and more remunerative.’

  ‘Good reasons, my boy,’ said Fulbert, under his breath.

  ‘Why are unsuccessful sons supposed to apply themselves to callings connected with shoes?’ said Daniel.

  ‘No wonder good boots seem so very good,’ said Graham. ‘A great deal of good blood must be behind the making of them.’

  ‘If you cannot apply your sharpness to your work, I want none of it,’ said Sir Jesse.

  ‘Miss Mitford was so pleased about your place, Daniel,’ said Luce. ‘She also saw the lists in the Times.’

  ‘The Times?’ said Sir Jesse, Regan and Eleanor at once.

  ‘Not the family copy,’ said Luce, laughing. ‘She has her own.’

  ‘How like her!’ said Regan, her tone almost giving way under her feeling.

  ‘Why, Grandma, she may want to know the news of the day.’

  ‘And no doubt does what she wants,’ said Regan, in the same tone.

  ‘You appear to be eating your luncheon, Graham,’ said Sir Jesse, seeming to view ordinary proceeding in his grandson, as his wife did in the governess. ‘What are your ideas about your ultimate provision?’

  ‘If only Graham could be cured, what problems it would solve!’ said Daniel.

  ‘You have never needed to have any on the subject yourself, Grandpa,’ said Graham.

  ‘You need not compare yourself with me. I have done many other things.’

  ‘Yes, I know you have,’ said Graham, drawing his mother’s eyes.

  ‘Do you feel no gratitude to me for your home and your education?’

  ‘You make me pay too heavy a price for them.’

  ‘I hope that sort of payment will stand you in stead with other people.’

  The three children ran into the room in outdoor clothes.

  ‘They have just come in to see us,’ said Eleanor. ‘I thought they would be too much for their father today. He is not strong yet.’

  ‘Come and have a piece of my chicken,’ said Fulbert, to his youngest son.

  Nevill came up and waited while a spoon was supplied, not standing very close or looking at the process.

  ‘Did you like it?’ said his father.

  ‘No, it burnt his tongue,’ said Nevill, and turned away.

  ‘How shall I pay for my future portions of chicken?’ said Graham.

  ‘I should be glad to know,’ said Sir Jesse.

  ‘Why can’t Graham just be a man like Grandpa and Father?’ said Gavin, who had grasped the nature of the conversation.

  ‘He has no money,’ said Eleanor. ‘You will all have to earn your living.’

  ‘Shall we? I thought it was only James.’

  ‘No, of course not. You are all in the same position.’

  ‘Then I shall be a traveller.’

  ‘You would not earn much like that.’

  ‘If I confronted great dangers, I should.’

  ‘Who would pay you for doing it? It would not be much good to other people.’

  ‘There are societies who pay,’ said Honor. ‘People like things to be discovered.’

  ‘Graham’s occupation is the immediate point,’ said Sir Jesse.

  ‘I thought you had arranged it, sir,’ said Graham.

  ‘He will call Grandpa, sir,’ said Nevill, in an admiring tone.

  ‘Shall we say a word about Daniel?’ said Fulbert. ‘We may as well dwell upon our success.’

  ‘He knows how glad and proud he has made us,’ said Eleanor. ‘We do not need to talk about it.’

  ‘I also have grasped the general feeling,’ said Graham.

  ‘I suppose Graham will be a tutor,’ said Sir Jesse, in a tone that did not exalt this calling.

  ‘I should be the first of Miss Mitford’s pupils to follow in her steps.’

  Why isn’t it nice to be a tutor?’ said Honor. ‘Royal people have tutors, and their names are put in the papers.’

  ‘So are the ladies-in-waiting,’ said Sir Jesse.

  ‘Grandpa spoke to Honor,’ said Nevill, impressed by this equal answer.

  ‘Does Hatton also have the Times?’ said Fulbert.

  ‘Hatton has it all,’ said Nevill.

  ‘What are you going to be when you grow up?’ said Fulbert, catching his son and lifting him to his knee.

  ‘He will be a king,’ said Nevill, reconciling himself to his situation.

  ‘Then you will be above your father.’

  ‘Yes, Father is only a man.’

  ‘Why do you want to look down on us all?’

  ‘He will take care of you. And he will take care of Hatton and Mullet too.’

  ‘And what will Hatton be?’

  ‘She will be a lady when he marries her.’

  ‘But then she will be a queen.’

  ‘No, he will. There is only one. Hatton likes it to be him.’

  ‘What will the rest of us be?’

  ‘All stand round him and wear long clothes. Not a king, but very nice.’

  ‘And what will you wear?’

  ‘A crown.’

  ‘He has seen a picture,’ said Luce.

  ‘He will sit on a throne,’ said Nevill, raising his arms, ‘And a man will kneel down on a cushion with his gold stick.’

  ‘I am going to leave the table before that office is suggested for me,’ said Graham, to his brother. ‘It seems to have points in common with that of a shoeblack. You can come with me to cover my retreat.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Daniel, when they gained the hall.

  ‘To visit the Mariowes. That is a thing that Grandpa would dislike. You can come and scan their faces for signs of their parentage. That is what you want to do. I am glad I am not so nearly related to Grandpa.’

  ‘We must keep a stern hold on our tongues.’

  ‘Oh, I will keep Gran
dpa’s guilty secrets,’ said Graham, relapsing into his usual manner. ‘And in future I will commit errors base enough to be hushed up.’

  ‘He feels you have caused him to waste his substance. And I see there have been drains upon it. A second family is not exactly an economy.’

  ‘He has rendered it as much of one as possible,’ said Graham, looking at the cottage. ‘Why did he establish the fruits of his sin at his gates?’

  ‘Because he could do it most cheaply there,’ said Daniel, hardly realizing that he spoke the simple truth.

  Priscilla came at once to meet them.

  ‘Well, there ought to be a bond between us. We all thought we were fatherless, and we all find we are not.’

  ‘So the truth has escaped,’ said Daniel, ‘and with its accustomed dispatch.’

  ‘And we find that our feelings do not go beyond speech. And we are glad of that. The speech will be a relief. We are looking forward to it.’

  ‘Mother and Sir Jesse decided to set conventions at nought,’ said Susan.

  ‘And there is one law for the man and another for the woman,’ said Priscilla. ‘That makes it braver of Mother. And she has to be coupled with Sir Jesse. And that does seem a credit to her.’

  ‘How has it got out?’ said Daniel.

  ‘Hope thinks Ridley spread it abroad,’ said Susan. ‘Out of revenge on your family.’

  ‘Revenge for what?’ said Graham. ‘For patience and hospitality and welcome of him in our father’s place? If a word was wrung from us, when his full plan emerged, it is surely to be understood.’

  ‘He is angry at having fallen from his pedestal.’

  ‘So Grandpa is to do the same. Well, he will not do so,’ said Daniel. ‘No one can speak of the truth to him, and he will die in ignorance that anyone knows. He has already forgotten that we do.’

  ‘So you know the whole,’ said Graham, to Priscilla.

  ‘We hope we do. We have done our best. The full story may never come to us. But the bare facts are enough. We are quite satisfied.’

  ‘It should go no further,’ said Susan. ‘In our case it hardly can. But James goes to school.’

  ‘James does not know,’ said Daniel.

  ‘No doubt the boys at the school do. And James will give his own evidence. And soon know himself.’

  ‘He cannot bring his friends home. We escape that risk,’ said Graham, leaning back. ‘He might be put to have tea in the nursery, or have to obey the governess, or be asked how his lessons were progressing.’

  ‘Anything might happen,’ said Daniel; ‘anything would; anything did, when we were young.’

  ‘I wish Ridley’s crime had not a tragic side,’ said Graham.

  ‘It does spoil one’s full enjoyment of it,’ said Priscilla. ‘But people’s reasons for crimes always make one want to cry. Think of Sir Jesse, lonely in a far land and needing Mother. And think of Mother, prepared to face anything for Sir Jesse’s sake. Between ourselves, it does seem rather odd of Mother.’

  ‘Think of Ridley,’ began Graham, and broke off.

  ‘I am glad Sir Jesse need never know that we know,’ said Lester. ‘It would make it awkward for Priscilla to show him our accounts. It would seem too businesslike a relation.’

  ‘Surely you do not owe him your confidence to that extent?’ said Daniel.

  ‘We owe him everything, even life,’ said Priscilla. ‘And we might have known that it is only owing people that, that leads to owing them other things.’

  ‘It is a good thing he is the father of all three of us,’ said Susan. ‘It would be a poor exchange to gain Sir Jesse and lose each other.’

  Lester raised his eyes.

  ‘Have you ever suspected the truth?’ said Daniel.

  ‘We shall think we have, unless we check ourselves in time,’ said Susan. ‘I have thought of it, but it seemed that Sir Jesse had not enough feeling for us.’

  ‘I have no excuse to make; it simply never occurred to me,’ said Priscilla. ‘That is what my woman’s instinct has done. I hope it means that I am a masculine type. And I believe Sir Jesse has sometimes looked at me with a parent’s eye. I have had every chance.’

  ‘It seems almost too obvious a solution,’ said Susan. ‘And a good many things did point the other way. Sir Jesse’s lack of affection, his putting us so near his house, his not disclaiming interest in us. But no doubt he knew they did.’

  ‘Did Hope tell you?’ said Daniel.

  ‘She said nothing until she found we knew,’ said Susan. ‘No one told us in words, but something in the air was too much.’

  ‘Hope knows where to draw the line,’ said Lester.

  ‘I had no idea of that,’ said Priscilla. ‘I was quite self-reproachful when I knew.’

  ‘It is a great thing to feel we have a claim on Sir Jesse,’ Lester said in a grave tone.

  ‘No legal claim after you are fourteen,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Well, people are always children to their parents,’ said Priscilla. ‘And it does not seem that Sir Jesse has a great regard for rules.’

  ‘When our origin is what it is, why is not Luce allowed to visit us?’ said Susan.

  ‘That is the reason,’ said Daniel. ‘It is the blood relationship. Lester might fall in love with his niece. So might you with your nephews, but Grandpa would think that was unlikely.’

  ‘The difference in age would be supposed to prevent it,’ said Susan.

  ‘Something has done so,’ said Graham.

  ‘I wonder Sir Jesse never thought we might suspect the truth,’ said Susan.

  ‘I think he had almost forgotten it himself,’ said Priscilla, ‘until the loss of his son reminded him, and he saw himself as childless except for us. I see it all now. Of course people always say that, but why shouldn’t they, when it is true? What is the good of their having the help, if they don’t take advantage of it?’

  ‘I wonder if he had a family anywhere else,’ said Lester, as if struck by a new idea.

  ‘He has only lived in two places,’ said Daniel, ‘and he was provided for in both of those.’

  ‘I should have liked to be there when the truth came out,’ said Susan.

  ‘You little know,’ said Graham.

  ‘I am not afraid of saying that I feel with Susan,’ said Priscilla. ‘Women may be tough, but falsehood does not make it any better. I wish we had been present, and I almost feel we had a right to be.’

  ‘Did you ever suspect, Lester?’ said Graham.

  ‘I cannot claim that I did,’ said Lester, with a laugh. ‘I once hinted to Sir Jesse that we should like a photograph of our father, and that disposes of the question. But on that day when he paid us a visit to talk of his son, I knew.’

  ‘Why did you not tell us?’ said his sisters at once, neither of them throwing doubt on his word.

  ‘I thought it might be disturbing for you to know.’

  ‘It is disquieting news,’ said Priscilla, ‘but I am glad we have such a respectable father. Sir Jesse will still be esteemed.’

  ‘Ridley will have to live in exile, and Grandpa will remain the head of the village,’ said Daniel. ‘And I feel it is right.’

  ‘If it were not for the art of photography, Grandpa would still be held a perfect man,’ said Graham, in a tone of sympathy with his grandfather.

  ‘Mankind is known to use his inventions for his own destruction,’ said Priscilla.

  ‘Suppose there should be a great deal of talk about it,’ said Lester.

  ‘Only Ridley would want that,’ said Daniel. ‘And he can hardly cast the first stone.’

  ‘Grandpa can take that initiative,’ said Graham. ‘I can bear witness to it.’

  ‘No doubt many people have guessed,’ said Susan. ‘Now that the truth is out, the position will hardly be different.’

  ‘It is a good thing Grandpa is a man who can carry off anything,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I always wanted to meet a person like that,’ said Priscilla. ‘And now I am the daughter of one. I ho
pe we have inherited the quality. It should be useful to us.’

  ‘Perhaps it has always been so,’ said Lester.

  ‘People will have a tinge of respect for us for our descent,’ said Priscilla. ‘And we shall share the feeling.’

  ‘You cannot bring your lips to utter the word, Father,’ said Daniel.

  ‘No, no,’ said Lester, almost before the words were out, ‘there is no need for that.’

  ‘Here are a note and a book from Hope,’ said Priscilla, as a parcel was brought to her. ‘She left them herself. I can see her going down the road. I wonder if she has any more news for us.’

  DEAR PRISCILLA,

  I meant to come in, but I caught sight of your guests, and I could not be the only person among so many, not related to Sir Jesse. I still hope it will be found out that I am, but meanwhile I just offer my love and congratulations.

  HOPE CRANMER.

  ‘Someone else is approaching,’ said Susan. ‘That is why Hope did not wait. She wanted to meet Sir Jesse. He is going to that lane where he walks by himself, and he seems not to see her. Someone get in front of the window. He will be passing in a moment.’

  ‘It seems odd that he should be following his usual course,’ said Priscilla. ‘But no revelation has come to him. To think what pictures of the past must be crowding through his mind! Perhaps they have always done so, and that explains his absent ways. But I daresay we are judging by our own minds.’

  She moved to the window and stood with her figure shadowing the room, and Sir Jesse gave her a glance as he passed, and raised his hat and walked on.

  This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader

  Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

  Copyright © I. Compton-Burnett, 1941

  First published by Victor Gollancz 1941

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

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