The Last and the First

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

  “It can hardly do that, Mater,” said Madeline. “Your lives are bound up with each other rather than the place, dear and deeply rooted in them though it is. Your family has come first with you. Think for a moment and you will see it.”

  “I don’t dare to think any further. I have thought and felt enough. My trouble is not for myself. Should I take it as hard as this? The change is too late for your father. It is a drain on strength he is without. And he has to seem equal to it, and carry his usual face. It will all be too much on us both. There seems no hope in anything. I don’t know how to go on.”

  “What is the actual position?” said Angus. “I am in the dark. Father does the books himself, and I have never really known it. Is there any sudden change? Or any sudden reason for it?”

  “The changes have been gathering. They have been gradual rather than sudden. Tithes and rents have fallen; farmers have failed; mortgages have been called in; general costs have risen. The usual troubles of people who live on and off the land. We have never done more than strike a balance, and now the climax has come. We are to leave the family home, that was to be for you and your children’s children. There is no entail, and nothing in the way. We are utterly exposed to fate. Well, what is the good of thinking about it? I wish I had not the power of thought.”

  “I wish you had not. You are being too prodigal with it. We will suffer as little, not as much, as we can. The first will be enough.”

  “And it is not the worst kind of trouble,” said Madeline. “There are many deeper ones. We should try to take it well. We shall still be more fortunate than many people.”

  “And less fortunate than more,” said Eliza. “How many people give up their home and feel a long service to it is wasted? If we took that too well, it would take the life from the past. When trouble comes it is senseless to deny it. There is no courage in shirking the truth.”

  “I was speaking of facing it, not of shirking it, Mater,” said Madeline, in her quiet tones. “There may be a little courage there.”

  “No doubt there is a difference,” said Sir Robert, as he joined them, “though I hardly know which I am doing. I need not say the conventional word, Madeline recognised the occasion for it. ‘We still have much to be thankful for’.”

  “But less than we had,” said Roberta, “when we did not think of being thankful. It seems an odd moment to begin it, though I believe it is a common one.”

  “There will be many moments,” said Eliza. “We shall find ourselves the mark of every eye and our misfortune the matter on every tongue.”

  “There is nothing to be ashamed of,” said Madeline. “We must simply be natural and open about it. Do the servants know of the coming change? It seems they should be prepared.”

  “They must soon be told,” said Eliza. “Mrs. Duff is their virtual head. We might send for her and tell her the position, and ask her to explain it to them.”

  “Do we not owe it to them to explain it ourselves, Mater? It seems a thing they might expect.”

  “There would be nothing gained. They would not think in that way. And we will do our best for them.”

  “Is just sending them a word by someone else quite our best, Mater?”

  Eliza, as if by way of reply, walked to the bell and rang it. A message was taken to Mrs. Duff asking her to come to the library. She came as if she had expected the summons, and stood with a neutral expression, that threatened to break into expectancy.

  “Yes, my lady,” she said as Eliza paused.

  “There is something we have to tell you, Mrs. Duff, and ask you to explain to the others.”

  “Yes, my lady, it will not cause surprise. A coming event casts its shadow.”

  “We would help it if we could, but it is out of our hands.”

  “Yes, my lady, I will pass it on for you.”

  “It will take a minute to explain it.”

  “Yes, my lady, I will pass it on,” said Mrs. Duff with a faint sigh.

  “You know we have had anxieties of late. Or perhaps you hardly do know. Of course our troubles are our own.”

  “Yes, my lady, in common with other things. Their nature would vary.”

  “Well, problems have been gathering. And expenses continue to rise.”

  “Yes, my lady? In spite of the steps taken to curtail them? In which we have concurred.”

  “Yes, in spite of those. They have not done much. A real change has to come; we must bow to necessity.”

  “Yes, my lady, as we all have to at times. Indeed it is at all times for many.”

  “We are forced to leave this house, the family home for so long, and move to the smaller one near to the main gates.”

  “Well, it offers an alternative, my lady. It is fortunate that the place comprises a lodge, as need has arisen.”

  “This house is not a lodge. It has been used as a small dower house, and lately has not been occupied.”

  “And the accommodation, my lady? Does it suffice?”

  “There are two bedroom floors besides the attics. It should be enough.”

  Mrs. Duff threw her eyes over the group before her rapidly and moved her lips and seemed to be satisfied.

  “Well, a move from the large house to the lodge is, so to speak, current, my lady. It is a thing we hear and read of.”

  “A lodge is a very small house, meant for someone employed. There is nothing we give the name to here.”

  “There is no need to dignify it, my lady. No family is lowered by moving to the lodge on the place when adversity indicates it.”

  “It is not the word for this house. It suggests quite a different one.”

  “I find no fault with the word, my lady,” said Mrs. Duff, gravely.

  “Well, we do,” said Sir Robert, less gravely. “We are not making quite such a change. It is enough for us as it is.”

  “Well, you will explain it to the others,” said Eliza, “and tell them how much we regret it, and hope that several of them will still be with us.”

  “I will do my best for you, my lady,” said Mrs. Duff, her tone suddenly without expression.

  “Of course they must decide for themselves.”

  “Yes, my lady, it leads to the best decision.”

  “We shall not be able to keep all of them.”

  “Not in the reduced quarters, my lady. It would be the inference.”

  “And we shall not need them when the work is less.”

  “Well, my lady, after the stage when it is more.”

  “That will soon be over. I hope they are not fair-weather friends.”

  “Well, my lady, there is dependence on both sides.”

  “They must consider their own welfare. No doubt it is what they are doing.”

  “Well, my lady, it is how we are all actuated. I will state the case for you. A move to the lodge is necessitated by retrenchment. The change to be accepted or not, as choice dictates.”

  “It will still be a better place than many. And some people are only fitted for household work.”

  “Yes, my lady. Or have had no chance of doing any other.”

  “You will be a support to me, Mrs. Duff? I have not to regard you as an antagonist?”

  “It is not the light in which I am seen, my lady. It is help and not hindrance that has been my motto. And I have earned the name.”

  “It is a noble one,” said Angus. “And means you have imagination.”

  “Well, sir, I am endowed with it. It enables me to grasp the position. And not to be blind to its mortifications,” said Mrs. Duff, as she withdrew.

  “She ought to be blind to them,” said Roberta. “Or anyhow to shut her eyes to them. Her imagination did not go far.”

  “They are so much on the defensive,” said Eliza. “Always up in arms for each other.”

  “Well, it is natural,” said Madeline. “We should not like them so well if they were not.”

  “I should like them better. I seldom like what is natural; it is usually so unlikeable. People should be
civilised. Mrs. Duff has a good home and every consideration. What more can she want?”

  “Put yourself in her place, Mater, and answer the question.”

  “I should not think of it. It would not be fitting. The place is hers, not mine. We don’t move people about, even in thought.”

  “Not other people,” said Roberta. “But think of the positions into which we have moved ourselves. Though it is true that Mrs. Duff’s is not one of them.”

  “There is a word to remember through all the easy talk,” said Madeline. “The people we depend on have the same feelings as we have ourselves.”

  “How can we remember it when they have quite different ones?” said Eliza. “You heard the talk with Mrs. Duff. And you will have to suffer some more. She seems to be here again.”

  “You will excuse me, my lady. Some news has emerged that you may wish to be apprised of. And I felt it would come better from my lips.”

  “Why, what is it, Mrs. Duff? I hope it is not bad news. Is it something we should know?”

  “It can be put in a word, my lady. And I will express it in one. Mr. Hamilton Grimstone has passed on.”

  “Passed on? Gone away? Left his mother and her family?”

  “Well, my lady, he will not again be with them.”

  “You mean he has died? Tell us what you know. We have heard nothing.”

  “There is no more for us to know, my lady. Anything further is out of our sphere. Whether or no there is anything, which is a case for divergent opinion.”

  “But how did it happen? Try to tell us all you can.”

  “It was a week ago, my lady. Too sudden for the family to be prepared. He was in health, when illness supervened and the result ensued.”

  “What very sad news! I am troubled indeed to hear it. You are quite right to tell us.”

  “I felt you would wish it, my lady. And my instinct being a true one I have learned to rely on it. And many people have thanked me.”

  “As we do, Mrs. Duff,” said Madeline. “It must be a sad time in the other house.”

  “I hear the cloud is a dark one, miss. The news reached me after I left you, and led me to retrace my steps.”

  “It seems a time of misfortune. But our trouble is nothing compared to this.”

  “Few troubles are nothing in all eyes, miss. And it may not be the case with this one.”

  “It is not,” said Eliza. “I am glad to meet someone who understands it.”

  “Understanding has never been my weak point, my lady. It has always thrown light for me, speaking of course of a human standard.”

  ‘Oh, surely superhuman in your case,” said Angus.

  “No, sir. I do not accept it. There is much I am conscious of,” said Mrs. Duff, quietly, as she went to the door.

  “What a trouble for the Grimstones!” said Madeline. “It does put our own into the shade.”

  “It does not affect it,” said Eliza. “Any more than it is affected by it. Each is as it is. And we had better deal with the problems arising from our own. There are things to be settled in the other house. The rooms are to be assigned, and there is one that is simply a dressing-room adjoining another. One of you will have to manage in it. You must decide among yourselves.”

  “I will have it, Mater,” said Madeline. “So the decision is made. It is a trivial disadvantage enough in the face of our friends’ misfortune.”

  “It will remain when the misfortune has fallen into the past. The dwarfing effect can’t continue.”

  “I am the man,” said Angus, “and should take no thought for what I shall put on. I will oust Madeline from her pedestal and occupy it myself.”

  “We all know who should occupy it,” said Eliza. “But I am not going to say it. I can’t always do the awkward thing. I will leave it to someone else this time.”

  “I will do it,” said Sir Robert. “It is true that it is time I did. And in this case it is not so very awkward. Hermia will have the room. She is here too seldom for its size to matter. She would say so herself. We can regard it as her decision.”

  “There is the greater question,” said Angus. “What is to happen to this house and all that is in it?”

  “The house will be let,” said his father. “Not sold, as the future is uncertain. Then after the other house is furnished, the rest of the things must go. We shall be able to keep the best ones.”

  “And those that are nearest to our hearts,” said Madeline. “Some that have no intrinsic value may have another and deeper one.”

  “They will need space, whatever their value,” said Eliza. “And there will not be too much of it.”

  “Well, space is not everything, Mater. I am sure we shall be equally happy in the other house.”

  “Why are you sure? I should think there is anyhow doubt of it.”

  “Happiness does not depend on the size of the rooms.”

  “It depends on many things. Your father is the one who will suffer. And I shall feel what he does.”

  “Yes, I fear it is so,” said Sir Robert, almost to himself. “This house is a living thing to me. It seems to carry the other lives, whose legacy is in my own. I thought to breathe my last within it. I feel I leave it something of myself. It may be false and foolish and untrue. It is my own truth. I will not hide it as I should betray myself.”

  “Well, it is something to feel in that way, Father. It is in a sense fulfilment. You can hardly regret it.”

  “He regrets what it involves,” said Eliza. “You heard what he said. And I think so did someone else. There are steps at the door.”

  “You will excuse me, my lady,” said Mrs. Duff. “It seems the case of the bad penny. But there is an item that I felt should be conveyed, as it might be fraught with consequence. Mr. Grimstone has left all he had to a strange young lady.”

  “A strange young lady? Someone they did not know? Left her all he had! Is it certain? How did you hear?”

  “It passed from mouth to mouth, my lady, as it passes from mine now. It was unforeseen and fell on them like a blow.”

  “To someone who was a stranger to them? What a very unlikely thing! Is there any idea who it is?”

  “Rumours are current, my lady. I will say no more.”

  “Indeed you will,” said Angus. “Say some more at once.”

  “No, sir. Too much has already passed my lips.”

  “But more has passed other people’s,” said Sir Robert. “You can tell us what it is. There can be no harm in that.”

  “It might ensue, Sir Robert. I will not be the one to occasion it. It has never been my tendency.”

  “You can repeat a rumour, if you say that is what it is.”

  “Rumour has its name, Sir Robert. I feel my lips should be sealed.”

  “But they have not been sealed,” said Angus. “And you should not deal in half measures. It is an unworthy course.”

  “The word is yours, sir. My standard is my own.”

  “It is; that is my complaint.”

  “You would have known nothing, sir, if I had not been the informant.”

  “That is true. It is another complaint. I should rather have known nothing.”

  “I doubt it, sir. It is not the usual preference. Half a loaf is better than no bread. And I am not yet provided with a whole one.”

  As she withdrew, her hearers met each other’s eyes, with uncertain smiles on their lips.

  “Well, who dares to say it?” said Sir Robert. “I do not dare.”

  “Neither do I,” said Roberta. “And it was clear that Mrs. Duff did not. It takes more than human courage.”

  “It may be better not to dare,” said Madeline. “When a thing is once out, it can’t be unsaid.”

  “We should not want it to be,” said Angus. “What good would it be to anyone?”

  “I have the courage to say it,” said Eliza. “My courage does not often fail. Life would be different for all of you if it did. I hope you all have the courage to hear it. The name of the young woman in qu
estion is Hermia Heriot.”

  “You can’t just say it is Hermia,” said Angus. “Your courage does partly fail.”

  “Do you mean she inherits the money, Mater?” said Madeline.

  “I mean it is left to her. What will come of it is another thing.”

  “Let us all begin to decide,” said Angus.

  “No, it is better not,” said Madeline. “But what a change it may bring!”

  “What a change it has brought!” said Sir Robert, looking at the faces round him. “But we must not depend on it. It is only a surmise. There are other young women in the world.”

  “Not many in Hamilton Grimstone’s world,” said Eliza. “It is a plausible assumption. It can be accepted.”

  “It was Hermia he wanted to marry,” said Angus. “Not the other young women, or I suppose not.”

  “Something tells me it is Hermia,” said Madeline. “I hear the still, small voice that is seldom wrong.”

  “Other voices have told you so,” said Eliza. “They are often wrong, but in this case there is not much doubt.”

  “None that matters,” said Angus. “It is a good enough foundation. I am ready to build on it.”

  “We will not do that,” said his father. “In any case, the matter is not our concern. No one here has inherited anything.”

  “It would be in the family,” said Eliza. “And we can hardly stand apart from each other. We have shared risk and failure. It would be natural for a debt to be paid.”

  “Mrs. Duff was right,” said Sir Robert, “to say her lips were sealed. She set a good example.”

  “I don’t see why ours should be,” said Angus. “Anyhow I am glad they are not.”

  “So am I,” said Roberta. “It would be hard to discern any purpose for them.”

  “I wonder if Hermia has heard,” said Madeline. “She would surely have let us know.”