“How did Lady Heriot know what kind of letter it was?”
“How does anyone know that about letters?” said Angus.
“Do you mean she opens them?” said Madeline.
“Tell me of another method,” said Angus.
“How did she know it was one that concerned herself?”
“She did not know. She was finding out.”
“So you mean she does open letters?”
“No, only those that excite her interest.”
“Can you understand her doing it?”
“Yes, I think so. Most letters excite mine.”
“But you would not open them?”
“No. I never risk trouble for myself.”
“What if you knew no trouble would come of it?”
“I should not like imagining people’s thoughts of me.”
“But that is trouble. What if there could be none?”
“I like to see myself in a certain way. As free from real guilt.”
“Oh, I don’t think that need be the word,” said Madeline.
“It is the word. What other word is there? It is not as I am. We must all be protected from the truth.”
“Is there something you would be afraid of?”
“One thing. Of being found out.”
“Yes, of course,” said Hermia. “We are all afraid of it. There are things we are right to fear.
“Of course she would have seen it,” said Eliza meanwhile to her husband. “Where was it but in her own desk? Why should she have a desk if she did not use it? She can make her own decision now. If she regrets it, it will not be my fault.”
“It might have been your fault that she regretted something different. How would you have felt then?”
“That I had tried to save her from something she needed to be saved from. Anything that came of it would only have been what should have come.”
“Eliza, we can’t take other people’s lives into our hands like that. We might do deep and lasting harm. I can only be glad from my heart that we have not done it.”
“And what of the other harm that has been done? Will you be glad of that?”
“There can be no harm. None that should be seen as such. People have their lives in their own hands, and we see that they are better there. I wish from my heart that you had not done what you did.”
“And what of the other things that I have done? Do you wish I had not done them?”
“You know I am grateful from my heart for them. I have taken them feeling it was safe to take them. Can I feel it is always safe? Was it safe this time?”
“Yes, to my mind it was. I have told you what I can. I will tell you no more. I have said and borne enough.”
Eliza broke off at a sound from the door, glanced round and was still for a moment, and then sank into a chair and hid her face in her hands. Sir Robert followed her eyes and met those of Hermia and Osbert, who stood in the doorway with Madeline and the younger pair behind them.
“We came to say we were engaged,” said Hermia. “And we have come on something different. Something that is at once to do with it and apart from it. We could not help hearing what it was. We heard before we knew.”
“Then I need say nothing,” said her father. “There is nothing to be said.”
“Father, you are making too much of it. It is hardly what you think. In a way what Mater says is true. When someone is taught through the years that anything she does must be right, it is no wonder if she comes to think that nothing she does can be wrong. In the end harm had to come of it. The real wonder is that it did not come before.”
“Then the fault is mine,” said Sir Robert, trying to control the change in his tone. “I am to blame and have always been.”
“Yes, in a sense you have, and so has she. In another you are both of you innocent though it is an innocence rooted in your wishes for your own lives. We must leave it there.”
“I am sure I am innocent,” said Eliza, looking up and using her normal tones. “Anything I have ever thought or done has been for the good of you all. And there will be more for me to think and do, if there is to be a wedding on the way.”
“And there is,” said Sir Robert, moving to embrace his daughter and shake Osbert’s hand. “It is the first in our family, and an event in our family life. It will open up the future and take us forward.”
“Yes, it will,” said Eliza. “A marriage goes beyond itself. It will bring its changes, and they should all be welcome ones. I feel the time is ripe for them.”
“It may be, and anyhow the time is good. The first change will be the return of Hermia’s money to her own hands. That will be good indeed, both for the reason of it and in itself. It will be welcome to her and to me and to us all.”
“No, it would not be, and will not be, Father,” said Hermia. “There will be a change, but it will not be that one. I shall transfer the money legally to you, and shall myself have no more part in it. Osbert and I will have enough, and I shall no longer need the protection the formal holding of it gave. I shall be living another life, and shall be glad to do this for the old life and for you before I go.”
“I think she is right, Robert,” said Eliza, as her husband did not speak. “She has always judged for herself and found the judgement sound. As she says, she will have enough for herself, and she will leave us, feeling that she has saved our future and will continue to save it. In the deeper sense she will hardly be giving more than she gains. It is a great position for her. I should be proud if one of my children had it.”
“I am proud that one of my children has it,” said Sir Robert, in a quiet tone. “If I cannot be proud of myself I can feel I have a better cause for pride. That is all I have a right to say. My future son-in-law can use his further right.”
“It is Hermia’s words that stand,” said Osbert. “That will be the motto of my life, and I shall need no other. I feel I have used the right.”
“It is the motto of all our lives at the moment,” said Eliza. “A marriage and the first in the family can only mean what it does. If she will come with me now, we will begin to discuss and arrange it. We can hardly set about it too soon.”
She left the room with her step-daughter, and Sir Robert rested his eyes on them, as if appraising their relation. After a minute he followed them, but it was somehow clear that he was going to be alone.
“What do we think of what Mater has done?” said Roberta to Angus, in a low tone. “Are you ashamed of it?”
“No, of course I am not. I must be worthy of the name of a man. I could not be ashamed of my mother.”
“I am not ashamed of it either. Though I don’t suppose I have to be worthy of the name of a woman. It is because she is not ashamed of it herself.”
“It seems that no one is ashamed of it. Even Hermia is not. Father is the exception, and not a fortunate one. We have seen some real life, Roberta, a thing I have always wanted to see. But now I don’t want to see any more. What if I ever experienced any?”
“I don’t want to hear any more. What we heard in the moments before they saw us was enough.”
“When you say real life, I think you mean life that is deep,” said Madeline. “I suppose all life is real.”
“Well, I foresee a strange, real thing,” said Roberta. “And I hardly think it can be deep. I foresee a friendship between Mater and Hermia. There have always been the seeds of it, and at last they seem to be falling on good ground.”
“Well, there could not be a better thing or one more pleasing to Father.”
“I am disturbed by it,” said Angus. “It is too late for such a difference. I half hope it will not be deep.”
“Well, it shows that all things are possible,” said Madeline. “And it is sometimes hard to believe that that is true.”
“I believe it,” said Osbert, “now that I am to marry Hermia.”
“What do you think of all that has happened?” said Angus.
“I don’t think of it; I should not dare. You surely don’t mean tha
t you would dare?”
“Of course he does not,” said Roberta. “He belongs to the family, but you are outside it and might dare.”
“No, I belong to it now, and I do not dare. I am proud of belonging to it and not daring. To dare would be the mark of an outsider. I am talking like the family. I quite wish Hermia could hear me.”
“Can we imagine ourselves doing what Mater did?” said Angus to Roberta. “We must sometimes face open words.”
“I can imagine myself doing almost anything. It doesn’t mean that I might do it, or I suppose and hope not.”
“Shall we ever be able to trust Mater again?”
“Have we ever trusted her? What would you say? We have given her other feelings, but hardly that.”
“Do we feel it matters very much?”
“It matters of course, but other feelings matter too. We may not often have them all.”
“Can we ever trust people in a place of power?” said Osbert. “I can hardly say I trust my grandmother.”
“And you give her other feelings?” said Angus.
“Well, I give her some,” said Osbert, with a smile.
“Will Mater and Hermia trust each other now?”
“Well, Mater will trust Hermia,” said Roberta, “because she is worthy of trust.”
“I suppose some people must have power.”
“Well, some people do have it, and they both use and misuse it. Hermia has had it lately and has used it as we know. I wonder how the two powerful ones are dealing with each other.”
These dealings had met with a momentary check as Eliza and Hermia had encountered Cook in the hall, and Eliza had come to a pause as the latter spoke.
“I am glad of the news, my lady. It seems that the spell is broken.”
“The spell?” said Eliza, as if she did not understand.
“The spell that condemned the young ladies to singleness, my lady. It seemed of a relentless nature.”
“Oh, that is surely a matter that people must decide for themselves.”
“Yes, my lady? If a decision is in question. It might not always be.”
“You have not married yourself, Cook,” said Eliza, smiling. “The spell has held in your case.”
“I have not felt called upon, my lady. Advances have been made.”
“People should be able to judge better when they are mature.”
“Well, but mature, my lady, in the case of single, young ladies! It is hardly a term to be applied.”
“I am in no hurry to lose my daughters. I feel I hardly want to lose Miss Roberta at all.”
“No, my lady, that is the face to put on it,” said Cook, in approving encouragement as she went her way.
“Cook is disturbed that you and the others have not married,” said Eliza, as she rejoined her step-daughter.
“Well, I am disturbed that she has not. We should have had someone in her place, and been spared her talk and its undercurrents.”
“I think she is really attached to us all.”
“I don’t feel it is true affection. She sees us too much as we are. You forget that love is blind. And she forgets it too.”
“I wonder how you will manage a house and servants of your own.”
“I have always been seen as too managing. There should be no trouble. But I have no wish to learn from experience. I will profit by yours.”
They ended their talk and returned to the library, and found that Sir Robert was before them. As he saw them enter together, a light came to his face.
“Here come the two people who in their different ways order my life,” he said.
“The ways are very different,” said Eliza. “Mine depends on myself, and Hermia’s on what fell into her hands from someone else. But happily the hands were the right ones.”
“I told you it was coming,” said Roberta to Angus, “a friendship between Hermia and Mater. It will put a change through our lives. And no change is wholly good.”
“Hermia has bought it dear. She has given up a fortune and forfeited revenge for a wrong done to herself. It is a high price to pay, and Mater can hardly not recognise it. Now there is a question to be asked, that we are afraid to answer. How is Mater facing her return to us after her exposure?”
“It is better not to ask it. If we put ourselves into someone else’s place we might as well be in it. And there is everything to be said for keeping out of this one.”
“How much courage does she need? We can’t help our thoughts.”
“More than it is possible to have. She is having to manage without it. And that needs a different courage. And she is not showing any lack of it. And her opinion of herself and what she does may uphold her.”
“The same might be said of Hermia. But she does not need to be upheld.”
“She does not indeed. She is established on the heights, and Mater is cast down from them. How the first can be last, and the last first!”
Epilogue
After Dame Ivy Compton-Burnett died, in August 1969, it was found that she had appointed no literary executor. It has therefore fallen to her publisher to prepare her final manuscript for press. For assistance in this work I am much indebted to Miss Cicely Greig, Miss Elizabeth Sprigge and Mr. Charles Burkhart, all of whom have made suggestions which have been most valuable in deciding on the text printed here.
L. Gollancz
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © 1971
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ISBN: 9781448206629
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The Last and the First Page 12