A Family and a Fortune

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

  ‘Well, stolen waters are sweet.’

  ‘Bravo, Father!’ said Justine, smiling at Miss Griffin. ‘He comes up to scratch when there is a demand on him.’

  ‘I have less right to expect what I am having,’ said the guest, in a voice which did not hurry or stumble, shaking hands with several people without hastening or scamping the observance. ‘I am a travel-worn person to appear as a stranger.’

  ‘It is only a family gathering, Miss Sloane,’ said Justine. ‘We honestly welcome a little outside leavening.’

  ‘We are glad indeed to see you, my dear,’ said Oliver, who had got himself out of his chair. ‘You are a good person to set eyes on. I do not know a better.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake sit down, Miss Sloane,’ said Justine, when they reached the drawing-room. ‘I shall feel so guilty if you continue to stand.’

  ‘Now I am dependent upon help to get into a place by my guest,’ said Matty, in a clear tone. ‘I cannot join in a scramble.’

  ‘Poor, dear Aunt Matty, the help is indeed forthcoming. And, boys, you must see that Miss Griffin has no chair. Thank you, Uncle; I knew you would not countenance that.’

  Maria Sloane was a person who seemed to have no faults within her own sphere. She had a tall, light figure, large, grey eyes, features which were good and delicate in their own way rather than of any recognized type, and an air of finished and rather formal ease, which was too natural ever to falter. Matty had said that money seemed not to touch her, and that when they saw her they would understand; and Edgar and Dudley and Mark saw her and understood. Justine and Sarah thought that her clothes were of the kind of simplicity which costs more than elaboration, but she herself knew that when these two qualities are on the same level, simplicity costs much less. Blanche simply admired her and Miss Griffin welcomed her coming with fervid relief. She had lost a lover by death in her youth, and since then had lived in her loss, or gradually in the memory of it. Her parents had lately died, and she had left the home of her youth with the indifferent ease which had come to mark her. She believed that nothing could touch her deeply again, and losing her parents at the natural age had not done so. Her brothers and sisters were married and away, and she now took her share of the money and went forth by herself, seeing that it would suffice for her needs, rather surprised at herself for regretting that they must be modified, and welcoming a shelter in the Seatons’ house while she adapted herself to the change. She had rather felt of herself what Matty said of her, that she lived apart from money like a flower, but she had lately realized that not even the extreme example of human adornment was arrayed as one of these.

  ‘Confess now, Miss Sloane,’ said Justine. ‘You would rather be in this simple family party than alone in that little house. Now isn’t it the lesser of two evils? I think that nothing is so hopeless as arriving after a long journey and finding the house empty and a cheerless grate, and everything conspiring to mental and moral discomfort.’

  ‘Has Justine had that experience?’ said Mark. ‘If so, we are much to blame.’

  ‘That could hardly have been the case, dear,’ said Matty, ‘with Miss Griffin and Emma in the house.’

  ‘I meant metaphorically empty and cheerless. We all know what that means.’

  ‘We are even more to blame,’ said Mark.

  ‘Make up the fire, Aubrey dear,’ said Blanche, following the train of thought.

  ‘It is metaphorically full,’ said her son from a chair.

  There was laughter, which Aubrey met by kicking his feet and surveying their movement.

  ‘Get up and make up the fire,’ said Clement, who found these signs distasteful.

  His brother appeared not to hear.

  ‘Get up and make up the fire.’

  ‘Now that is not the way to ask him, Clement,’ said Justine. ‘You will only make him obstinate. Aubrey, darling, get up and make up the fire.’

  ‘Yes, do it, darling,’ said Blanche.

  ‘Now I have been called “darling” twice, I will. Why should I be obliging to people who do not call me “darling” or “little boy” or some other name of endearment?’

  There was further laughter, and Aubrey bent over the fire with his face hidden. This seemed a safe attitude, but Clement observed the flush on his neck.

  ‘Don’t go back to the best chair in the room.’

  Aubrey strolled back to the chair; Clement intercepted him and put a leg across his path; Justine came forward with a swift rustling and a movement of her arms as of separating two combatants.

  ‘Come, come, this will not do: I have nothing to say for either of you. Both go back to your seats.’

  ‘Will one of you help me to move the chair for your mother?’ said Edgar, who did not need any aid.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Aubrey, with almost military precision.

  ‘Now I think that Aubrey came out of that the better, Clement,’ said Justine.

  ‘The other fellow doesn’t seem to be out of it yet,’ said Oliver, glancing at his second grandson. ‘I am at a loss to see why he put himself into it.’

  ‘Miss Sloane, what must you think of our family?’

  ‘I have belonged to a family myself,’

  ‘And do you not now belong to one?’ ‘Well, we are all scattered.’

  ‘I do not dare to think of the time when we shall be apart. It seems the whole of life to be here together.’

  Thomas lifted his eyes at this view of a situation which he had just seen illustrated.

  ‘Do you belong to a family, Miss Griffin?’ said Dudley.

  ‘I did, of course, but we have been scattered for a long time.’

  ‘I have lived in the same house all my life, and so has my brother,’ said Edgar.

  ‘I have lived in two houses,’ said Blanche.

  ‘I am just in my second,’ said Matty, ‘and very strange I am finding it, or should be if it were not for this dear family at my gates. The family at whose gates I am, I should say.’

  ‘Why should you say it, Aunt Matty?’ said Justine. ‘What difference does it make?’

  ‘I too have just entered my second,’ said Oliver, ‘though it hardly seemed worth while for me to do so. I had better have laid myself down on the way.’

  ‘And you, Miss Sloane?’ said Edgar.

  ‘I am on my way to my second, which must be a very tiny one. It will be the first I have had to myself.’

  ‘And you have not had your road made easier,’ said Oliver. ‘You have been dragged out of it in the dead of night, when you thought that one of your days was done. The way you suffer it speaks well for you.’

  ‘I have an idea that a good many things do that for Miss Sloane,’ said Justine. ‘But you make me feel rather a culprit, Grandpa.’

  ‘You have done a sorry thing, child, and I propose to undo it. Good night, Blanche, my dear, and good-bye I hope until tomorrow. If it is to be for ever, I am the more glad to have been with you again.’

  ‘Father is tired,’ said Blanche, who would never admit that Oliver at eighty-seven might be near the end of his days.

  ‘I am tired too,’ said Matty, ‘but after such a happy evening with such a satisfying end, I thank you all so much, and I am sure you thank me.’

  ‘We do indeed,’ said Justine. ‘You are tired too, Miss Griffin, and I am afraid after a very brief taste of happiness. But we will make up for it another time.’

  ‘Oh, I am not tired,’ said Miss Griffin, standing up and looking at Matty.

  ‘Be careful, both of you, on this slippery floor,’ said Blanche. ‘I always think that Jellamy puts too much polish on it. Do not hurry.’

  ‘We shall neither of us be able to do that again,’ said Oliver.

  Blanche followed her father and sister with her eyes on their steps, and perhaps gave too little attention to her own, for she slipped herself and had to be saved. Justine moved impulsively to Maria.

  ‘Miss Sloane, I do hope that you are going to spend some time with them? It comes to me somehow tha
t you are just what they need. Can you give me a word of assurance?’

  ‘I hope they will let me stay for a while. It is what I need anyhow, a home and old friends at this time of my life.’

  ‘And there are new friends here for you. I do trust that you realize that.’

  ‘I have been made to feel it. And they do not seem to me quite new, as they are relations of such old ones.’

  ‘Dear Aunt Matty, she does attach people to her in her own way.’

  ‘We have enjoyed it so much, Mrs Gaveston. We shall have a great deal to think and talk of,’ said Sarah, able to express her own view of the occasion.

  ‘We need not thank you,’ said Thomas, uttering the words with a sincere note and acting upon them.

  ‘You did not mind the inclusion of Aubrey?’ said Justine. ‘It is so difficult to keep one member of the family apart, and we know Mr Middleton is used to boys.’

  ‘Can that give him only one view of them?’ said Mark.

  ‘Oh, come, he would not have given his best years to them if they had not meant something to him. I daresay he often finds his thoughts harking back to the old days.’

  ‘His best years!’ said Sarah, laughing at youth’s view of a man in his prime.

  ‘Mr Middleton, what do you think of the little boy?’ said Justine in a lowered tone. ‘Don’t look at him; he is enough in the general eye; but would you in the light of your long experience put him above or below the level?’

  Thomas was hampered in his answer by being forbidden to look at the subject of it, a thing he had hardly done.

  ‘He seems to strike his own note in his talk,’ he said in a serious tone, trying to recall what he had heard.

  ‘Yes, that is what I think,’ said Justine, as if the words had considerable import, ‘I am privately quite with you. But quiet; keep it in the dark; tell it not in Gath. Little pitchers have long ears. You see I feel quite maternally towards my youngest brother.’

  Thomas was able to give a smile of agreement, and he added one of understanding.

  ‘Do you think that we are alike as a family, Miss Sloane?’ said Blanche, willing for comment upon her children.

  ‘Really, Mother, poor Miss Sloane! We have surely had enough from her tonight.’

  Maria regarded the faces round her, causing Aubrey to drop his eyes with a smile as of some private reminiscence.

  ‘I think I see a likeness between your brother-in-law and your youngest son.’

  ‘A triumph, Miss Sloane!’ said Justine. ‘That is a great test, and you are through it at a step. Now you can turn to the rest of us with confidence.’

  ‘But perhaps with other feelings,’ said Mark. ‘Miss Sloane will think that we have one resemblance, an undue interest in ourselves.’

  ‘In each other, let us say. She will not mind that.’

  ‘I think there are several other family likenesses,’ said Maria.

  ‘And they are obvious, Miss Sloane. Quite unworthy of a discerning eye. You have had the one great success and you will rest on that. Well, I think that there is nothing more fascinating than pouncing on the affinities in a family and tracing them to their source. I do not pity anyone for being asked to do it, because I like so much to do it myself.’

  ‘Must it be a safe method of judging?’ said Clement.

  ‘Now, young man, I have noticed that this is not one of your successful days. I can only assure Miss Sloane that you have another side.’

  It now emerged that Matty and her father had reached the carriage, and the party moved on with the surge of a crowd released. Justine withheld her brothers from the hall with an air of serious admonishment, and assisted Edgar and Blanche and Dudley to speed the guests.

  ‘Good-bye, Miss Griffin,’ she called at the last moment. ‘That is right, Uncle; hand Miss Griffin into the carriage. Good night all.’

  The family reassembled in the drawing-room.

  ‘Now there is an addition to our circle,’ said Justine.

  ‘Indeed, yes, she is a charming woman,’ said Blanche. ‘I had not remembered how charming. It is so nice to see anyone gain with the years, as she has.’

  ‘I believe I have been silent and unlike myself,’ said Dudley. ‘Perhaps Justine will explain to her about me, as she has about Clement.’

  ‘Indeed I will, Uncle, and with all my heart.’

  ‘I find that I want her good opinion. I do not agree that we should not mind what other people think of us. Consider what would happen if we did not.’

  ‘Miss Sloane behaved with a quiet heroism,’ said Mark.

  ‘Under a consistent persecution,’ said his brother.

  ‘Oh, things were not as bad as that,’ said Justine. ‘She did not mind being asked to look at the family. Why should she?’

  ‘She could hardly give her reasons.’

  ‘And she was not actually asked to look at Aubrey,’ said Mark. ‘If her eyes were drawn to him by some morbid attraction, it was not our fault.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly,’ said his mother at once.

  ‘I really wonder that she was not struck by the likeness between you and Uncle, Father,’ said Justine.

  ‘We may perhaps accept an indifference to any further likeness,’ said Edgar with a smile.

  ‘We have to make conversation with our guests,’ said his wife.

  ‘I am glad that my look of Uncle flitted across my face,’ said Aubrey.

  ‘Little boy,’ said Justine, pointing to the clock, ‘what about Mr Penrose tomorrow? He does not want to be confronted by a sleepy-head.’

  ‘Good night, darling,’ said Blanche, kissing her son without looking at him and addressing her husband. ‘I do hope Matty enjoyed the evening. I could see that my father did. I am sure that everything was done for her. And Miss Sloane’s arrival was quite a little personal triumph.’

  ‘I could see it was,’ said Mark, ‘but I did not quite know why. It seemed that it had happened rather unfortunately.’

  ‘Yes, dear Grandpa was quite content,’ said Justine. ‘He does like to be a man among men. We cannot expect him not to get older.’

  ‘We can and do,’ said Mark, ‘but it is foolish of us.’

  ‘I was sincerely glad of Aunt Matty’s little success. It was something for her, herself, apart from what she was taking from us, something for her to give of her own. It seemed to be just what she wanted.’

  ‘I think Miss Griffin will enjoy having Miss Sloane,’ said Blanche, guarding her tone from too much expression.

  ‘And I am glad of that from my soul,’ said Justine, stretching her arms. ‘I would rather have Miss Griffin’s pleasure than my own any day. And now I am going to bed. I have enjoyed every minute of the evening, but there is nothing more exhausting than a thorough-going family function.’

  ‘You need not work so hard at it,’ said Clement.

  ‘Clement has a right to speak,’ said Mark. ‘He has followed his line.’

  ‘Yes, anyhow I have done my best. I could spare myself a good deal if I had some support.’

  ‘Yes, that is true, Clement dear,’ said Blanche. ‘You ought to come out of yourself a little and try to support the talk.’

  ‘Is it worthy of any effort?’

  ‘If it is worthy of Justine’s, it is worthy of yours. That goes without saying.’

  ‘Then why not let it do so?’

  ‘I had not realized that we were indebted to Clement for any regard of us,’ said Edgar.

  ‘I believe I had without knowing it,’ said Dudley. ‘I believe I felt some influence at work, which checked my spirits and rendered me less than myself.’

  ‘Really, Clement, you should not do it,’ said Blanche, turning to her son with a scolding note as she learned his course.

  Clement walked towards the door.

  ‘We will follow - perhaps we will follow our custom of parting for the night,’ said his father.

  ‘Good night, Mother,’ said Clement, slouching to Blanche as if he hardly knew what he did.

&nb
sp; ‘Good night, dear,’ said the latter, caressing his shoulder to atone for her rebuke. ‘You will remember what I say.’

  ‘Father is sometimes nothing short of magnificent,’ said Justine. ‘The least said and the most done. I envy his touch with the boys. Good night, Father, and thanks from your admiring daughter.’

  Edgar stooped and held himself still, while Justine threw her arms about his neck and kissed him on both cheeks, a proceeding which always seemed to him to take some time.

  ‘I was so proud of them all,’ said Blanche, when her children had gone. ‘I do see that Matty has much less than I have. I ought to remember it.’

  ‘You ought not,’ said Dudley. ‘You ought to assume that she has quite as much. I am always annoyed when people think that I have less than Edgar, because he has a wife and family and an income and a place, and I have not. I like them to see that all that makes no difference.’

  ‘Neither does it to you, because you share it all.’

  ‘That is not the same. I like it to be thought that there is no need for me to share it, that that is just something extra. I hope Miss Sloane thinks so.’

  ‘Has Miss Sloane as much as Blanche?’ said Edgar, smiling.

  ‘Yes, she has,’ said his wife, with sudden emphasis. ‘She is such a finished, satisfying person that anything she lacks is more than balanced by what she has and what she gives. I am not at all a woman to feel that everyone must have the same. I am prepared to yield her the place in some things, as she must yield it to me in others. And I think she will be such a good example for Justine.’ Blanche put her needle into her work without alluding to her intention of going to bed, and observing Dudley retrieving her glasses and putting them into their case, seemed about to speak of it, but let the image fade. ‘I mean in superficial ways. It is the last thing we should wish, that the dear girl’s fundamental lines should be changed. We are to have breakfast half an hour later: did I remember to tell Jellamy? I must go and see if Aubrey is asleep. Good night, Edgar; good night, Dudley. I hope my father has got to bed. He seemed to be feeling his age tonight. If you are going to talk, don’t sit up too long. And if you smoke in the library, mind the sparks.’

  ‘We must be a little later than Blanche means,’ said Dudley, as he brought the cigars to his brother and sat down out of reach of them himself. ‘I want to talk about how Matty behaved. Better than usual, but so badly. And about how Miss Sloane behaved. Beautifully. I do admire behaviour; I love it more than anything. Blanche has the behaviour of a person who has no evil in her; and that is the rarest kind, and I have a different admiration for it.’