Two Worlds and Their Ways

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

  “Of course she has not,” said Juliet. “She has so little reason, that I am going to give her more trouble and stay for the night.”

  “I also should like to stay with you, Maria,” said Lesbia.

  “Well, that is good news,” said Sir Roderick. “It will help us through what might have been an awkward evening. I mean it will be good for Maria to have your company, as she has been out of heart.”

  “I wish Father would say what he means,” said Oliver.

  “Does Lucius know you are here, my dear?” said Mr. Firebrace to Juliet.

  “Yes, I told him I was coming. He did not ask for reasons. If he ever does, he can have one.”

  “There is to be a secret between husband and wife,” said Lesbia.

  “There is none between my wife and me,” said Sir Roderick. “And I do not thank Mr. Spode for it. I do not call this thing a secret. Maria did not want the left hand to know what the right hand was doing, did not want me to know how much she had done for me.”

  “Of course it is not a secret,” said Juliet. “No one would count it.”

  “I did not see Miss Petticoat go,” said Sir Roderick.

  “I think I felt she was gone,” said Juliet. “We know that we do not see her. She has explained.”

  “A nice woman,” said Sir Roderick. “Sound at heart. I was glad there were some people on her own level here for her to-day.”

  “I had forgotten it was a festal occasion,” said Oliver. “Somehow nothing reminds me of it.”

  “We ought to compare her to Miss Chancellor,” said Maria. “She manages the children’s education. The people she talked to were the matrons.”

  “And none the worse for that,” said Sir Roderick. “Any more than the other one was the better for what she was. Of all the people here today, she was the one I was not quite sure of. I am a judge of people in my way.”

  Lesbia rested her eyes on him with uncertain lips, as though he might not be this in other people’s.

  “This hopeless trouble of mine has prevented our discussion of everything,” said Maria.

  “Postponed it,” said her husband. “It will last us for several days. There were eleven guests without Spode. I counted them.”

  “You are so thorough, Father,” said Oliver.

  “I did not have to do that, as I had arranged for them all,” said Maria.

  “That gave you an advantage,” said Lesbia. “I did have to.”

  “How did you manage it without looking at them?” said Oliver.

  “It was only at the girls that she did not look,” said Sir Sir Roderick. “And she knew the number of those.”

  “People certainly looked at me,” said Lesbia, laughing. “I wonder I did not get counted twice.”

  “Those dear little boys!” said Maria. “I only just kept from embracing them.”

  “Grandpa kept from embracing several people,” said Oliver. “I saw him keeping from it.”

  “And that was a dear child with the round face.”

  “Gwendolen,” said Lesbia, easily. “We have had her with us for years. It has been interesting to see her go from stage to stage.”

  “She seemed so fond of Clemence. I wonder if Clemence would really be better with friends about her.”

  “This day has put us back for months,” said Oliver. “I knew it would.”

  “Not if you hold to your advance,” said Lesbia. “Do not let it go.”

  “She is better at home,” said Sir Roderick. “The life amongst numbers is too much for her. She was pale and tired at the end of today. I noticed it. If anyone understands her, I do.”

  “Miss Chancellor and Miss Petticott hardly exchanged a word,” said Maria. “I do not know how that happened. They were the natural pair to come together.”

  “Ah, Miss Petticott knew better,” said Sir Roderick. “She knew where she was safe. Trust a woman’s instinct. And you were talking to Miss Chancellor, or she was to you. Someone had to talk to the housekeepers. Miss Petticoat threw herself into the breach, and enjoyed her day. And I was glad for her to have a change.”

  “It seems that a man’s instinct would have done as well,” said Oliver.

  “You put her on the housekeepers’ level,” said Maria. “And she should rank with the mistresses, if she is in her place.”

  “Well, we have settled that,” said Lesbia. “We will not throw doubt on it.”

  “If Miss Chancellor is a mistress, I rank her above them,” said Sir Roderick.

  “I know what you mean,” said his wife, “But you know what I mean too.”

  “You are right, my boy. The day has put us back,” said Mr. Firebrace.

  “Do not let it, my dear. Keep a hand on yourself,” said Sir Roderick, with some urgency. “We cannot keep on going backwards and forwards. Our family life is settled. Let it be.”

  “It is good advice, Maria,” said Lesbia.

  “We behave as if nothing had happened,” said Maria. “But I know what must be in your minds.”

  “Forget it, my pretty. You will soon get used to the feeling.”

  “It had gone from my mind,” said Juliet, “and left a sense of blank. And I mean a real blank with nothing in it. But it seemed such a stimulating thing, and it is fading away.”

  “Yielding to temptation seems so natural, that I was hardly stimulated,” said Oliver.

  “There, my pretty!” said Sir Roderick.

  “Are there any cases of resisting it?” said Juliet. “We never hear about them, but it does not seem there can be none.”

  “We all withstand it all the time,” said Sir Roderick.

  “Well, we cannot be expected to admit that,” said his son.

  “We are people who are not assailed by it,” said Lesbia with a smile.

  “I yielded to the first real one I ever had,” said Maria.

  “And I suppose it hardly matters if we yield to the others,” said Juliet. “That is just living day by day.”

  “Are we to discuss now the difference between the real ones and the others?” said Maria, on a weary note.

  “Well, it would be your fault if we did,” said Oliver. “And Aunt Juliet and I may be going to.”

  “I will take you away, Maria,” said Sir Roderick. “You have borne enough. We will go away together and leave them to discuss what they must.”

  “They are entitled to the opportunity. And they must be ready to make the most of it. They have restrained themselves long enough.”

  “And if anyone is grateful to them, I am,” said Sir Roderick.

  “Well, we the survivors,” said Oliver.

  “And from what a sad, little wreck!” said Mr. Firebrace. “And the rock we struck was the young man, Spode.”

  “Do we think more or less of Maria?” said Juliet. “That is the interesting thing.”

  “We will not say we have never liked her so well,” said Oliver. “That means we like people in humility and self-abasement. It is sad that it should be so common.”

  “Well, well, it was a woman’s slip,” said Mr. Firebrace. “I grudge no woman a trinket.”

  “No, that is true, Grandpa. You tend to be lavish with them.”

  “How much are we attached to Maria?” said Juliet. “I hated the idea of her being exposed.”

  “So did I,” said Oliver. “I really admired myself for hating it so much.”

  “You will keep your tongue still, my boy,” said Mr. Firebrace. “Your stepmother has a right to it.”

  “This is the first time you have given Maria that name. Is it a mark of respect at this time?”

  “Well, if it is, there is no harm in it.”

  “I do look up to you, Grandpa. Ought I to make an effort to call her ‘Mother’?”

  “Can it be that you have never liked her so well, Father?” said Lesbia.

  “It is himself he has never liked so well,” said Oliver. “And I am sure I do not wonder.”

  “I wonder if we really see it as a joke,” said Lesbia. “If w
e do not, is there any reason to pretend to?”

  “If it is not a joke, there is no advantage in talking about it,” said her nephew. “Understanding and pity will not give us any pleasure. They have given us none.”

  “They only show that we can imagine ourselves doing the same thing,” said Juliet.

  “Can you imagine it?” said Oliver.

  “I am not sure. But I cannot imagine Maria.”

  “So you have never liked yourself so well either.”

  “Well, do you not think I am being very likeable?”

  “Do you wish we could hear the talk between Roderick and Maria?” said Lesbia. “I think we do not wish it.”

  “If the matter is not a joke, why should we?” said Oliver. “It might become even less of a joke, and that would not do.”

  “I believe I could imagine that,” said Juliet. “If I did not keep a hand on myself, I believe I should.”

  Juliet’s imagination would not have served her well. As the husband and wife reached the library, Maria turned to the door.

  “There is a fire in here, Roderick. There is something I want to say to you. I had better say it on this day when everything is being said. Then there will be an end of it. I feel now that I shall not always keep it to myself.”

  “No more confession, is there? If so, leave it unsaid. I do not want to know any more about you. I know you well enough.”

  “I have not made any confession. My sin simply found me out. Oliver would say you should pay more attention But other people’s sin may do the same. I am not the culprit this time.”

  “The poor children again? Something transpired with this invasion from the schools? I knew we should regret it.”

  “This trouble is not theirs. There is a father to a family as well as a mother and children.”

  “Well, why speak in riddles, my dear? It does not help.”

  “My mind is not clear about my reasons for telling you. I want to be certain of them, before I speak. It is not that I want you to be on my level as a wrong-doer, though that may come into it; and it may not be such a bad thing to have that equality between us. I think it is that I do not want to have any secret from you, even that I know something to your discredit. You said there were no secrets between us, and when this is told, there will not be, on my side. Further than that I cannot know.”

  “There is not much you have not known about me, Maria.”

  “There may be only this one thing. As I say, I cannot know. Now I am going to speak, Roderick; I am going to speak, my husband. You remember the day when the earring was missed, and all that perplexity ensued. I went away to rest because I was tired, and also for the reason that we know.”

  “Yes, I know. How should I not? But nothing else happened on that day, or happened to you.”

  “Something happened to us both, Roderick. I was too tired to climb the stairs, and I rested in this room, on the sofa behind those bookcases. And I was awakened by voices, yours and Mrs. Aldom’s. Need I say any more?”

  “Why have you said as much? What is the good?”

  “Only what I have told you. But I felt I must say it, because some day it would be said, and possibly when harm would be done. To-day it will equalise things between us, and do no more.”

  “I picked up your scarf in the hall. Near the door of this room. In a book that would have been a clue. But I am not a man in a book. I am one on a man’s level, as I need not tell you. There is nothing in your stumble that puts you on it, my pretty, that brings you down to it.”

  “You have had to remember that I am a woman. Well, now I must remember that you are a man. It might be better for us both to remember that we are both human beings, liable to human error. Being a man and being a woman seem to lead along the same way.”

  Sir Roderick laughed.

  “I seem to be talking like Oliver. And I would rather be myself.”

  “I would rather you were too, though the boy does well in his way. Well I have little to say to you. I was a widower; I had been a married man; it was a simple emotion; it was before you came into my life. There is really no more to say.”

  Maria did not dispute this. Her next words were not her stepson’s but her own.

  “Are you giving Aldom’s mother enough for the farm? It is not a case for driving a matter hard. There are things to take into account.”

  “I am giving all I can afford. And giving too much would carry its own danger.”

  “Giving a little more would carry none.”

  “I am doing that. She did not fail to ask it,” said Sir Roderick, telling his wife that his romance was of the past. “And I discharged my obligations all those years ago. I had almost forgotten it.”

  “And Mrs. Aldom had quite done so. I wonder what else has been forgotten.”

  “You are better, my dear. You are more yourself. This burden is off your mind. You no longer feel the sword hanging over you.”

  “And neither do you. You must have felt it, since that day. What is your feeling for Aldom now? Has it altered since you knew?”

  “It has and it has not,” said Sir Roderick, speaking easily to cover feeling more complex than his wife supposed, and perhaps less deep. “It is difficult to change a feeling that is the growth of years. It keeps raising its head. And I must not show any difference.”

  “It is strange to think that you have—that there are three of them in the house.”

  “I have had the thought and put it from me. It is a thing that must be done.”

  “I had always noticed the eyes. But I did not think anything of it. We do see likenesses between people. And those very blue eyes are not uncommon about here.”

  “One of the girls said something of the kind. I heard them talking. She noticed the eyes too.”

  “I did feel at first that Aldom should go,” said Maria, answering the implication. “But I found myself forgetting it. As you say, an old feeling returns.”

  “He has not less right to be here than he has always had.”

  “But surely less reason, in his present character.”

  “He can be here in no other.”

  “I hope we are doing right, Roderick. If we are doing wrong, we must go on doing it. After all, we are used to it.”

  “Maria, we cannot continue to have talks like this. People are about everywhere. Houses hear and see. Could I say a word in my own library without being heard? We hardly know that this one is not finding someone’s ear. Miss Petticoat was present at the revelation today. This first talk must be the last. Have you anything more to say?”

  “Only a little more. But more would occur to me as I said it. So perhaps it is better not said. We know the truth about each other, and know there was no excuse for it. And that must be enough.”

  “Well, we must leave it there,” said Sir Roderick, “though I think it is rather too much. Magnets are about on all sides to draw our secrets.”

  “To think what the children inherit! It will be hard to train them when we feel we should expect so little.”

  “They seem already to have come into their heritage,” said Sir Roderick, with a reckless laugh.

  “And I do not know how we shall meet Miss Petticott.”

  “That also has happened. Though I do not think it should have. It makes me like her less.”

  “Something would soon have done that. You were probably unconsciously waiting for it. She did not know what the scene was to be. And when she did, she would have been riveted to the spot. She is only human, though that causes you surprise. We do like people less when they know the worst about us. Their attitude is not so flattering. But she is not to blame. We must not think of parting with her.”

  “We cannot think of it. She will not fail us, while we do not fail her. But loyalty is a tender plant, not an everlasting one.”

  “How much we know about virtue, when we practise it so little! Well, people get used to anything, though it would not often be to things like this. We will go upstairs and talk to her and t
he children. They will expect to discuss their day, and the ice must be broken.”

  Miss Petticott was reading aloud to her pupils, a scene that recalled another, and Maria fulfilled her resolve to be simply herself.

  “Not asleep this time?” she said, her brows contracting in uncertain recollection.

  “Why, no, Lady Shelley. We have had too exciting a day. I am sure I have,” said Miss Petticott, flushing as she realised where her words might lead. “It has been nothing but pleasure from beginning to end, as someone said in a book. And the end was as good as the beginning, which can rarely be said. The interest did not flag; it gathered as the moments passed—”

  “And how did the host and hostess enjoy it?”

  “Very much,” said Clemence, “and so did they all. When you have been at school, you know what a change it is. Sometimes it seemed as if the term would never end.”

  “Dear, dear, we did make a mistake,” said Sir Roderick.

  “And the boys enjoyed it too,” said Sefton. “More than anything this term. We played at brigands in the park. Bacon was the chief. And, of course, they liked the things to eat.”

  “And what did they think of your home?”

  “We had told them about it. None of them has a home so near.”

  “I am glad you had a pleasant day, Miss Petticoat,” said Sir Roderick.

  “Very, Sir Roderick. I quite feel I have made friends. Miss James and Miss Tuke are extremely nice women. Miss Chancellor struck me as a slightly forbidding figure, but Lady Shelley acted as a bulwark and I basely sheltered behind it. So of her I am not qualified to speak.”

  “A straightforward, professional woman,” said Maria. “I had not met one before, and was quite well entertained. I daresay she might become monotonous, if you saw her day by day.”

  “She is certainly one of those people who are always themselves,” said Clemence.

  “And that is not always such a compliment as it sounds,” said Miss Petticott. “Clemence has found that out.”

  “What did you think of the girls, Miss Petticoat?”

  “Well, Sir Roderick, I found myself feeling rather sorry for them. Nice, good-looking, well-cared for girls, but somehow with some lack about them. The lack that comes from a life lived too much on one line. Little conventions have too much meaning; little things loom too large. After all, the difference between their clothes and Clemence’s does not argue any difference in the soul within. I do not care to see young girls too conventionally dressed, myself. Of course, the lack can be put right, but it is hardly the object of education to create hiatuses to be filled later. It should be a preparation for life, not an interlude before it begins.”