Read The Present and the Past Online
Authors: Ivy Compton-Burnett
âI daresay she was. So am I.'
âWell, yes, I believe you are. So there is a deadlock.'
âNo, there is the agreement between us, the conditions that were laid down.'
âWell, it sounds reasonable, Flavia. I can't say it does not. And I thought you came out well; I was grateful to you. But I can't help being sorry for Catherine. I admit that I can't.'
âI feel inclined to congratulate her. She has asked for much and obtained it, and has gone on to ask for all. I am not sorry for people who do that. They can serve themselves.'
âWell, you have never done it, I admit. But your standard is too high for everyone.'
âI see that it is. I must cease to observe it. It means that I stand alone, giving away what is mine.'
âWell, well, it does seem like that. And so I suppose it is settled. Catherine comes and goes at your charity and discretion. And I know you can be trusted to use them both. There are the children in the hall. How they always seem to be everywhere! They should be able to give as well as take. We will call them and let them distract us.'
âIt will be well to let something do so,' said Mr Clare, who had stood in silence. âAnd they should have learned the business.'
âSo Toby has come to see Father,' said Cassius, taking this line with a touch of weariness.
âCome to see Mother,' said Toby, providing no diversity and looking round.
âIt is raining,' said Henry, giving his explanation of their presence.
âWhere are Fabian and Guy?' said Flavia.
âThey wanted to talk by themselves. I think things have got worse for them.'
âI am afraid they have. Their life is simple no longer.'
âIt seems best to have your own mother all the time, or not to have her at all,' said Megan.
âHaving two takes all your thought,' said Henry, âso that you don't have any over for your own life.'
âI am afraid you see the truth,' said his mother.
âTruth has to be seen, when it alters everything.'
âTry and sight a favourable truth,' said Mr Clare. âYou should cultivate a sharper vision.'
âI can't think of one just now.'
âSo you liked the lady who came today,' said Cassius to Toby. âBut she likes Fabian and Guy better than you.'
âOh, yes, poor Guy! No, like Toby.'
âWould you like to go and live with her?'
âYes.'
âAnd leave Father and Mater and Bennet?'
âBennet come too. Bennet and Megan and Toby.'
âAnd no one else?'
âOnly William,' said Toby, getting off his father's knee.
âWould you like to leave us all, Henry?' said Cassius.
âWell, you would not mind if I did.'
âWhat a thing to say! Of course I should mind. Father would not know what to do without his little son. Wouldn't you mind leaving him a little?'
âWell, then I should, or else it would be sad for you. And there wouldn't be anywhere for me to go.'
âAnd no one else would pay for our food,' said Megan.
âWell, that is a reason for staying,' said her father, drily.
âI suppose Fabian and Guy's mother would pay for theirs,' said Henry.
âWe do not talk about who pays for things,' said Flavia.
âWho would mind paying for Toby's food?' said Cassius, not bearing out his wife's words.
âPay?' said Toby, raising his eyes.
âGive money for it.'
âBennet does,' said Toby, with a clearing face. âIn a shop. Then Toby eat it.'
âWhat does Toby eat?'
âVery nice bun. Henry and Megan and Toby.'
âDoes Toby have the biggest?'
âOh, no, dear little bun.'
âDoes William have a bun too?'
âNo, very nice beer.'
âWhat do you like best to eat?'
âOnly bacon,' said Toby.
âSurely he does not have that?' said Cassius.
âHe likes the smell of it,' said Megan. âAnd he may have tasted it.'
âAlways eat bacon,' said Toby.
âYou should say what is true,' said his father. Tou know you do not have it to eat.'
âNo, not good for him, poor little boy!'
âA child is a strange thing,' said Cassius, as they were left alone.
âIt is a natural thing,' said his wife. âThat is why it strikes a civilized person as strange.'
âYes, well, I suppose one is a civilized person,' said her husband, on a faintly gratified note, âthough one does not think of oneself in that way. I suppose one's training and background have done their work. Well, Flavia, what is your impression of Catherine, now you look back on her?'
âI think it must still be based on yours. I have heard so much and seen so little, and seen that under strange conditions.'
âWell, I can hardly tell you my impression,' said her husband, leaning back and frowning, âthough it sounds an odd thing for me to say. You see, I knew so much, or thought I did, but now that I see her, I am not so sure. And then I suddenly see I was right, and then I am in doubt again. So it is difficult to tell.'
âIt must be,' said his wife.
âThat is why I wanted to know what you thought. You must think something. And I can see that you do.'
âI should say she is an honest, deep-natured woman, but of a purpose so single that it blinds her to any claim but her own. But that might be true of many of us in her place. What she is in her life I have had no chance of judging.'
âAnd upon my word I can't tell you, though I lived with her for five years. More than half as long as I have lived with you, Flavia. And I feel I know you in and out, every corner and cranny of you. There is no question about you that I could not answer.'
âI wonder which of them has the advantage,' said Mr Clare.
âWell, do you know, I think Catherine has. She is able to take cover under a veil of mystery, and never face the light of day, as Flavia does, and as I do myself in a way. I declare I should like to let in the light on her inner self and turn my eyes on it.'
âWe should fear to do that to anyone. And you took exception to her doing it to you.'
âWell, so I did, and so I do, or so I should, if it happened again. But mine is an ordinary, everyday self enough. It is hers that baffles one and gives rise to all sorts of problems. My little poses would be the usual ones. It is her great, unpitying penetration that hits you in the face and tricks you into betraying
what is hardly there. I declare I used to reveal things that I did ânot know were in me or anyone. She used to open up a new, dark world to me. Her seeming to read my mind never resulted in my thinking more of her. Oh, it was an experience, I can tell you, living with her for five years. I have never been the same man since. You have never known me as I was, Flavia, and that has been hard on you as well as on me. Oh, people like Catherine do their own harm, in spite of their lofty stand. And she could not do with me. Oh, no, I was too ordinary and commonplace for her. And the world had to know that. She could not keep it to herself. She had to leave me because of it. Is it any wonder that I imposed conditions on my own behalf? And yet I feel her influence and that odd sort of compelling force. It is a strange thing. Well, I don't know when I have had an outbreak like this. Do you remember my having one, Flavia? The past was somehow too much for me. It rose up and overwhelmed me. I did not foresee this result of having Catherine in the house.'
âThe past would be too much for any of us, if it did not stay in its place,' said Mr Clare.
âAnd now the future looms before us with all sorts of threats and doubts. Shall we ever be through it?'
âWhen we are through everything. But keep your thoughts away from it. You find the present enough.'
âOf course I do, and so do you, and so does everyone.'
âWell, it is enough,' said Mr Clare.
âWell, what is the news, Mr Ainger?' said Madge.
Ainger crossed the kitchen with a slow tread and his eyes on the ground, and paused with his hand on his chair before he took his seat.
âNews?' he said, raising his eyes.
âYes. What is there to tell?'
âThere is nothing that asks to be told, Madge.'
âWe have suffered a sense of anticipation,' said Kate.
âIt pleases him to keep things to himself,' said Halliday.
âI don't think thought of self has entered in,' said Ainger, drawing in his brows. âThere are cases where it does not.'
âAre there?' said Mrs Frost.
âWas it for nothing that Simon was excluded from the dining-room?' said Ainger, with more force. âWas it an indication or was it not?'
âWe hope it was,' said Madge. âWhat did it indicate?'
âThat things were not for eyes and ears, except in cases.'
âSo did nothing happen?' said Halliday.
âHappen?' said Ainger, turning fully to him. âYou would not expect incidents to take place?'
âI think we half expected it,' said Kate. âThings might have given rise.'
âThe gentry are themselves,' said Ainger, âas you are aware.'
âSo I was,' said Mrs Frost.
âHuman beings like all of us,' said Halliday.
âNo, Halliday,' said Ainger, gently, ânot quite like that.'
âDid the two ladies address each other?' said Kate. âThat seems a salient point.'
âYou use the word, Kate. “Ladies”. More is superfluous.'
âWhat were you doing all the time?' said Halliday.
âWhat I could do. Being a friend to them in my own way.'
âWell, be a friend to us in ours,' said Madge.
âThere must have been a good deal of waiting to be done,' said Simon.
âBeing a friend to them in their way,' said Halliday.
âWell, that was my duty, Halliday,' said Ainger, simply.
âEngland expects it of everyone,' said Kate, sighing.
âAh, we know it, Kate,' said Ainger. âYou are correct in your figure.'
âThere is a strain of what is higher in all of us,' said Kate.
âBut it is a pity it comes out in Mr Ainger just now,' said Madge.
âI suppress it in myself,' said Mrs Frost, âfor fear it should be too high.'
âI am sorry if you meant to make a Roman holiday of it,' said Ainger. It does not appeal to me in that light.'
âCan you eat anything?' said Mrs Frost, with her lips grave.
âWell, it has taken it out of me. It could not be otherwise.'
âWell, when you have put it back into you,' said Madge, âI hope we shall see the result.'
Her hope was realized as far as could be expected. Ainger followed her suggestion, and then sat up and looked about him.
âWell, it was a human scene. Human nature was writ large. And it is a thing that makes its appeal. I have always been struck by it.'
âBut what was said and done?' said Madge.
âNothing of a nature to be passed on. But much. It was a contradiction in terms.'
âWell, tell us what you can,' said Halliday.
âGreetings were exchanged,' said Ainger; âremarks were passed; convention was pursued. But there was nothing that made for disclosure. It was the outward and visible sign.'
âOf the inward grace,' said Kate.
âThere is no better word. It is the one I should apply.'
âWas there no sign of the emotions underneath?'
âKate, would signs have been in place?'
âWell, we rather feel they would,' said Madge.
âThe interchange might have marked any ordinary occasion.'
âPerhaps that was what it was,' said Mrs Frost.
âYou would almost have thought it, Mrs Frost,' said Ainger, turning to her frankly. âSo complete was the effort made, and the success that crowned it.'
âHow did the master comport himself?' said Kate.
âLike himself,' said Ainger, smiling. âThere was the first hesitation, and then the torrent flowed. And it was opportune, as there was the silence of constraint.'
âDid the former mistress extend marks of recognition to you?'
âKate, we might have parted yesterday. I found myself looking to her in the old way. And the present mistress smiled upon it. I could have let the tears start to my eyes.'
âWell; I expected to be more entertained and less uplifted,' said Madge.
âYou use the word,' said Ainger. âI can feel the better.'
âI should have liked to see the ladies in contact,' said Kate. It constitutes the climax.'
âIt was the high-water mark, Kate. As high as we need to go.'
The bell rang and Ainger rose with a sigh and a movement of his shoulders, as if acquiescing in the continued need of him.
âIt seems we have not always done justice to Mr Ainger,' said Kate.
âHe has not always done it to himself,' said Mrs Frost. âI don't think he ever has before.'
âI hope he won't make a habit of it,' said Madge.
âWe can tolerate anything the first time,' said Halliday.
Ainger returned, resumed his seat and rested his head on his hand.
âWell, they soon spared you,' said Halliday.
âYes. Yes,' said Ainger, just shaking his head. âThere was not much I could do for them. I think it was just the glimpse.'
âThere was not time for much more,' said Madge.
âI think I fulfilled their need, Madge.'
It appeared that he was mistaken. A step sounded in the passage and Cassius came to the door.
âAinger, this is not the wine I meant. I must come and show you myself. It seems impossible to get it.'
Ainger rose with a finished, willing movement, hastened to the door to open it for his master, and preceded him to the wine cellar to do the same. Presently they were heard in the passage, Cassius using his ordinary tones, and Ainger subduing his, so that any subject could be inferred.