The Present and the Past (2 page)

‘Well, what a beautiful day!' said Miss Ridley.

‘It is the same as any other day,' said Henry, raising his eyes for his first inspection of it. ‘Though not for the hen.'

‘A hen has died and upset them,' said Bennet, in a low,
confidential tone that the children heard and found comforting. ‘It will soon pass off.'

‘Not for the hen,' said Henry. ‘It won't have any day at all.'

‘We do not quite know that,' said Miss Ridley. ‘Opinions vary on the difference between the animal world and our own.'

‘Opinions are not much good when no one has the same,' said Megan. ‘They don't tell you anything.'

‘That again is not quite true. Many people have the same. There are different schools of thought, and people belong to all of them.'

‘How do they know which to choose?'

‘That may be beyond your range. It takes us rather deep.'

‘What is the good of knowing things, when you have to get older and older and die before you know everything?'

‘You will certainly do that, Megan, and so shall I.'

‘Are animals of the same nature as we are?' said Henry. ‘Monkeys look as if they were.'

‘Yes, that is the line of the truth. A scientist called Darwin has told us about it. Of course we have developed much further.'

‘Then weren't we made all at once as we are?' said Megan. ‘Eliza says that would mean the Bible was not true.'

‘It has its essential truth, and that is what matters.'

‘I suppose any untrue thing might have that. I daresay a good many have. So there is no such thing as truth. It is different in different minds.'

‘Why, you will be a philosopher one day, Megan.'

Miss Ridley was forty-seven and looked exactly that age. She wore neat, strong clothes that bore no affinity to those in current use, and wore, or had set on her head an old, best hat in place of a modern, ordinary one. She was fully gloved and booted for her hour in the garden. Her full, pale face, small, steady eyes, nondescript features and confident movements combined with her clothes to make a whole that conformed to nothing and offended no one. She made no mistakes in her dress, merely carried out her intentions.

The two boys who were with her wore rather childish clothes to conform with Henry's. Fabian at thirteen had a broad face and brow, broad, clear features and pure grey eyes that recalled his
sister's. Guy was two years younger and unlike him, with a childish, pretty face, dark eyes that might have recalled Toby's, but for their lack of independence and purpose, and a habit of looking at his brother in trust and emulation.

‘Well, here are the five of you together,' said Miss Ridley, who often made statements that were accepted. ‘Are you going to have a game before luncheon? It is twelve o'clock.'

‘That would mean that we amused the younger ones,' said Fabian.

‘And is there so much objection to that?'

‘To me there is too much.'

Henry and Megan showed no interest in the enterprise, and Guy looked as if he were not averse from it. Toby, at the mention of the time, had turned and disappeared into some bushes behind him. Eliza went in pursuit, and naturally gained in the contest, as she did her best in it. Toby glanced back to measure her advance, stumbled and fell and lay outstretched and still, uttering despairing cries. His brothers did not look in his direction, and his sister did no more than this. Bennet waited until he emerged in Eliza's arms, his lamentations complicated by his further prospects, and reassured by what she saw, entered into talk with Miss Ridley.

‘Have you seen anyone this morning?' she said, in a tone at once eager and casual.

‘Mrs Clare came in to ask about the children. She takes an equal interest in them all. And the tutor came and went. Guy does not do too well with him. I think he is nervous.'

Bennet turned eyes of concern on Guy. She had reared the five from the first and saw the infant in all of them.

‘Have Mr and Mrs Clare been together this morning?'

‘Yes, for a time, but old Mr Clare was with them.'

‘And that prevented trouble?' said Fabian.

‘Why, what trouble should there be?' said Miss Ridley.

‘There should not be any, but there would have been. You know what has happened.'

‘Why, things happen every day, Fabian.'

‘This has not happened for nine years. My own mother has returned to the place. You must know that.'

‘Well, I believe I had heard something about it.'

‘You are right in your belief, as it is likely you would be. You would hardly be the only person not to hear.'

‘It is nothing for you to think about,' said Bennet, in an easy tone that was belied by her eyes.

‘It is the only thing. What would anyone think about in our place?'

‘You have your mother here.'

‘We have our stepmother.'

‘What is a real mother like?' said Guy.

‘Like Mater to her own children,' said his brother.

‘You know that no difference is made,' said Miss Ridley.

‘The difference is there. There is no need to make it.'

‘Are all fathers like our father?' said Guy.

‘No father is like him,' said Fabian. ‘We have no normal parent.'

‘He is devoted to you in his way,' said Miss Ridley.

‘I daresay a cat does the right thing to a mouse in its way.'

‘Doing things in your own way is not really doing them,' said Megan.

‘Why, Fabian, what a conscious way of talking!' said Miss Ridley. ‘And it leads the others to copy you.'

‘Why should I talk like a child, when my life prevents me from being one?'

‘Would having a real mother make us more childish?' said Guy.

‘That would hardly be desirable in your case,' said Miss Ridley. ‘You are inclined to be behind your age. And you could not have a stepmother who was more like a real mother.'

‘And we could not have one who
was
like one,' said Fabian.

‘You know that every effort is made for you.'

‘Of course we know. Everyone is at pains to tell us. And we can see it being made, as they can.'

‘Suppose it was not made? That Would be the thing to mind.'

‘But perhaps not to mind so much.'

‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!' said Henry.

‘Whatever is it?' said Miss Ridley.

‘They haven't anything,' said Henry, indicating his brothers. ‘Not even as much as we have.'

‘Now really, you are ungrateful children. You have a beautiful home and every care and kindness. It would do you good to have to face some real trouble.'

‘You know it would do us harm,' said Henry.

‘I cannot think what has come over you.'

‘Then you cannot think at all,' said Fabian. ‘But I daresay that is the case. A good many people can't.'

Guy and Megan laughed.

‘And you are one of the fortunate ones who can?' said Miss Ridley, using a dry tone.

‘I am one of the unfortunate ones who do. That is how I should put it.'

‘It is perhaps rather a bold claim.'

‘It is not a claim. It is merely a statement of fact.'

‘If you know things, of course you think about them,' said Megan. ‘Or you wouldn't really know them.'

‘You should not say these things before the little ones,' said Miss Ridley to Fabian. ‘Especially if you are a person who thinks. Or do you not think about them?'

‘Why should I? They have enough people to do it.'

‘Henry, do get up from that log,' said Bennet, giving matters a lighter tone. ‘What an uncomfortable seat!'

‘Not enough to make you forget anything,' said Henry, as if it had failed in its purpose.

‘Have we had to bear more than other children?' said Guy. ‘I mean Fabian and me.'

‘Now what have you had to bear?' said Miss Ridley. ‘Try to tell me one thing.'

‘He doesn't mean hunger and cold like children in books,' said Henry. ‘But they are not the only things.'

‘Why are Sunday books sadder than others?' said Megan. ‘It seems to be making it the worst day on purpose. And it is supposed to be the best.'

‘Now do you not find it so?' said Miss Ridley.

‘Only because it is a holiday. Any other day would be better.'

‘It need not be worse than other days,' said Fabian. ‘The reasons are man-made. Our religion is a gloomy one. There are other and happier creeds.'

‘Oh, hush, you know there is the one true one,' said Bennet, in an automatic manner, not moving her eyes.

‘It is a pity it is so sad,' said Guy. ‘It has to mean that life is sad, when religion goes through life.'

‘Now surely you can think of something pleasant,' said Miss Ridley.

‘You admit that religion is not that,' said Fabian.

‘Now I knew you would take me up on that, Fabian. I knew it the moment the words were out of my mouth. Of course it has its solemn side. Its very depth and meaning involve that. We should not wish it otherwise.'

‘Well, people do like gloom. It prevents other people from being happy.'

‘But surely they do not wish that.'

‘They seem to go through life wishing it. They think happiness is wrong.'

‘Or they think it is too pleasant,' said Megan, ‘and so don't want other people to have it.'

‘My dear child, what reason can you have for saying such a thing?'

‘That I am not one of those who have eyes and see not, ears and hear not, and seeing do not perceive,' said Megan, twisting round on one leg.

‘I am afraid you are conceited children.'

‘Everyone is conceited. It is only that some people pretend not to be. People can't always despise themselves, and there might not be any reason.'

‘I daresay they could generally find one,' said Fabian.

‘If they want to prevent people's happiness, they certainly could,' said Miss Ridley.

‘Miss Ridley is conceited,' said Henry, in an expressionless tone.

‘What am I conceited about, Henry?'

‘About your brain and your learning.'

‘I wonder if I am,' said Miss Ridley, consenting to turn
attention to herself. ‘I hardly think so, Henry. About my brain I certainly am not. It is of the strong and useful kind, but no more. In learning I have gone further than I expected.'

Miss Ridley had obtained a degree, a step whose mystic significance for a woman was accepted at that date even by those who had taken it. It rendered her equal to the instruction of male youth, and accounted for her presence in the family.

Eliza came towards them, calling out to Bennet tidings that were worth announcing from afar.

‘He was asleep in a minute. He was fractious because he was tired.'

‘Dear little boy!' said Miss Ridley.

‘Is there anything endearing in being asleep?' said Fabian. ‘Not that it is not better than screaming on the ground.'

‘People are always glad when babies go to sleep,' said Henry. ‘They can stop thinking about them. They take too much thought.'

‘You don't deserve to have a baby brother,' said Miss Ridley.

‘Well, we did not want one.'

‘I remember how excited you were when he came.'

‘But not when he stayed,' said Megan, smiling. ‘Not when he had always to be there.'

‘I was never excited at all,' said Henry. ‘I knew he would have to stay. I knew it wouldn't be Megan and me any longer.'

‘I am afraid that is a selfish point of view.'

‘All points of view are selfish,' said Megan. ‘They are the way people look at things themselves. So they must be.'

‘Both knees are grazed,' said Eliza to Bennet, as though this might have been expected.

‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!' said Henry.

‘Come, that is not so bad,' said Miss Ridley. ‘Children must sometimes fall, and he was very brave.'

‘Was he?' said Fabian. ‘How would cowardice be shown?'

‘I wasn't thinking of him,' said Henry. ‘There are other things that matter. And Megan and I don't always think about him. I had a thought of my own.'

‘You ought to get out of the habit of saying, “Oh, dear, oh, dear!”'

‘It isn't a habit. I don't say it if there isn't a reason. Reasons can't be a habit. They are there.'

‘You are proud of saying it,' said Guy, ‘because great minds tend to melancholy. I know the book that says it.'

‘I don't read the book; I don't often read,' said Henry.

‘Now there is another change we might see,' said Miss Ridley.

‘There are real changes that ought to be made, and never will be,' said Henry, checking his natural exclamation.

‘Now there is the first effort made. I congratulate you, Henry.'

‘I wasn't making an effort.'

‘I think you were. You see I think better of you than you think of yourself.'

‘People are always ashamed of trying to be better,' said Megan.

‘I should be sorry to think so,' said Miss Ridley. ‘Would you be ashamed of it?'

‘I shall never know, because I shall never try.'

‘I think that shows you would be,' said Guy.

‘Now Henry may say, “Oh, dear, oh, dear!” ‘said Miss Ridley. ‘I see there is reason.'

‘People are ashamed of thinking they are not good enough as they are,' said Fabian.

‘And yet they would not admit to a high opinion of themselves,' said another voice. ‘I suppose they could not, as it would be so very high.'

‘Good morning, Mrs Clare,' said Miss Ridley. ‘Say good morning to your mother, children.'

The children smiled without speaking, according to a law which they never broke, and of which their mother was not aware.

‘Why do you play just here, the one unpleasant place? Did not one out of half a dozen of you think of that?'