Two Worlds and Their Ways (39 page)

“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 the 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.”

“I thought Clemence was a favourite of Miss Chancellor's,” said Maria.

“Well, perhaps I was. And I think Gwendolen was too.”

“I have the same favourites,” said Sir Roderick, “though I should not have expected it. That was a nice little girl, quite untouched by all that Miss Petticoat said.”

“She has been at school for years,” said Clemence. “It must have done its worst for her.”

“Or done its best,” said Maria. “We must be fair.”

“I don't think it does anything for her. She does not seem to take any notice of it.”

“That is the explanation,” said Roderick. “She keeps herself apart. The others are sunk in the slough up to the neck. Miss Petticoat is right.”

“Really, Sir Roderick, your powers of observation! We shall be afraid to meet you.”

“We are all sunk in a slough of some kind,” said Maria.

“No, no, my pretty, you are not fair to yourself. Things are not as bad as that. We all do some little things—have something on the debit side.”

“Clemence is in spirits,” said Maria, looking at her daughter. “Is it the result of a day with her friends?”

“A sense of duty well done, Lady Shelley,” said Miss Petticott.

“Which is it, Clemence?”

“Well, I am glad it was all a success. But I don't think I want it again just yet.”

“I should hope not, as it has to happen in the term,” said Miss Petticott.

“You do not wish you were back at school?” said Maria.

“I don't think it is a good thing to live in two places,” said Clemence, with a note of truth. “And, of course, you must have your home.”

“You would not like to have the best of both worlds?”

“I don't think you do have it. You can't have the best of home in a few months. And the long terms do not seem the best of school. They are the worst of it.”

Sir Roderick and Miss Petticott laughed.

“You would never find another term so long,” said Maria.

“Do not confuse their minds, Maria. They are quite clear. Come and befog your own with your charity accounts. It will not rest while they are on it.”

“Can I be of any help, Lady Shelley?”

“Well, if it were not at the end of a long day, Miss Petticott, and you were not tired out and only fit for bed——” Maria hesitated to ignore these circumstances.

“A fig Miss Petticoat cares for any of that,” said Sir Roderick, prepared to support the disregard.

“Tired out and fit for fiddlesticks, Lady Shelley! I have had a day of pleasure. It is you who have had the duties,
you and poor Clemence here. Those accounts have been on my mind. I have had a sense that they were accumulating.”

“You will soon have evidence of it,” said Sir Roderick. “The library table is like a haystack, except that it has no shape.”

“Well, it will not be so for long, Sir Roderick,” said Miss Petticott, leading the way from the room with a firm step.

Sefton looked at his sister, as the door closed.

“We never seem to be alone until the end of the day. We always talk about things when we are tired. But I think we know about them.”

“It may be the best time to see them. It is no good for the morning to bring fresh hope. There is not enough reason for it.”

“You said we could not live in two places, and that seems to be the whole thing. Places do not understand each other.”

“And some places could never be understood. Homes are one of them. To think there are thousands of them, all over the world! The girls did not understand this one, even when they saw it. And I don't suppose the boys did either.”

“We did not really want them to. It is somehow a thing we could not bear. And yet there is not anything really to be ashamed of.”