Two Worlds and Their Ways (8 page)

“It does throw a shadow. And it must remain dark, sinister and hovering. And it is over innocent lives. But there is no need for Grandpa to hint that it is over lives like our own. As if they were innocent.”

“Well, what about this question of school, Roderick?” said Maria, in a weary tone. “Shall we put it to the vote? To go or not to go? Hands up, those in favour!”

No hand was raised and Maria looked round in doubt.

“No, no, I am aloof,” said Lesbia, shaking her head. “I have given my opinion. It must be taken for what it is worth. I do not give it a second time.”

“Of course Lucius and I cannot vote for having an extra boy,” said Juliet. “And Lucius is never in favour of anything. He cannot let his personality go to pieces.”

“I am in your position, Miss Firebrace. I am aloof,” said Miss Petticott. “Our minds do seem to work on the same lines.”

“I am against their going,” said Sir Roderick. “I do not mind giving the opinion a second and a third time.”

“I vote in favour of it,” said Oliver. “The results may afford me some amusement. I expect it will have some results.”

“I give the casting vote, also in favour,” said Mr. Firebrace. “When I have a family of governesses, it is not for me to stand in their light.”

“Then the ayes have it,” said Maria. “I have not voted myself, but no one has noticed that.”

“A note of dignified sadness,” said Oliver. “When Sefton goes wrong at school, it will come to his mind. There must be something to do that.”

“It has been settled all the time,” said his father. “And I ask that we shall not continue to assume it is not. And I hope they will not stay long.”

“I should not think they will. The results of their going are to amuse me; and if they stay long, I do not see how they could.”

“Well, I am tired of the riddles and mysteries,” said Maria. “They give such a shallow touch to everything.”

“That is a hard saying and meant to be one,” said Oliver. “I thought they gave a subtle touch, and I still think it.”

“What do the people who are most concerned, think of its being settled?” said Lesbia, in a quiet tone.

“I knew it was,” said Clemence.

“Why did we think it was not?” said Sefton.

“That I cannot tell you,” said his father.

“I do not know that it is settled now,” said Lesbia, laughing. “I shall be prepared for either event. And it will not make so much difference, as long as we know in time.”

“It will make a good deal of difference to us,” said Clemence.

“I should not be so half-hearted, if I ran a school,” said Maria.

“Well, your methods would be more direct,” said her husband.

“Which kind of method do you think best?” said Oliver to Clemence, noticing her look.

“There does not seem to be much difference. All methods are direct really. It is not as if we could not see the indirect ones working.”

The parents suppressed amusement, or seemed to do so, and Maria put her arms about her children and guided them to the door, as though they had been sufficiently stimulated by adult company. Lesbia kept her eyes on Clemence as long as the latter was in hearing.

“Clemence has no social intercourse except with older people,” she said, as if she could deduce this.

“The two children are very good friends,” said Miss Petticott.

“Yes, but her brother's companionship cannot lead her beyond a certain point,” said Lesbia, turning fully to the speaker and continuing under the protection. “Not beyond considering the effect of her words, and speaking with a sense of being listened to. It leaves her helpless there.” She dropped her voice and seemed to speak to herself. “And helplessness merits help.”

“She is not at all behind her age, Miss Firebrace.”

“No, the growth has been normal, but with the gaps resulting from the lack in the environment.”

“I always think the gaps are the best part of education,” said Sir Roderick, who thought this, or thought of it, for the first time.

“Well, I daresay we could all show plenty of them,” said Lesbia. “We will not make the lists.”

“I thought it was a mistake to do so,” said Oliver.

“Lucius has more gaps than anyone,” said Juliet. “Some people might think he was almost wholly a gap. But it is dangerous to copy him.”

“It is always a mistake to copy the peculiarities of a work of art,” said Oliver. “And that is what people do. But as they cannot copy the merits, what is their choice?”

“And gaps would be particularly easy to copy,” said Juliet.

“Well, I think I will go upstairs,” said Maria, “and visit the victims of a mistaken upbringing.”

Lesbia rose at the same time, so unobtrusively that the action escaped notice, and as she met Maria's eyes, spoke with sudden firmness.

“It will help me, Maria. So I will not risk having permission denied.”

The two women mounted the staircase, and Sir Roderick rose as an afterthought and followed. No sound came from the schoolroom, and Lesbia's expression registered the evidence of lack of life. Maria entered with a defiant look, as though prepared to defend what she saw.

This caused her to pause and glance at her companion, as if to make sure of her position at her side. Her smile hovered for a moment, and steadied as it was supported by her husband's mirth. Lesbia's voice was the first to be heard.

“So I have lost no time in implanting an impression of my personality. Something about me has not delayed to do its work. To whom are we indebted for the recognisable presentation? For I think we must accord it the merit of being that.”

Miss Petticott, her pupils and Adela sat at attention before a masquerading figure. The trappings of the latter sorted themselves out to the eye. The stuffing of Adela's armchair supplied the short grey hair; a scarf of Miss
Petticott's the grey and shadowy garment; a strap, with some scissors depending, the belt with its silver attachment, at sight of which Lesbia restrained a movement of her hand towards her waist. Here sources of supply had failed, and Aldon's nether garments provided the basis of the whole. His small, supple figure and pliable, sallow face were a possible substitute for the model's lineaments.

He began to divest himself of his disguise, as though unconscious of what he did. Lesbia looked on with modderate interest, Sir Roderick with more, Maria with some disappointment that no achievement was to be accredited to her children.

“Well, if simple ingenuity is of any use to us, they will have that help,” said Lesbia, looking at the accoutrements, as they were discarded, and then going into easy mirth. “It does not often fall to anyone to witness her own dissolution.”

“Had you nothing else to do with your time, Aldom?” said Sir Roderick, in a tone that seemed to be neutral, because he could not decide on its expression.

“Well, Sir Roderick, I have acted at school before, as is known to her ladyship, it not being the custom to work from morning till night. And this time it seemed to fit the occasion, as it was an imminent experience.”

“And it has its educational value, Miss Petticott?” said Lesbia, in a tone that just held a question. “As all work and play should have.”

“Well, really I do not know, Miss Firebrace. I did not know what the scene was to be. I was quite taken aback when it began. I had not any idea of it.”

“I do not suppose you had. I am not so conceited as to suppose that this particular thing would occur to you. And no doubt you trusted your pupils. Trust should exist in all relations; and if it is to be on one side, it must be on the other. And I believe in self-government, in things that admit of it. And amusements are surely to be reckoned amongst those.”

“I will go now, my lady,” said Aldom, and did as he said.

“Well, if Clemence is not prepared for her new life, it is not Aldom's fault,” said Lesbia, in another tone. “I hope the light thrown upon her path will illumine it. It would be a pity if all that thought and contrivance were wasted. I might feel quite flattered by being the instigator of it.”

“Aldom had only about half an hour between waiting at tea and coming up here,” said Maria, as if this feeling might occur in too great a degree.

“Yes, it was the most concentrated effort.”

Sir Roderick laughed.

“What are you laughing at, Roderick?” said Maria.

Her husband continued to laugh, and began to do so to excess, looking at Lesbia, at Miss Petticott, at his children, as he made up the arrears of his emotion.

Lesbia smiled on him with indulgence.

“You are still young in heart and mind, Roderick. Childish things are not of those that you have put away.”

Sir Roderick was checked by this interpretation of his mood, but not to the point of overcoming it, and continued to be subject to outbreaks, as the talk went on.

“Really, Roderick, I am ashamed of you,” said Maria. “Indeed I do not know how far to be ashamed of all of you.”

“Oh, that is too much of a feeling, surely,” said Lesbia, as though some easy condemnation would meet the case. “People cannot always present themselves in the most becoming light. We all have our more ordinary moments.”

“What may be your jest?” said Mr. Firebrace, leading his family into the room.

“A merry one,” said his daughter. “We came up and caught Aldom in the act of impersonating me in my professional character. And very realistic it all was. Observed and plausible and failing in none of the stock humours. Whether or no it was worth doing, it was done quite well.”

“And you put off being amused by it until Aldom had left you. Well, we see your reasons.”

Sir Roderick, who had put off some of his amusement for longer than this, now allowed it to escape him.

“Why, my boy, I have not seen you laugh like that for thirty-two years,” said Mr. Firebrace, choosing to mention the time that had passed since his daughter's death.

“You are wonderful, Roderick,” said Juliet. “A vow never to smile again is hardly ever kept so long.”

Sir Roderick's vow, if he had made one, was once more broken.

“I love to see Father happy,” said Oliver.

Lesbia went into mirth, as though here were really cause.

“I do not know why I am laughing so much,” said Sir Roderick.

“I can tell you, Roderick,” said Lesbia, gently. “Your emotion at losing your children is finding its outlet; the more so that I, the cause of the loss, am also the cause of the laughter.”

“Is that really so?” said Sir Roderick.

“Aunt Lesbia, you have quenched the light in Father's eyes,” said Oliver. “I should think that is probably one of the greatest of wrongs.”

“Lesbia has become Clemence's headmistress,” said Lucius. “Being mimicked and mocked is a symptom of the state.”

“I did not think you knew that,” said Juliet. “I suppose you are really a person whom nothing escapes.”

“Yes, yes. It is a thing that does happen to a certain degree,” said Lesbia, in a considering, open tone. “To a certain degree, and in the spirit prompted by the object of the mimicry. We want a word more sympathetic to both sides.”

“I fear we all do not,” said Lucius.

“Well, the atmosphere of different schools must have its difference.”

“And girls may be different from boys,” said Sir Roderick.

“Yes, that is quite true, Roderick,” said Lesbia, in cordial agreement.

“I thought that girls were more subtle and cruel in their methods,” said Juliet.

“Now did you really think so?” said her sister. “Or are you just repeating what you have heard?”

“I think I thought that was thinking so. I believe it generally is. When people think about a thing, they do say what they have heard. If they had heard nothing, they would not think about it.”

“You have full opportunity of observing boys. That may help you to draw some conclusions.”

“I try not to use it, in case it may lead to that. And the boys would hardly let it be a full one. And conclusions would come between me and the parents, who seem to have no idea of them. I do not think they ever form them.”

“I suppose you know you are contradicting yourself?”

“I must be one of those ordinary women who do not pretend to be consistent. Why do they not pretend to be? We all pretend to be honest and kind and intelligent, and surely it is not so much more to add consistence. People are so conceited; they only pretend to be the higher things.”

“Girls are themselves,” said Lesbia, in a quiet, even voice. “Individual, variable, understanding and loyal in their own way”—she gave a faint smile, as though such things as mimicry did occur to her—“in need of supervision and training to bring out their best; and the best may be very good.”

“You can keep a girls' school without any sense of guilt. But the best in anyone is good. How would you manage about the other things in them, if they came to the fore? We do not know what would be our problems, if we dared to face them.”

“The deduction may be simply that girls are more suited to school than boys. They are more responsive and receptive, more open to influence. Boys may sometimes be better at home; I have often thought it.”

“But do not strike at the foundations of our livelihood.”

“What do you think, Lucius?” said Maria.

“I am no advocate of sending young boys from home. I see it as unnatural and sometimes harmful. But we have to do our best with the system. It is established.”

“It must be,” said his wife. “One cannot help wondering how it came about.”

“It is no good to go back and consider the matter from the beginning,” said Maria.

“None,” said Oliver. “If it were, it would have been of good by now.”

“We are doing as Lucius said, my dear,” said Sir Roderick. “Making the best of the prevailing system. We are agreed that it is a bad one, even Lesbia in the case of boys.”