“I will say now what I must not say then,” said Simon. “Good night and thank you, my son.”
Chapter 13
“Well, how do you like the new home?” said Simon, entering the nursery.
“It is your old home, isn’t it?” said Claud. “You always say it is.”
“Well, it is new to you.”
“It is not new,” said Emma, looking round. “It couldn’t be that to anyone.”
“You know it is a very old house, that has been in our family for centuries.”
“Does that mean hundreds of years?” said Claud. “But hundreds are not thousands.”
“It doesn’t go back to the Druids,” said Emma.
“Well, would it be better, if it did?”
“It would be older. And so people would think it was.”
“But you like everything to be new?” said Simon.
“Well, new things cost more money,” said Claud. “And people would not pay it without a cause.”
“It is all a question of money in the end,” said Emma, lifting her shoulders.
“Well, what do you think of your new — your nursery?” said Simon.
“It is large and rather dark,” said Claud.
“You like it to be large surely?”
“In a way. But it is quite a walk between the cupboard and the fire.”
“And space beyond a point only means work,” said Emma.
“Come, do not quote other people. I asked you how you liked the room.”
“You asked what we thought of it,” said Claud. “You must not mind, if we tell you. And I said it was rather dark. It is not so very.”
“The corners are dark,” said Emma. “There might be — you might think there were things in them, if you didn’t know.”
“She means in the evening, before we have the light,” said Claud. “And of course there isn’t anything. You can see it the next day.”
“How do Nurse and Miss Dolton like the room?”
“Well, they find it eerie,” said Emma, sighing. “People are only what they are.”
“How about the rooms you sleep in? Do you like those better?”
“Oh, yes,” said Emma, in a generous tone. “They are just ordinary rooms.”
“They are in the modern wing. What strange tastes you all have!”
“They can’t be strange, if we all have them. It may be yours that are that. It is the word for this house, and you grew up in it.”
“It is almost more than a house,” said Claud. “It is really not itself without a drawbridge.”
“But then there would have to be a moat,” said his father.
“Well, one could be made. A moat would have to be dug. It is not there of itself.”
“It is not a natural feature,” said Emma.
“I know what you mean,” said Simon, not out of sympathy with the view. “But a moat was made to keep out enemies. And there is none here.”
“It might keep out other things,” said Emma. “Everything is not human.”
“You are not thinking of ghosts, are you?”
“I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular.”
“Thoughts need not be exact,” said Claud, as Simon left them.
“I have a pair of odd children,” said the latter, as he joined his family. “Emma and Claud find their nursery too much for them. When I feel they are at last in their home.”
“The question of homes is always ominous for us,” said Ralph.
“And it dies hard,” said his father, smiling. “Indeed I see it will never die.”
“Has anyone heard from the exiles?” said Julia.
“I have a letter from Rhoda,” said Fanny. “She does not see herself in that light. She and her young couple are happy in their new home. They are not like Claud and Emma.”
“Or rather they are,” said Graham. “They do not feel the spell of this one.”
“You see Marcia as young, Mother,” said Ralph. “I wonder what she is to Hamish.”
“Someone who can give him what he has not himself,” said Simon. “It does not depend on youth.”
“I feel I must say it, sir. I can’t understand his turning to her after Naomi.”
“It was because of the difference. They both had qualities on a large scale, of a high order, and not the same. The reason was there.”
“I can’t understand how you know so much about Marcia, when you have seen her so little.”
“Understanding does not seem to be your strong point,” said Simon, mildly. “I ought to know about her, and so ought we all. If we remember where we are, it is enough.”
“It is too much,” said Graham. “Our debt is too great. We are bowed down by it.”
“I am not,” said his father. “The change was not made in that spirit. A debt has to be repaid.”
“It is a good photograph of her in your study, sir,” said Ralph. “The one that was at first in the hall.”
“Yes, I gave it a more intimate place,” said Simon, in an open tone. “It seemed to deserve it of us. I could not feel at home myself in a public passage.”
“It is strange how a photograph seems to hold something of the person it represents,” said Julia.
“Simon made it sound as if it did,” said Fanny.
“We don’t usually have photographs about,” said Ralph. “I thought we never did.”
“Then I have done well by this one. I felt it had a claim. And it is only in my workroom, where it will not be seen.”
“Or only by you,” said Fanny.
“Well, a photograph is not meant to be seen by no one.”
“I would not be without the photograph of my Hamish,” said Julia. “It is what I have left of him. Or rather my memory is what I have left, and that is helped by it.”
“Do we need help?” said Naomi. “No one who is dead can change. It is the living who grow different.”
“So an early photograph may help us,” said Simon. “We shall know what Marcia was like, when she came into our lives; and when she changed them.”
“You ought to exhibit photographs of us all on that basis,” said Ralph. “Those are things we all have done.”
“You have, my boy. And the change goes on, and is with me. I do not need the photographs. I chose to pay this one a tribute.”
“What made Marcia think of giving it to you? It is surely not a thing she does.”
“She did not think of it. Father asked for it,” murmured Naomi. “Will you ever stop pursuing the truth? Cannot you see it?”
“What will Hamish’s children say to his giving up his heritage?” said Walter. “It is a question that must be asked. When they know about it, they may feel they are being sacrificed.”
“Their mother will help both Hamish and them,” said Simon.
“They may think it is you whom she has served,” said Fanny.
“They will. They will know it. And that is not all they will learn. You are glad of the change, Fanny?”
“Yes, as you are, and in that measure. That is what makes the difference.”
“I don’t mind if we have no right to it,” said Walter. “A thing seems to have more value, when it is not our due. But they may agree that it is not.”
“Then they must learn the truth about Hamish and me,” said Simon, quietly. “And know that he saw a father as coming before his son.”
“But then they may feel that Hamish, as the elder son, should succeed you before Graham,” said Ralph. “There may be troubles ahead.”
“You sound as if you half-hoped there were,” said Simon.
“Well, it seems rather empty without them. We have always had them smouldering underneath.”
“It is I who have suffered them. You can neither need sympathy nor feel you do.”
“I think I sometimes did. And ought troubles brought on ourselves to count as a claim for it?”
“No,” said his father, gravely. “And they do not count. We deserve little pity for them, and have none.”