“We shall always regret that that was not done,” said Jessica. “I wish we had made a point of it.”
“But why didn’t you?” said Anna, in an insistent tone. “It would have been a satisfaction to Aunt Sukey to feel there was a record of her. And now it would be an advantage to everyone.”
“We had her with us herself then. It is more natural to want the record of her now.”
“When it is too late,” said her niece.
“We cannot live on the edge of someone’s grave,” said Terence, “and keep the person herself looking down into it.”
“Another distortion of my thoughts and feelings,” said his cousin. “I wonder you ever get a right impression of anyone. I don’t suppose you ever do.”
“It is a time when we are shaken out of ourselves,” said Jessica. “We owe so much to each other, and we give so little.”
“Another pointed metaphor,” said Esmond.
“Will you be able to use the room now?” said Anna, with awkward suddenness, as if her mind had passed to another subject. “Aunt Sukey’s room, I mean. Or will it be established as a sort of shrine? I don’t think I could ever go into it again.”
“Then it does not matter to you what purpose it is to serve,” said Esmond.
“Well, will you make a habit of frequenting it, yourself?”
“I shall make it into a study for your uncle,” said Jessica, addressing them both. “He has always wanted a west room, and has never been able to have one. He will not like the room any less for its memories.”
“Gracious, that is a quick way of using up what is left,” said Anna, dropping her voice and raising her brows towards her brothers. “It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.”
“As you have found, yourself,” said Esmond.
“Well, I said it, didn’t I?”
“With regard to other people you did.”
“Well, I daresay other people are saying it about me. Indeed I know they are. And you were the first. So all is fair between us all.”
“I think it is a tribute to us,” said Tullia, in her deliberate way, “that Aunt Sukey used our house as her home, and imposed her will upon us, without thinking it necessary to leave us a reward. That would take the meaning out of it, and make it all into a sort of exchange and barter. I am glad we are spared that.”
“I suppose you mean that the ban has fallen on me,” said Anna. “Well, that is as it may be. Aunt Sukey had to have her way.”
“How much that says for her!” said Bernard.
“So do we all,” said Terence. “That is why we are in a baffled state. We are not getting it.”
“Oh, Father and Aunt Jessica and I are fairly content,” said Anna. “Content with the minor circumstances, I mean, apart from the main thing. And if Tullia means what she says, she also is satisfied. And I don’t see why she shouldn’t mean it. I generally mean what I say myself, simple, unsophisticated habit though it may sound. And Aunt Sukey may have felt as Tullia says. I never saw any sign in her, that she felt she ought to pay in any form for what she had in your house. She never gave the least hint of it, not the slightest.” Anna looked round in general assurance. “She felt she was entitled to everything by right of herself and of the advantage she was to you. I am sure you may feel certain that that was her feeling.”
“In a word, disinterested affection has to be disinterested,” said Thomas.
“Well, why shouldn’t it be what it pretends to be? Or what it is, if you like?”
“I would rather reward it than the other kind.”
“In other words, it did not exist,” said his niece. “Oh, I may have been the new broom, but to my mind a little clean sweeping was not out of place.”
“Yes, there were some cobwebs,” said Jessica. “They tend to come with time; I daresay they would have done that anywhere.”
“Must we go on?” said Tullia. “What do we think is gained by it?”
“I am afraid nothing,” said Terence. “We hoped that Aunt Sukey’s fortune would be gained.”
Anna laughed in spontaneous amusement, her eyes on her cousin’s face.
“It was not a question of gain, but of assignment of dues,” said Thomas.
“It bore a certain resemblance to gain, on both sides I must say,” said Anna. “I don’t think I am going to take the line that we are trying to be generous to each other. We are claiming what seems to us to be ours, a just and reasonable thing, but nothing more. And I have had enough of derogatory and belittling hints. If you cannot get on with people, who keep what they legally inherit, you will be able to get on with very few. Father put it to you in some way of his own.”
“This is hardly an ordinary case,” said Jessica.
“Now, honestly, Aunt Jessica, have you ever given up anything that was left to you in a will? I suppose you inherited your share of your parents’ money; indeed I know you did, because Father did the same. And did it occur to you to make it over to anyone else? Or if it did, did you do it? I amit that it occurred to me; I believe I even spoke of it; but these impulses pass away; it is no good to blink at the truth. They did in my case, as I suppose they did in yours. And we are left with a feeling that, if we do not consider our dues, no one else will do it for us. The more we listen to other people, the more we see our dependence on ourselves. When you think you are entitled to money, that is left to someone else, you must see it is natural to think so, when it is left to you. I do think that my position is better than yours.”
Tullia gave a sigh and threw up her brows in silent despair.
“In a sense I have no position,” said Jessica, quietly. “But my own money was left to me on natural grounds. It was not a case of an accident or a sick impulse.”
“And how do we know that this was? How can we know anything? I begin to think that anything to do with money, be it wills or anything else, is so considered and dwelt upon and turned this way and that in people’s thoughts, that no word like rashness or impulse is ever in place. It may be accepted as the definite outcome of the person’s mind. I have come to that conclusion.”
“What do you think about it, Claribel?” said Thomas.
“Oh, I feel I am simply removed from it, just floating about above it in some sphere of my own, too ethereally constructed to be welcome or useful to anyone involved. It is just left out of me, the quality that deals with the assignment of human goods. I am above it, below it, whatever it is.”
“What would have happened, if the quality had been left out of Aunt Jessica and Anna?” said Esmond.
“What has happened now?” said Tullia. “Aunt Sukey decided the matter. But it is a pity it was not left out. We should have escaped this scene.”
“Well, there is no help for us,” said Thomas.
“No, there is not, Uncle Thomas,” said Anna, turning to face him. “And there would be none for me, if things were reversed, and the money left to you instead of to me. And I should not expect there to be; that seems to be the difference between us. Otherwise, there is not a pin to choose between your construction and mine. Even Aunt Jessica seems to be on the line with us. I want nothing that does not come to me fair and square; but if it does so come—” Anna snapped her fingers and turned to the table, on which Ethel had placed a tray. “Now come and slake your thirst and forget the bone of contention. I don’t want to have Tullia fainting away before my eyes.”
“We ought to have known better than to embark on such an altercation,” said Esmond.
“Perhaps we have learned better,” said Thomas.
“Altercation, was it?” said Anna, with her eyes on the tray. “I should have thought it was a pretty reasoned discussion. Nothing runs quite on the smooth, when people are looking at things from different angles.” Her tone was preoccupied and she seemed to be taking some care in dispensing the tea. “I don’t suppose we any of us harbour any personal feelings on the matter.”