“Anna shows some skill in glossing over her allusions to her wealth,” said Terence. “But it would save trouble not to bring up the matter.”
Ethel walked smoothly into the room and replaced the teapot by a full one. Jessica gave her a smile; Terence moved something out of her way; Anna behaved as if she did not see her; and Jenney followed her out of the room as though to give some direction, but really seizing the pretext to leave the family alone.
Ethel carried her tray to the kitchen, as if Jenney’s company had escaped her notice, and spoke as she set it on the table.
“It is strange that people should keep what is grudged to them.”
“So she held to it,” said Cook.
“Instead of standing apart, with her head above it,” said Ethel.
“There would be no good in wills, if people did not carry them out,” said Jenney.
“Well, little good comes of them,” said Ethel.
Jenney could not feel that this was so in Anna’s case.
“But people must say what is to become of their money, when they die. Or how would people know what to do with it?”
“There ought to be cases where compulsion is brought to bear. That poor Mrs. Calderon! And always with a word for everyone.”
“And that sweet smile,” said Cook.
“You would think that quiet dignity was sometimes the only course,” said Ethel. “And would make people think more of you. And respect is everything.”
“Many people respect money,” said Jenney.
“Well money is power,” said Ethel, sighing.
“But only on a scale,” said Cook. “Petty sums can’t sway destinies.”
“You can do a certain amount on what Miss Anna has inherited,” said Jenney.
“But if you forfeit what is more valuable, you are the poorer,” said Ethel.
But Jenney could not see the word as applicable.
“They are taking their leave,” said Ethel, throwing up her eyes to the ceiling. “I suppose Miss Anna does not want them shown out, as she is there herself.”
“It seems needless,” said Cook, “where there are only two.”
“And now this talk of three,” said Ethel. “Well, it has happened before.”
“And will happen again,” said Cook. “Words mean nothing on the lips of some. But if a third should come, she would find it her own affair.”
“I would not guarantee her not feeling out of it,” said Ethel. “Nor guarantee anything in the face of change.”
“I must go upstairs,” said Jenney. “They may want me, now that the guests have gone.”
“I would not leave Miss Jennings to the mercy of Miss Anna,” said Ethel, as the door closed. “Not made overbearing by this uplift. It will put her on a level with the master. And that will not conduce to her improvement.”
“Well, after all, she is his flesh and blood,” said Cook.
When Jenney reached the drawing-room, the family had returned.
“Well, Jenney, we got through the ordeal without yielding an inch,” said Bernard; “that is to say, without yielding Anna’s income.”
“You did, didn’t you?” said Jenney, in incredulous appreciation. “I kept wondering if you would have to give in. It was not made easy for you. And yet one is sorry in a way for your aunt.”
“We have to rejoice in Anna’s good fortune as it were behind the scenes,” said Claribel.
“Oh, I don’t expect unmixed feelings of pleasure on my behalf,” said Anna. “I have realised that that is too much to ask. Not that I am not grateful for everyone’s support. I half thought you were going to throw me to the wolves. How they howled round us, waiting for what we should throw them!”
“The simile hardly suggests Aunt Jessica,” said Esmond.
“I found her the most formidable. Her weapons were the deadliest; sweetness, righteousness and so forth; it was all I could do to withstand them. But I knew we should regret it, if I didn’t, and so I held to my guns. After all, you don’t give up an inheritance for being asked. They thought they had only to speak, to get it. You would think they would have more knowledge of life.”
“Well, they have it now,” said Esmond.
“I am grieved that my sister and I are at a difference,” said Benjamin, who indeed had trouble in his face. “I see how it comes, and that it must remain. But I cannot give advice that would be given by no other father. And we cannot know that your aunt did not wish the will to stand. Why should she have made it? The obvious question is the just one.”
“And somehow we feel she did wish it,” said Claribel, glancing at Anna and clasping her hands in fellow-feeling.
“The Calderons were in effect promised the money, and saw it as theirs,” said Esmond.
“I don’t think Aunt Sukey felt she had promised it,” said Anna, quietly.
“You might have said that you would share the money with them,” said Reuben.
“Oh, you have been present at an eye-opening scene,” said his sister, turning towards him. “I did not realise that you were here. You have enlarged your knowledge of life.”
“That would not have done,” said Benjamin. “They have a right to all the money or to none. That would be their view.”
“I have a feeling that Uncle Thomas would have taken half,” said Bernard.
“I daresay he would have taken half or a quarter or a tenth,” said Anna. “But it would have been unworthy of Aunt Jessica. It could not have been suggested.”
“I should have thought that dividing the money, when there was a question of its ownership, was a good solution, said Esmond.
“Oh, anything would do for you, that took some of the money from me,” said his sister. “Your words mean nothing.”
“And perhaps yours mean one thing.”
“Aunt Jessica’s trouble is Aunt Sukey’s frame of mind,” said Bernard. “Her life must take on the colour of a course of criticism, thanklessness and almost deception.”
“Then she ought to know her better,” said Anna, with a touch of heat. “Aunt Sukey was the most open person, and always dealt above-board with everyone. She made no secret of thinking that they failed in sympathy. It was her open feeling about it, that caused that last trouble. And I suspect it had occurred many times. They could have put things right, if they had tried. They had fair warning.”
“It is a good thing that you were wiser,” said Esmond.
“These things are unconscious, of course. But they may count the more for that. And to Aunt Sukey’s mind it seems they did.”
“It is a solemn thing to have performed services that were valued at that figure,” said Bernard.
“And I was prepared to continue them, and that was the point, I suppose. No doubt Aunt Sukey knew that I was. One can trust people to know that.”
“It is a good thing when trust is not misplaced,” said Claribel, in a mischievous aside to Esmond.
“Ought we to try to be kind to people, so that they may leave us their money?” said Reuben. “Is it a thing we always ought to think about?”
“Now it is time you were bundled out of the room,” said Anna, turning on him as if to perform this office, but desisting” and allowing him to remain. “You will get a nice view of things, from listening to talk you half understand. Who would be the person responsible for you?”
“Do you still feel that you would rather have had some personal memento of Aunt Sukey?” said Esmond.
“Oh, what is the good of thinking about what has not come my way? I have not received one, and there is an end of it. Would you have me deal with it, as our relatives dealt with their baffled desires? When you have not been given a thing, you stop thinking about it. You almost get a sense of shame that it ever came into your head. And there is the touch of ill-nature creeping in again! I am getting tired of it.”