Sounds came from the hall that disposed of the question, and Venice hastened to her brother’s aid.
‘That is a good sister,’ said Eleanor, as her daughter returned, leading Nevill, who capered forward in open relief. ‘Is there anything to be done out there?’
‘Mullet heard and came down,’ said Venice.
‘It was Mullet, was it?’ said Hope. ‘Not Hatton; you were wrong, Eleanor; but it is a good deal to keep in your head.’
‘You are laughing at us as a family, Mrs Cranmer,’ said Luce.
‘I am only jealous of you for being one, dear.’
Nevill ran up to Regan.
‘He ate it all at once,’ he said, looking at the table. ‘But not do it another time.’
‘No, no more today,’ said Eleanor. ‘People who are sick have had enough.’
Nevill turned and ran to the door, the purpose of his presence being over. A maid opened it and he went out.
‘You should say, “Thank you”,’ called Eleanor, who though providing attendance as a matter of course for her children, did not approve of their accepting it in the corresponding spirit.
Nevill ran back and up to the maid, and taking her apron, looked up into her face.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and dragged her from the room.
‘He did want someone else,’ said Hope. ‘And they say that children left to scramble up anyhow, do better.’
‘Honor and Gavin can run away too,’ said Eleanor. ‘The elder ones at the table can stay.’
‘Why don’t they all do the same?’ said Hope. ‘Because it would be easier?’
‘They would not like it. The same things are not suited to them.’
‘Do you understand them like that? And I thought that parents always misunderstood their children.’
‘The very strength and possessiveness of a parent’s feelings may prevent easy understanding,’ said Luce.
‘Is that what I said?’ said Hope. ‘I am glad. It sounded like something not so nice.’
‘Is James at home today?’ said Eleanor, looking at her son.
‘Do a parent’s feelings render a child actually invisible?’ said Graham.
‘But is he at home? You know what I mean. Is he not well?’
‘It seems that children understand their parents,’ said Paul, laughing.
‘Sons understand their mothers, we know,’ said Hope. ‘But is it a thing we talk about?’
‘There is a holiday at the school,’ said Isabel, while Faith gave a glance at her stepmother.
‘Oh, that is what it is,’ said Eleanor, as if this were a more venial circumstance than indisposition. ‘But the holidays seem to come rather often. It is early in the term.’
‘It is the schoolmaster’s wife’s birthday,’ said James.
‘Is it?’ said Paul. ‘Or is it out of the Bible or the grammar?’
‘Either is very suitable for a school,’ said his wife.
Faith gave another glance at her.
‘Would the master give a holiday for his own birthday?’ said Daniel.
‘He never does,’ said James.
‘It seems a reversal of the usual theories with regard to ladies’ birthdays,’ said Ridley.
‘It is nice of him to choose his wife’s,’ said Hope. ‘It makes him seem so glad that she was born.’
‘I don’t know why the rest of us should rejoice,’ said Regan.
‘It is James who is doing so, and he knows her,’ said Hope. ‘One sees what the master means, and I think it is very nice.’
‘I never see her,’ said James.
‘Well, that does make him seem rather absorbed in his own point of view. But it is pleasant to keep birthdays, Lady Sullivan, and he will give James a holiday on yours, if you wish.’
‘James takes a holiday on mine anyhow,’ said Regan, smiling.
‘Well, that is the birthday to be kept,’ said Sir Jesse. ‘That, if no other.’
His wife looked deeply moved.
‘I think you are even better than the schoolmaster, Sir Jesse,’ said Hope.
‘Now, Isabel and Venice, let us hear your voices,’ said Eleanor.
For a moment no sound at all was heard.
‘Do you have a holiday on Miss Mitford’s birthday?’ said Paul.
‘We don’t even know when it is,’ said Venice.
‘An unjust distinction between educationists,’ said Daniel.
‘We should not despise people who are employed in the house,’ said Hope.
‘Miss Mitford is a very well-read woman,’ said Faith.
‘Yes, that is not at all like despising her, dear.’
‘Books seem to come for her by every post,’ said Regan.
‘I think that is rather like it,’ said Paul.
‘Miss Mitford has been with us for seventeen years,’ said Luce.
‘I hope it is not a tragedy in a phrase,’ said Graham, his tone not betraying that he really hoped it.
‘She would be well-read by now,’ said Isabel. ‘The books do come twice a week.’
‘Grandma was not exaggerating as much as I thought,’ said Daniel.
‘Ninety-six times a year, if we do not count her holidays,’ said Isabel.
‘I do not wonder you wanted them to talk, Eleanor,’ said Hope. ‘It would have been a great pity to miss it.’
‘Now we know the length of Miss Mitford’s holidays,’ said Daniel.
‘I do not,’ said Paul, while Fulbert rapidly and openly calculated on his fingers.
‘Four weeks,’ said Faith, in a slightly breathless tone, outstripping him by a tense and covert effort.
‘You see I did have her educated,’ said Hope.
‘Now I think Miss Mitford will be expecting you,’ said Eleanor to the children.
‘Let them stay for a while,’ said Fulbert. ‘I will have them while I can.’
‘Yes, I am to lose my son, Cranmer,’ said Sir Jesse, who was inclined to refer any subject to himself, and to address his words to men. ‘I ought to say I may never see him again. But somehow I feel I should not mean it.’
‘People would think you did,’ said Regan.
‘I should not,’ said Hope; ‘I am sure he is immortal.’
‘I am seventy-nine,’ said Sir Jesse.
‘There, I said you were.’
Regan laughed.
‘But I must not depend on my father,’ said Fulbert. ‘And I should make my plans to meet the event of anything’s happening to me. The one thing’s happening, of course I mean. I only have the normal chance.’
‘I daresay there are plenty of risks out there,’ said Regan.
‘Someone must break it to my mother and my wife,’ went on Fulbert, with the faint unction that marked his utterance of anything that bore on himself. ‘Someone must share the guardianship of my infant children. My sons are young, and younger to my wife than they are. I am dependent on someone outside. Paul, will you face the risk of another man’s burdens?’
‘I am no good at other people’s affairs. I don’t take as much trouble with them as I do with my own. I don’t even take enough trouble with those.’
‘Then, Ridley, I must turn to you,’ said Fulbert, doing as he said. ‘We have never been close, or even perhaps congenial friends; but I depend on your character; you have our affairs in your hands; you would work well with my wife. Will you undertake the trust?’
Ridley rose to his feet.
‘I will undertake it, Fulbert. And from the bottom of my heart will I regard it as a trust.’
‘It is not as if it would ever happen,’ said Regan.
‘Lady Sullivan,’ said Ridley, turning quickly to her, ‘do you think we should be calmly discussing it, if we thought it would?’
‘I don’t know what else you could do.’
Ridley looked round, allowed his face to relax into a smile and resumed his seat.
‘Well, there is an end of that,’ said Fulbert. ‘I can return to my own character. There is something unnatural in making plans for one’s own end.’