‘May you say so like that?’ said Mrs Frost.
‘The real thing or nothing for me,’ said Halliday. ‘Do you not agree, Mrs Frost?’
‘Do you mean that I have nothing?’
‘The appreciation of all of us,’ said Ainger, in a full tone reminiscent of his master. ‘Is that quite nothing? And I will tell you one thing, Mrs Frost; and I don’t often commit myself like this. If there was anyone I could find myself regarding as a mother, it would be you.’
‘Be a good son to me,’ said Mrs Frost.
‘Is the first Mrs Clare still in the house?’ said Kate.
‘No,’ said Ainger, a smile playing on his lips. ‘I have attended her to the door.’
‘What is the jest?’ said Halliday. ‘Is there some second meaning?’
‘In a sense it was twofold,’ said Ainger, still smiling. ‘You showed her out when the moment came.’
‘That may be said of me. There is the ground.’
‘In some double sense?’
‘In one, if you like,’ said Ainger, yielding to a broader smile.
‘Did you exchange any words?’ said Kate.
‘We stood in converse for some minutes. But exchange was hardly the term. I felt it was for me to stand silent.’
‘Did she ask after your welfare through all these years?’
‘She did not fail to, Kate. And I answered her briefly, feeling that brevity was in place.’
‘We know more about you than we did,’ said Halliday.
‘It is often possible to live with someone and not know much about him, Halliday.’
‘Especially if he forgets to tell us,’ said Madge.
‘You none of you know what life implies,’ said Ainger.
‘I don’t think you have known very long,’ said Madge.
‘Of course we know,’ said Halliday. ‘Birth and death have come to us all.’
‘Birth has come to me,’ said Mrs Frost.
‘It is the space between that comprises matters,’ said Kate.
‘As I think the former mistress felt,’ said Ainger. ‘Indeed it was tacit between us.’
‘Well, I must admit to a sense of disappointment.’
‘Ah, you wanted to hear of incidents, Kate.’
‘It would have been nice,’ said Madge.
‘But I should have been called upon to witness them. And that would not have been so. To see people of calibre fall from their level! But I was to be spared.’
‘I hoped to be called upon to hear of them,’ said Madge. ‘I wish they had something common done or mean, upon that memorable scene.’
‘The words apply, Madge,’ said Ainger.
‘Who was it who did nothing common or mean?’ said Simon.
‘It was only once that it was anyone,’ said Mrs Frost.
‘Someone who was to be beheaded,’ said Kate. ‘It would be hard to be oneself then.’
‘Anyhow for long,’ said Mrs. Frost.
‘It was Charles the First of England,’ said Ainger; ‘Charles, our Royalist king.’
Chapter 9
Flavia left her home and went on foot to the house of the Scropes. She walked as though she wished to meet no one, but would not avoid doing so, as though her errand were not surreptitious but her own. She was taken to Catherine and began at once to speak, as if she knew her words by heart. The words seemed to have an echo of the other in them.
‘I have come to say one thing to you. That I withdraw what I have said. It is as if I had not said it. You shall see your sons when you wish, as you wish, as often as you wish; at any hour or moment, in the day or in the night. I want to do my best for them, and this is my best. I should have known it, but for the moment I did not know. I have to do a mother’s duty to them, and that is to give them to their own mother. I did not find it easy, and that may show they belong to you. Take them and do your part by them. I could not give up my own children. I will not ask you to give up yours.’
‘I know you would not. I felt it in you. I saw it in your eyes. That is why I dared to ask everything from you, dared to hope for it when it was denied. That is why I can accept it from you, as a thing you have a right to give and I to take. I take it fully and gratefully as my right and yours. There are people from whom we can take. I shall remain in your debt willingly. I shall be willing to be unable to repay. I could not say it to everyone. I say it to you.’
‘I hope you will say anything to me, that you will ask me, tell me, anything you have to ask or tell. It is my wish to help you, answer you, take your help.’
‘I acknowledge my good fortune. I know it for what it is. It is a light across the darkness of my life, a break across its waste. I can see it in another light. And it is a relief to escape from bitterness. There is an especial sadness in self-pity.’
‘It is strange that we should be blamed for it,’ said Flavia, in another tone. ‘As if we should feel it without cause, or desire to have cause for it. And we are allowed to feel pity for other people, even enjoined to. There is one rule for us and another for them. Self-love, self-pity, self-esteem are all terms of reproach. The only thing we may do is respect ourselves, and that seems to be compulsory.’
‘Well, the rules would have to be strict,’ said another voice, as a figure rose from the hearth and moved into view. ‘My sister and I are at home in talk of this kind. We were frightened by the other. We are afraid of the truth.’
‘And you are right,’ said Flavia. ‘It is a thing to be afraid of.’
‘But it is a mistake to be prepared for it. We never know when preparation may come in.’
‘Have you been there all the time?’ said Catherine.
‘We are always there,’ said her sister. ‘In summer or winter, by a warm hearth or a cold. I expect we are like crickets.’
‘You should not forget to chirp. That is your work in life. You have not met Mrs Clare.’
‘We could hardly do that,’ said Elton, shaking hands. ‘But I have observed her from a distance and thought of her leading a life that was too much for you.’
‘That is the way to think of her. A someone who can do what is beyond other people.’
‘We have seen the nobler side of human nature,’ said Ursula. ‘And it is so much nobler; I had no idea of it. I am greatly softened. I hope it is wholesome discomfort.’
‘We can be cynics no longer,’ said her brother, ‘even though people will not think we are so clever. We must be true to our new knowledge.’
‘Do people think you are clever?’ said Catherine.
‘I think they must, when we have tried to make them. No real effort is wasted, and this was a real one. And perhaps we are, compared with them.’
‘Do we all regard ourselves as above the average?’
‘Well, think what the average is.’
‘That hardly matters,’ said Flavia, ‘as everyone seems to be above it. Can you think of an average person?’
‘Well, I would rather not think of one,’ said Ursula.
‘Most people must be average,’ said Catherine, ‘or there would not be such a thing.’
‘Well, let us hope there is not,’ said her sister.
‘I find them pleasant to look at, pleasant to listen to, pleasant in themselves.’
‘I am sure they are. But I do not find them so.’
‘There must have been times in your youth when you felt you were average or below. They come to us all.’
‘Do they? I did not know.’
‘Catherine, I hope you are not average,’ said Elton.
‘I am the last person to object to being so.’
‘Then you are not, or you would object to it.’
‘Is there any meaning in anything we say?’
‘Yes,’ said Ursula, ‘a dreadful, simple meaning. We look down on our fellow-creatures, and you are proud of not doing so.’