The Present and the Past Page 4

  ‘Oh, dear! Who broke it?’ said Flavia.

  ‘Eliza did,’ said Toby, soberly.

  ‘No, he broke it himself,’ said Megan. ‘He threw it on the ground.’

  ‘You must know that you broke it,’ said Flavia to Toby. ‘And poor Eliza, who is always so kind!’

  ‘Oh, yes. Very kind. Not mean to run too fast.’

  ‘Suppose she said what was not true about you?’

  ‘No,’ said Toby, on a note of protest.

  ‘Did you not know when you broke the plate?’

  ‘Very good boy,’ said Toby, in a tone of taking precaution before admission.

  ‘Yes, if you say what is true. Say you broke the plate yourself.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Toby solemnly. ‘Throw it down. Poor plate!’

  He returned to the window and resumed his monologue.

  ‘Does he often say what is not true?’ said Cassius.

  ‘He doesn’t know that words are connected with truth,’ said Fabian. ‘He is confused by having stories told him.’

  ‘Nothing must be told him but actual facts. I have wondered if tales should be told to young children. And here is the answer.’

  ‘It would not be natural,’ said his son. ‘And it would not make any difference. The infant mind invents stories. All infancy is the same. In the infancy of the race tales were invented.’

  ‘Have we been wrong in deciding on a home education?’ said Flavia, smiling at her husband.

  Cassius made no reply.

  ‘Toby doesn’t know that things as they are, are all there is,’ said Henry. ‘He can still believe anything and be happy.’

  ‘And your knowledge of life is too much for you?’ said his father.

  ‘It must get more and more. How can it be helped?’

  ‘You were the hero of one of Toby’s inventions,’ said Mr Clare. ‘Does fiction owe anything to fact?’

  Henry did not reply.

  ‘Answer your grandfather,’ said Cassius.

  Henry was silent.

  ‘Flavia, will you support me?’

  ‘No, all the children are good to Toby. Henry knows it goes without saying.’

  ‘I admit I had not studied them,’ said Mr Clare.

  ‘Well, you have been told now,’ said Henry.

  ‘I am glad you have found your tongue,’ said his father, as if he had carried his point.

  ‘Toby knows what is possible,’ said Guy. ‘That is why his stories might be true. He has got to know much more in the last months.’

  ‘My observant son!’ said Flavia.

  ‘That is true of all children,’ said Cassius.

  ‘I meant more than that,’ said Guy. ‘He keeps seeming to be a different person.’

  ‘You might emulate him,’ said his father.

  ‘Guy is too old to change like that,’ said Fabian.

  ‘He is perhaps too old not to have changed.’

  ‘There is no rule in these things,’ said Flavia. ‘They will all come into their own.’

  ‘I think the elder ones are the higher type,’ said Cassius. in an even tone. ‘Especially if Guy’s backwardness is a passing phase.’

  ‘Well, their mother is a gifted woman. I have heard many people say so. It is natural that her children should take after her.’

  ‘Has she more gifts than you have?’ said Henry.

  ‘Yes, I think she probably has.’

  ‘Do children inherit only from mothers?’

  ‘No, from both their parents.’

  ‘Then Father might have some gifts for us to inherit.’

  ‘He hardly seems to think you have inherited any.’

  ‘Sometimes stocks do not mix,’ said Cassius, putting his hand to his boot and giving it a pull. ‘A union may not result in the best in either.’

  ‘It seems a pity,’ said Megan, ‘that when two women agreed to marry Father, he did not like being married to either of them.’

  ‘He liked being married to both of them at first,’ said Flavia, leaning towards her and including all the children with her eyes. ‘He had real happiness with each. And he and I are often happy together now. But time must bring changes. It cannot be helped or explained.’

  ‘It could be explained, I expect,’ said her daughter, ‘if people liked to do it. I daresay most things could be. But I see they would not like to.’

  ‘How would you manage it?’ said Cassius.

  ‘I did not mean I was different from other people.’

  ‘What is the good of anything, if nothing lasts?’ said Henry.

  ‘One thing lasts,’ said Flavia, bending forward. ‘A mother’s love for her children.’

  ‘And they haven’t their mother,’ said Henry, looking at his brothers. ‘And she hasn’t them, even though her love lasts. Oh, dear, oh, dear!’

  ‘They share your mother with you.’

  ‘The boy must see what is before him,’ said Cassius.

  ‘Everyone has to do that,’ said his son.

  ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!’ said Cassius.

  ‘Yes, that is what it is, though people don’t understand it.’

  ‘Mater’s little boy,’ said Toby, running across the room.

  ‘Yes, that is what you are,’ said Flavia.

  Toby rested his eyes on Henry, and his mother misinterpreted him.

  ‘Yes, Mater’s two little boys.’

  ‘No,’ said Toby, with a wail.

  ‘No, it is only Toby.’

  ‘Not Megan,’ said Toby, waited for assurance and returned to his play.

  ‘Is no one troubled by standing?’ said Mr Clare.

  ‘We never have chairs,’ said Henry.

  ‘Surely that does not matter for half an hour,’ said his father.

  ‘I did not say it did.’

  ‘Did you not imply it? Using that self-pitying tone!’

  ‘We only have one voice to use for everything.’

  ‘Yours is certainly used only for one thing. It is useful for that.’

  ‘Well, yours is only used for one thing too.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘You would not like it, if I told you, and I expect you know.’

  ‘Is Miss Ridley waiting for you all?’ said Flavia.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Megan. ‘Yes, I suppose she is.’

  ‘She reads a book,’ said Guy. ‘I expect we shall have to go for a walk.’

  ‘What an obligation!’ said Cassius. ‘It is almost as bad as being without a chair. Surely Fabian does not walk with women and children?’

  ‘We go with Bennet or Eliza,’ said Megan. ‘Only he and Guy go with Miss Ridley.’

  ‘An odd sight it must be.’

  ‘We are not self-conscious,’ said Fabian.

  ‘Do you mean that I am?’ said his father.

  ‘I did not mean anything, but it sounds as if you must be.’

  ‘Do you all like Miss Ridley?’ said Mr Clare.

  ‘I don’t mind her, Grandpa,’ said Megan.

  ‘And the boy, Henry?’

  ‘I don’t mind her either.’

  ‘Toby not mind her,’ said Toby, running forward.

  ‘I wonder if she minds any of you,’ said Flavia, smiling.

  ‘She minds Guy the least,’ said Henry.

  ‘I think that is a common view of Guy. But I am sure she is kind to you all.’

  ‘Bennet is kind,’ said Toby.

  Eliza entered to fetch her charges, and Toby departed on her arm without a backward glance, nursing his possession. In the schoolroom Miss Ridley, clothed to go out, was reading on an upright chair. She rose, put the marker in her book and carried it with her.

  ‘Now where shall we go for our walk? Whose turn is it to choose?’

  ‘Let us go to the hayfield, where we can sit down,’ said Guy.

  Miss Ridley set off in this direction, looking at the scene about her and drawing her pupils’ attention to anything of interest by the way. Her life was divided between her conscience and he
r inclination; it was her concern to strike the mean between them, and her merit that she did so.

  ‘Now get some exercise,’ she said, as she took her own seat on some hay.

  The boys moved out of her sight and sank down on the ground.

  ‘Walking doesn’t seem to have any meaning,’ said Guy.

  ‘It ought to come under the head of hard labour,’ said his brother. ‘As it does in prisons, where the treadmill is a form of it. I wish Henry had not so much sympathy with us. We know we are in a pathetic position.’

  ‘Are we?’ said Guy, with some interest.

  ‘You are not, because you do not realize you are.’

  ‘I know we are not with our own mother.’

  ‘I don’t think you do. It is Henry who knows. I wish he could forget.’

  ‘Boys,’ called Miss Ridley, her voice revealing that she did not raise her eyes from her book, ‘you are not idling, are you?’

  Her pupils were silent, as though out of earshot, and resumed in a lower tone.

  ‘Our characters are getting worse,’ said Guy. ‘I think it is because it does not matter to anyone.’

  ‘I should not have expected you to see that.’

  ‘I see things more often than I used to. That is what Father does not know.’

  ‘You are altering as quickly as Toby,’ said Fabian, turning on his elbow to look at his brother.

  ‘Has Father ever been fond of anyone?’

  ‘Of both his wives, if the present one is to be believed.’

  ‘She is always to be believed,’ said Guy.

  ‘That is true. So he was fond of both, but failed to maintain the feeling.’

  ‘Did our mother go away from him, or he from her?’

  ‘They arranged a divorce. I heard Bennet telling Miss Ridley. She stayed away for years, and now she has come back. Her home was always here, with her brother and sister. It is less than a mile away, and we have not seen her for nine years. It was supposed to be best. I wonder what the worst would have been.’

  ‘What should we call her, if we saw her?’

  ‘We called her “Mother”. I can just remember. That is why we called this mother “Mater”. And then the younger ones called her the same, so that there should be no difference.’

  ‘What is the colour of our mother’s hair?’

  ‘It used to be dark, but perhaps it is grey by now. I thought she was tall, but I believe she is not. I wish we could leave this house that has never been a home to us.’

  ‘What is a real home like?’

  ‘It is something you do not know, and I can only just remember. My life was over when I was four. I wonder how many people can say that.’

  ‘Then I have hardly had a life at all.’

  ‘Well, you have accepted a substitute.’

  ‘I never know whether I have or not. I don’t see how I can know.’

  ‘Boys, look at those corncrakes,’ said Miss Ridley, appearing round the haystack with the effect of something artificial at war with nature. ‘We do not often see two together. And listen to their raucous cry. It is a sound one always likes to hear.’

  ‘It is true that one does,’ said Fabian, ‘though there does not seem any reason.’

  ‘Have you finished your book?’ said Guy.

  ‘Yes, some time ago. I have been enjoying my surroundings. And now we must turn towards home.’

  ‘What is the word supposed to mean?’ said Fabian.

  ‘Come, come, no more of that,’ said Miss Ridley.

  When they reached the garden, Henry and Megan were standing about it, unoccupied. Toby, who was never in this state, was once more devoted to the service of William, who was shovelling litter into a barrow. Toby was plucking single leaves and adding them to its contents.

  ‘Soon be full,’ he said to Miss Ridley.

  ‘You are a busy little boy.’

  ‘Big boy. So very busy.’

  ‘Will you be a gardener when you grow up, sir?’ said William.

  ‘No, Toby have one.’

  ‘Will you have me, sir?’

  ‘Yes, have William.’

  ‘Father has him,’ said Megan.

  ‘No, not Father; Toby.’

  ‘Perhaps Father will be dead by then,’ said Henry.

  ‘Yes, poor Father.’

  ‘What will you be yourself, sir, when you are a man?’

  ‘Have a church,’ said Toby. ‘Speak in a loud voice.’

  ‘Well, I shall come to your church, sir.’

  ‘On, no,’ said Toby instantly. ‘Not people like William.’

  ‘What kind of people?’ said Megan.

  ‘People like Father.’

  ‘Do you like Father better than William?’

  ‘No, like William.’

  ‘You would want everyone to come to your church,’ said Miss Ridley.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Toby, solemnly. ‘Not church.’

  ‘Why do you choose this part of the garden?’ said Miss Ridley, not carrying the subject further.

  ‘Toby wanted to talk to William,’ said Henry.

  ‘But Eliza is watching Toby,’ said Miss Ridley, perceiving the former standing in the background, in fulfilment of her afternoon duty of seeing that Toby’s contentment did not fail. ‘Why don’t you find something to do? Toby sets you an example.’

  ‘He doesn’t understand what William is doing,’ said Henry.

  ‘William say “Thank you”,’ said Toby, in refutation of this.

  ‘Doesn’t he ever bring more than one leaf at a time?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Toby, placing a leaf with care. ‘One little leaf.’

  William threw a flower-pot into the barrow, and Toby fell into mirth as it broke. William threw another with similar result, and Eliza started forward in consternation.

  ‘He must not get excited at this time of the day.’

  ‘Not time for tea,’ said Toby, with a scowling violence that supported her.

  William tossed a dead mole into the barrow.

  ‘No,’ said Toby, shrilly. ‘Poor little mouse!’

  William displayed the mole in his hand, and Henry came up and gazed at it.

  ‘How soon will decay set in?’

  ‘It has real hands,’ said Megan.

  Toby bent his head and reverently kissed the mole.

  ‘Very soft. Nice fur. Dear little mouse!’

  ‘Why did it die?’ said Megan, in an offhand manner.

  ‘Well, everything dies in the end, miss. It will happen to us all.’

  Megan’s face cleared at the thought of this common fate. The mole had only borne what she would bear herself.

  ‘Now you can have a funeral,’ said Eliza, in simple congratulation.

  ‘We must put the mole in a box,’ said Henry, with more zest than he had shown that day. ‘Or it will just enrich the ground as it decays.’

  ‘It wouldn’t know anything about that,’ said his sister.

  The burial took place later, as preparation was involved. Toby officiated at his own insistence, and Eliza and the other children followed the mole to the grave. William was hailed and his attendance demanded, Toby waiving the question of the class of his congregation in favour of its size.

  ‘So I am at your church after all, sir.’

  Toby raised a finger and began to speak.

  ‘O dear people, we are gathered together. Dearly beloved brethren. Let us pray. Ashes and ashes. Dust and dust. This our brother. Poor little mole! Until he rise again. Prayers of the congregation. Amen.’

  ‘Why, you will make a proper parson, sir.’

  Toby took no notice and went on his knees, signing to his audience to follow. William was behindhand in his response, and Toby frowned upon him and waited for it.

  ‘The Lord keep you. His face shine. Kneel down a long time before you go. Give you peace. Amen.’

  The company rose with a rustle certainly reminiscent of a dispersing congregation, and another voice was heard.

  ‘What is all
this? How did he learn this sort of thing? How and when did it happen? I desire to know.’

  ‘He was taken to a children’s service,’ said Megan, looking at her father. ‘It was the day when a village child had died. He made Eliza read the service to him afterwards. He likes that sort of thing.’

  ‘He always listens at prayers,’ said Henry.

  ‘And you do not?’ said Cassius.

  ‘I listen like other people. Toby is different.’

  ‘I should not have believed it. It is a most unsuitable thing. And if you call it reverent, I do not.’

  ‘I think I do,’ said Flavia. ‘Indeed, I am sure of it. I had the sense of guilt that I have in church.’

  ‘He brings back Mr Fabian to me, sir,’ said William, recalling to Cassius a brother in the Church who had died in estrangement from him. ‘He is the living spit and will be more so.’

  Cassius was silent, and Bennet approached from the house, holding her hands under her apron and emitting song. She smiled easily on the children.

  ‘Miss Bennet, what do you think of this?’ said Cassius. ‘A child of Toby’s age conducting a funeral, and with a knowledge that had to be seen to be believed! What is your view of it? I wish to know.’

  ‘Did he?’ said Bennet, looking at Toby in incredulity and admiration. ‘Fancy his doing a thing like that!’

  ‘Do you think it is as it should be?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Bennet, gathering up Toby and regarding him with a mild concern that gave place to reassurance. ‘It is quite natural. It does not mean anything.’

  ‘A funeral in church seems to have made a deep impression on him.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Bennet, looking again at Toby and hitching him into an easier position on her arm. ‘He is not at all upset. He likes anything in the way of a ceremony. It was the same with the village play.’

  ‘It is Mr Fabian again, sir,’ said William. ‘Preaching and playacting go together. There is a lot in common.’

  Cassius again said nothing. They had gone together in the case of his brother, with whom he had quarrelled in consequence of it.

  ‘I suppose we are going to have tea today,’ said Henry.

  ‘Upon my word I cannot tell you,’ said his father. ‘It is time for you all to be asleep.’

  ‘It is a little late,’ said Bennet. ‘I thought it was best to get the funeral over.’

  ‘Miss Bennet, your attitude to a funeral! I feel I have never known you. I am seeing you for the first time.’