The Present and the Past Read online

  A bell sounded in the passage and Simon became alert.

  ‘Answer it, my boy,’ said Halliday. ‘Your moment has come.’

  ‘Yes, answer it,’ said Ainger. ‘I don’t want to insist on the prerogative.’

  Simon did so and returned flushed and satisfied.

  ‘I did what they wanted. They said they hoped I would do well.’

  ‘Well, it is to their advantage,’ said Kate. ‘But they confront their own demands.’

  ‘And fulfil them,’ said Ainger. ‘You see it when you are in contact.’

  ‘Will the two Mrs Clares become acquainted?’ said Kate. ‘That is the question I have been asking myself.’

  ‘And what answer did you give yourself?’ said Ainger.

  ‘It seems there is bound to be encounter.’

  ‘What is it to do with us?’ said Halliday.

  ‘As much as anyone’s affairs are to do with anyone else,’ said Ainger. ‘That is, nearly as much to do with us as our own.’

  ‘And a cat may look at a king,’ said Kate, with a sigh.

  ‘I do not see myself in that light,’ said Halliday, ‘and I have reason to think other people do not. Talking of being a cat, Ainger, we might as well say a laughing hyaena.’

  Ainger leant back and did his best to establish the comparison, and Halliday opened his mouth and did no more. The bell rang again and was answered by Simon, who returned and crossed the kitchen with a withdrawn expression.

  ‘The ash-trays forgotten,’ said Ainger, idly.

  ‘By whom?’ said Halliday.

  ‘By me. I have other things to think of.’

  ‘The master’s affairs,’ said Kate. ‘It is true we are dependent on you for them.’

  ‘Yes, he and I often indulge in a masculine talk. I am asked for my opinion. But I sometimes know better than to give it.’ Ainger shook his head.

  ‘Are you not allowed to disagree?’ said Madge.

  ‘It tends to be complex, Madge. As must arise from contact.’

  ‘The trays were not polished,’ said Simon, as he returned.

  ‘They will be in future,’ said Ainger. ‘And by you. Say “Yes, sir”.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Simon, without reluctance.

  ‘He promises,’ said Kate, resting her eyes on Simon.

  ‘If I were the mistress,’ said Madge, ‘I would not consent to meet the first Mrs Clare.’

  ‘You would do what your place required of you,’ said Ainger. ‘You betray your unfitness.’

  ‘Well, fitness for it would not be much good to me.’

  ‘It would not help her,’ said Kate.

  ‘I can imagine Mrs Frost in any place,’ said Halliday.

  ‘So can I,’ said Mrs Frost. ‘I have done so.’

  ‘Not that we should like your present place to be filled by anyone else.’

  ‘A sentiment I endorse,’ said Ainger.

  ‘I hardly expected this,’ said Mrs Frost, looking down.

  Simon laughed, and Ainger looked at him sternly.

  ‘The boy may listen to the talk,’ said Kate.

  ‘But not suggest commentary on it.’

  The bell rang once more, and Simon returned from answering it and addressed Ainger.

  ‘You are to answer the bell yourself, and not always send me.’

  ‘Not always send you!’ said Ainger, rising and leaning towards him. ‘Answer the bell myself! Answer it myself, did you say? Tell me what they really said.’

  ‘They said what I told you. It is not my fault.’

  ‘Answer the bell myself!’ said Ainger, his feet moving rapidly. ‘That is what you say to me! Say it again, and let me see what they meant by it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mrs Frost.

  ‘So do I,’ said Halliday.

  The bell rang again with some force, and Ainger sped from the room as if he also saw it.

  ‘A confidential servant seems much the same as any other,’ said Halliday.

  ‘They may want to make some confidence,’ said Madge.

  ‘I suppose they always do,’ said Mrs Frost.

  ‘There is nothing incompatible,’ said Kate.

  ‘Serving other people can’t take us so far,’ said Halliday.

  ‘It must take them further,’ said Kate. ‘It is to be accepted.’

  Ainger returned with a flushed face, humming to himself, and sat down idly in his place.

  ‘Fetch me that parcel on the pantry table,’ he said to Simon presently.

  Simon brought it to him.

  ‘Unpack it,’ said Ainger sharply, as if the direction should have been superfluous.

  Simon disclosed a box of cigars, and Ainger took it and strolled to the door.

  ‘So the cigars spend a time with Mr Ainger before they go to the master,’ said Madge.

  ‘There is no need to form pictures,’ said Kate.

  Ainger returned with some cigars in his hand, sat down and felt for matches.

  ‘A mark of the master’s regard,’ he said as he lighted one. ‘I thought it was wise to answer the bell.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Mrs Frost.

  ‘Ah, people can’t always take your place,’ said Halliday, with his eyes on the cigars.

  Ainger handed him one, as if in response to a request, and he began to smoke.

  ‘You haven’t reached this stage yet, Simon.’

  ‘No, and I never shall. It is a waste of money.’

  ‘Not when you don’t pay for the cigars,’ said Madge.

  ‘Well, that is on some occasions,’ said Ainger, ‘when the master feels in a comradely mood.’

  ‘The parcel was addressed to the master. Why wasn’t it taken to him?’

  ‘Was he to unpack it himself?’

  ‘It wasn’t sugar or tea.’

  ‘And if it had been, you might have had designs on it yourself,’ said Ainger, producing mirth and ignoring it.

  ‘In all the years I have been in this house,’ said Halliday, ‘I have never had a cigar offered me.’

  ‘Neither have 1,’ said Mrs Frost.

  ‘Well, it happens to me sometimes,’ said Ainger, watching the smoke rise from his.

  ‘I wonder the master likes to ring for you,’ said Madge.

  ‘I don’t know that he does. I sometimes catch a hint that it goes a little against the grain. He is in the grip of circumstances.’

  ‘He has a peremptory hand on the bell,’ said Kate. ‘Not that it is an indication.’

  ‘It is generally the mistress who rings. And with regard to her I have no claim.’

  ‘I have a respect for the mistress.’

  ‘And she would expect it¿ Kate, and is entitled. But my bond is with the master. And it would not be with both. There are reasons.’

  ‘And they not on good terms?’ said Madge.

  ‘It is complex, Madge; a term I have used before.’

  ‘Will someone fetch me some apples from the storehouse?’ said Mrs Frost.

  Ainger gave a nod to Simon, and he rose and left the room. In the hall he encountered the sons of the house on their way to the garden.

  ‘Well, Simon,’ said Fabian.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Simon.

  ‘Can you have a game with us?’ said Guy.

  ‘I have left school, sir,’ said Simon, with a note of surprise.

  ‘Very nice boy,’ said Toby, whose hand was held by Fabian.

  ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ said Henry.

  ‘Very nice buttons,’ added Toby.

  ‘A butler, sir,’ said Simon.

  ‘Would you rather be a butler, than a king?’ said Henry, struck by something in the tone.

  ‘Well, perhaps not, sir,’ said Simon, brought to face with another kind of advancement.

  As the talk went on, Toby disengaged his hand and wandered about the hall. He saw a vase on the table and sent his eyes from it to his brothers. Then he werit behind the table and threw it on the ground, and as it broke, gave himself to guarded
mirth, hampered by further glances. Then he rejoined the group and placed his hand in Fabian’s.

  Bennet came singing down the stairs.

  ‘Why, look at that vase! Has any one of you touched it?’

  ‘We did not know it was there,’ said Fabian.

  Toby kept his eyes on Simon.

  ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!’ said Henry, looking after the latter. ‘I don’t want to be a servant. And if I did, I could be one and be happy.’

  ‘Fabian hold Toby’s hand too tight,’ said Toby, frowning and pulling it away.

  ‘It kept you out of mischief,’ said his brother.

  ‘Very good boy,’ said Toby.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Ursula, our hour has come,’ said Elton Scrope. ‘I mean, of course, that the hour has come. The occasion is upon us.’

  ‘And we do not deserve an occasion. No one deserves anything so good or so bad. We all deserve so little.’

  ‘A sister is returning to us, who was said to be our second mother, and who must have been that, as what is said is always true; a sister who wrote weekly letters and watched over us from afar.’

  ‘And now will watch over us in our own home. No, we do not deserve it.’

  ‘We have had such a dear, little, narrow life. Will Catherine broaden and enrich it? I could not bear a wealth of experience. It will be enough to live with someone who has had it.’

  ‘She will be too occupied with adding to it to want to share it,’ said Ursula.

  ‘So we do want the occasion. My heart told me we did. We are jealous of her other life. It is a natural, ordinary emotion, but I do think we can claim it.’

  ‘What is the good of a second mother, if she becomes the first mother of other people? No one likes the second place. No place at all is different. We will not say if we should like that.’

  ‘Will you give up the housekeeping?’

  ‘Yes. I resent being supplanted, but I am glad to give it up. I don’t mind the trivial task, but I dislike being known to do it. I am sensitive to opinion.’

  ‘Most people are that.’

  ‘I don’t think they can be, when I am.’

  ‘Don’t you take any interest in household things? I take so much.’

  ‘I want to have a soul above them, and to be thought to have one.’

  ‘I have a soul just on their level. Do you think we have souls?’

  ‘No,’ said Ursula.

  ‘Do you mind that?’

  ‘Not yet; I am only thirty-two; but when I am older I shall mind it; when extinction is imminent. Now it is too far away.’

  ‘We may die at any moment.’

  ‘Not you and I. It is other people who may die young.’

  ‘Why should we be exceptions?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wonder what the reasons are?’

  ‘You don’t think you and I will have an eternity together?’

  ‘No; but we shall have until we are seventy. And there is no difference.’

  ‘Can you bear not to have the real thing?’

  ‘No,’ said his sister.

  ‘Then when you are older, will you begin to have beliefs?’

  ‘No, I shall realize the hopelessness of things. I shall meet it face to face.’

  ‘And will you be proud of doing that?’

  ‘Well, think how few people can do it. And I must have some compensation; it will not be much.’

  ‘I shall not be able to face it. I shall begin to say we cannot be quite sure.’

  ‘And I shall like to hear you say it. Even a spurious comfort is better than nothing.’

  ‘Is it unusual to dread the return of someone to whom we owe so much?’

  ‘We do dread people to whom we owe things. The debt ought to be paid, and anyone dreads that. But our debt to Catherine is of the sort we cannot repay.’

  ‘That is the most difficult kind,’ said Elton.

  ‘That is the conventional view. And convention is usually so sound that it is right to be a slave to it. But it is not in this case.’

  ‘Then we should look forward to her coming.’

  ‘I am getting quite excited,’ said his sister.

  ‘Not as excited as I am. I must rise and pace the room.’

  ‘And I will keep my seat by an effort.’

  Ursula Scrope had a tall, thin figure, narrow, dark, spectacled eyes, features of regular type, but displaying sundry turns and twists, long, useless-looking hands, and limbs so loosely hung that they seemed to be insecurely joined to her body. Her brother was two years younger and of similar type, with a rounder, fuller face, rounder, lighter eyes, and the peculiarities of feature modified. It was clear that their relation went deep and would last for their lives.

  ‘Ought we to count the minutes to the arrival?’ he said. ‘I believe we should have had a calendar and crossed out the days.’

  ‘How does one get a calendar?’

  ‘I think they are sent at Christmas, though I don’t know why. I suppose Catherine will know.’

  ‘So she will. How restful it will be! We shall cease to think for ourselves. We ought never to have done so. What was the good of a second mother?’

  ‘We shall relapse into childhood,’ said Elton. ‘No one ever really comes out of it. That is why life is such a strain. We have to pretend.’

  ‘And why people’s stories of their childhood are always their best. They don’t really know about anything else. To write about it, they would have to be original. And they cannot be that.’

  ‘Will Catherine be proud of us?’

  ‘No. Why should she be?’

  ‘Ursula, don’t you see any reasons?’

  ‘Yes, but she will not see them. Her children will take all her pride.’

  ‘And yet you are excited by her coming?’

  ‘Well, it will take away that strange nostalgia for something that has no name.’

  ‘Will it? I thought I had just to carry it with me.’

  ‘The arrival!’ said Ursula, looking out of the window. ‘What a good thing the luggage takes the whole of the trap! It is dreadful to meet people at the station. They see you as you really are. It is a thing that does not happen anywhere else.’

  ‘I thought it happened chiefly in our own homes.’

  ‘People learn to ignore things there. And at a station they simply confront them.’

  ‘Well, my brother and sister!’ said a quick, deep voice, as a small, dark woman came rapidly into the room, talking in short, quick sentences. ‘My desertion of you is over. Have you minded it as much as I have? If so, you are as glad as I am. But the culprit is the one who suffers. It is one of the fair things in life. And I shall alter it all for you. I shall tell you its meaning. And you will see it as I do.’

  ‘I always fail at moments of test,’ said Ursula, as she bent towards her sister. ‘I cannot carry things off.’

  ‘You are yourself. As I looked to find you. I would not have you rise to an occasion. I should feel you were someone else.’

  ‘But a more manageable person.’

  ‘Not the person I looked to see. Not my sister.’

  ‘Do you think I am a success?’ said Elton. ‘I have meant my silence to cover so much.’

  ‘You are both yourselves. You have stood the years. My anxiety was in myself. I felt that change had come to me. I feared it might threaten you. But the onslaught of life has been easier on you. May it always be.’

  ‘But we do not seem people who have not lived?’ said her brother.

  ‘You have not lived much yet. Your time is to come.’

  ‘Mine is not,’ said Ursula. ‘I tolerate nothing that looms ahead. I will not be threatened by life.’

  ‘I am rather flattered by that,’ said Elton. ‘I should have thought it would pass me by.’

  ‘There is no threat yet,’ said Catherine. ‘Your sky is clear. May it never darken. And now we leave the heights and depths. I see we are rescued from them. Ursula will deal with the tea today. I will be the guest. Anythin
g she has done for years, she can do once more.’

  Ursula made some adjustment on the tray and yielded her place to her brother.

  ‘Does Elton pour out the tea?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the latter, with his eyes on doing so. ‘My touch is as sensitive as any woman’s.’

  ‘More sensitive than Ursula’s?’

  ‘No, but more successful.’

  ‘This is a thing I had not imagined. I suppose there will be others.’

  ‘No,’ said Ursula, ‘I think this is the only one.’

  Catherine looked from her brother to her sister.

  ‘You have had your feeling for each other. I did not take that. What if you had not had it? What should I have done?’

  ‘Would you not have done what you have now?’ said Ursula.

  ‘I should. It is the truth. I will not fear it. But how we should have suffered, both of you and I!’

  ‘Are you going to see Cassius?’ said Elton. ‘The question does not savour of curiosity.’

  ‘It simply contains it,’ said Catherine, smiling. ‘I shall see my sons. I shall know them. They will know me. I may or may not see their father. That means nothing.’

  ‘You have taken a brave step. Fancy my being able to say a thing like that! I don’t think Ursula’s lips could have framed the words.’

  ‘It was easy to take the step. I had to do so, knowing I was breaking faith. That had been a thing I could not do. I found I could do nothing else.’

  ‘I wonder if I could face reality,’ said Elton.

  ‘What do you call this?’ said Catherine, taking his hand and laying it on Ursula’s. ‘The feeling between you. What is that?’

  ‘The foundation of our life. All lives must have a foundation. I was thinking of the things that come after it.’

  ‘It is best to have a foundation and not to build on it,’ said Ursula.

  ‘Foundations! Mine were torn from under me. I allowed it myself. I confused the incident with the essence. I have paid the price.’

  Catherine Clare had a short, spare figure, straight, rather handsome features, iron-grey, curling hair and dark eyes that seemed to realize their own swift glance. Her voice was a quick, deep monotone, and all her movements were directed to what she did.

  ‘You are an accomplished tea-maker, Elton. I shall hesitate to take your place.’

  ‘I have always hesitated,’ said Ursula. ‘I am uncertain of myself. It is a thing that is known about me, I think the only one.’