Elders and Betters, page 1
ELDERS AND BETTERS
by
IVY COMPTON-BURNETT
Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter I
“WELL, SO THIS is the background from which we are to face the world!” said Clara Bell, bending towards her two companions. “I hope it will prove an advantageous setting for us.”
“It is quite a good house,” said Maria Jennings, the elder of these, standing with her eyes prominent with interest, though her tone matched her words.
“That is not much to say for it,” said the youngest of the three, in the tone of the leader of them.
“Well, I mean it is a very good little house indeed,” said the second speaker.
“It is not so very little,” said Anna Donne, turning and going through the door, as if she were pushing her way. “And it will keep the weather off us. I believe it is wind-proof and watertight.”
Miss Jennings followed with an air of adapting herself as a matter of course to Anna’s moods, and Miss Bell walked, upright and deliberate, after them, looking about in self-possession and interest.
Anna Donne was a short, high-shouldered woman of thirty, with a large head that seemed to dwarf her height; round, open hazel eyes set under a receding forehead and close to an irregular nose; and an unusual reddish tinge in her hair and brows, that contributed to an odd appearance. Her father’s first cousin, Clara Bell, known as Claribel to the family, and to as many people outside it as she could contrive, was a tall, thin, upright woman of fifty-six, with an air of being distinguished and good-looking, that made her small, rough features a surprise; carefully dressed grey hair, that she frequently touched with a view to her reassurance; and a rather discordant voice, that was generally used, and often raised, to draw attention to herself. Maria Jennings, whose daily name was Jenney, and who was housekeeper in the motherless home, was a woman of similar age but different attributes; having a frame at once spare and sturdy, small and strong; prominent features that seemed to rise from her face with eagerness or interest; large, gentle, happy eyes, an even, almost absent manner, and an air of asking little from life, and being content and almost excited when she got it.
“What made you choose the house?” she said, coming to a sudden pause in the hall, as if she must be satisfied on the preliminary point, before passing on to others.
“Well, we had to live somewhere,” said Anna, in her rather rough tones, pursuing her way without turning.
“But there must have been other houses,” said Jenney, taking some running steps after her.
“Why must there in a place where the inhabitants are few and far between?”
“Oh, I suppose there were very few,” said Jenney, pausing to grasp the circumstance.
“There were three or four others, too large or too small, or too dear or too cheap, or too ugly or too pretty, or something.”
“A house could hardly be too pretty,” said Jenney, in a tone of speaking to a child.
“There is a certain sort of prettiness that I could not face.”
“Indeed no,” said Claribel, seeming to shrink into herself.
“But it would be as well to have it cheap,” said Jenney, in a more tentative tone.
“A certain sort of cheapness!” said Claribel, bending towards her cousin.
“Well, I think this avoids both,” said Anna. “I think we can settle here, without feeling either pretentious or too easily satisfied.”
“If we escape the first, it is enough,” said Claribel. “I should be much less troubled by the second. But I think this house will take our stamp; and if it becomes our own, we will ask no more of it.”
“We are very fortunate to have it,” said Jenney, speaking for Anna’s ears. “And there is not much to be done to it, is there?”
“There is nothing now,” said Anna. “What was necessary has been done.”
“So you had to attend to all that!” said Jenney, in a tone of appreciation.
“And it was a more complex business than might appear.”
“We are very grateful to you,” said Claribel. “For laying the foundations, and leaving us free to complete the artistic whole.”
“We shall all do our share of the last,” said Anna. “But the fundamental part had to be done. And Father did not give the right kind of help.”
“No, I don’t suppose he did,” said Jenney, in a tone of suddenly seeing the matter in all its bearings.
“He wanted a bargain, and did not know where to stop. I also inclined to one, but I knew how far we could go. It is no good to think that other people are out to serve our interests.”
“Masculine arrogance, masculine simplicity, whatever it is!” said Claribel.
“Oh, I wonder if the boys will like the house,” said Jenney, recalled to the male half of the community.
“There is no reason why they should not,” said Anna, “if it appeals to other people.”
Jenney again took some little, rapid steps to overtake her. Claribel followed with her calmer, longer tread, her small, alert, black eyes darting from point to point.
“The bookcase will stand here,” said Jenney, in a final tone, pausing at a bend in the hall.
“Here or there or somewhere,” said Anna, hardly glancing back.
“There isn’t anywhere else where it could go,” said Jenney, in grasp of the accommodation that she was on her way to discover.
“There is Father’s upstairs study.”
“Is his study to be upstairs?”
“Well, I implied it, didn’t I?”
“Will he like that?” said Jenney.
“He prefers to sit upstairs when he can. In the last house he clearly could not.”
“No, there wasn’t a room for him, was there?” said Jenney, in almost agitated recalling of the situation. “How good he has been about it all these years!”
“Wonderful, not to complain about what could not be helped,” said Claribel. “So much more than should be expected by our humble sex.”
“Well, now that demand upon him will cease,” said Anna. “But others may succeed it, with a family of relations living at a stone’s throw.”
“What a different life for all of you!” said Jenney, standing with a withdrawn expression to follow the change.
“I am not conscious of so much misgiving,” said Claribel “I feel that my personality is wasted, if it is not allowed a certain play on other people’s.”
“I don’t look forward with too much confidence,” said Anna. “I have not discovered why there is this advantage in our presence.”
“I always feel that my company is a boon to those who have it,” said Claribel, bending her head and hardly articulating the guilty words.
“It is Father who is the desired person in this case.”
“Oh, I do not withdraw from equal competition with him. I do not believe in these foregone conclusions.”
Anna pushed on in the laborious, ungainly manner that seemed to be the outcome of her physique. Her hands and feet were too small for her frame, and her movements were stiff and over-mature, though her face was young for her age. Claribel paid her no attention, and Jenney regarded her with the unthinking acceptance of one who had brought her up from birth, and never paused to consider whether the process was worth while. The feeling was tempered now by a touch of submissiveness, that was hardly enough to disturb her ease.
“I wonder how Reuben will take to the house,” she said, with an increase of feeling.
“Why should he be an exception?” said Anna.
“Well, in a sense he can’t escape being one, can he?”
“I hope I am to have a room assigned to me, with due thought for my individuality,” said Claribel.
“Could he have a room on the ground floor?” said Jenney to Anna, in a manner of proffering a wistful personal request.
“There is a room behind the dining-room, that I had chosen for him. It is underneath yours.”
“Oh, then I can hear him at any minute of the day or night!” said Jenney, in a tone of hailing good news.
“Shall we push on and see the rooms designed for ourselves?” said Claribel, who was obviously in suspense.
“I will take you round and show you how I have allotted them,” said Anna, in a manner of introducing the final decision. “And we will not waste time on empty questions and comments. The furniture should arrive at any moment.”
“Oh, I hope it will come!” said Jenney.
Anna, without allusion to the immediate breach of her condition, walked forward in single purpose. Jenney followed in compliant silence, and Claribel with an air of submitting in patience to an interlude.
“The drawing-room and dining-room are what we should expect,” said Anna, throwing open the doors. “The kitchens are below them. The staircase leads to those above.”
“A natural use for a staircase,” murmured Claribel to Jenney, as she set foot upon it. “I am glad we are to be allowed to put it to its purpose.”
“This is the third bedroom,” said Anna, casting a half-indulgent look at her cousin, and making no reference to her assignment of the first and second to he
“Oh, I think I can make this room my own,” said Claribel, advancing and looking round with all her interest. “The little balcony makes a distinguishing feature. I don’t think I saw one outside the other rooms.” She spoke with a hint of anxiety, and bent towards Anna in humorous admission. “Now that I have seen my own room, I will take an interest in other people’s.”
“No, they haven’t a balcony,” said Anna, answering her real meaning. “They are much what they would be in this kind of house.”
“I think I am satisfied with them for you,” said Claribel, turning after a moment of inspection with a touch of relief. “They are light and pleasant, and not so much better than mine, that they put me out of conceit with it. And my little balcony gives me great satisfaction. One can make so much of an individual touch, or I always feel that I can. My flowers will be quite different from those in the garden. I can’t help feeling that degree of self-confidence.”
“The two little rooms are very nice,” said Jenney, referring to her own and Anna’s youngest brother’s. “Reuben cannot feel alone, with me just above him.”
“And you will never have a moment’s peace by day or night,” said Claribel.
“Well, it is bad for him, when his leg aches, and he is alone in the dark,” said Jenney, in a tone that lingered on the scene.
“His leg has not ached for years,” said Anna.
Jenney was silent, having yet to disengage her mind from this point of the past.
“And now for our inspection of the upper floor and the boys’ quarters,” said Claribel. “And then a return to our own rooms to concentrate our attention upon them. That amount of egotism is permissible in us.”
Jenney smiled at her in kindness, accustomed to showing sympathy with everyone in the house, and too engrossed in human affairs to find it difficult.
“Bernard’s room, Esmond’s room, spare room, Father’s study,” said Anna, walking about the landing and throwing open doors.
“What about the servants’ room?” said Jenney, clasping her hands and then unclasping them, as if fearing disapproval of the action.
“Up there,” said Anna, with a gesture towards another staircase. “We need not trail up and inspect it.”
“Anyhow we will not,” said Claribel.
“I think I will just run up,” said Jenney, seeming to be poised between one world and another, and then making a dash towards the second. “Then I can tell them about it.”
“I should have thought they could judge of it for themselves,” said Anna to Claribel, meeting a smile of fellow-feeling that arose from personal content.
“It is quite a good room,” said Jenney, returning and remaining with her eyes on the staircase, as if she must reserve a degree of comment. “And there are two good lumber rooms as well. It is all very nice.”
“Well, I am glad you approve of it,” said Anna. “It took some seeking and finding.”
“It is a beautiful home,” said Jenney, overcoming her disinclination to enthusiastic phrase. “We ought to be very happy in it. It was clever of you to find it. Of course this last staircase is rather steep.”
“Done to economise space,” said Anna, throwing it a glance.
“The servants will be here this afternoon,” said Jenney, as though the disadvantage might perhaps be remedied before this stage.
“Well, no doubt they will have to arrive like the rest of us.”
“I daresay the resemblance will end there,” said Claribel.
“They will expect their room to be ready,” said Jenney, in a voice that seemed to have no inflections.
“It will be ready as soon as they make it so,” said Anna. “And I shall expect them to do the same with ours.”
“I hope they will settle down in the house.”
“If they don’t, we must find others who will.”
“These have got used to our ways,” said Jenney.
“We have none that is different from other people’s, except that you and Father don’t expect enough from them.”
Jenney’s mind had not been on the demands of herself and Mr. Donne, as her eyes, resting on the two other claimants of attention, betrayed.
“Spoiling people does not make them happier,” said Anna, voicing a theory that Jenney always thought a strange one.
“It only exalts them in their own estimation,” said Claribel, as if this were indeed a thing not to be done.
“Here are the van and the men!” said Anna. “For a wonder up to time.”
“Oh, we are fortunate!” breathed Jenney. “If they had been late, the house would not have been comfortable before to-night.”
“Well, there are only three women to be afflicted,” said Claribel. “And we do not take such things as hardly as men.”
Jenney did not say that she was thinking of a larger number of women.
“It would have been odd if they had dared to be late, after what I said,” said Anna, in a grim tone, going out to meet the men.
Jenney looked as if her own methods might not have succeeded here, but followed with an air of deprecating any others.
“Those large things straight into the dining-room,” said Anna, with a wave of her hand.
“Wouldn’t they like something to drink first?” whispered Jenney.
“Work first, drink afterwards,” said Anna, in an audible undertone.
“I hope that my private and personal things have sustained no harm,” said Claribel, looking round with a smile for her self-regard. “Our own possessions acquire such an appeal. We feel that they are owed tender treatment.”
“I hope the men feel the same,” said Anna, hurrying to and from with a preoccupied face. “Everything belongs to somebody.”
“But these things belong to me,” said Claribel, throwing back her head.
Later in the day two figures came up the drive, the taller stooping over the shorter in a manner of sympathetic protection. Jenney ran out to meet them in an eagerness that she checked on her way, as if there were some rashness in betraying it.
“So you are here; I knew you would be,” she said, as though some doubt might have, been felt on the matter. “You are just in time for tea. Your room is ready. We remembered that you liked one large one better than two small.”
“Cook cannot sleep alone,” said the taller woman, in a flat, deep voice. “She is of too nervous a type.”
“You will like this room,” said Jenney, in almost excited assurance. “It is very large and bright. That is the window up there.”
The housemaid raised her eyes to the window, putting back her head rather further than was necessary, and then sweeping her eyes from the window to the ground.
“There are only two real storeys to the house; that is, only three floors above the ground floor, if you count the small one you have to yourselves,” said Jenney, seeming to resort to complication to cover some truth. “You will like to go up, when you have had your tea.” Her tone drew attention to the more immediate prospect.
“There is a basement,” said Ethel, in a tone that added no more, as no more was necessary.
“Unusual in the country,” said Cook, using her voice for the first time, and then not seeming to do so completely, as it could barely be heard.
Ethel turned eyes of grave concern upon Cook.
“I never know why maids in the country are supposed to require less privacy than those in towns,” said Jenney, as if speaking by the way.
“How is our luggage to come from the station?” said Ethel, in an even but somehow ruthless manner.
“It will come to-morrow with the master’s and the young gentlemen’s. It has all been thought out,” said Jenney, with a touch of triumph. “You need not worry about that. Have you things for to-night?”
“I can manage for Cook and myself,” said Ethel, glancing at the bag in her hand.
“Well, come in and put that down,” said Jenney, as if offering a further benefit. “You need not take it to the kitchen. Put it here in the hall.”
Ethel glanced about the hall, as if it might be fraught with some risk, and walked on with her burden.
“It is only one more storey to carry it back,” she said, as if this could hardly be taken into account under present conditions.
“How did you come from the station?” said Jenney.
“In the fly,” said Ethel, in her deepest tones, glancing down the drive. “We could have driven up to the house, if we had known the path was so wide. Cook need not have taken a step.”
