Two Worlds and Their Ways

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

  “How do you do, Miss Petticott?” said Lesbia, rising at the opening of the door, on which she had kept her eyes. “I am looking forward to my talk with you. You and I are to have something in common——” She broke off as she encountered the children and realised one difference in Miss Petticott’s branch of the calling, a vagueness in the matter of precedence.

  “How do you do, Miss Petticott?” she said again, sending her eyes past the children as a relief to the check. “I have been looking forward to my talk with you. You and I are to have something in common, a pupil, in addition to the other things common to us both. You hold the superior position with regard to her; you have laid the foundations; my task is to add the superstructure, a humbler part. I hope you will give me your help, a generous office, as I have given you none.”

  “Indeed, Miss Firebrace, you put things very kindly. I will do anything I can. I am sorry to lose Clemence, but glad for her to have any advantages that should be hers. And I shall have her in the holidays. I must think of that.”

  “Yes, yes, the holidays,” said Lesbia, in her soft tones. “They have their significance in the educational round. I often wish I had more to do with the holidays. They are not the least of the formative influences. They admit the use of initiative, of free will. They cannot be.”

  “Does not Miss Petticott have any?” said Oliver.

  “Well, Mr. Shelley, holidays are short when the life involves the sharing of a home. And I shall soon have a change of work, and that is known to be a rest.”

  “It is a good thing it is known,” said Juliet. “Or how should we find it out?”

  “A change of work!” said Lesbia. “That too will have its effect on the guidance when it comes into force again. The wider the experience, the wider the survey. That is why I keep my holidays for my own interests. I feel I am not the narrower for them.”

  “Anything seems to do for education,” said Juliet. “It seems rather pointless to keep a school for the purpose.”

  “Do you teach in your school, Juliet?” said Sir Roderick.

  “No, not now. I used to, but it was not a success.”

  “I should have thought the boys would like you.”

  “They did. They liked me too much. And I could not bear to lose their affection. That was the whole thing.”

  “Could you not teach them without losing it?”

  “No, I could not be harsh with them.”

  “Can nothing be done without harshness?”

  “No, everything is done by it.”

  “Are there no other methods?”

  “Yes, I believe so, but no successful ones.”

  “I thought it was not allowed in these days.”

  “It is always the things that are not allowed, that achieve results. No notice is taken of things that do nothing.”

  “I suppose it creeps in in spite of the theories. And small doses have more effect.”

  “Well, they have some effect,” said Juliet.

  “How do you do, Clemence? How do you do, Sefton?” said Lesbia, turning as if on a second thought. “I hope you can forgive this invasion of your home.”

  “I did not greet them, as you did not,” said Juliet, “I thought it might be making advances to possible pupils. But I am glad you have done it. I was wondering how things were to be.”

  “I had forgotten the problematic future relation at the moment,” said Lesbia, with a smile. “If I have lost my dignity, I must do my best to recover it.”

  “If you had greeted them when they came in, you would have kept it,” said Oliver.

  Sir Roderick gave a glance almost of approval at his son.

  “What do you think of the relative claims of home and school?” said Juliet to the children. “Well, somebody has to say it. And I am used to taking the thankless part. It leaves Lucius aloof for the good of the school. I suppose we should be ruined if he said that sort of thing.”

  “I think the first things would always come first,” said Clemence.

  “There does not seem much good in a home, if you have to leave it,” said her brother.

  “I suppose there is no help for it, for a boy,” said Lesbia, resting her eyes on them in acceptance of their point of view. “In Clemence’s case there may be more freedom of choice. She can depend upon Miss Petticott in solitude, if it is preferred. And if Miss Petticott will accept the responsibility.”

  “She would be lonely by herself,” said Maria.

  “The trap was right in your path,” said her husband.

  “No, Roderick, I do not set traps,” said Lesbia. “Maria presumably meant what she said, and there is truth in it. Or do you say there is not?”

  “I want both my children in their home. Sefton can go on with his tutor until his time for a public school. They have a right to each other’s companionship, and a girl has a right to her father’s roof.”

  “Well, that is one side of things,” said Lesbia, on a more cordial note. “So let us leave it at that. And I shall be interested in the result of the experiment. For that it must be said to be. Everything is grist to my mill, as I have said, in the sphere of preparation for life.”

  “Did you know that your brother was to be a governess with the rest of them?” said Mr. Firebrace to the children.

  “You do not address the children of your own accord more than twice a year,” said Maria.

  “Perhaps that would be about the number of times.”

  “How do you mean, Grandpa?” said Clemence.

  “Music mistress at his uncle’s school.”

  “Music master,” said Sefton.

  “No, I meant what I said, my boy.”

  “Then will he be there when I am there?”

  “Yes, I thought you would be glad to hear that,” said Maria. “It will make a background for you. There will be someone to appeal to, if anything goes wrong.”

  “Then he will have to acknowledge the relationship,” said Oliver.

  “And why should he not do that?”

  “Well, I shall have to play the piano for the hymn at prayers.”

  “How did you know?” said Juliet. “I am so relieved. I was wondering if Lucius would dare to tell you, or if it would devolve upon me.”

  “Why should I mind his playing?” said Sefton. “He plays at home.”

  “There is no reason to mind,” said Maria.

  “You little know what you say,” said her stepson.

  “I do not suppose he will give me any reasons when he comes home.”

  “No, I do not suppose he will.”

  “What is all this mystery?” said Maria, in an exasperated manner. “Why should not school be an open and natural life, like any other?”

  “Like what other?” said Mr. Firebrace.

  “Do not try to be suggestive, Grandpa. It is not a thing you can do. I could give Maria some reasons, and I shall know some more when I return. And some of the life is natural. Perhaps that is why it cannot be open. It could not be both.”

  “I hate to feel there is so much that does not go into words,” said his stepmother.

  “It does throw a shadow. And it must remain dark, sinister and hovering. And it is over innocent lives. But there is no need for Grandpa to hint that it is over lives like our own. As if they were innocent.”

  “Well, what about this question of school, Roderick?” said Maria, in a weary tone. “Shall we put it to the vote? To go or not to go? Hands up, those in favour!”

  No hand was raised and Maria looked round in doubt.

  “No, no, I am aloof,” said Lesbia, shaking her head. “I have given my opinion. It must be taken for what it is worth. I do not give it a second time.”

  “Of course Lucius and I cannot vote for having an extra boy,” said Juliet. “And Lucius is never in favour of anything. He cannot let his personality go to pieces.”

  “I am in your position, Miss Firebrace. I am aloof,” said Miss Petticott. “Our minds do seem to work on the same lines.”

  “
I am against their going,” said Sir Roderick. “I do not mind giving the opinion a second and a third time.”

  “I vote in favour of it,” said Oliver. “The results may afford me some amusement. I expect it will have some results.”

  “I give the casting vote, also in favour,” said Mr. Firebrace. “When I have a family of governesses, it is not for me to stand in their light.”

  “Then the ayes have it,” said Maria. “I have not voted myself, but no one has noticed that.”

  “A note of dignified sadness,” said Oliver. “When Sefton goes wrong at school, it will come to his mind. There must be something to do that.”

  “It has been settled all the time,” said his father. “And I ask that we shall not continue to assume it is not. And I hope they will not stay long.”

  “I should not think they will. The results of their going are to amuse me; and if they stay long, I do not see how they could.”

  “Well, I am tired of the riddles and mysteries,” said Maria. “They give such a shallow touch to everything.”

  “That is a hard saying and meant to be one,” said Oliver. “I thought they gave a subtle touch, and I still think it.”

  “What do the people who are most concerned, think of its being settled?” said Lesbia, in a quiet tone.

  “I knew it was,” said Clemence.

  “Why did we think it was not?” said Sefton.

  “That I cannot tell you,” said his father.

  “I do not know that it is settled now,” said Lesbia, laughing. “I shall be prepared for either event. And it will not make so much difference, as long as we know in time.”

  “It will make a good deal of difference to us,” said Clemence.

  “I should not be so half-hearted, if I ran a school,” said Maria.

  “Well, your methods would be more direct,” said her husband.

  “Which kind of method do you think best?” said Oliver to Clemence, noticing her look.

  “There does not seem to be much difference. All methods are direct really. It is not as if we could not see the indirect ones working.”

  The parents suppressed amusement, or seemed to do so, and Maria put her arms about her children and guided them to the door, as though they had been sufficiently stimulated by adult company. Lesbia kept her eyes on Clemence as long as the latter was in hearing.

  “Clemence has no social intercourse except with older people,” she said, as if she could deduce this.

  “The two children are very good friends,” said Miss Petticott.

  “Yes, but her brother’s companionship cannot lead her beyond a certain point,” said Lesbia, turning fully to the speaker and continuing under the protection. “Not beyond considering the effect of her words, and speaking with a sense of being listened to. It leaves her helpless there.” She dropped her voice and seemed to speak to herself. “And helplessness merits help.”

  “She is not at all behind her age, Miss Firebrace.”

  “No, the growth has been normal, but with the gaps resulting from the lack in the environment.”

  “I always think the gaps are the best part of education,” said Sir Roderick, who thought this, or thought of it, for the first time.

  “Well, I daresay we could all show plenty of them,” said Lesbia. “We will not make the lists.”

  “I thought it was a mistake to do so,” said Oliver.

  “Lucius has more gaps than anyone,” said Juliet. “Some people might think he was almost wholly a gap. But it is dangerous to copy him.”

  “It is always a mistake to copy the peculiarities of a work of art,” said Oliver. “And that is what people do. But as they cannot copy the merits, what is their choice?”

  “And gaps would be particularly easy to copy,” said Juliet.

  “Well, I think I will go upstairs,” said Maria, “and visit the victims of a mistaken upbringing.”

  Lesbia rose at the same time, so unobtrusively that the action escaped notice, and as she met Maria’s eyes, spoke with sudden firmness.

  “It will help me, Maria. So I will not risk having permission denied.”

  The two women mounted the staircase, and Sir Roderick rose as an afterthought and followed. No sound came from the schoolroom, and Lesbia’s expression registered the evidence of lack of life. Maria entered with a defiant look, as though prepared to defend what she saw.

  This caused her to pause and glance at her companion, as if to make sure of her position at her side. Her smile hovered for a moment, and steadied as it was supported by her husband’s mirth. Lesbia’s voice was the first to be heard.

  “So I have lost no time in implanting an impression of my personality. Something about me has not delayed to do its work. To whom are we indebted for the recognisable presentation? For I think we must accord it the merit of being that.”

  Miss Petticott, her pupils and Adela sat at attention before a masquerading figure. The trappings of the latter sorted themselves out to the eye. The stuffing of Adela’s armchair supplied the short grey hair; a scarf of Miss Petticott’s the grey and shadowy garment; a strap, with some scissors depending, the belt with its silver attachment, at sight of which Lesbia restrained a movement of her hand towards her waist. Here sources of supply had failed, and Aldon’s nether garments provided the basis of the whole. His small, supple figure and pliable, sallow face were a possible substitute for the model’s lineaments.

  He began to divest himself of his disguise, as though unconscious of what he did. Lesbia looked on with modderate interest, Sir Roderick with more, Maria with some disappointment that no achievement was to be accredited to her children.

  “Well, if simple ingenuity is of any use to us, they will have that help,” said Lesbia, looking at the accoutrements, as they were discarded, and then going into easy mirth. “It does not often fall to anyone to witness her own dissolution.”

  “Had you nothing else to do with your time, Aldom?” said Sir Roderick, in a tone that seemed to be neutral, because he could not decide on its expression.

  “Well, Sir Roderick, I have acted at school before, as is known to her ladyship, it not being the custom to work from morning till night. And this time it seemed to fit the occasion, as it was an imminent experience.”

  “And it has its educational value, Miss Petticott?” said Lesbia, in a tone that just held a question. “As all work and play should have.”

  “Well, really I do not know, Miss Firebrace. I did not know what the scene was to be. I was quite taken aback when it began. I had not any idea of it.”

  “I do not suppose you had. I am not so conceited as to suppose that this particular thing would occur to you. And no doubt you trusted your pupils. Trust should exist in all relations; and if it is to be on one side, it must be on the other. And I believe in self-government, in things that admit of it. And amusements are surely to be reckoned amongst those.”

  “I will go now, my lady,” said Aldom, and did as he said.

  “Well, if Clemence is not prepared for her new life, it is not Aldom’s fault,” said Lesbia, in another tone. “I hope the light thrown upon her path will illumine it. It would be a pity if all that thought and contrivance were wasted. I might feel quite flattered by being the instigator of it.”

  “Aldom had only about half an hour between waiting at tea and coming up here,” said Maria, as if this feeling might occur in too great a degree.

  “Yes, it was the most concentrated effort.”

  Sir Roderick laughed.

  “What are you laughing at, Roderick?” said Maria.

  Her husband continued to laugh, and began to do so to excess, looking at Lesbia, at Miss Petticott, at his children, as he made up the arrears of his emotion.

  Lesbia smiled on him with indulgence.

  “You are still young in heart and mind, Roderick. Childish things are not of those that you have put away.”

  Sir Roderick was checked by this interpretation of his mood, but not to the point of overcoming it, and con
tinued to be subject to outbreaks, as the talk went on.

  “Really, Roderick, I am ashamed of you,” said Maria. “Indeed I do not know how far to be ashamed of all of you.”

  “Oh, that is too much of a feeling, surely,” said Lesbia, as though some easy condemnation would meet the case. “People cannot always present themselves in the most becoming light. We all have our more ordinary moments.”

  “What may be your jest?” said Mr. Firebrace, leading his family into the room.

  “A merry one,” said his daughter. “We came up and caught Aldom in the act of impersonating me in my professional character. And very realistic it all was. Observed and plausible and failing in none of the stock humours. Whether or no it was worth doing, it was done quite well.”

  “And you put off being amused by it until Aldom had left you. Well, we see your reasons.”

  Sir Roderick, who had put off some of his amusement for longer than this, now allowed it to escape him.

  “Why, my boy, I have not seen you laugh like that for thirty-two years,” said Mr. Firebrace, choosing to mention the time that had passed since his daughter’s death.

  “You are wonderful, Roderick,” said Juliet. “A vow never to smile again is hardly ever kept so long.”

  Sir Roderick’s vow, if he had made one, was once more broken.

  “I love to see Father happy,” said Oliver.

  Lesbia went into mirth, as though here were really cause.

  “I do not know why I am laughing so much,” said Sir Roderick.

  “I can tell you, Roderick,” said Lesbia, gently. “Your emotion at losing your children is finding its outlet; the more so that I, the cause of the loss, am also the cause of the laughter.”

  “Is that really so?” said Sir Roderick.

  “Aunt Lesbia, you have quenched the light in Father’s eyes,” said Oliver. “I should think that is probably one of the greatest of wrongs.”

  “Lesbia has become Clemence’s headmistress,” said Lucius. “Being mimicked and mocked is a symptom of the state.”

  “I did not think you knew that,” said Juliet. “I suppose you are really a person whom nothing escapes.”