The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

There came a morning at the end of September when Aunt Ann was unable

to take from Smither's hands the insignia of personal dignity. After

one look at the old face, the doctor, hurriedly sent for, announced that

Miss Forsyte had passed away in her sleep.

Aunts Juley and Hester were overwhelmed by the shock. They had never

imagined such an ending. Indeed, it is doubtful whether they had

ever realized that an ending was bound to come. Secretly they felt it

unreasonable of Ann to have left them like this without a word, without

even a struggle. It was unlike her.

Perhaps what really affected them so profoundly was the thought that a

Forsyte should have let go her grasp on life. If one, then why not all!

It was a full hour before they could make up their minds to tell

Timothy. If only it could be kept from him! If only it could be broken

to him by degrees!

And long they stood outside his door whispering together. And when it

was over they whispered together again.

He would feel it more, they were afraid, as time went on. Still, he had

taken it better than could have been expected. He would keep his bed, of

course!

They separated, crying quietly.

Aunt Juley stayed in her room, prostrated by the blow. Her face,

discoloured by tears, was divided into compartments by the little ridges

of pouting flesh which had swollen with emotion. It was impossible to

conceive of life without Ann, who had lived with her for seventy-three

years, broken only by the short interregnum of her married life, which

seemed now so unreal. At fixed intervals she went to her drawer, and

took from beneath the lavender bags a fresh pocket-handkerchief. Her

warm heart could not bear the thought that Ann was lying there so cold.

Aunt Hester, the silent, the patient, that backwater of the family

energy, sat in the drawing-room, where the blinds were drawn; and she,

too, had wept at first, but quietly, without visible effect. Her guiding

principle, the conservation of energy, did not abandon her in sorrow.

She sat, slim, motionless, studying the grate, her hands idle in the

lap of her black silk dress. They would want to rouse her into doing

something, no doubt. As if there were any good in that! Doing something

would not bring back Ann! Why worry her?

Five o'clock brought three of the brothers, Jolyon and James and

Swithin; Nicholas was at Yarmouth, and Roger had a bad attack of gout.

Mrs. Hayman had been by herself earlier in the day, and, after seeing

Ann, had gone away, leaving a message for Timothy--which was kept from

him--that she ought to have been told sooner. In fact, there was a

feeling amongst them all that they ought to have been told sooner, as

though they had missed something; and James said: