The Pool of St. Branok

The London Season

I HAD REACHED MY seventeenth birthday. Life had slipped back into its more or less uneventful groove now that the war was over and the loss of Jonnie was a sad memory rather than a bitter pain to the family.

Without those harrowing dispatches from the Crimea the press seemed full of trivialities for a while and then came the Indian Mutiny which was even more shocking than the war. There were terrible accounts of how our people had been treated, mutilated and brutally murdered … those who had been friendly servants suddenly turning against men and women and children. The fate of the women was stressed; they had been raped and submitted to horrible indignities. My imagination went beyond that moment when I had heard Ben’s voice calling my name. I kept thinking: Suppose he had not come in time.

I believed then that never, as long as I lived, should I be able to forget that nightmare.

Nobody was quite sure why there had been a mutiny. Some said it was because the Sepoys had believed that their cartridges were greased with the fat of beef and pork which rendered them unclean in their eyes; others said they were in revolt against the East India Company. The general belief was that the Indians feared that we were imposing our civilization upon them. We were in possession of the Punjab and Oude, and they may have thought that we intended to take over the whole of India. The Sepoys had learned the art of battle from us … and now they turned it against us.

The whole country was shocked. People argued fiercely about what should be done … blaming this side and that as they always do from the safe haven far from the scene of strife.

There was great excitement when Lucknow was relieved and the garrison there saved.

Uncle Peter said that good had come out of it for now the administration of India was to pass from the East India Company to the Crown.

We had paid several visits to London. Grace was now installed in a house of her own. It was quite small, not very far from the house in the square. It was tall and narrow with four stories and two rooms on each floor. It had been bought from the money Lord John had left Jonnie; and Grace was allotted an income. It had all been amicably arranged by Uncle Peter.

We saw Grace frequently when we were in London. I sensed that she was not happy and I supposed that that was inevitable. She had lost Jonnie just as they were about to embark on a new life together.

She confided in me a little. She said that Helena was very kind to her and so were Matthew and Geoffrey, but she felt that her presence reminded them of their loss and she hesitated to visit them as often as she would have liked.

I told her that was nonsense. They would love to see her often. She was a consolation for their loss.

She replied that she felt even less inclined to go to the house in the square. Amaryllis was very kind to her but she felt that Uncle Peter entertained some suspicions still, although she knew that he had made many inquiries about the validity of her marriage. She was very relieved that he must have satisfied himself that she was truly married to Jonnie, because he had made all the necessary monetary arrangements.

“Of course I understand that,” said Grace. “I came to you and you helped me but I never forget that I was a kind of upper servant. Then I was received here … through the kindness of your mother. But I sometimes feel that Peter Lansdon does not entirely accept me. He has arranged the money of course, but I am not allowed to touch the capital. I get my income. I have this house … Sometimes I feel he is keeping everything in his hands … until he proves something.”

“You mustn’t think like that. He is a very wily business man. He suspects everyone and everything. It’s second nature to him. You mustn’t mind his being cautious, Grace. He can’t help it.”

“No, I suppose not. I wish I could entertain people. If Jonnie had lived I would have helped him in his work. I would have had all the influential people here.”

“I don’t think archaeology is like politics. It’s not a matter of meeting people but of finding out things.”

“I suppose you are right. I think perhaps I feel a little idle. Do you know, now and then I almost wish I were back in Scutari … that hospital … among all the horror. There was always plenty to do there … and Jonnie was alive.”

“I understand, Grace,” I said. “You must come down and stay with us for a while. My mother would be pleased.”

She did visit us; and when she was at Cador she insisted on making a dress for my mother and doing little bits of sewing for me.

Morwenna Pencarron came often to Cador and we visited her family in the house near the mine. It was rather a grand house. It had been an old manor and the Pencarrons had spent a lot of money on restoring it. The gardens were wonderful. The Pencarrons were quite homely people. Josiah Pencarron had been extremely successful with the mine he had owned before he came to this one. He was the complete business man. He thought business and talked it constantly; he was the sort of man who would be certain to succeed.

At the same time he was a loving father and husband; and great care was lavished on Morwenna … an only child. He used to say: “I want the best for my girl.”

And so I had come to my seventeenth birthday. I knew, of course, what that entailed.

“You’ll have to have a season,” said my mother. “Both your father and I agreed on that. You can’t stay down here. You’re growing up. We’re lucky to have family in London. That will help a lot. Aunt Amaryllis knows the ropes. She brought Helena out. And Helena will of course help.”

“That was a long time ago. I expect it has all changed now.”

“Oh, not so much as all that. Anyway we shall find out.”

“I hope you won’t expect me to walk off with the catch of the season.”

“My dear child, your father and I want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“I heard Helena say she hated every minute of it.”

“Well, Helena’s a very retiring sort of girl. You are not like that.”

“You didn’t have a season, Mama?”

“No. Because I went to Australia with my parents … and you know what happened there. Afterwards it seemed unnecessary.”

I smiled apologetically. I knew she was reminded of the death of her parents. It was the last thing I wanted to do.

I said: “Well, I suppose I shall find it amusing.”

“You will. You will enjoy it. And if nothing comes of it …”

“You mean if I don’t find a rich and handsome husband?”

“Angel!”

“Well, that is what it is all about, isn’t it?”

“My dear child, it gives you an opportunity to meet people. I know some girls suffer torments. They fear they will prove unattractive and nothing is more likely to make them so than that. I want you to go into all this in a carefree way. I’ve talked about it with your father. We certainly don’t want you to feel you are up for auction. Just enjoy the parties and if by chance you meet someone whom you think you can love, we shall be delighted. But don’t let it worry you. It will just give you a chance to go to places and meet all sorts of people. Whatever happens we have each other, don’t we? You’ve always been happy at home.”

I put my arms round her and kissed her.

“I am sure Aunt Amaryllis meant that with Helena, but I suppose she didn’t tell her. And I think Uncle Peter might have expected a good deal. I am lucky to have you and Papa.”

“I think we are lucky too. Your father thinks Jack will do a good job at Cador when the time comes.”

“Oh Heavens … that’s years and years away.”

“Yes, please God. But what I want you to know is that we are here … as long as you want us … no matter what.”

I had an impulse to tell her then of that incident which now seemed so long ago. I wondered what her reaction would be. It was almost irresistible … but not quite. She would be disturbed, worried. It would make me different in her eyes—not her innocent daughter any more. I could not do it. I did not want to disturb her. She was so happy in her cozy family cocoon. I could not spoil it with the grisly tale. So I said nothing.

Grace was very interested to hear of my proposed season.

“I hope I shall be able to take part in it,” she said.

“My dear Grace” replied my mother “everything will be taken care of.”

Grace’s face fell and my mother went on quickly. “Oh, I am sure you will be most useful. You have a style … an elegance … You could advise about clothes. Of course there are court dressmakers and people like that.”

“I understand,” said Grace. “But I should like to help if there is anything I can do. I get rather lonely and it would be so exciting.”

“There will be a great deal of preparation,” said my mother.

“I am sure you are going to enjoy it,” said Grace.

I was not so sure, but I promised myself that I would not attempt to look for a rich husband. I would make a turn-about of the whole procedure; and instead of being up for auction, I should inspect the gentlemen and if I did not like them, be they marquesses or dukes, I would refuse them. I laughed at myself. As Mrs. Penlock would say, “Opportunity would be a fine thing.”

But one could not enter into such an undertaking without thinking rather seriously about marriage. I remembered the two passions of my younger life: Jonnie and Ben. This was different. Those had been childish fancies. I had seen them both as heroes. I did not think that Ben was quite that. Jonnie might have proved to be one, and he would always remain one in my eyes because he had died before his claim to the title could be disproved. And in any case, I dramatically told myself, he had become another woman’s husband.

Grace and I rode over to the Pencarrons’.

“What a lovely old house this is,” she said.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “The Pencarrons have done wonders with it. My father said it was almost a ruin when they took over. They call it Pencarron Manor now and the mine is Pencarron Mine.”

“They must be very rich.”

“I suppose so. I believe the mine is very profitable and my father said Josiah Pencarron has other interests in the Duchy.”

Morwenna came running out to meet us.

She had grown a little plump and she had the rosy complexion of a country girl and little confidence in herself. I could never imagine why. She had a kindly nature and her parents were devoted to her—especially her father. I should have thought his almost besotted devotion might have made her quite conceited.

Mrs. Pencarron once told me that it had been a great disappointment to him that they had no son … until the day when Morwenna was born.

“She came rather late,” she said. “I’d thought I was too old to get a child. But she is all the more precious for that. Father said he wouldn’t change her for twenty boys.”

Morwenna was delighted to see Grace. She liked her. But then Morwenna liked everybody.

We went into the hall. It was essentially Tudor with enormous oak beams supporting the vaulted ceiling. The linen fold paneling on the walls had been painstakingly restored at great cost.

The staircase at one end of the hall had carved banisters decorated with the Tudor rose. There were arms on the wall … but of course not the Pencarrons’.

Josiah had imitated one or two features of Cador’s, and we were amused by this—and flattered.

He was ostentatiously gratified of his rise in life and although he would have greatly liked to have been born into the gentry he was proud that, by his wits and good sense, he had been able to live like one of them.

My father said it was most commendable for a man to have come so far; he had the greatest respect for him.

In fact, there was something very likable about all the Pencarrons.

Luncheon was served in the dining room which they used for a few guests; if there was a large company they would eat in the great hall—according to the old custom. But for this occasion it was, of course, the dining room—a beautifully proportioned room with high ceiling and wall tapestries which Josiah had bought with the house.

Conversation turned to my coming out.

“I shall go up to London,” I told them, “and be put through my paces. I believe one has to learn how to curtsy and walk backwards. There is a great deal to learn and I don’t know how long one is with Her Majesty. A matter of seconds I suppose. You curtsy … and that is it. You pass on and it is ‘Next, please.’ And for all that you have to have a special court dress and feathers and learn how to keep them steady and how to smile in the most genteel manner. You must not lose your balance when you curtsy. In fact, you must not make one mistake. Well … there wouldn’t be much time to, I suppose.”

“So you are to be presented to the Queen!” said Mrs. Pencarron in an awed voice. “My word, that’s something to be proud of.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Oh, go on with you,” said Mrs. Pencarron. “I reckon it’s a great honor, wouldn’t you Jos?”

“I would that,” replied Josiah. “And that’s what’s going to happen to you. Well, I never.”

They were interested to hear more about it. I told them all I knew which was not much, but they kept plying me with questions.

Josiah was looking at his daughter with loving pride.

“What do you say, Mother? I reckon our Morwenna would look a real treat in a court dress and feathers.”

Grace said: “I believe it is quite a sight to see all the carriages lined up in the street on their way to the Palace. Who will present you, Angelet?”

“I think it will probably be Helena. She has already been presented so she knows how to go on and then of course she is the wife of a prominent member of Parliament … and the mother of a hero …” My voice faltered a little as it always did when I mentioned Jonnie.

“I reckon it has to be someone like that,” said Mrs. Pencarron regretfully.

“It doesn’t have to be a relation,” said Grace. “Of course it’s a costly matter … but they seem to think it is what every girl needs to launch her into society.”

“I’d like to see our Morwenna there.”

“Oh no, Pa,” said Morwenna quickly. “It wouldn’t do for me.”

“And why not indeed?” Josiah was the important business man suddenly, bristling at the notion that there was something his little girl was not good enough to take part in.

“Do you really mean …” began Grace. “Do you really mean that you would like Morwenna to be presented at court?”

“Would that be allowed?” asked Mrs. Pencarron.

Grace smiled. “I shouldn’t think there would be any difficulty. You are doing good work down here … employing large numbers of men. You don’t have to be related to the presenter. I can see no reason why, if you wanted it, Morwenna and Angelet should not be presented together.”

Grace was looking at me and I was thinking what fun it would be to have Morwenna share in this ordeal with me. She was a very pleasant girl and I was fond of her. She might be a little dull; she always agreed with everything I said, but she was straightforward and reliable; and when people were as nice as Morwenna was, one should be prepared to put up with a little boredom.

“It would be lovely,” I said. “We’d go into it together. Helena could take us both under her wing.”

Morwenna was looking alarmed.

“Well, I never did!” said Josiah.

“Would you like us to make inquiries?” I asked.

“I’d be that grateful. Think of it, Mother. Our little girl going to see the Queen.”

They talked of nothing else for the rest of the meal: what dresses would be needed; what we should have to learn to do.

“It will be fun,” I said, to cheer a worried Morwenna. “We will do it together.”

“Then, of course, there is the season,” Grace reminded us.

“Balls and parties and things,” I added.

The Pencarron parents exchanged excited glances. I could see that they felt this was hardly within their scope.

“It will all be in London,” I said. “I shall probably be staying with Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis. My mother will surely be there. I might stay at Helena’s. Morwenna could be with me.”

Josiah could think of nothing to say to this glittering prospect and fell back on: “Well, I never did.”

When we rode home, Grace said: “The seed is sown. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Morwenna went with you to London.”

“I hope she does.”

“I can hardly think she will be the debutante of the season. The poor girl is a little gauche.”

“Well, she has lived her life in the country. I don’t think she is as happy at the prospect as her parents are.”

“She has to do the hard work while they bask in the glory.”

“I’m not sure that it is such a good idea. I am not eager and Morwenna is far more retiring than I am.”

“Perhaps we shall hear no more of it.”

“I rather think we shall. Has it struck you that Josiah Pencarron is the sort of man who, once he has made up his mind he wants something, will make sure that he gets it? Well, I think that he has made up his mind that Morwenna is going to court.”

“We’ll wait and see,” said Grace.

It was as I thought. The seed had been sown in the minds of the Pencarron parents. Their girl was going to become a real lady; she was going to have all the advantages which had been denied them; and Morwenna and I went to London to begin the grueling process of molding us into young ladies of the court.

We had lessons in dancing and deportment from Madame Duprey. We walked round the room carrying a small pile of books on our heads. “Shoulders back. Draw yourself in below the waist. One foot in front of the other. No, not like that, Morwenna. Just slightly.” And then there was the dancing. Sometimes I took the male part, sometimes Morwenna. “It is nécessaire to know where your partner should be at every second. That is better, Angelet. No, no, Morwenna, to the right. To the right. Ma foi, you will disrupt the entire cotillion.”

Poor Morwenna! She did not take to it as easily as I did. She was in despair. “I shall never be able to do it,” she said.

“Oh yes you will,” I assured her. “It’s easy. You just worry too much.”

I would go through the steps with her in our bedroom, for we shared one in Helena’s house which was not as big as the one in the square.

Helena was very kind and sympathetic. I believed it brought back her own days when she had been put through her paces and had been, I fancied, rather like Morwenna.

“What I don’t want to do is disappoint Pa and Mother,” said Morwenna. “I am sure they are expecting me to marry a duke at least.”

“Dukes are sparse on the ground,” I told her. “We’d be lucky to get an Hon or a mere knight.”

I could joke about it because I did not have to worry. If nothing came of my entry into high society I would just go back to Cador and everything would be as it was before. My parents would not harry me into making a brilliant marriage. As for Morwenna: it was just that they wanted so much for her; but I told her again and again that what they wanted most was for her to be happy; and if her father knew how worried she was, he would stop the whole thing.

“I know,” she said. “They are such darlings and so good to me always. It is just that I should like to make them proud.”

And so we went on. It was amazing how much practice had to go into the perfect curtsy. We would do it correctly one day and the next day it did not work. We were the despair of poor Madame Duprey, who, I suspected, was really plain Miss Dappry or something like that and had never been nearer to France than Folkestone. But the French had a reputation for elegance and so from necessity and the success of her career she must become one of them, if in name only.

Then we had our singing master, Signor Caldori, for girls must be able to sing and play the pianoforte. One did not need to be a Jenny Lind or Henriette Sontag, but one should be able to trill pleasantly.

We must have elocution lessons. These were particularly difficult for Morwenna who had a slight Cornish accent which had to be completely eliminated; we had to be able to talk freely without embarrassment on any subject which might be raised, and yet not to be over-bold or force our opinions on the company. One must never try to ape the men; one must preserve one’s femininity in all eventualities.

Then, of course, there were the dressmakers and what seemed like endless consultations. Grace was very good and helpful; she often accompanied us to the dressmakers and even dared make a few suggestions there. Our court dresses were made by the most fashionable dressmaker. “I don’t want any expense to be spared,” was Josiah Pencarron’s comment. “Everything’s to be of the best. I don’t want my girl to go to the Queen looking any less well dressed than any of the others.”

So eventually we were on our way to the Queen’s drawing room in our court dresses each with its train three or four yards long which seemed to take a mischievous delight in getting into awkward and even dangerous positions and tripping us up if we were not careful. Our hair had been specially dressed by the court hairdresser, with three white plumes arranged in it, and we fervently hoped these would stay in place until the ordeal was over; we had been stuffed into our corsets and so tightly laced that we became breathless. It was not so bad for me because I was fairly thin but it must have been agony for Morwenna. She endured it stoically as she did everything else.

And there we were in the carriage with Helena, among all the other carriages on their way to the Palace. People looked in on us—some laughing at us, some envious. There were children without shoes or stockings. I could not take my eyes from their red chilblained feet and I felt ashamed.

Helena pulled down the blinds of the carriage but that did not shut them out of my mind. I thought then of the wonderful work Frances and Peterkin were doing and that I might like to join them.

But then we had arrived.

Into the Palace we went, and there was the Queen, a tiny figure, most elaborately dressed, diamonds glittering on her person and jeweled tiara on her head. There could be no mistaking her. Small she might be, but I had never before seen a more regal air. Beside her was the Prince, formidable, severity in every line of his once-handsome face. He looked strained and tired; and I remembered how the press had attacked him during the recent war. They did not like him because he was a German and they were not fond of foreigners. No people ever were. The French had hated Marie Antoinette because she was an Austrian, I remembered.

I was there before Her Majesty. I was thankful that my curtsy would have won the approval of Madame Duprey herself. I kissed the plump little hand, glittering with jewels; I received the benign smile and I walked backwards with ease … and it was all over.

I felt I had been weighed in the balance and found not wanting.

I was now fit to mix in English society!

Our first ball! It was given by Lady Bellington, one of the leading London hostesses, for her daughter Jennifer. The Bellington residence was a mansion which had a small garden beyond which was the Park.

Helena, with my mother, Aunt Amaryllis and Uncle Peter, accompanied us. My mother told me not to worry if I did not dance all the evening. If we were sitting out we should indulge in animated conversation and give the impression that we were not in the least concerned about not being asked to dance. It was hard to imagine Morwenna engaged in animated conversation and this only added to her worries.

“No one will surely want to dance with me,” she declared. “And if they did I should forget half the steps. I don’t know which will be worse … having to dance or sit out.”

“All things come to an end,” I told her philosophically. “Tomorrow it will be something in the past.”

I was quite looking forward to it. I loved dancing for one thing; and I did find it amusing to be among these people, to watch the ambitious mammas’ eyes on the most eligible of the young men, calculating, trying hard to push forward their daughters without seeming to.

I exchanged glances with my mother; she knew what I was thinking: and I had said to myself, It doesn’t matter. If I sit out the whole evening they love me just the same. I gave up a little prayer of thanksgiving for my parents.

At the top of the wide staircase Lord and Lady Bellington received us graciously, Jennifer beside them.

We passed on.

The music was playing. Two middle-aged gentlemen came up to us and asked us to dance. From Helena’s description of her coming out days I guessed they were needy scions of good family who were given an evening’s entertainment in exchange for services rendered to the unpreferred.

They whirled us round. I wondered how Morwenna was getting on. I thought she might find this a good baptism for the middle-aged gentlemen would do their duty which would surely include being affable and helpful to a shy young woman.

In due course we returned to our party. We had broken the ice. We had danced.

A young man appeared. He bowed before us, his eyes on me.

“May I have the pleasure …?”

I rose and put my hand in his; in a short time we were in the dance.

“Quite a crowd,” he said languidly.

“Yes.”

“It is always thus at Bellington affairs.”

“You attend them frequently?”

“Oh … now and then.”

We talked of the weather, the floor, the band and such matters which I could not find of absorbing interest; but we danced and, thanks to Madame Duprey, I was able to give a good account of myself.

And then I saw a face which was vaguely familiar to me. For a second I could not think where I had seen it before. He was looking at me with a kind of awestruck recognition. Then I knew. He was the young man who had come down to Cador with Jonnie to dig at the pool. I remembered his name: Gervaise Mandeville.

The dance led us away from each other but my thoughts had now turned from the band, the floor and the weather, and I was back in Cornwall. I was there at the pool, and it was all coming back to me, as it still did on such occasions, even now.

I was glad when I was returned to my party. Morwenna was still sitting out.

“Was that enjoyable?” asked Helena.

“He danced well,” I replied.

“I could see that,” said my mother. “Madame Duprey was a very good teacher.”

He was there almost immediately.

“Mrs. Lansdon … Mrs. Hanson, you remember me? Gervaise Mandeville?”

“Oh,” cried my mother. “Oh yes … you came down with …”

He understood. He did not want to raise painful subjects. “Yes,” he said. “For the dig. It was not very successful, I’m afraid. I came to ask Miss Hanson if she would care to dance.”

“This is Miss Pencarron,” I said. “She is being brought out with me.”

He bowed, smiling pleasantly at Morwenna.

“She comes from Cornwall, too. We’re neighbors,” said my mother.

Helena looked very sad. She, of course, remembered Gervaise as a friend of Jonnie’s. Gervaise knew this. I was to discover that he was very sensitive to the feelings of others.

He held out his hand to me. “Shall we dance?” And we were away.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” he said. “At first I wasn’t sure. It’s a long time ago. You’ve grown up since then.”

“You too are older.”

“An inevitable process, I’m afraid.”

“But you haven’t changed much.”

“Nor have you … now that I am seeing you at close quarters.”

He smiled at me, very friendly and with a hint of admiration in his face. I felt my spirits rising and the faint depression, which memory had brought, was fading.

“You have grown taller,” I said.

“And so have you.”

“Well, you would expect that, wouldn’t you? I was about thirteen years old I think.”

“Time passes. I liked that little girl very much. I am sure I am going to like the grown version as well … perhaps even better.”

“Don’t make rash judgments.”

“Somehow I think this is going to be one of my more sober ones. It will be rather fun to find out if I am right.”

“Tell me about yourself. Are you still digging?”

“No. I don’t think I have the aptitude for that kind of work.”

“You seemed enthusiastic.”

“Oh, that was special … that eerie pool and all the talk about those bells. By the way, have the bells been heard again?”

“Not recently. I used to think that people fancied they heard them, but when I thought I did myself …”

“It’s a good story. I was awfully sorry about …”

“Jonnie?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid seeing me must have brought it back.”

“Well, I suppose it has to be brought back every now and then … but it isn’t as bad as it was in the beginning.”

“Poor old Jonnie. He was made for martyrdom.”

“You did not go to the war, I suppose.”

“Not much in my line. I’m not the heroic type.”

“I often wonder what good it did in the end.”

“Ah, that’s the question. But at the time it seemed the right thing to do.”

“Do you remember Miss Gilmore … Grace Gilmore?”

“Oh yes, I do. She was a rather striking lady as far as I remember.”

“She married Jonnie.”

“Did she really?”

“Yes, she went out as one of Miss Nightingale’s nurses. They found each other out there and were married. She is here in London now. We see a great deal of her now she is a member of the family.”

“I thought she was a most unusual person.”

“Yes, I suppose she is.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s little to tell. You know what it is like at Cador. Well, that is my life, with occasional visits to London.”

“Where are you staying now?”

“With Aunt Helena … Jonnie’s mother. She’s bringing me out.”

“I see.”

“Are you often invited to occasions like this?”

“Frequently. They have to keep up the quota of young men to provide partners and escorts for the debutantes, and if one is not too old, maimed, or in any way afflicted, and one’s family is up to a certain level in the social scale … one is invited. The sexes must be evenly balanced—so here I am.”

“And do you enjoy the role?”

“I am enjoying it immensely at this moment.”

“It is pleasant to renew old acquaintances.”

“Well, not always. Sometimes it can be alarming. Just imagine being confronted by one of the skeletons which have crept out of the cupboard.”

“Are there many in your cupboard?”

“It is inevitable that such a worthless character as I should collect a few. You now … you have a life of virtue behind you. You are an innocent maiden just setting off into life’s devious paths. That is different.”

I shivered faintly. It was inevitable that meeting him should revive old memories and his references to skeletons in the cupboard made me uneasy.

He did not notice and we had just passed our group. Morwenna was still sitting out and as she could not manage animated conversation was looking bored and uneasy.

I said: “Will you do me a favor?”

“Even unto one half of my kingdom.”

“I shall not be as demanding as that. I want you to return me to my family and dance with Miss Pencarron.”

“Is that the young lady sitting there?”

“Yes. She is rather nervous. She is terrified that she is going to be a failure.”

“Which of course is the easiest way of becoming one.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t care.”

“You are asking a great deal.”

“Why? She is a charming girl, and she has been taught to dance. She won’t tread on your toes … too much.”

“I would endure a stampede to please you. But you are still asking a great deal because I have to abandon the pleasure of your company, and I have a better idea. Leave this to me.”

As we went on dancing he was scanning the groups of people as we sped by. Suddenly he halted.

“Philip,” he called. “Philip, this is Miss Hanson. What are you doing here standing partnerless? Is that the way to do your duty? Miss Hanson, this is Philip Martin.”

He bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Let’s make a foursome for supper,” said Gervaise Mandeville. “You go and dance with Miss Hanson’s friend. She’s very much in demand so be quick. Let’s hope she’s free now. Come along, we’ll take you over and introduce you.”

We went back to the group. “Excellent,” said Gervaise. “She’s free.”

Philip Martin was introduced. He was a rather colorless young man, but he had a pleasant manner and all the usual clichés were exchanged.

He asked Morwenna to dance. There was a look of relief on Helena’s face as they started off. Gervaise and I followed them into the dance.

I liked him for that. In fact I was liking him more and more with every minute. He had an ebullient personality, and a way of turning the most faintly amusing subject into a hilarious joke. He laughed a great deal; and when he was not laughing his eyes were alight with amusement.

I spent almost the whole evening with him.

We met Morwenna and Philip Martin in the supper room; we sat at a table for four, eating delicious cold salmon washed down with champagne. I could see that Morwenna was enjoying the ball and I was grateful to Gervaise for that; and there was a great deal of laughter at the table.

We arranged that we should all take a ride in the Row the next day; and I was delighted that I was going to see Gervaise again so soon.

Riding home in the carriage we were rather subdued. I could see that they were all very pleased at the way in which the evening had gone.

I thought it was all thanks to Gervaise, who had certainly made it enjoyable for me … and for Morwenna. But for his timely introduction of Philip Martin Morwenna might have sat for the whole evening, uninvited except by the middle-aged gentlemen whose duty it was to ask the neglected for the occasional dance.

“He is a very charming young man,” said Helena of Gervaise.

“It was nice that we knew him,” commented my mother. “It is always pleasant at such affairs to come upon people one knows. He’s an archaeologist, I believe.”

“He isn’t now,” I said. “He gave it up.”

“The parties and balls get more interesting as the season goes along,” said Helena. “That is when you all get to know each other. At first quite a number are strangers to each other.”

“Gervaise Mandeville and Philip Martin are calling for us tomorrow,” I said. “We are going riding in Rotten Row.”

I was well aware of the significant glances between our elders. This was how these affairs were supposed to go. I daresay there would be a great deal of discussion among our elders about Gervaise Mandeville and Philip Martin.

Morwenna and I were too excited to sleep. We lay in our beds and talked about the evening.

“I think Gervaise is very interested in you,” said Morwenna.

“Oh, it is just because he stayed at Cador once.”

“I think it is more than that.”

“He came down with Jonnie. They were digging together.”

“Yes. I know. By Branok Pool.”

Still the mention of the place made me feel as though I had been doused in cold water.

“That’s why he picked me out,” I explained. “He recognized me.”

“Well, he needn’t have attached himself to you for the whole evening. He liked you. He liked you a lot. I could see that.”

“And Philip liked you.”

“I don’t think so. He was just doing what he felt he had to. He told me Gervaise had given him a tip.”

“A tip?”

“Yes … advised him about some horse race and he won two hundred pounds. He said he was very grateful to Gervaise. I think that was why he was dancing with me because Gervaise wanted him to. Did you ask him to?”

“What nonsense!” I lied. “Really, Morwenna, you have to stop thinking like this. You get the notion that nobody wants you for yourself … and you make it so obvious that if you are not careful people will begin to think you are right.”

“You certainly don’t think like that.”

“No, my dear Morwenna, I never think about it. If people like me that’s fine … if they don’t … well, I won’t like them either. We always like people who like us. I think it will be fun riding tomorrow. Gervaise is amusing, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Morwenna.

“Are you sleepy? Good night.”

“Good night,” said Morwenna.

I could not sleep. It had been an exciting evening. I had loved the glitter, the ballroom, the splendid dresses, the flowers and meeting Gervaise. But over it all had been the shadow of the past. I could not think of Gervaise without seeing him digging at the pool and remembering the fears that had aroused in me.

I supposed it would always be like that.

My friendship with Gervaise grew apace. He had visited the house frequently. We met at parties and he always arranged that we should be together there. Philip Martin had dropped out. I supposed he felt he had repaid his obligations to Gervaise for the “tip.” So we were no longer a quartet. Poor Morwenna, she accepted her fate stoically. It was all working out just as she had expected it would.

I had made a pact with Gervaise that when we were at parties and dances, he would be sure that there was a partner for Morwenna. He always did and I was grateful to him. He was very kind and gentle to her and provided the partners in the most tactful way, so that Morwenna did not guess she was being asked because he insisted that they should.

There was a ball given by Aunt Helena and Uncle Matthew, but it was held at the house in the square as there was an adequate ballroom there. Uncle Peter was present and several celebrated politicians so it was quite an auspicious occasion.

It went off very well and by that time it seemed clear that the friendship between myself and Gervaise was progressing to something deeper.

Uncle Peter had, as he said, made discreet inquiries and discovered that Gervaise was the younger son of a rather illustrious family which claimed to have come over with the Conqueror, but could at least be traced to the fourteenth century. They had fallen on hard times, as had so many of the great families with mansions to keep up and a style of living from which it would be sacrilege to depart because it had been going on for centuries. Gervaise was by no means wealthy; there were two elder brothers and a sister. The estate was in Derbyshire. His father had married a rich heiress which had bolstered up the family fortunes for a few decades. Gervaise had charm, breeding, but a rather inadequate income.

My mother was not in the least perturbed about that. She said they were not fortune hunting for their daughter. She thought Gervaise charming and she could see that I was becoming very fond of him.

On the rare days when I did not see him time seemed long. I missed the laughter and the lighthearted way of looking at life.

“You’re lucky,” said Morwenna with ungrudging admiration. “He is so amusing … but what I like best about him is that he is so kind. Are you going to marry him?”

“I’ll have to wait to be asked.”

“I’m sure he will ask you.”

“Sometimes I am not sure. Has it struck you that, charming as he is, he is not really very serious?”

She was thoughtful. “He makes everything seem amusing, yes, but I think he could probably be serious about some things, and I think he is about you. He is always there. You see each other so frequently.”

“Yes,” I said slowly. And I knew I should be unhappy if he regarded our relationship as something with which to amuse himself for a short time.

We suited each other. It amazed me how, when I was in his company, I responded to him. I was lighthearted, as he was … and everything seemed to be such fun. I had never felt quite so carefree since that incident at the pool. In the first place he had reminded me of it because of the fact that he had dug there with Jonnie. He reminded me of Jonnie, being interested in the same things—and yet with him I felt lighthearted. It was miraculous.

He was a great favorite with the family. My mother had written to my father; she wanted him to come up to London and stay a while. I knew why. It was because she thought that my relationship with Gervaise was growing serious and she wanted him to inspect a possible son-in-law. They tried to be discreet but it was not difficult to see through their discretion.

The season progressed; more parties, more dinners, all of which I shared with Gervaise. We visited the opera; we shared a love of this; we heard the works of Donizetti and Bellini and a young composer, Giuseppe Verdi, whose music I enjoyed more than any. On one occasion the Queen was present. That was a gala event. I watched her, obviously enraptured by the music, now and then turning to the Prince beside her to make some comment.

This season, which I had anticipated with a certain amount of apprehension, was proving to be one of the most exciting and wonderful periods of my life. It was all due to Gervaise, of course.

He had been very interested to meet Grace again. He talked to her about Jonnie and how friendly they had been. Grace had said it had been wonderful to be able to talk about Jonnie; she feared that to do so upset his mother a great deal and so his name was hardly ever mentioned. She found some relief in talking of him. She wanted to hear the little anecdotes he had to tell of their friendship. He made them amusing and it was pleasant to hear them laughing together.

Grace told me that she thought he was one of the most charming men she had ever met and she was happy for me.

“How I wish,” she said, “that Morwenna could find the same happiness.”

“Morwenna will be glad when the season is over,” I replied. “But I don’t think it has been as bad as she expected.”

“The good Gervaise has tried to provide her with escorts. He is a very thoughtful young man.”

I was pleased as I always was when people praised him.

I was certain now that he was going to ask me to marry him and I was equally certain that I was going to say yes.

It happened one day when we were in Kensington Gardens. It was rarely that we were completely alone together. Grace often accompanied us on our walks but on this day Morwenna had had to pay an unexpected visit to her dressmaker and Grace went with her. Gervaise was now accepted as a friend of the family; and so, since Grace was with Morwenna, there was no objection to my going for a walk with him.

We walked to the Round Pond and watched the children playing with their boats, and we strolled down the avenue of trees and sat for a while under them.

He said: “I expect you know what I am going to say, Angelet. I think everyone knows I am going to say it sometime. I was just trying to let a reasonable time elapse … though I don’t see why I should. Why does one feel one must be conventional? If I ask you here I shan’t have to go down on my knees … but I ask you with heartfelt humility, being fully aware of the honor you do me.”

I laughed and said: “Oh, come to the point, Gervaise.”

“I hoped you’d say that. Will you?”

“I think you should be a little more explicit.”

“Marry me,” he said.

“But, of course,” I replied.

He took my hand and kissed it.

“You are unlike anyone else I have ever known. You are frank and honest. Almost any other girl would have hummed and hawed and said it was so sudden.”

“I could hardly say that. You have been a constant visitor to the house ever since the ball. We didn’t think you came to study the architecture.”

“Did you not? Oh dear, I have betrayed myself. Was it so obvious?”

“I think it was. I hoped it was.”

“Oh, Angelet, how wise they were when they named you. You are indeed an angel.”

“Please don’t endow me with saintly qualities. You will certainly be disappointed if you do.”

“Well, I never greatly cared for saints, but angels are another matter. This is wonderful. We shall make plans. An early wedding, don’t you think? You’ll have to meet the family. I’ve met yours so that’s something. We’ll go down soon. They’ll want to arrange things, I suppose. Let them. We’ll just think of ourselves. Contemplate it, my darling. We shall be together for ever and ever.”

“For as long as we both shall live. I love that phrase. There’s something so comforting about it.”

“It was rather miraculous, wasn’t it … coming across you at the ball. Though our paths would have crossed some time or other considering we were both in the same season.”

“And before I thought there was something rather unpleasant about these seasons. You know what I mean. Girls being paraded like that.”

He nodded. “But people have to be brought together, I suppose, and I shall never quarrel with any system that brought me my Angelet.”

“Nor I with one which gave me you.”

“I love you, Angelet.”

“I was waiting to hear you say that.”

“Did you really want me to state the obvious?”

“I couldn’t believe it until I heard it.”

“Now will you state what I hope is obvious?”

“I love you, Gervaise.”

“Then that is settled.”

“How strange that you should have come to Cador.”

“It was clearly fate.”

“But then we did not see each other for all those years.”

“That was because you hadn’t the sense to be older when we met. You had to grow up and when the time was ripe and Fate said, ‘Bring in the lovers …’ and there we were at the Bellington ball.”

“So you believe in fate.”

“I think we make our own.”

“Have you ever been in love before?”

He was silent.

“Confess,” I demanded.

“Must I?”

“Indeed you must. I must know the worst.”

“Well, when I was six years old I was in love with a little girl of eight. We used to go to dancing classes and she bullied me shamefully. My devotion was true and I was faithful to her for six weeks in spite of the brutal manner in which she treated me. She used to pinch my ears.”

“I mean seriously in love.”

“Never. Until now. And you?”

I hesitated.

“At one time I was very fond of Jonnie. And there was someone else.”

“Oh?”

“He was some sort of relation. He came down to Cador for a while to see if estate management would suit him as a career. His name was Benedict.”

“He sounds like a saint or a pope or at least a monk. Weren’t they the ones who made that delicious liqueur? Tell me more of your Benedict.”

“He seemed very handsome and magnificent. I was about ten. I suppose one’s judgment is not to be relied on at that age.”

“You sound as though this hero had feet of clay.”

“Oh no … no. I was ill and he went away and I never saw him again.”

“Then I can curb my jealousy regarding him. Were there others?”

I shook my head emphatically. He smiled at me and I thought: I am happy … happier than I ever thought I should be since …

We sat for a while on the seat watching the little boats on the water, discreetly holding hands.

“Shall we go back and tell them?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I feel I want to tell everybody.”

“So do I.”

As we came out of the gardens a woman approached us. She was carrying a tray of violets.

“A bunch of vi’lets for the lady,” she said wheedlingly. “Come on, young gentleman … I’ve got children at home and I’ve got to get rid of these ’ere before I go ’ome to them. Can’t go back to little ’uns with nothing in me pocket, can I?”

Gervaise selected the biggest bunch. They were wilting slightly and I was very sorry for the woman who had this basket full of violets, past their first freshness, to sell before she went home to her family.

Gervaise gave the violets to me. He noticed my pity for the woman and I was sure he shared it. He put his hands in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He put them on the woman’s tray. She stared at them.

“Well, sir … well, me lord …” she began. “ ’Ere you are. You bought the blooming lot.”

“Keep them. Sell them.”

“Gawd bless yer.”

“This is our lucky day,” he said.

“Well, bless you sir, if it ain’t mine, too.”

He put his arm through mine. I smelt the violets. They seemed very beautiful to me.

“That was a lot of money you gave her.”

“I had to. I was sorry for her.”

“Because of all those children?”

“Because she’s not us. I am sorry for every man in London who is not engaged to marry Angelet.”

“You say the most delightful things.”

“They will become more delightful as the years pass.”

“I do hope so. Do you believe her story about going home to all those children?”

“No.”

“You didn’t?”

“I expect it is what they call sales patter.”

“But you must have believed her … just for a moment. You gave her all that money.”

“I daresay she needs it more than I do.”

“Gervaise, I believed in those children.”

“You would, my dearest. You are good and pure and unsullied by the wicked ways of the world. To be honest, I don’t care whether it was the truth or not. She’ll be glad of the money. And I want everyone to be happy. Haven’t you ever felt like that?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now,” I said.

And we laughed as we walked back to the house.

They were all delighted with the news.

“I guessed it would happen sooner or later,” said my mother.

“Are you sure you love him?” asked my father.

“Rolf!” cried my mother. “It is clear that she does.”

“He wants us to go to Derbyshire to meet his family,” I told them.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” said my mother.

“I do hope you are all going to like each other.”

“If the rest of the family are anything like him, we most certainly shall.”

It was arranged that he should take us to his home at the end of the following week. He was writing to his parents to tell them the news.

“I do hope they will be pleased,” I said to Gervaise.

“They’ll be delighted,” he replied. “For the last three years they’ve been saying I should marry and settle down. They think that will steady me.”

“Are you unsteady then?”

“Very much so. I hope you are prepared to take on the steadying process.”

Thinking of the visit, I was a little apprehensive. Everything had gone so smoothly so far. Could it continue to do so?

At the end of the week I went to the Park for a walk with Morwenna and Grace. Grace was talking about my trousseau and she thought it would be a good idea if we looked round while we were in London.

“I could make some of your less important clothes,” she said. “I’d love to. I’d come and stay at Cador for a time … if you’d have me.”

“You know we are always glad to have you.”

“I was not sure. The servants view me with some bewilderment because they don’t know where to place me. Below stairs or above stairs. Married into the family … but not quite worthy of it.”

“Oh, no one takes any notice of that sort of nonsense,” I said.

“They do.”

“Well, if they do, just ignore it.”

“I know. It doesn’t bother me really. Amuses me rather.”

We were seated on a bench. A man had passed by as we were talking. I fancied he paused for a while and looked at us rather intently. He went on for a few steps and then stopped, and turning he came purposefully towards us.

He was looking straight at Grace. “Good morning, Miss Burns. How nice to see you again,” he said.

Grace sat very still and then said slowly and very distinctly: “I think you have made a mistake.”

“Oh? It is Miss Burns, isn’t it? Miss Wilhelmina Burns?”

“N-no. There is no one of that name here.”

“I could have sworn …”

He kept his eyes on her face. He looked very puzzled.

“No,” said Grace firmly.

I said: “This lady is Mrs. Grace Hume.”

He took a few paces back, smiled and bowed. He said: “Madam, you have a double. I do beg your pardon. If you could see Miss Burns you would understand the mistake.”

“It is all right,” said Grace. “We understand.”

He stared at her for a few seconds as though marveling. Then he turned and slowly walked away.

“I suppose we all have our doubles,” said Morwenna. “After all, when you consider we all have two eyes, a nose and a mouth … you’d think a lot of us would look alike.”

“He seemed very insistent,” I commented. “It was almost as though he didn’t believe we were telling the truth and you really were that Miss Wilhelmina … what was it?”

“Burns,” said Morwenna. “Yes, he really did seem as though nothing would convince him that you weren’t.”

Grace said quickly: “Well, as you say, Morwenna, we must all have a double somewhere.”

My mother received a letter from Lady Mandeville saying that she and Sir Horace would be delighted if she, my father and Miss Angelet Hanson would pay them a visit. She thought that if they could possibly stay for two weeks that would give them all a chance to know each other which, in the circumstances, would be desirable.

My mother replied that we were all delighted to accept Lady Mandeville’s kind invitation to Mandeville Court.

I confessed to Gervaise that I suffered a few nervous qualms at the prospect. They were bound to be hypercritical of their prospective daughter-in-law. It was customary in these cases.

“Oh, but they could not fail to be enchanted,” he assured me. “They will say, ‘How on earth did our son manage to secure such a prize?’ ”

“I do not think that is the usual way in which parents regard newcomers to the family.”

“Ordinary rules do not apply to us, surely?”

“Why not?”

“Because no other parent has ever been presented with such a vision of delight.”

“You are absurd.”

“Generally, maybe. But on this occasion I am completely sound and one hundred per cent logical.”

“It is comforting to know that you see me in such a light. I fancy your parents will have a clearer and more penetrating vision.”

“Seriously, Angelet, there is nothing to worry about. They haven’t all that much of a high opinion of me. I am not the apple of the parental eyes, nor the hope of the family. They don’t expect me to marry royalty. All they want is for me to ‘settle down.’ ”

“You’re a great comfort to me, Gervaise.”

“It’s what I intend to be … in one of your favorite phrases, until death do us part.”

We were to leave for Derbyshire at the end of the week, and the days were spent in preparation for the visit. My mother, Grace and I had discussions as to what clothes we would need. “Something for the country,” said Grace, which I had not brought with me. We went to Jay’s in Regent Street; and for the rest I had my evening clothes and riding habit.

“You fuss too much,” said Gervaise. “We shall not be entertaining royalty while you are there.”

It was the day before we were to leave. I was doing some last minute packing when Morwenna came into the room we shared.

She said: “Grace has just come. We’re going for a walk in the Park. I thought you had finished your packing.”

“I have really.”

“Why don’t you come with us?”

“I’d like to.”

“Come on. Get your cloak. I shall miss you very much, Angelet, when you go.”

“It’s only for two weeks.”

“It is wonderful … you and Gervaise. You are so happy together and he is delightful. What I like about him is that although he is so amusing and sometimes cynical … he is so kind.”

“Yes,” I said. “That is what I like about him.”

“You are so lucky,” she said wistfully.

“I know. I wish …” I did not finish but she knew I was about to say that I wished she could find someone like Gervaise. It was what she needed. Poor Morwenna. She had so convinced herself that no one could care for her, that she became awkward and self-effacing in company. She would have loved to make a grand marriage … not so much for herself, but to please her parents.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re keeping Grace waiting.”

We went down together.

“Angelet has decided to come with us,” said Morwenna.

“Oh, I thought you would have too much to do,” said Grace.

“It’s practically done. I’m all ready for the fray, and I thought I’d like a walk in the Park.”

We were talking about the trip to Derbyshire and the coming parties which Morwenna would be attending without me—a prospect she did not relish—when a small boy, barefooted, ragged and unkempt, dashed up and almost knocked Morwenna over. She gave a little cry and put a hand to her side.

“My purse!” she cried. “He’s taken it from the pocket of my cloak.”

We were too stunned to do anything. For a few seconds we stood staring after the boy who was running with Morwenna’s purse in his hands.

And then … a man appeared. He emerged suddenly from a clump of bushes near the path. He was about two yards ahead of the boy. The boy swerved, but he was too late and not sufficiently agile. The man had him in his grip.

He shook him and took the purse from him. Then he suddenly released the boy and gave him a push. The boy scampered off and the man, holding Morwenna’s purse, came walking towards us.

He took off his hat and bowed. “I saw what happened. I’m afraid I let him go. Poor creature, he looked half starved.”

He handed the purse to Morwenna. “Yours, I believe.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said.

There was something familiar about the man. I had seen him before but for the moment could not think where. Then suddenly it came to me. He was the man who had approached us some little time ago because he thought Grace was someone else.

“Why, I do believe …” he said, smiling at Grace. “Yes, of course, you are the lady who bears such a strong resemblance to a lady of my acquaintance.”

Grace smiled. “I remember you,” she said. “We saw you almost at this spot. It is a favorite walk of ours.”

“It is becoming one of mine.” He turned to Morwenna. “I’m afraid that was rather a shock for you.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “It was silly of me really … carrying a purse in that pocket.”

“These people are sharp. They are trained to it, you know. They can almost sniff out a stealable object. Why do we not sit down for a moment.” He indicated a seat.

He was smartly dressed in morning coat and top hat; he was young, the type of man we met in the London social circle.

“I hope you don’t think this is indecorous,” he said. “But perhaps in view of our little adventure …”

“I am so grateful to you,” said Morwenna. “I am glad to have a chance to thank you. I hadn’t much in the purse but it was worked by my mother, and I do value it for that reason.”

“These sentimental gifts cannot be replaced. This makes me doubly happy to have been of assistance.”

“I was so fortunate that you happened to be so near.”

He introduced himself. “I am Justin Cartwright,” he said.

“Do you live near here?” I asked.

“I have been abroad,” he said. “I have only recently returned home. I am staying in London … in a hotel at the moment. I am making plans.”

“That sounds very interesting,” said Morwenna.

He smiled at her. He seemed to be quite interested in her for which I was glad; and she responded. She did not seem to be trying to shrink away. After all, it was her purse which had been stolen; and she could be said to be the center of this adventure.

We chatted a little; and after a while he said he must not detain us further.

Morwenna thanked him again for his help and he left us.

“An interesting man,” said Grace.

“And very kind,” added Morwenna.

“I wonder what his business is and what he has been doing abroad,” I said.

“He was so quick after that boy,” went on Morwenna. “And I am glad he let him go. He said he looked so frightened and he is obviously very, very poor. It was kind of him. Most people would have made a fuss and there would have been a lot of trouble. Goodness knows what would have happened if that boy had been handed over to the law. I’ve been reading Matthew’s book on Prison Reform. Some of the things which happened to those people are quite terrible.”

“They are criminals,” said Grace. “And that boy would have made off with your purse. He will go on doing that sort of thing and will probably steal the purse of someone who depends on what is in it for his next meal.”

“Well, I didn’t,” said Morwenna. “And I am glad he let him go. He was touched by him and I think that shows a good nature.”

“Well,” said Grace, “it is time we went back. It will teach you to be more careful in the future, Morwenna.”

Morwenna said it would; but I could see that she had quite enjoyed the encounter. The theft had been shocking, but the rescuer had been both courteous and attentive to her. That was rare for Morwenna and she seemed to blossom under it.

I wished again that she would lose that sense of inferiority—then I was sure she would be quite attractive.