The Pool of St. Branok

Discovery on a Honeymoon

GERVAISE HAD LEFT LONDON a few days before we set out for Derbyshire and he was at the station to meet us. He had come in a carriage with the Mandeville arms emblazoned on it and drawn by two rather sprightly gray horses.

When he greeted us he told us how delighted he was to see us and that the family was agog with excitement at the prospect.

Our luggage was put into the carriage by a respectful porter whose manner indicated to us the importance of the Mandevilles in this part of the world; and soon we were riding through the country lanes.

And there was the house.

There had been a Mandeville Court in Tudor times, but the old building had burned down in the early 1600s and a few years later had been rebuilt. It was of a rectangular shape composed of bricks and Portland stone. There was a portico and steps leading to the front door; and the tall windows gave a touch of elegance.

It was a very attractive house though it lacked the antiquity of Cador. In fact it seemed quite modern in comparison; but it was stately and dignified—a house to be proud of.

We were taken immediately into the house where Gervaise introduced us to his parents.

Sir Horace was benign and told us how pleased he was that we were able to come. Lady Mandeville was pleasant but I could see that she was a forceful woman and her gimlet eyes were naturally focused on me.

Then there were the rest of the family: the eldest son, William, who would inherit the title and the estates; Henry, the second son, who was studying law; and Marian, the daughter, the youngest member of the family, slightly younger than I was, I guessed.

We were shown our rooms which were lofty and elegant, and mine, next to that of my parents, looked out on the gardens.

A maid came in to help us unpack, although we could easily have done it ourselves and would have preferred to. One did not need a great deal of baggage for two weeks.

My evening dresses, my riding habit and my “country costumes” were soon all hanging up in the wardrobe and I was washing my hands in the basin provided, when my mother came.

She sat on the bed and smiled at me.

“Well,” she said. “I don’t think it is going to be all that much of an ordeal, do you?”

“I am not sure of Lady Mandeville. She looked at me so piercingly that I thought she was seeing right through me.”

“Well, naturally she would want to get to know her prospective daughter-in-law.”

“I rather like Sir Horace.”

“Yes, he resembles Gervaise.”

“I saw that and it endeared him to me.”

“It’s going to be amusing. The daughter looks as if she could be fun. The brothers are rather serious. I imagine they take after their mother. I shall invite them to Cador, of course.”

“When?” I asked.

“It all depends when the wedding will be. I suppose that is something we shall decide while we are here.”

“I thought I was here on approval.”

“Then don’t. I have an idea that Gervaise is the sort of young man who will make up his own mind without seeking advice; and he has already done that.”

“What does Father think of him?”

“Much the same as I do. He’s interested in the second son … rather naturally because he is in the law … as your father was when he started out.”

“Well, we shall see how it goes.”

“Not nervous now?”

“No. Though I should like to make a good impression. I am sure Gervaise would be happy if I did.”

“All you have to do is be yourself … and you will.”

In the dining room the whole family were assembled. I was seated beside Sir Horace. Lady Mandeville was at the other end of the table with my father next to her. Conversation was mostly about the house, and when we described Cador to them, they were very interested.

They had arranged one or two dinner parties so that we could meet the family’s friends who lived in the neighborhood; and they were pleased to hear that I enjoyed riding.

Once or twice I caught Marian’s eye across the table. I could almost imagine that she winked at me. My father talked about some of the old customs of Cornwall and they were very interested in these.

“We are not so imaginative here in Derbyshire,” said Sir Horace. “I do not think we would accept the story of those little people finding gold in a tin mine.”

“I would say we were more realistic,” put in Lady Mandeville.

My mother told them the story of the Bells of St Branok to which they listened with the utmost skepticism, but which sent shivers through me; and I wished that subject had not been brought up.

“Cornwall must be quite different from the rest of England,” said Lady Mandeville.

“Oh, it is,” declared my mother. “I am only half Cornish … through my father, and Rolf … well, he is what is called a foreigner there. You are right when you say it is different. I hope you will visit it and see for yourselves.”

They all declared they would be delighted to do so.

“Tomorrow,” said Lady Mandeville, “I shall show you the house … if you wish to see it; and I will tell you some of the tales which have been handed down to us. We have had our adventures. The Wars of the Roses … the Great Rebellion … but all perfectly natural. As I say, we are a down-to-earth people here.”

“It will be most fascinating,” said my mother.

Then we chatted about the past and the eldest son, William, talked of the estate, and the young one in an aside to my father about the changes in law over the last few years; and the evening passed pleasantly.

I felt the worst of the ordeal was over.

I was right. After the first two days when I thought I was on trial, I began to enjoy the visit. I was falling more and more in love with Gervaise every day. I began to form a friendship with Marian; the fact that she was about a year younger than I was made me feel like an elder sister. And as I had always wanted to be a sister—preferably an elder one—I felt very contented.

I found the house very attractive but was secretly glad that Gervaise and I would not be living in it. Gervaise said he would like to live in London. He had never been exactly a country boy—unlike his brothers.

Henry would have a practice in law and might well go to London, possibly Derby or some big city; William would run the estate with his father; and Marian would have a season next year and then presumably marry.

We rode together; we attended the dinner parties which had been arranged, and the neighbors came and inspected me as Gervaise’s future wife. It was all according to convention. I had done just what was expected of a young girl, and had done it rather successfully. I had had my season and before it was over I was engaged to be married to the approval of both our families. All that had to follow now was the wedding.

My father and Sir Horace talked of settlements of which I did not want to hear for they seemed mercenary to me. Lady Mandeville and my mother talked about the wedding, which would, of course, take place at Cador.

The Mandevilles would travel to Cornwall then; they would not come before as it was such a long journey; but the two families had this excellent opportunity of exchanging views on the subject now.

Both sides agreed that there should be no undue delay. This meant that the Mandevilles had put their seal upon the matter.

Marian and I were a good deal together. We had quite a lot in common besides our age. I had just been presented; she soon would be; she wanted to hear all about it.

I told her of the dancing classes, the curtsies which had to be practiced endlessly, the brief moment with the Queen … and then the season.

“And the whole thing is arranged to get us married,” she said. “Well, it worked with you.”

“I had a good start. I knew Gervaise before, when he came down to Cornwall to dig. He was a friend of my cousin who was killed in the Crimea.”

“Yes, I know. I heard. The family thought Gervaise might take up archaeology then. He seemed really keen … but he dropped it, of course.”

“Why do you say ‘of course’ like that?”

“Well, he never wants to do anything for long … except racing. I reckon he’ll get his own stables, one day. It’s the thing he’s really keen on.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

“The family don’t like it … not after what happened to great-great and probably a lot more greats grandfather Sir Elmore. He gambled the family estate away. You’ll see him in the gallery. I’ll show him to you. Ever since that happened the family have been terrified of the horses.”

“Ah,” I said, “skeletons in the cupboard?”

“We have a few. I expect most people have. You too …?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“It’s rather fun getting them out and having a look at them. We ought to do that more often. It can be a lesson to us all.”

“You must show me the reckless Sir Elmore, one day.”

“I will. I expect you like the horses too.”

“I like riding them.”

“I didn’t mean horses. I meant the horses … which means gambling on them.”

“I’ve never gambled. I don’t have the urge to.”

“Then you will keep Gervaise on an even keel, as they say. Don’t give him any rein … that’s apt … or he’ll be galloping off which he can do rather recklessly. Papa has had to bail him out once or twice. Oh, I am sorry. I’m upsetting your rose-colored picture of him. Don’t take any notice. My brother Gervaise is the nicest person in the whole world. I love him dearly. If I wasn’t his sister and he weren’t engaged to you I’d want to marry him. He has the sweetest nature. I’m sure I shall never find anyone half as nice.”

“I know.”

“He’s much nicer than my other brothers. They are steady as rocks. … But Gervaise is the one for me.”

“I feel that too,” I told her.

“I’m glad you are going to marry him. We all think it is most suitable.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“And what is nice is your people like Gervaise, too.”

“They think he is charming.”

“So it is the ideal match. … I wonder what will happen to me when I come out.”

“For that,” I said, “we must wait and see.”

Marian showed me the picture of the reckless Sir Elmore.

“He gambled and gambled and in the end he wagered the house in the hope of recuperating all his losses.”

“And he won?”

“No, he did not. He lost.”

“But the house remained in the family’s possession?”

“Only because the eldest son married a rich woman … just in the nick of time. It was a great self-sacrifice. He did it for Mandeville Court. But then later he weakened and went back to his first love and he set her up in part of the house. He refused to give her up. One day she disappeared. They say the wife murdered her … pushed her out of a window and buried her late at night. She is supposed to haunt the place.”

“And that’s one of the skeletons. And a ghost! I thought your mother said that only natural things happened here.”

“Oh, she refuses to accept the story of the ghost. I do though. I think all old houses ought to have a ghost. Don’t you think Sir Elmore is handsome?”

“Yes, he is.”

“I always think he has a twinkle in his eyes … just like Gervaise has. You can imagine how, ever since, there has been a horror of anyone in the family ever falling into the clutches of ‘the horses.’ ”

“And Gervaise has?”

“I don’t know that it is necessarily horses, though I suppose they come into it. He just likes doing unusual things. My father wishes that he had taken up something like the law … something which would have a steadying influence. They weren’t very keen on archaeology, but it was better than nothing.”

“I thought he was very keen on that when he came to Cador.”

“He is keen … while it lasts. Someday he will find something he really wants to do and then he will do it better than anyone else ever has before.”

And after that I often went to the gallery to look at Sir Elmore.

One day Lady Mandeville came upon me there. I did not hear her arrive. I was standing before the portrait of the man who interested me so much and she was beside me before I realized it.

“A good portrait, is it not?” she said. “There is something quite lifelike about it.”

“Yes, one could imagine he is laughing at us.”

She nodded. “Do you know the story of him?”

“Marian told me.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she turned to me and said: “It’s a weakness in the family. They have no respect for money. I think you have been very sensibly brought up. That is why I feel I can talk to you.”

I felt flattered. I knew that she had accepted me, but I did not know she had any great opinion of my wisdom.

She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “You will have to look after Gervaise,” she said. “I believe you can. That is why I am delighted by this marriage. William and Henry take after me. I have no qualms about them. Gervaise is a Mandeville through and through.”

“Oh yes …”

“Indeed yes. They are very charming. His father is just the same … but they have no respect for money. One has to keep a watch on them. I have with Sir Horace. I am telling you this, and then we will say no more about it. When I married into the family Sir Horace’s finances were in disorder. I brought a large fortune with me and ever since then I have managed the affairs of this household. That is the way I have brought the family back to prosperity. You may think I should not be talking thus, but I am doing it because you are a sensible girl. I am pleased that you are to marry Gervaise. He is a delightful young man in almost every way, but he is reckless where money is concerned. He is a member of a family which simply does not understand how to handle it. When he has it, it slips through his fingers. You must keep him away from the gaming tables. You’ll manage it, my dear, as I have with his father. There! I have said my say. And I think it is right that you should know this. You will be very happy with my son. He is a very good and kindly young man. He would be perfect but for this one weakness, and I think it is only right that you should be aware of it.”

She patted my cheek lightly and went on: “You are amazed that your future mother-in-law should talk to you thus. But I do so because I like you. I like your family; I trust you; and I know you are going to be to Gervaise what I have been to his father.”

After that encounter with Lady Mandeville there seemed to be a special friendship between us. She talked to me about the house and I understood that it meant a great deal to her. I realized that she loved it with a deeper passion than the rest of the family did, although she had only come to it through marriage. She was like a convert to a new faith who seems more deeply devoted than those who had been born to it.

Somehow the knowledge that Gervaise had some weaknesses only endeared him to me. After all, paragons of virtue are often rather dull and difficult to live up to.

No one saw any reason why the marriage should be delayed.

Two months would give us ample time, said my mother. As soon as we returned to London we would begin our preparations. The Mandevilles would come to Cornwall for the wedding.

My parents came to my room and I could see from their expressions that there was going to be a serious discussion.

“It’s the settlement,” said my father.

“Oh, I don’t want to hear about that.”

“You must be sensible, darling,” said my mother. “It’s the usual arrangement, that’s all.”

“But why does this have to be done? It’s like paying Gervaise to take me.”

“It’s just a guarantee that you are not going to your husband penniless.”

“I am sure Gervaise never thought of money.”

“I am sure he didn’t. But your mother and I want you to know that you are taking this money with you … and …”

My father bit his lip and my mother went on: “It’s in your name. It is something that’s there, you know … and it can’t be touched without a lot of negotiations with lawyers.”

“I don’t understand what this is all about.”

My father said: “On the advice of Sir Horace and Lady Mandeville I did it this way. They didn’t want you to have money which could be easily accessible …”

“They seem to think that Gervaise can be a little reckless with money and it was wise to … tie it up a bit” put in my mother.

“I wish you hadn’t done it,” I said.

“It’s all right Angelet,” insisted my mother. “It’s always done.”

I did not like this, particularly the suggestion that Gervaise could not be trusted, and the talk of settlements cast a little cloud over my happiness. I had been made to understand that Gervaise was a little extravagant; he was not always thinking about wealth; he was over-generous. I remembered how he had given the flower-woman that money when he had bought me a bunch of violets.

I liked it. He wanted to give pleasure to people and if he were a little extravagant in doing so, I liked him for that too.

I would forget all about this sordid business of settlements and money and think about my wedding day.

All the way up to London we were taking excitedly about the coming wedding.

“Two months,” my mother was saying. “It really doesn’t give us a great deal of time. While we are in London we must do some more shopping. It would be nice to have the dresses made here in London … but I don’t quite see how. Perhaps we could buy the materials here and have them made up in Plymouth. However, we’ll see. I think, Rolf, we should have another week at least. We’ll need that.”

My father thought he ought to return to Cador. “But you and Angelet could stay a little longer,” he added.

“All right,” replied my mother. “You go ahead. Grace will be very helpful. She seems to have a natural flair for clothes. I always think she looks so elegant. I fancy she is a little lonely. What a sad life … to lose one’s husband almost immediately after marriage.”

I was to return to Helena’s and Matthew’s and my parents were staying at the house in the square, so the cab would drop me first; and while my bags were being taken into the house, Helena came out.

I could tell immediately that she was extremely distraught.

I cried: “What has happened?”

She stared at me for a few seconds, then she burst out: “Morwenna has disappeared.”

The cabby was quickly paid off and instead of going straight to the house in the square, my parents stayed.

As soon as we were inside, Helena said: “She has just … disappeared. It was two days ago.”

“Disappeared?” cried my father. “But … how?”

“Grace was coming and they were going out together, and when Grace came the maid went up to Morwenna’s room to call her and the room was empty. The time went on … and Grace was waiting there. She said she would go over to my mother’s house to see if Morwenna was there. It was unlikely, but we did not know. We thought she had to be somewhere. She wasn’t there, of course. And then we began to get worried.

“Grace was a great help. She went back to her own place to see if Morwenna had gone there and they had just missed each other. She wondered whether there had been some misunderstanding about arrangements. Of course, Morwenna rarely went out on her own. We never thought it was right that she should … but on isolated occasions she might have done so. Well, the plain fact is that she has gone. We can’t find her anywhere.”

“Has she taken anything with her?”

“No … only what she was wearing … everything seems to be here. … It is just as though she has walked out.”

“Surely she would never do that,” said my mother.

“She was always nervous about going to places,” I said. “She always wanted someone with her.”

“It’s been driving us mad.”

“And she has been gone two days?”

“We haven’t known what to do.”

“The police should be told,” said my father.

“We have told them … and we have sent word to her parents. I just can’t think what has happened.”

“If there had been an accident we should have heard.”

My father was thoughtful. “You … don’t think she has been kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped?” cried Helena. “Who would kidnap her?”

“I was thinking of a ransom,” said my father. “There was some mention in the paper a few weeks back about mining in Cornwall and how successful the Pencarron Mine was. I saw something about Josiah Pencarron’s daughter, Morwenna, being in London for the season. I just wondered …”

“Good Heavens,” murmured my mother. “It seems feasible.”

“What would they do to her?” I asked in terror.

My mother turned away. “They would have to treat her well. She would be their bargaining counter.”

“It’s terrible” I cried. “Morwenna … of all people. I wish she had come with us.”

We did not know how to act. The police were making inquiries. No one had any information except the maid who thought she had seen Morwenna leaving the house late on the night before her disappearance.

We could not understand that. Why should Morwenna have left the house late at night? There was no letter or anything in her room to give an indication that she had been called away. But who could have called her at that time of night?

None of us could understand what it could mean.

The maid thought her bed might not have been slept in although it had been turned back and made to seem as though it could have been.

We sat there in terrible dismay. We all felt we should be taking some action. But what? Morwenna just walking out of the house. It didn’t make sense. There must have been a reason. There must have been a message if she went of her own accord.

And her departure might not have been discovered until about twelve hours after she left. What could have happened during those fateful twelve hours?

Uncle Peter came to the house with Aunt Amaryllis.

“This is an extraordinary affair,” he said. He felt certain that Morwenna had been kidnapped and that sooner or later a ransom would be demanded. Then we should have to go very carefully from there.

“But what is so strange,” said my mother, “is that she appears to have gone willingly.”

“She must have left some message,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

“The servants have been questioned,” Helena reminded her. “Nothing has been found.”

Uncle Peter said: “She was probably lured out of the house to where her kidnappers were waiting.”

“She would never have done such a thing,” I cried. “She would have been scared. If I had been here she would have told me. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been here.”

“It is all very mysterious,” said Uncle Peter, “and unfortunate that she should be staying at this house.”

I felt impatient with him. He was afraid, even at a time like this, that there would be some scandal which would harm Matthew’s parliamentary image; yet he would also be wondering if there might not be some good publicity in it. I could imagine his weighing this up. It was how he looked on everything.

“What we have to think about is Morwenna,” I said. “Where it happened is not important. All that matters is that it has happened.”

“We have to consider all the details carefully,” put in my father. “Where it happened … might be very important.”

“Her parents will know by now,” said Aunt Helena. “I can’t bear to think what their feelings are at this moment.”

“But what are we going to do?” I asked.

“We shall hear something in due course,” said Uncle Peter. “There will be a demand for a ransom, I expect. It has probably been sent to her parents. They are the ones they will have their eyes on.”

“It will be terrible for them,” said my mother.

I imagined Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron receiving a demand for money in exchange for the return of their daughter and threatening … what? … if they did not comply.

I felt frantic with anxiety. I could not bear to think of Morwenna in the hands of desperate men.

Later that day Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron arrived in London. They had aged considerably. It was immediately clear that they had no news of Morwenna.

“I can’t understand all this,” said Mr. Pencarron. “Our girl … what has she done? Why should they do this to her?”

“We should never have let her come to London,” mourned Mrs. Pencarron. “I always knew it was a wicked place.”

“We’ll find her,” said my father firmly.

“You will, won’t you?” pleaded Mrs. Pencarron. “What do you think they are doing to her?”

“They won’t harm her, that’s for sure,” replied my father. “They can only bargain for her if she is alive and well.”

“Alive … you don’t think …”

“Oh no … no … What I am telling you is that if she is well they can bargain for her. I expect sooner or later they will be asking for some money.”

“I’ll do anything to get my girl back,” cried Mr. Pencarron. “They can have all I’ve got.”

“We’d do anything … anything,” sobbed Mrs. Pencarron.

I went to her and put my arms round her. “She’s all right, Mrs. Pencarron. I know she’ll be all right.”

“Did she say anything to you?” she asked piteously. “Did she seem frightened that someone was going to take her away?”

“I was in Derbyshire with my parents,” I explained. “I wasn’t here. But I just feel she is all right. She must be.”

“And you weren’t here,” said Mrs. Pencarron almost accusingly.

I shook my head.

They were absolutely brokenhearted. Mrs. Pencarron kept telling everyone that she had given up hope of having a child … and then they had their little Morwenna. They would give anything … anything they had …

“If the press come round don’t tell them that,” said Uncle Peter. “The demand will go up. We will have to play this carefully.”

We were all relying on Uncle Peter. The existence of his dubious clubs from which he had made his great fortune was what my father called an open secret in the family, which meant that everyone knew of it and kept up the pretense that Uncle Peter’s business was perfectly respectable. But he would have knowledge of the underworld; all kinds of people came to his clubs; the matter would be better in his hands than anyone else’s.

He said there should not be too much said about the case until there was some notion as to what it was all about.

There must come a demand soon. The best thing for us to do was to wait for it.

It was hard. It was four days since Morwenna had disappeared and there was no news.

The Pencarrons, who had been taken off by my mother to Uncle Peter’s house where there was room for them, did not help matters. They were in a state of utter despair. If I had a chance I would tell Morwenna that she must never again think of herself as unloved. She meant everything to her parents.

Uncle Peter was making inquiries. The police were asking questions and we were all getting desperate. And then, one morning, when I was thinking, Here is another day without news, a cab drew up at the door and from it alighted Morwenna. She was not alone. A man was with her. I recognized him at once. He was Justin Cartwright, the man who had retrieved her purse when it was stolen from her.

“Morwenna!” I cried. “Where have you been?”

I was so delighted to see her that I had to stop myself from bursting into tears of relief. I hugged her to make sure she was real. I gazed at her. She looked very happy.

“Where have you been?” I demanded. “We have all been frantic.”

She turned to the man and said: “This is my husband, Angelet. I eloped with him. We were married at Gretna Green.”

The first thing I had to do was to get her to her parents and we set off immediately. As soon as the door was opened I shouted into the house: “She’s here. Morwenna’s back.”

There were exclamations of joy as, it seemed, the entire household were running into the hall. When the Pencarrons saw their daughter they flew at her and the three of them were there in a sort of huddle … just clinging to each other. There were tears in Mrs. Pencarron’s eyes. I could see her lips moving and I knew she was thanking God for giving her her daughter back. They did not ask for explanations. All they cared about was that she was back with them; she was safe and unharmed; and they were ready to forget their sufferings in the sheer joy of having her returned to them.

“Oh, Ma and Pa,” she said at last. “I didn’t think you’d be so worried.”

Then came the explanations.

“It was thoughtless of us,” said Justin Cartwright. “I take the blame. I persuaded her. She didn’t want to do it this way. But I feared objections. I could not bear the thought of losing her.”

Morwenna was smiling happily. I could not believe this. She was like a different person. She had cast off that hangdog look; she was desired, wanted; she was loved; she had had a romantic wedding and it was quite easy to see that she adored her husband.

I could have been angry with her if I was not so delighted. This was what I had always wanted for Morwenna. It was a pity she had had to put us all through such an ordeal to achieve it.

“You see,” explained Morwenna, “it all happened so suddenly.”

Justin went on humbly, looking at Mr. Pencarron, “The moment I saw your daughter I knew she was the only one for me. I fell in love at first sight. I did not believe in such things … until now. I am afraid I acted thoughtlessly. But I was overwhelmed. I had to persuade her. … You se e, I feared there might be obstacles. I know I’m not good enough … and I was afraid. I can only hope that you will forgive me for all the terrible suffering I have caused you.”

“Well, I never,” said Mrs. Pencarron. “It’s like something out of a book.”

Uncle Peter was standing by, faintly cynical; not so Mr. Pencarron. It seemed to him the most natural thing in the world that a young man seeing his daughter should fall in love with her so madly that he persuaded her to elope with him.

“Morwenna wanted to leave a note,” went on Justin Cartwright, smiling wryly at Mr. Pencarron, “but I was afraid you would have us followed and prevent the marriage. I am entirely to blame. I hope … that Morwenna will give you a good account of me.”

Mr. Pencarron said gruffly: “Are you happy, my girl?”

“Oh, Pa … I am, I am.”

“Then that’s all we want don’t we, Mother?”

“That’s all we want,” said his wife.

Uncle Peter sent to the cellars for champagne that we might drink the health of the newlyweds.

“Then,” he added, “I daresay Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron will want to have a little talk with their son-in-law.”

There was a great deal of consternation in the family. Who was this Justin Cartwright? It seemed that he had no definite employment. He had been abroad for some years and had just returned home and was wondering what he would do. He had a little money and was what was called a gentleman of independent means. He and Morwenna would not be rich but he could provide for his wife—albeit modestly.

The police were called off the hunt. It was just another case of elopement. They turned up now and then and they wished people would give a little more thought to the trouble they were causing.

Uncle Peter thought that the incident could be of a little use to Matthew for the happy bride had been staying at his house. “People love a little romance,” he said. “Nothing like it for fixing one in the mind of the electorate. They’ll forget what happened, but they will remember it was a romantic affair and that it happened in your house. Romance only happens to nice people. It will be of some little use, I daresay.” The Pencarrons wanted their daughter and her husband to return with them to Cornwall for a proper wedding. This Gretna Green method was all very well, but what they had fancied for their Morwenna was a wedding with veil and orange blossom in St Ervan’s Church with guests in Pencarron Manor to follow.

So this was to take place; and I was sure Justin would be offered some executive post in the mine—although it was difficult to imagine him in that capacity. He seemed to me entirely the man about town.

Although it was a great relief to have Morwenna back with us safe and well, there were certain misgivings. Uncle Peter thought that it was very likely that the man was an adventurer; being one himself he very probably recognized another.

Grace was delighted for Morwenna. She said that even if she had been married because she was an heiress, was that not the reason why so many debutantes were married? It was absurd to hold up one’s hand in horror because someone had used a rather different method with the same object in view.

She said Morwenna was a girl who needed romance to pull her out of that mood of self-deprecation into which she had fallen, and what could be a better antidote to that than an elopement? Justin Cartwright at worst could be the same as many men who, during the season, were looking for an advantageous marriage; at best it could be genuine love which had prompted him to elope with Morwenna.

“Let us hope it is the latter,” she added.

And that was what we all did.

The Pencarrons returned to Cornwall, taking Morwenna and her husband with them. There was to be that ceremony at St Ervan’s and they would start making plans.

As for myself, I remained a little longer in London; Grace was with us most of the time; we bought materials and talked of wedding plans. Gervaise came to London and we had a few wonderful days together; we went again to the opera and we had luncheon alone together—permitted now that we were officially engaged. And then I said goodbye to Gervaise.

I should not see him again until we married.

Back at Cador there was no talk of anything but the coming wedding. Morwenna had had her ceremony. They had thought it best to have the whole thing completed so that they would feel that Morwenna was really married and they could not feel that until the ceremony in St Ervan’s took place. So there were hasty preparations. Morwenna had her white gown and orange blossom; she was married in the church and many returned to Pencarron to take part in the reception.

I wished I had been there in time to participate.

“Never mind,” said Morwenna, “I shall certainly come to yours.”

She was like a different person. There was no doubt that she was happy and, as she had never expected to be, she enjoyed it all the more. In those days she went about in a state of dazed bliss. Justin was very tender to her. I liked him for that, although I could not rid myself of the idea which Uncle Peter had sown in my mind that he might be an adventurer. The Pencarrons were certainly very wealthy and Morwenna was their only child. Marriage with her must seem a good proposition to any needy young man seeking an heiress.

But when his father-in-law offered to take him into the business he politely declined. He was grateful. It was a great honor, Morwenna told me he said, but he could not do it.

“He is so noble,” she went on. “He says he wants to support his wife without the help of her father. He can do it, and although she may not be as rich in her new life as she was with her parents, she would be well looked after. Wasn’t that wonderful of him? You see, he is so used to living in town. He wouldn’t fit into a rural society.”

“I can see that,” I said.

“He’s like Gervaise. You couldn’t see him in the country either, could you?”

I admitted she was right.

“Pa has offered to give us a house in London for a wedding present but he is having difficulty in getting Justin to agree to take it. You see, he doesn’t want to take anything.”

“Where was he living then?” I asked.

“In a hotel.”

“He could hardly expect you to live in a hotel.”

“No. So I think that for my sake he will accept Pa’s offer. They don’t really want me to go to London. They would like us to settle here.”

“What do you feel about it, Morwenna?”

“Oh, I want to be where Justin is. Mother and Pa can come up and stay with us … often. And we can come down here.”

“It sounds like a good arrangement. And you are very happy, aren’t you, Morwenna?”

She nodded. “Life is wonderful,” she said. “So unexpected. Those awful balls … those dinner parties. I never knew what to say to anybody and I would sit there feeling that everyone was trying to think up excuses to get away from me.”

“And Justin changed all that.”

“He was quite different from anyone else. He really wanted to be with me. He listened to what I had to say. He made me feel that I was interesting. It has changed everything.”

“I hope you will always be as happy as you are now, Morwenna.”

“I shall always be happy as long as I have Justin.”

I thought: The man is a miracle worker. He has changed her completely. Or is it simply Love?

The weeks flew by. My wedding dress was ready. We had it made in Plymouth. It lacked the grandeur of my court dress but it was very beautiful. There was my veil and orange blossom. I should be the typical bride.

As Morwenna had been, I was married in St Ervan’s. My father gave me away and Morwenna was my matron of honor. Gervaise was a very handsome bridegroom and I was proud of him. The reception followed, toasts were drunk and, with the help of Gervaise, I cut the cake. We left the guests while I went up to change into my going-away costume.

Grace and my mother were with me. My mother was emotional as most mothers are when their daughters get married. I suppose they think the relationship will never be the same again, and they have lost some part of a daughter to a stranger.

I threw my arms about her, remembering all we had been to one another.

I said: “We are going to see each other often. I shall come to Cador and you must come to London.”

She nodded, too tearful to speak.

We were to live in London. My parents, as the Pencarrons had with Morwenna, were presenting us with a house as a wedding present. It seemed the most sensible of gifts to a married pair who had to find a home for themselves. Morwenna and I promised each other that we would have an exciting time helping each other to choose our new homes; and one thing which delighted us was that we should be neighbors.

The prospect ahead seemed full of pleasure; and in the meantime Gervaise and I were about to leave on our honeymoon which was to be spent in the South of France.

Grace patted the sleeve of my jacket and smoothed the skirt. We had bought it in London and she had helped to choose it. I felt it was very elegant and there was a little hat with a curling blue-tinted ostrich feather with it.

“You look lovely,” said my mother. “Doesn’t she, Grace?”

Grace agreed.

And then I went down to Gervaise who was waiting for me and whose looks told me that he agreed with them.

When we arrived at the station the train was already in. We had a first-class carriage to ourselves.

“How fortunate!” I cried.

“Arranged,” said Gervaise, “with Machiavellian cunning.”

And we were laughing together.

We were to stay the first night in a London hotel before we continued our journey the next day.

“It will be the first time I have ever been out of England,” I said.

“Is that why you are so excited?”

“The sole reason,” I told him.

“Angelet,” he said severely, “you must not tell your husband lies.”

“What will you do if I decide I shall?”

“I shall be forced to take drastic action.”

“Such as?”

“You’ll find out.”

And so we bantered.

The journey, which had previously always seemed so long, now seemed quite short; and there we were coming into Paddington Station.

I was full of admiration for the manner in which Gervaise guided me through, having summoned a porter to take the baggage. Soon we were in a cab.

What a man of the world! I thought proudly.

Our room overlooked the Park. It was quite a splendid room with heavy brocade curtains, gilded furniture and a bed which I imagined could have been used by Louis XIV.

“The bridal suite,” announced Gervaise. “All arranged efficiently by your father, I must tell you.”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“No, it was to be a surprise.”

“It’s very grand.”

“Well, it is our wedding night.”

I changed into a dinner dress and we went down to dine. Eager-to-please waiters hovered; the discreet music was delightful; and Gervaise was sitting opposite me telling me how much he loved me.

It was a beautiful night. There was a moon which seemed suitable for the occasion. From the balcony we could look over the Park which seemed to have become mysterious and unreal. He put an arm about me, his fingers caressing my neck. Then he took the pins from my hair and let it fall about my shoulders.

He drew me back into the room. He took my face in his hands and said: “For so long I have waited for you, Angelet. I have wanted you so much. You wouldn’t understand …”

Then he kissed me as he had never kissed me before. I felt startled. I was innocent but not ignorant. I knew of the relationships between the sexes in theory. It should be something precious; it made a bond between people, such as that between my parents, Helena and Matthew, Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis. It was easy to see there was this special bond between them. But there was another side to it. There was something I had glimpsed on that never-to-be-forgotten day there at the pool.

And suddenly without warning it came upon me … the terrible fear. I was back there. It was as vivid as it had been on that day.

I seemed to see those other features … the feel of his hands … his breath on my face.

I heard myself scream: “No, no.”

I tried to withdraw my hands but he held them tightly.

“Let me go,” I cried. “Let me go.”

He released me, staring at me in amazement.

“Angelet, what’s wrong? What is it?”

The sound of his voice, so tender, so loving, reassured me. I was being foolish.

“I … I don’t … know,” I stammered.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m not going to hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

“No … I know. It is just that …”

He would have taken me in his arms but I shrank away from him.

“Angelet, what on earth has happened? You’re looking at me as though I’m a stranger … a monster.”

And I thought: I shall never forget. It will always be there.

I turned away from him and flung myself onto the bed. Involuntary sobs shook my body.

He was lying beside me, his arms about me. “Tell me, Angelet. Tell me all about it.”

I knew then that he had not changed. I had nothing to fear from him. But I knew, too, that I could no longer bear the burden of my secret.

I just lay there silently; now and then shaken by a sob. He held me tightly.

“It’s all right, Angelet,” he said. “What are you afraid of? There is nothing to fear. I promise you that. Tell me what it is that worried you.”

I buried my face against him and I heard myself say: “It was what happened at the pool.”

“At the pool?”

“It’s so long ago … but it still seems clear to me. It always has been like that. It goes away and then it comes back. It comes back so suddenly. It will always be like that.”

“What? Tell me.”

I took a deep breath. Then it came out: “There was a man who escaped from Bodmin Prison. There was a great deal of talk about him … pictures of him. I was alone by the pool. I had tied up my horse, Glory … I went down to look at the pool … and he was there. He talked for a while. I thought he was a visitor who wanted to know the way … and then suddenly he changed.” I was shivering now. It was all coming back so clearly. “He looked at me … he put out his hands and seized me.”

“Oh my God,” said Gervaise.

“I knew what he would do to me … what he had done to that girl he murdered. I fought him. But I was only a child and he …”

I could feel the horror rising in Gervaise. It was like a physical thing.

“Someone came … and saved me. He fought with the murderer … who fell and caught his head on a stone. I remember the stone. It was part of that wall you found when you came down to dig.”

“I know … I remember.”

“It killed him. We threw his body in the pool. They all thought he had escaped. But he didn’t. He is lying at the bottom of the pool … where we put him.”

He did not speak. I knew he was too shocked. He just held me tightly, then he murmured my name and called me his little love, his darling.

“You see, Gervaise, I never told anyone. … You are the first …”

“I’m glad you told me,” he said.

“I had to. I had to make you understand.”

“I understand,” he said.

There was a silence and then I said: “What are you thinking of, Gervaise?”

“I am thinking of it. I can’t stop thinking of it.”

“It was terrible. It had all happened so quickly. Everything before had been easy … simple … and after that …”

“Of course, of course.”

“We shouldn’t have done it, should we? But you see he was fighting with Ben.”

“Ben?”

“Benedict. We called him Ben. He said that the man would have been hanged for murder and that was an easy way out for him. I don’t think Ben felt it as much as I did.”

“Well, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t nearly assaulted and murdered.”

“No.”

“You mustn’t shiver like this. I am going to send for some brandy. It’ll steady you. It’ll soothe you. My poor, poor Angelet, and you have had this on your mind ever since!”

He went to the bell rope and pulled it. Then he came back to me and put his arms about me.

“I’m glad you told me,” he said. “And all that time you kept it to yourself.”

I nodded. “I’m glad you know. I nearly told my mother once or twice … but I didn’t. There are only two of us who know … Ben and myself … and now you, of course.”

He kissed me tenderly.

There was a knock on the door. It was a waiter. Gervaise ordered the brandy and came back to me.

He said: “Where is Ben now?”

“He’s in Australia. He went there to find gold.”

“And you have not heard from him all these years?”

“I expect Uncle Peter hears from him now and then.”

“My dear, dear Angelet, how old were you when this happened?”

“Ten … I think.”

“My poor child.”

“Gervaise, were we wrong? What should we have done? You see, we didn’t know what to do. He was lying there dead.”

“Perhaps you could have told people what had happened.”

“But Ben said they would say we killed him. You didn’t know about my grandfather. He was sent to Australia for seven years for killing a man. It was in more or less the same circumstances. He was with some gypsies and a man tried to assault one of the girls. My grandfather fought with him and killed him. He would have been hanged for murder if my grandmother had not had an influential father.”

“Surely this was different.”

There was a knock on the door. The brandy had arrived.

“Drink this,” said Gervaise. “It will soothe you. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel better now I have told you.”

“I’m glad of that.”

“I had to, hadn’t I? Otherwise you would have thought I didn’t love you. I do love you, Gervaise. I want everything to be right between us. It was just then … that it all came back to me.”

He put an arm round me as I sipped the brandy.

“You mustn’t worry,” he said. “It’s all long ago. You’ve got to put it out of your mind.”

I shivered. “Can you ever put such a thing out of your mind?”

“I think you will in time. You’ve taken a step towards it tonight. I’m here with you … for the rest of our lives … here to help you … to care for you.”

“That’s a wonderful thought.”

He took the glass from me and kissed me.

“You did nothing wrong,” he said. “You helped to hide him, it’s true. It was the best way perhaps. His death was accidental. He brought it on himself. You have to forget it.”

“I have tried to forget. I do for long periods … and then it comes back as it did tonight.”

“It’s left a scar,” said Gervaise. “I understand. But we are going to heal that scar. I’m going to help you forget. I shall do everything I can to make you happy. What you saw on that day was ugly, but ugliness exists in the world. You have confused it with love. Believe me, the two are miles apart. You will understand. I will make you understand, and then you will know the difference and you will not be afraid any more.”

How tender he was. He soothed me. I felt as though a burden had been lifted from me. It was no longer the secret locked within me. I had shared it and it had become lighter.

I shall never forget that night—my wedding night. He understood so well. His greatest quality was that he respected the feelings of other people and he could put himself in their place. He had sympathy for everyone, I was to discover. If he wanted to make life easy for himself, he did for others at the same time. His sympathy and understanding was balm to me.

I lay in his arms all night—just that. He knew my feelings; I had shown them clearly enough. He knew that I had to banish the horror of that encounter from my mind; I had to understand the difference between lust and love before we could be lovers.

I realized later how fortunate I was in him, how much I owed to him.

I slept at last, comforted, because he shared my secret.

We traveled through France to the auberge on the edge of the mountains. We were staying in a village about a mile from the big and fashionable resort on the coast. Gervaise had stayed there in his student days and it was clear from the start that Madame Bougerie was rather taken with him.

Madame Bougerie was the power behind the Auberge Bougerie. Alphonse, the husband, was a small man who must have learned over the years that his wife demanded absolute obedience. There was a daughter and son-in-law. The whole family worked in the auberge.

Madame usually sat at the reception desk with papers before her—a stern woman dressed entirely in black; she wore jet earrings and a jet necklace; her graying hair was taken straight back from her face and was worn in a knot, nestling in the nape of her neck.

We were all in awe of her, from the humblest pot boy to the most exalted guest.

I was enchanted by the place from the moment I saw it. It seemed to be hanging on the hillside. There were stables with a few horses, for in such a place horses were necessary and patrons were allowed to hire them. The auberge was of gray stone. There were wicker seats on the terrace which allowed one to sit while contemplating the superb scenery. There were urns containing colorful shrubs. The flowers were plentiful and wherever one looked one could see the beautiful bougainvilleas and oleanders blooming in abundance.

Below us were small houses gleaming white in the sunshine with pink roofs and green blinds to shut out the intruding sun.

It was an enchanting place.

Over the years Madame had had many English visitors to her auberge and she prided herself on her command of our language. If we spoke to her in French she would always reply in English. Gervaise was amused and tried to force her into her own language. I think she did the same with him. It was amusing to listen to them—he with his French just about adequate, and she with her English which was scarcely that; and neither giving way.

We were given a room with a balcony which overlooked the bay. It was the perfect setting for a honeymoon. We rode and we walked and I felt more at peace than I had since that encounter, which now seemed to have diminished in importance because Gervaise knew of it.

Sometimes Madame Bougerie would give us a packed lunch of crusty bread and cheese, fruit and wine; and we would go off on the hired horses right into the mountains. We laughed a great deal … and we talked. When Gervaise mentioned my experience at the pool, it no longer set me shivering. I found that through him I was beginning to see it differently. I had had a lucky escape—a very narrow one. Perhaps it would have been wiser for us to have confessed what had happened and not hidden the body. But no one would blame us. Gervaise had made me see that. There had been a fight and the murderer had fallen and in falling killed himself. No one could blame us for that. But it was over. Nothing could change what we had done. The wise thing to do was to forget it … or see it as it really was. A lucky escape for me and a man meeting his deserts, a happy release for him when it was considered what the law would have done to him.

And during those happy days, the inevitable happened. I was sure Gervaise knew it would but I would never forget his restraint and patience in waiting until I was ready.

We were lovers in truth and I was happy through this new relationship with this wonderful husband of mine. I felt I had laid my ghost to rest. That incident had receded far into the past. It was no longer a shadow over my life.

So I was happy.

There came a day when we went into the town. The atmosphere down there was quite different. There were several big hotels, a promenade along which the fashionable strolled; outside the cafés were tables under brightly colored awnings; people sat there sipping their aperitifs.

The sun shone on the water making it look as though it were sprinkled with diamonds. Gervaise told me that it was one of the most fashionable resorts, and visitors were predominantly English.

We took our place outside the Café Pomme d’Or. I sipped my aperitif trying to look as though I were quite accustomed to such sophistication and that this was not all new and wonderful to me.

“The Golden Apple,” I said. “I wonder why they call it that.”

“There are golden apples all over the world,” said Gervaise, “ever since someone gave one to somebody.”

“It was Paris. I think he had to choose the most beautiful woman and he gave it to Aphrodite. There were two other contestants.”

“He couldn’t have been very popular with those two.”

“Poor man. What could he do? He had to make a choice.”

“It was rather foolish of him to get himself into such a situation.”

“Apples seem to be a popular fruit in those classical legends. I believe they grew them in the Garden of the Hesperides, too.”

“You would need rather a big nugget to make it into an apple. I wonder if your friend Ben has found any of that size.”

“I don’t think he can have done so. We should have heard if he had.”

It was wonderful. I could speak of Ben easily and naturally without feeling that shiver of apprehension … that dreaded memory coming back to me.

“I suppose the owners of these places like to remind people of these things. Perhaps the Golden Apple suggests that all the ladies who come here are as beautiful as Aphrodite and the men as handsome as Paris. After all, where you come from legends are just everyday gossip.”

I thought of the knackers who had mined gold in the tin mine; and I remembered how long ago Ben and I had lain on the moor and I had told him the story.

It was comforting to be able to look back on that without fear of remembering beyond it. Gervaise had done that for me.

Afterwards we strolled along the promenade. We came to a round building with gardens in front in which bloomed the exotic flowers to which I was accustomed.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“It is a casino.”

“Oh?” I replied. “That is where they gamble.”

“Shall we take a look inside?”

“May we?”

“Of course.”

It was quite fun at the time. I should have remembered the warnings.

There were a great number of people there. We walked round. They were playing games I did not understand.

I stood for a moment with Gervaise watching the wheel spinning round on the big table. I noticed the strained eager faces and how those people kept their eyes on the numbers all the time.

Then the wheel stopped and the croupier’s stick pulled in the chips.

It was all a mystery to me but I was aware of Gervaise’s growing excitement.

“Shall we go?” I said.

“Just a moment. I’d like to try my luck. Sit down. I won’t be long.”

He left me there. I waited. What a long time it seemed! I watched the people. They talked excitedly. Some were elated. Some melancholy. There was an atmosphere here which I had never been aware of anywhere else. It was a sort of feverish excitement.

I hoped Gervaise would not be long.

It seemed to me that I waited a very long time; when he came to me he was flushed; his eyes were brilliant; he was elated.

“I’ve won,” he cried. “My luck was in.”

He showed me a handful of money.

“At first it went wrong,” he said. “I lost three times running. I was almost cleaned out … then it started to change. I’d have gone on and on making us millionaires if I hadn’t thought of you sitting here … waiting. So I came away.”

“I’m glad you did. It seemed so long.”

“I was afraid it would. You don’t notice the time when you are at the tables, you know.”

“No, I suppose not. Shall we go now?”

It seemed to me that he left reluctantly; but as soon as we were out in the fresh air his spirits revived.

“I’ll tell you what I am going to do,” he said. “I am going to buy a present for someone.”

“For whom?”

“For Mrs. Gervaise Mandeville, of course.”

“Oh no. Let’s keep the money.”

“Money is not for keeping.”

“Isn’t it? I had always thought it was.”

“That is where you have to learn. It’s for giving presents … making people happy.”

“I’m just as happy without a present.”

“You’re going to get one all the same and I know what.”

“What?”

“I noticed your eyes on that dress in the window of a shop we passed this morning. That glorious blue velvet creation.”

“Oh … that. Yes, it’s lovely. It must be very costly.”

“Well, you have a rich husband now.”

“Gervaise, buy something for yourself if you must spend it.”

“Certainly not. I’m going to buy something for you. Come on.”

He led me back to the shop. It was true I had admired the dress. I had rarely seen one so elegant and beautiful.

“There is something about it,” he said. “Is there not?”

“It’s certainly very fine, but I daresay it will cost a great deal.”

“We’ll go and see.”

Reluctantly I was led into the shop. A tall thin woman in black came out to us. She reminded me of something between a spider and Madame Bougerie.

The dress? Oh, yes. It was indeed a special dress. She gesticulated wildly. And for Madame. Yes, yes. It was Madame’s size. One could say that it had been made for Madame.

I was scurried into a cubicle and there I was divested of my dress and stood before the mirror in the glorious creation. I had to admit it was beautiful and it suited me.

It fitted comme les gaunts. It was Madame’s dress. No one else must have it. It must be Madame’s.

The price appalled me, but Gervaise took it lightheartedly. I know that it swallowed up all his winnings.

This was what he wanted.

The dress was packed up and Gervaise carried it proudly from the shop.

I said: “It is a great extravagance and you shouldn’t have spent all that money.”

“But it had to be Madame’s. It was made for Madame. It fits like a glove. There was no question about it. And you look quite superb in it. I am sure had you been present, Aphrodite would never have got her golden apple.”

“I still think of it as an extravagance.”

“Nonsense. I wanted to buy it. What is the good of having a wife if I can’t spend my winnings on her?”

So we walked home and that night I wore the dress. I loved it. It was beautiful—and very precious because Gervaise had given it to me.

Later I wished we had never seen the casino. But of course Gervaise knew it was there. He had been there before. It may well have been why he had chosen this place for our honeymoon.

I enjoyed the days when we walked or rode in the mountains; but I did sense in him a yearning to be in the town; when we visited it he would lead me to the casino and he would go in leaving me sitting there waiting for him. I could have gone with him, I suppose. I could have had my own little flutter; but I had no wish to. I always had the feeling that I should lose—and that would be two of us.

There were one or two occasions when he won but never as much as when he had bought the dress.

I remembered the family warning and what his mother had said. I was to be the steadying influence.

It was like a blight on our honeymoon. If only it could have gone on as it had begun. I had been so superbly happy in the beginning after my confession … happy as I had never thought to be again after that encounter at the pool. And Gervaise had made it possible. I would never forget that.

And then the visit to the casino! Every time I looked at the dress, I remembered—that feverish excitement, that desire to gamble. I, who did not have the slightest inclination to do so, found it difficult to understand the urge which seemed to come over Gervaise. He was like a different person when it was with him. Usually he was so relaxed, so carefree. This was an obsession.

We had spent two weeks at the auberge and were going home in three days’ time. We were some little distance from the railway station and there was an old carriage drawn by two rather aged horses which made short journeys when it was necessary and would take guests’ luggage to and from the station.

Two days before we were to leave, the carriage had to go to the station and Madame Bougerie said it would be convenient if our bags could be taken to the station then to save a journey.

I was rather sad, packing.

“Put everything you can in,” said Gervaise, “so that there is nothing we have to carry. Then we can walk down to the station when the time comes.”

I wondered afterwards what would have happened if the luggage had not been sent on in advance. He would not then have been able to do what he did.

That evening Gervaise went down to the town alone. I was rather tired. We had walked several miles during the afternoon and the casino did not attract me. I did not wish to partake in the gambling; nor did I wish to wait while Gervaise did. I found the place rather depressing in spite of the bright lights and the splendidly clad women. I detected in the faces of so many that frenzied look which I had seen in Gervaise.

He was very late back that night. I was relieved to see him. I had visions of his coming out from the casino with his winnings and being waylaid and set upon and robbed.

When I told him this he laughed.

“No one would have wanted to set upon me after the luck I have had tonight.”

“It seems to me that you hardly ever have any luck.”

“What? Think of that beautiful dress.”

“That was the only time—and you spent all that.”

“One day you will be surprised.”

I thought that he was a little less ready to laugh than usual. I did not know how bad it was until later.

The next morning we went down to the town. I was afraid he was going once more to the casino, but he did not.

“I think,” he said, “we should go and see if the luggage is all right.”

I was relieved. It seemed a good idea.

Even now I am not sure how it happened or why I allowed it to. He had brought the luggage out. The train was in the station. It was the train we should take to Paris.

A porter had seized our bags.

I cried: “He thinks we are going on the train.”

Gervaise did not answer. He allowed the porter to go and followed him, taking me with him.

“Explain to him,” I shouted.

“It’s all right,” said Gervaise. The porter put the bags on the train. Gervaise gave him some money.

I said: “What are you doing, Gervaise? How …?”

He turned to me and smiled and pushed me down into a seat.

“If you are not careful …” I began, “the train will go. … What game is this?”

“Wait and see,” he said.

The train had started to move and I cried out in alarm.

“It had to be,” said Gervaise. “It’s the only way. I was absolutely cleaned out.”

“What of Madame Bougerie’s bill?”

“I’ll send her the money.”

“But you didn’t explain.”

“How could I? She’d never understand. I’ll write.”

“What will she think?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said. “It was the only way. I paid last week. It is only one week owing. It was lucky about the luggage. That’s what gave me the idea last night. It is better to do it this way. There would have been a terrible fuss. Goodness knows what would have happened. I could never have got it over to her. You know she thinks she understands English.”

I sat back in my seat staring at him in horror.

“Thank goodness we had our return tickets,” he said. “You see, it all worked out.”

“Gervaise,” I said. “How could you? It is cheating, it is stealing …”

“No,” he said. “She’ll get the money. I’ll see that she gets it.” I sat down helplessly. I felt covered in shame.

No one is perfect. I must never forget his loving tenderness. I would always remember the first night of our marriage when he had miraculously lifted me out of my terror, when he had freed me from that haunting specter. Never, never must I forget that. And this … it was something they had warned me of. It was why my father had made some complicated arrangement about the settlement. I must do something. I could not allow us to cheat. I thought of the horror there would be in Madame Bougerie’s face when she realized her guests had left … without paying. How could he have done it … and in such a lighthearted way!

He might send the money in time. He would probably send more than he owed to make up for what he had done. But that was not the point. The money must be sent without delay.

I must do something.

The thought preoccupied me all the way home. Gone was the magic of the outward journey. Gervaise realized and was contrite.

“If I had known how much it was going to upset you,” he said, “I would have thought of something else.”

“There wasn’t anything else. You had gambled with the money which was really Madame Bougerie’s. It’s dishonest, Gervaise.”

“Not if I pay it back. I’ll send her extra for the trouble.”

We were staying at the Mandeville town house until we had a home of our own. There was no one to greet us because we had come earlier than had been expected. I was glad of this. I did not want to have to give explanations.

I would not rest until I had sent the money to Madame Bougerie.

I did know that the money my father had settled on me was to be kept in my name and that the capital could not be touched without the agreement of my parents. I was to get an income which would be paid to me. This had been agreed between my family and the Mandevilles. The income would not be large and I had not yet received the first installment. I needed money quickly and I knew approximately how much and it must be a little more because of the trouble we had caused. I wrote and asked my father for it.

It came almost at once. He guessed that I had had expenses on my honeymoon. I was relieved. I went to the bank and discovered I could change English money into French; and it was mailed off immediately to the auberge. I wrote a note apologizing for the trouble we had caused, explaining rather vaguely that we had had to return to England without delay, and if we had not caught that train we should have lost a day, so we had had to take it. I humbly begged Madame’s pardon for what must have seemed inexcusable behavior.

When the money had gone off I told Gervaise what I had done.

He looked at me sadly: “I’m sorry, Angelet,” he said. “You see the sort of a man you have married. Do you despise me?”

“Of course not. But it seemed … so awful, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I know. You are so good … so honest.”

“I’m not. I’m not. But going off like that … Please, please, Gervaise, don’t let us do anything like that again.”

“We won’t,” he said fervently. “I promise we won’t.”

He had been so wonderful to me. I had expected too much. People were not models of perfection. In a way I loved him more for his weakness. It seemed to strengthen me. I was no longer the innocent young girl to be led and guided. I had my responsibilities; and I was going to look after him.

I would make him see the risks and follies of gambling.

I was very innocent still.

I had a letter from Madame Bougerie thanking me for the money. She had known, of course, that it must have been something pressing which had made us leave so unexpectedly and never for one moment had she put a wrong construction on this. She understood perfectly and she hoped we would visit the auberge again, when we should be very welcome.

I did not suppose for one moment that she had not suspected the worst of us, but that was the diplomatic way of dealing with the matter and Madame Bougerie would always know how to do that. However, the incident had been brought to a satisfactory close as far as the auberge was concerned; and I was sure, in my new role as my husband’s guide and helpmeet, that where money was concerned such a thing would never happen again.

I gave myself up to the pleasure of househunting. This was particularly agreeable because Morwenna shared it with me. It seemed the most delightful coincidence that we were in London, both recent brides, looking for houses which were being given to us by indulgent fathers.

We laughed over this and when one of us went to look at a house, the other was always there.

We inspected numerous residences. Some would be too small, some too large; some were too far from the center of town and neither Justin nor Gervaise would like that. There was, we discovered, a similarity between our husbands. They were both what were called men about town. Justin appeared to have a private income from his family; Gervaise had an allowance from his. So it seemed inevitable that we should, on so many occasions, become a party of four.

After much preoccupation with Adam doorways and spiderweb fanlights, Regency and Queen Anne, we found our houses. They were not far apart. Morwenna’s was Regency with a charming wrought iron balcony on the first floor; ours was of a slightly earlier period—small but a model of Georgian elegance.

Our parents came to London and we had a pleasant time shopping for the furniture, the Pencarrons and my parents vying with each other in what they wanted to do for their darling daughters.

It was a very happy and merry time; and both Morwenna and I were examples of newly wedded and decidedly contented wives.

Within a few months we were installed in our respective houses. Grace was naturally a great help and helped us choose colors for carpets and curtains, throwing herself into the project with the utmost enthusiasm; and the days sped by.

During this time the Prince Consort died. A feeling of gloom swept over the nation. Those who had been highly critical of him during his lifetime now saw him as a model of virtue. As for the poor Queen she was prostrate with grief and shut herself away, refusing to appear in public.

We dined often with Morwenna and Justin and they with us. Morwenna sang rather pleasantly and I played the pianoforte—not well, but adequately. Justin had quite a good tenor voice, and Gervaise sang out of tune which caused a certain amount of merriment. We enjoyed what we called our musical evenings, but we soon realized that the men were restive. They preferred to play cards which neither Morwenna nor I had any gift for.

We liked amusing games which did not require too much concentration and very often we would leave the men together. The first time I was amazed and a little disturbed to realize that they played for money.

Gervaise, I remember, was in good spirits when they first did this. He had taken quite a bit from Justin.

I did not like it. “Why?” I said. “He was a guest in our house.”

Gervaise looked at me in astonishment and burst out laughing.

“Of course, darling. We gave him a wonderful evening. He enjoyed it thoroughly.”

“Enjoyed losing money!”

“It was all part of the fun. I have discovered he likes a good gamble.”

“I don’t suppose he likes losing money.”

“Well, naturally we all prefer to win.” He seized me and danced round the bedroom with me. “You are a funny little thing, Angelet.”

“Why?”

He took my chin in his hands and kissed me tenderly. “Such quaint ideas! Most men like a game of chance, you know.”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose they do.”

But it did occur to me that both Gervaise and Justin liked it better than most.

After that there were often cards. When they came to dinner or we went to them I had the idea that they could not wait to get to the card table.

They played a lot of poker. I watched them sometimes with that light in their eyes and that feverish color in their cheeks. It was more than excitement. It was obsession. It worried me a little. I used to hope that neither of them would win and they would both end just as they started.

I did gather that Justin won very often. Gervaise would shrug his shoulders.

“All have their ups and downs,” he said.

“You seem to have more downs than ups with Justin,” I commented.

“It’s the way of things. It will change. It always does. The exciting thing about luck is that it is unpredictable. That’s why they call it Lady Luck. It’s like women.”

“Do you find me unpredictable?”

He put his arms round me. “Of course not. Didn’t I tell you, you were unique. That’s why I love you.”

I could often forget my misgivings when I was with Gervaise; he had a convincing way of making light of difficulties.

I had thought at first that Justin and Gervaise were very much alike. They were in some ways, of course; their style of life; their affability towards everyone; their love of gambling. Neither of them worked. I realized I had been used to people’s working around me. There had always been problems on the Cador estates and my father had frequently been busy; Mr. Pencarron was deeply concerned with the mine; our friends in the two Poldoreys were lawyers or doctors; Uncle Peter was immersed in his business; Matthew was at the House; Peterkin and Frances with their Mission. But Gervaise and Justin were different in this.

Justin was considering, he said. He was going to do something. He had arrived in this country from America not long ago. He had been involved with the production of cotton over there. He was, as he said, feeling his way. He wanted to do something but he was not yet sure what. Gervaise had no such pretensions. He was quite content with life as it was. He had the belief that one day he would make such a killing at the card tables that his fortune would be made.

I did try to reason with him sometimes. I said: “If you made a fortune at the card table you would immediately risk it again.”

“Yes. And win an even greater fortune.”

I said: “Do you forget what happened to your ancestor?”

“I was never allowed to. It was preached as Holy Writ in our household.”

“Well then, perhaps it is as well to keep it in mind.”

He always laughed at me when I was serious. Sometimes I found it faintly irritating; but he could always charm me out of that mood.

We were frequent visitors at the house in the square. Both Aunt Amaryllis and Helena took a motherly interest in us—Amaryllis, I suppose, because that was her way with all the young members of the family and Helena because she had “brought us out.”

I enjoyed these dinner parties. Conversation was always lively, particularly when Uncle Peter was present. He and his daughter-in-law Frances often sparred, but I think he admired her as he did all people who lived energetically.

Politics were often the subject of the discourse and I wished that Matthew and Uncle Peter would differ now and then; but Matthew always agreed with Uncle Peter’s views.

At this time he was deploring the continued premiership of Palmerston.

“Surely it’s time he retired,” said Uncle Peter. “If he did, I think we should see a return of the party and office for you.”

Matthew said he would never retire. “He’ll die in harness. That is the old man’s way. Sometimes he looks as if he is half asleep or wholly so. He sits there on the bench with his eyes half closed … a real dandy in his frock coat and light gray trousers, wearing his gloves. He always wears his gloves. You’re certain he hasn’t heard a word of the debate. Then he’ll get to his feet … You know that way of his, poking fun at things … getting them laughing … and then he’ll somehow get the vote going the way he wants it.”

“A remarkable man,” said Uncle Peter. “He should have been with us.”

“That’s true,” agreed Matthew. “Who else could overcome all that tittle-tattle about his love affairs? Who would believe that a Prime Minister could be nicknamed Cupid?”

I loved to hear those little anecdotes of people whose names I knew so well. So those dinner parties were always a delight. Gervaise enjoyed them too. Sometimes I felt that Uncle Peter saw too much. I believe he knew about Gervaise’s gambling for one day he said to me: “You want to keep a tight hand on that husband of yours. He’s too fond of the tables.”

Uncle Peter should know. He had made his fortune out of those clubs where gambling—among other diversions—was in full swing.

He was very watchful of Justin, and I was sure that Justin puzzled him more than Gervaise did.

There came one evening at the house in the square which was to change our lives, although I did not know it then.

They had been discussing Palmerston’s increasing age again and expressing some anxiety for the health of Lord Derby who must surely defeat him at the next election; then they went on to the antics of Benjamin Disraeli whose sights were set on the highest post of all.

Then Uncle Peter said suddenly: “By the way, I have heard from Benedict.”

I saw Gervaise glance at me. I started, but not with that apprehension which I had known before my confession to Gervaise. He had convinced me that I was in no way to blame and that it would be sensible for me to put the incident right out of my mind.

Uncle Peter went on: “He writes rarely. I don’t think it has been as easy as he at first thought it would. But now it seems there has been a breakthrough.”

He explained to Gervaise and Justin. “Benedict, my grandson … an earlier family … is a very go-ahead young man and had this notion of going out to Australia when he heard gold had been found there.”

“That was a long time ago,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

“Yes, it must be now. Benedict is not a letter-writing man and he certainly wouldn’t communicate when times were hard. But I must say that he is a sticker. He went to Australia convinced that he would come back with a fortune and he is the sort who wouldn’t want to return without one. That’s why he is still out there.”

“Well,” said Matthew, “there hasn’t been a fortune yet.”

“He writes and says that there have been difficulties, but he thinks he’s on a good strike now. There’s a lot of hard work to be done, it seems, but his luck is changing. He says he has been scratching a living from the goldfields so far but he was always hopeful … and now it looks as though those hopes are about to be realized.”

“In what part of Australia is all this happening?” asked Justin.

“It’s somewhere north of Melbourne.”

“I remember what a lot of talk there was about finds there,” said Justin. “It was very exciting. It must be more than ten years ago. There was a similar sort of thing in America. But that was somewhat earlier, I think. A man comes across it … there’s a lot of talk … and the Rush is on. Someone did very well at a place called Golden Point, I believe. That was in Australia. He made a vast fortune. People left everything to go out there. They thought they were coming back millionaires.”

“And did they?” I asked.

“Some of them did.”

“Well, let’s hope Benedict is successful,” said Uncle Peter.

“Somehow I don’t think he will come home until he is. He’s got that bulldog tenacity. Once he gets hold of an idea he won’t let it go. He’ll succeed or stay out there for the rest of his life … trying to.”

“It is very interesting,” said Gervaise. “I can understand how people get caught up in it.”

“It’s a gamble,” said Uncle Peter. “So much would depend on luck. You would get some working day and night and finding nothing … and then someone comes along and in a week or so he’s stumbled on a fortune.”

Aunt Amaryllis shivered. “I should hate that,” she said.

Uncle Peter smiled at her tenderly.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I have no intention of throwing up everything to go to the goldfields of Australia.”

Everyone laughed and they began to talk of other things.

When we returned home Gervaise was thoughtful.

“Interesting about Benedict,” he said. “He was the one you told me of.”

I nodded.

“He seems rather a forceful character.”

“Oh yes. I am sure he will find his gold.”

“It seems to have taken him rather a long time.”

“Yes, but he is bound to win in the end.”

“And come back a millionaire.”

I was wondering if he ever thought of me and of that adventure which we had shared together. It was significant that I could think of it now without that little shiver of fear. Gervaise had done that for me.

I did not notice how thoughtful Gervaise had become.

It was some days later when he broke the news to me. When we had last been at the house in the square he had left me with Aunt Amaryllis and had disappeared with Uncle Peter. When they rejoined us, Gervaise looked a little flushed—excited, I thought. Uncle Peter was his usual calm self.

I fancied Gervaise was impatient to leave.

When we finally did he was rather silent on the way home and at last in our bedroom I asked him if anything was wrong.

“Wrong?” he said. “No. About to be right. How would you like to go to Australia?”

“What?” I cried.

“We’re going,” he told me. “That is if you like the idea … I shall have to go. I hope you will come too.”

“Gervaise, whatever are you talking about?”

“I suppose,” he said, “I had better begin at the beginning.”

“It is usually advisable to.”

“I’m in debt … up to my ears.”

Horror seized me. I felt limp with dismay and fear.

“But how? I’ve tried so hard …”

“I know you have. I’ve lost a lot to Justin. That’s not so important. It’s the clubs … I have to pay my debts. I’d never be received in any of them again if I didn’t.”

“Perhaps that would be just as well.”

“You don’t understand, Angelet. They are debts of honor. One can make one’s tailor wait … or the butcher, the baker and the candlestick-maker … but one must pay one’s gambling debts at the clubs.”

“How much?”

“Too much to tell you.”

“I had better know.”

“I’m not sure … except that it is too much for me to handle. That’s the bad news. Now here is the good. My debts are going to be settled. I have had a word with your Uncle Peter.”

“Why is he brought into this?”

“He does own several of the clubs where I play.”

“Oh, Gervaise, I thought you were getting better.”

“Sorry,” he said ruefully. “But listen. We’re going to Australia. We are going to find gold. We’re going to be millionaires. Then I shall shrug aside my debts because with a lordly gesture I shall pay on the nail.”

“Do be sensible, Gervaise. This is a serious matter.”

“Sorry again, darling. Of course it is a serious matter. But it is going to be exciting.”

“What has Uncle Peter said to you?”

“He will settle my debts and pay our passage out … with a little to spare for the time before we get started. He’s writing to Benedict asking if he will meet us and help us get started, to be our sponsor and guardian angel. And we shall be leaving shortly for our adventure overseas.”

“Why should Uncle Peter settle your debts?”

“It’s not quite so altruistic as you might be thinking. Your uncle is an astute business man. He wants what they call collateral for his money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some sort of security which we are in a position to offer.”

“What?”

“This house, of course.”

“It was my parents’ wedding present!”

“That does not in any way detract from its value.”

“Gervaise, what have you done!”

“Nothing as yet. It’s all in the air. But it is a wonderful solution. In fact it is the only solution … or I fear that ’ere long I shall find myself languishing in prison for debt; and what chance has a poor debtor then of repaying what he owes?”

“Gervaise, you’re frightening me.”

“I’m frightening myself. I am seeing more and more that I have to find a way out of this trouble … and this is it. I have to do something, Angelet.”

“Some work, you mean. Yes, I have thought of that.”

“This will be admirable. It will suit my temperament. Every day will be a gamble. Just imagine it … the excitement of going into those goldfields … never knowing whether it is going to be The Day.”

“We know nothing about it. Where shall we live?”

“Oh, there are places. The experienced and knowledgeable Benedict will show us the way. From him we will learn all we need to know. You don’t seem enthusiastic, Angelet.”

“It’s hard to. I know nothing about it. It all seems a trifle mad to me. And you have given Uncle Peter this house in order to settle your debts. You can’t do that.”

“It’s only on paper … a safeguard … for him. When we come back with all this millions of pounds’ worth of nuggets … I think that’s what they call them … we shall hand him back what we owe him and we shall have our dear little house waiting for us. But Angelet Mandeville might wish for a grander place in which to live now that she is a golden millionaire. A country mansion and a town house. I wonder if there are any castles for sale?”

“Be practical, Gervaise.”

“I’ll try but I’m so excited about this project. I know in my bones that it is going to be right for us.”

We lay awake for a long time talking about Australia. It seemed to me a wild dream … something that Gervaise liked to contemplate and had no roots in reality. But I was perturbed about all the debts and that he could mortgage our house in order to settle them.

I thought it might be one of those dreams with which Gervaise liked to soothe himself and that he only half believed it. But this was not so. He really had spoken to Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter himself took me on one side and said: “I think it is not such a bad idea. Gervaise is one of those people who are always going to gamble. Nothing would cure him. I’ll take care of things here while you are away. If he could get himself a fortune I fancy he would not be so reckless. Young men with small incomes often try to augment them. It might be that if he were rich the urge might diminish a little.”

“Do you really think we should go to Australia?”

“I think it is not a bad idea, as I said. People are beginning to talk of Gervaise’s tendency … not for play but not to pay. A man needs a good income to live the way he does. Let him go to Australia. It might be good for him … and it could be the making of him. I have written to Benedict. I am sure he will do all he can to help.”

My parents came to London. I could see that they did not like the idea—particularly my mother. That was understandable. She would be thinking of her own visit to Australia which had ended in such a disastrous climax.

I was sure that my father would have settled Gervaise’s debts rather than we should go, but I was beginning to see that that would be no real solution. Gervaise must do something for himself. If his debts were paid there would be more. I knew him now. This gambling was not merely a pastime with him; it was an obsession. It was almost like an illness; it would recur. If he did find a fortune in Australia it was just possible that that urge would diminish … possibly be cured. I had come to the conclusion that it was something we had to try.

Grace was horrified. She said: “Think of all the hardships out there.”

“Yes, my mother has talked of them. But she was there a long time ago. Things may have changed.”

I was very apprehensive, but Gervaise was so eager. I think he had had a real fright when he realized the amount of his debts and what the consequences would be if he could not meet them. He was desperate and this seemed an honorable way out.

Morwenna was very sad at the thought of my going. Justin was particularly thoughtful; and then one day, Morwenna came to me in a state of great excitement.

Before I could ask what had happened, she burst out: “We’re coming with you. Justin thinks it would be wonderful to seek our fortunes in the goldfields. For so long he has been thinking of what work would suit him. This is just it.”

I looked at her and laughed; and then we were hugging each other.

I think everyone felt a little easier because the four of us were going. Grace seemed particularly relieved.

“It will make such a difference,” she said. “I am so pleased.”

“Really, Grace,” I replied, “the way everyone is talking you would think we were never coming back.”

“Morwenna will be a good companion for you … and Justin and Gervaise get on so well together.”

“I am afraid they are both too fond of gambling.”

“Well, let us hope that this gamble brings the desired results.”

After that I could view the prospect with more enthusiasm. It was to be a great adventure and, I told my mother, we could be lucky very soon. In that case we should come home at once. Who knew, we might be with her this time next year.

THERE HAD BEEN A reply from Benedict. He would do all he could to help. There was a letter for me in which he said he had often thought of me and he was delighted at the prospect of seeing me again. “You must be quite grown up now. A married woman! I wonder if we shall recognize each other.”

I was sure I should recognize him. He had been vivid in my mind for so long.

Much as I hated leaving my family, I was growing excited at the prospect of a completely different life.

And in due course we traveled to Tilbury and set sail on the Royal Albert; our destination—Melbourne.