The Pool of St. Branok

The Return

THE VOYAGE WAS UNEVENTFUL. There were warm days on deck when we sat and dreamily talked. We could not help comparing this with the last voyage and memories of Gervaise were ever present. He had been full of optimism, so certain was he that he would come home a rich man. It had never occurred to him that he might not come home at all.

There was rough weather in the Tasman Sea and sailing round the Cape, Morwenna kept to her cabin. Justin and I sat on deck and, because we were alone, we could refer to matters which we had kept secret from Morwenna.

He was amazingly frank. I think he could not forget that Gervaise had saved his life and it seemed incredible that he could have lost his own in doing so when only a short time ago he had clearly shown that he despised him.

I had a notion that Justin wished to look after me as a kind of compensation for not being able to express his gratitude to Gervaise.

“He was the one who should have been saved,” he said. “He was a better man than I. I do not believe I should have gone down to save him. I have thought a lot about it, Angelet. They brought him up dead and my first thought was: No one will know now what happened. Only Angelet knows and I am safe with her.”

“I should not reproach yourself on that score, Justin,” I said. “I suppose it would be a natural reaction.”

“But that he should have died saving me …”

“Yes, that was significant. But it was typical of Gervaise. He would always act nobly automatically … in ordinary life. It was only when he was at the card table that he changed.”

“But he would never have cheated.”

“No … not at cards. But it is cheating in a way to gamble with money you haven’t got.” I was thinking too of Madame Bougerie. “Gervaise did that.” I went on: “He was noble in a way; he was wonderfully kind, self-sacrificing too as he showed so clearly … but no one is perfect. Justin, you’ve got to forget all this. It’s all behind you.”

“I haven’t cheated at cards since,” he said.

“And you will give all that up?”

He was silent for a while. Then he said: “It was my living, Angelet.”

“You mean … you lived on your winnings … those which came to you through your way of playing!”

“It’s polite of you to put it that way. It’s what is called living by your wits. One can win large sums of money in the London clubs. What I did in the township was … trivial. It’s exciting because once you are caught it is over forever. But I was very good at it. I must have been very slack to have been caught like that by Gervaise.”

“Poor Morwenna,” I said. “She has such a high opinion of you.”

“I promised myself that if I found gold I’d give it all up. I was longing for that. Since I married Morwenna, I’ve battled with my conscience. She thinks I have a private income. The only income I have is … from this.”

“You could have gone to work at Pencarron Mine.”

“I couldn’t face it. Life in that remote spot far away from everything I was used to …”

“And now?”

“I’ve changed. All that has happened has changed me. I’m trying to be honest. I was caught by Gervaise. … That means I’m slipping. I was not so good. It’s ever since I married Morwenna. … And now there is the baby. … It’s made a lot of difference to me. If Morwenna’s father offered me something down there, I’d take it, Angelet … and I’d do my best to make a good thing of it.”

“Oh, Justin, I’m so glad. You’ll have to forget all that has gone before.”

“You’ve been a good friend to me, Angelet. I feel safe with you. You’d not betray me.”

I laughed. “My dear Justin, I don’t think you are so very wicked. I suppose you only took from the rich.”

“Well … perhaps not in the township …”

“If you give it up … if you live honorably from now on … I think you can be very happy. It must have been a terrible strain … wondering all the time that you might be caught.”

“Yes … but there was a sort of excitement which is irresistible.”

“But you have Morwenna and Pedrek to think of now. Can you give all that up, Justin?”

“Yes, I can do it,” he said.

I was glad for Morwenna’s sake. She at least could be happy.

And so the days passed and the ship was taking us nearer and nearer to home.

At last the great day arrived.

What a bustle of preparation! What a mass of emotion! We were all on deck to catch the first glimpse of the white cliffs.

And at last I saw my parents and those of Morwenna eagerly scanning the passengers as they disembarked. Then the cry of joy and my parents side by side staring at me in wonder for there was I with their granddaughter in my arms.

We seemed to be in a huddle. My father and mother were trying to embrace me at the same time; and it was happening like that with Morwenna. Justin stood by smiling.

“My dearest child,” cried my mother. “Oh … Angelet …” There were tears in her eyes. “And this is Rebecca. Oh, what a beautiful child! She is just like you were. Look, Rolf …”

They were both ecstatic.

“Thank God you’ve come home,” said my father.

We were all going to London first to spend a few days there before returning to Cador.

“Everyone in London wants to see you,” said my mother, “so that has all been arranged. Let me take the baby, Angelet. My goodness, you are thin. We’ll have to remedy that.”

My father took the light luggage. The rest was to be sent direct to Cornwall.

And so we arrived in London.

We stayed at the house in the square which was the most convenient. The whole family was there to greet us—Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis, Matthew and Helena with Geoffrey and Peterkin and Frances: Grace Hume came too.

They all kissed me fondly and marveled at the baby.

“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion at this very special occasion,” said Grace. “But everyone is so kind to me that I really feel I am one of the family.”

“It is wonderful to see you, Grace,” I said.

“You must come and stay with us in Cornwall now that Angelet is home,” added my mother.

Amaryllis was cooing over the babies. They were being put together in the old nursery and the servants were vying with each other for the privilege of looking after them.

To sleep in a luxurious bed, to eat graciously, to be back in this world of ease and comfort, was wonderful. But one soon grew accustomed to such things and the dull ache returned.

I thought of Gervaise … dead, and Ben far away … and I felt incredibly lonely.

During the days we were in London my mother was very concerned for me.

She said: “Do you want to talk about it? My poor darling, it must have been terrible for you. He was so very noble. There was a piece in the papers about it. When he heard what had happened Uncle Peter arranged that.” She smiled ruefully. “You know how he likes to squeeze a little advantage out of everything that happens.”

I could visualize the caption: “Relative of Matthew Hume in valiant rescue. The hero who lost his life saving a friend is related to Matthew Hume, the well-known politician …” And I could imagine his thought: This will be worth a few votes.

I said I could talk about it.

“If only you had never gone out there,” said my mother.

“Gervaise wanted it.”

“Yes … I heard about the debts.”

“He thought if he found gold he would pay it all back.”

“Gambling, wasn’t it? So many young men fall foul of that. They have to learn their lesson.”

I did not tell her that Gervaise would never have learned the lesson. He was a born gambler and would have remained so. I wanted her to keep the picture of the gallant hero.

“And he never saw Rebecca!”

“No. But he knew she was coming.”

“Poor Gervaise. My dearest, you will get over it. You are young. At the time these things happen they seem overwhelming.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I have to get over it.”

“And you have the adorable Rebecca. We are going to take you home. We’re going to take care of you. I don’t know whether you will want to stay in Cornwall … but you need time to sort things out. You have the house here … the one you had when you married.”

“It’s not mine really,” I said. “Uncle Peter has it as a security against the money he lent to Gervaise so that he could pay his debts and go to Australia. That house will belong to Uncle Peter now.”

“He has told us about this and has said that he will waive the debts and the house should be yours when you returned.”

“Oh no … the debts should be paid … to him.”

“Well, your father wouldn’t have it. He has insisted on paying Peter what was owed to him and the house is now yours. You need have no qualms because it is part of the money which would have been yours in any case. But it was generous of Peter to offer. He is a strange man. He has always been kind to me. My mother hated him. There are shady aspects of his life, but he has good points.”

“Most people have two sides to their natures. No one is entirely good … no one entirely bad, it seems to me.”

“Perhaps so. I thought you would like to know about the house. I think Morwenna will probably be coming to Cornwall. The Pencarrons have been talking to us about the future. They have been so wretched … missing Morwenna so much, Mr. Pencarron will make a very tempting offer to keep Justin down there.”

“You mean to work with him?”

“After all, it seems sensible. All they have will pass to Morwenna one day and that will mean Justin. I am sure Mr. Pencarron wants it all for the generations to come and young Pedrek to take over in due course. That’s the sort of man he is. I thought it would be nice for you to have Morwenna near. It will be like old times. Oh, Angelet, I am so happy to have you back. It is desperately sad that Gervaise is not with you … but let’s be thankful for what we have.”

Thankful for what we had! That was what I intended to be.

Morwenna told me that Justin had agreed to go to Cornwall and work for her father.

“It has made me so happy,” she said. “I hated being away from Pa and Mother … and they adore Pedrek. It has all worked out so well for me. If only it could have for you, Angelet.”

“I’ll be all right,” I said. “I have my family around me … and wasn’t it a wonderful welcome home? And there is always Rebecca.”

So I came back to Cador.

Everything had been done to make me happy. There was my old room looking as though I had never left it.

There was a cradle in it. “I thought at first,” said my mother, “that you would like to have Rebecca with you. We’ll get busy when you like, fitting up the nursery. Several of the girls are hoping to be the one selected to look after her. I thought about getting in touch with Nanny Crossley. She was very good with you and Jack.”

“Could we have a little time for a while to think about it?” I asked. “Rebecca is very young yet. I looked after her in Australia … with the help of the local midwife at first … and with all the assistance I get here … I can manage. And later on, we’ll decide.”

“You feel unsettled as yet, I know,” said my mother. “It’s natural. Your father says you need time to settle after all you have gone through in Australia.”

My brother Jack seemed to have grown up while I was away. His welcome was no less warm, if less emotional, than that of my parents. He was now helping a great deal on the Cador estate which would one day be his.

He was very interested in Australia and asked all sorts of questions while my parents listened anxiously, afraid that so much talk would open up old wounds.

Morwenna came to Cador often and I went over to Pencarron. She was very happy. Justin was settling in and her father thought that he was quite an astute business man. Pedrek was an adorable two-year-old … a year older than Rebecca; and they played together happily.

I could not resist going to the pool. It still seemed eerie and the memory of what had happened there was as vivid as ever. I stood on the brink of those dark waters and tried to probe their mystery. All this time he had lain down there at the bottom of the pool which was said to be bottomless.

I rode along the shore to the old boathouse; I went to the town and down to the quay. Nothing seemed to have changed much. The fishing smacks were dancing on the waves; the men were gutting fish and one of the older men was sitting on the stones mending his nets. Mrs. Fenny was at her door. “Good day to ’ee, Miss Angel. So you be back, eh? And brought a little ’un with ’ee. It were a terrible thing what ’appened to that ’usband of yours. Don’t ’ee fret, me dear. ’Tis well you’m back. Going to foreign parts never done no one no good.” There was Miss Grant, crocheting away in the wool shop, coming to call a greeting as I passed. “Nice to see ’ee back, Miss Angelet.” There was old Pennyleg and his barman rolling barrels down to his cellar. “Welcome ’ome, Miss Angelet.” There were furtive looks of commiseration for the widow who had lost her young husband so tragically, and nobly.

I said to my mother, “Nothing changes in the Poldoreys. Here it seems just the same as it ever was.”

“Yes. People die and get born. … You remember old Reuben Stubbs in the cottage near Branok Pool?”

I started as I always did at the mention of that place.

“Old Reuben, of course. He was quite a character, and what of his daughter? Jenny, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what I am going to tell you. Reuben died before you were married.”

I remembered him. An unkempt old man who always seemed to be collecting the wood or beachcombing. I had always felt there was something uncanny about him. He glared at all who came near his cottage as though he feared they would take something from him. Jenny, his daughter, was what they called in these parts “pisky-mazed.”

“I was going to tell you about Jenny,” went on my mother. “She was always a little strange, remember … going round talking to herself … singing, too. If you spoke to her she’d look scared and turn away. Well, she went very strange after her father died. She lived on in the cottage. Your father said we should just leave her alone. She was harmless. She kept her place clean. She always had and after her father died it was quite sparkling. She does a little work at the farms when they want extra help. She’ll give a hand at anything. There was nothing wrong with anything she did. It was just that she was a little strange. Well, what do you think? She had a baby.”

“She married?”

“Oh no. Nobody knows who the father was. There was a man who came to do hedging and helped the farmers. He was one of those itinerant laborers … so useful at haymaking and harvest and planting and so on. He used to talk to her and she didn’t seem to be scared of him. We think it must have been this man. Well, he went off and later she had the baby. Born about the same time as Rebecca. We all wondered what would happen, but we need not have done. It changed her completely. It brought her back to normality. No mother could have cared more for a child than she did hers. The change is miraculous. Did you see her cottage when you went to the pool?”

“I … I don’t go down there very much.”

“You might see her about the town … always with the baby.”

“I’m glad she’s happy,” I said. “What was the verdict of the town? I can guess Mrs. Fenny’s.”

My mother laughed. “Sitting on the Seat of Judgment, of course. Well, that’s her way. And it doesn’t make much difference to Jenny.”

I could understand how Jenny’s life had changed. I had my own child.

The summer passed; it was autumn. Christmas came. The Pencarrons spent it with us.

My parents tried to make it a very special Christmas because I was back and there was now a new member of the family and it would be the first Christmas she was really aware of.

She was nearly two years old now. I could hardly believe it was so long since I had seen Ben. I still thought of him constantly. In fact, more than ever. There had been the excitement of coming home and being reunited with my family; and now that I had settled into this routine, memory was more acute. I had judged him harshly. He was ambitious. I had always known that. He wanted money and power. It was a very common masculine trait. He had to win. My refusal of him must have been the first real defeat he had ever suffered. I could see it all so clearly now. He was determined to fail in nothing else. His search for gold would be successful for he had already found it on another man’s land. And because of Lizzie that land was not out of reach. I could understand it all so well. I knew that I could never be really happy without him. I should always be haunted by the thought of what I had missed. I accepted what he had done for when one loved one loved for weakness as well as strength. I tried to throw myself into the Christmas spirit.

Rebecca was talking now. She called herself Becca and everyone took up the name.

It was touching to see her eyes alight with wonder when the Yule log was brought in and the house decorated with holly, box and bay. Red-faced and flustered, Mrs. Penlock was busy in the kitchen. Rebecca was a special favorite with her and the child seized every opportunity of going down to the kitchen. I did not encourage this because Mrs. Penlock could never resist popping things into Rebecca’s mouth for she had a conviction that what everyone needed was “feeding up.”

My mother and I decorated the Christmas tree with the fairy doll on top which was to be Rebecca’s and the jester in cap and bells beside her which was for Pedrek.

We still made the Christmas Bush, which had been part of the decorations before the coming of the tree. It was two wooden hoops fastened to each other at right angles and the frame was covered in evergreens and apples. It was hung up and any pair of the opposite sex meeting under it were allowed to kiss. We had mistletoe as well as the Kissing Bush in the kitchen, which I believe gave great delight to them all, and the stable men often came in to try to catch the young maids, while Mrs. Penlock looked on, purring and not objecting to a kiss for her own august self, because of the time of the year, she said.

There were the carol singers and the poor who came begging with their Christmas bowls. There was the wassail. We kept up the old Cornish customs because my father—though he himself was not Cornish—took a great interest in the old Celtic ways, and as a matter of fact knew far more about the ancient laws of the Duchy than the Cornish themselves.

He encouraged the Guise Dancers because they had existed before the coming of Christianity, and consequently we had dancers in the neighborhood who visited all the big houses in turns and gave performances during the year. The children clapped their hands with glee to watch them and to see the conflict between St. George and the dragon.

In the morning we went to church and came home to the traditional goose and plum pudding; the tree was stripped of its gifts and there was something for everyone. It was wonderful because of the children and I had rarely seen such contentment as that on the faces of the Pencarron parents and their daughter.

Justin was, as they said, “settling in,” but I guessed it was not easy for him to fit in with the quiet country life. It was expecting too much. Gervaise could never have done it. I hoped fervently that it would always remain as it was now for Morwenna and her parents.

When the children, exhausted by the joys of Christmas, could no longer keep their eyes open they went to bed and Rebecca’s last words before she fell into a deep sleep were: “Mama, may we have Christmas tomorrow?” And I knew that it had been a success.

So the time passed.

During the winter Jenny Stubbs’s baby died. It was a calamity which touched the whole neighborhood. Even Mrs. Fenny was sorry. It always amazed me how people who deprecated others, largely because they were not like themselves, and have little sympathy with their minor predicaments, will suddenly change when real tragedy strikes. Everyone was sorry for Jenny Stubbs. It was so tragic. Her baby had developed a sore throat and in a few days was dead.

Poor Jenny! She was dazed and heartbroken. My mother went to the cottage with a basket of special food for her and to offer comfort.

She took me with her.

Jenny seemed hardly aware of us. Because of Rebecca I could feel deeply, especially deeply for her in her sorrow. I wished I could do something to help her.

She changed after that; the new sensible Jenny retreated; the poor dazed creature emerged. It was very sad. Everyone tried to help. Those for whom she had worked offered her more work. They wanted her to know how they sympathized with her.

“She’ll get over it,” said Mrs. Penlock. “It takes time.”

Mrs. Fenny thought it was the wages of sin. “When all’s said and done she was born out of wedlock and that ain’t going to please the Lord.”

I felt so angry with her that I retorted: “Perhaps He was pleased to see the difference the child made to Jenny.”

She gave me one of her sour looks and I knew she would tell the next person who came along that that Miss Angelet should never have gone to foreign parts because if people live among heathens they start to take after them.

There was nothing we could do to help poor Jenny over her sorrow; but everyone continued to be gentle with her and whenever she appeared would call a greeting to her, as they had never done before.

It was spring, the best time of the year in the Duchy where the land is caressed by the south-west wind bringing the warm rain from the mighty Atlantic Ocean. Flowers were blooming in abundance—bright yellow celandines, golden dandelions, pink crane’s bill and purple ground ivy. The woods were full of color; the songs of the blackbirds and thrushes filled the air; and the wind which blew off the sea was fresh and invigorating.

Time was passing. Was I becoming reconciled? How often were my thoughts in that shanty township? Winter would be coming on now. I thought of Mr. and Mrs. Bowles in their store. How many babies had been born? I thought of the graveyard. Gervaise and David Skelling lying not very far from each other. I tried to shut out the memory of Golden Hall. How had they spent Christmas? How was Ben faring? How was his marriage? Was the mine as profitable as ever? It must be or he would have come back. I could not believe that he was happy. How could he be? He was a man who liked lively conversation. He had always enjoyed discussion. There were one or two educated men in the township to whom he could talk. But Lizzie? Lizzie was gentle and kind and loving … but could she give him what he wanted? Perhaps she could. Perhaps a dominating man like Ben was happiest with a docile wife.

And so my thoughts went on. I tried to forget, but although I was in Cador where everything was done to make me happy, and although I had a beloved daughter with me, still I hankered for a crude Australian township … for the dust, for the dirt, for the flies … and the discomforts of a two-roomed shack.

You must be crazy, I said to myself.

Then I would play with Rebecca; we would walk in the gardens; I would listen to her amusing comments; I would talk with my mother and father. I read a great deal. My father was making me more interested in the distant past, the history of the Duchy and its quaint customs; he had done quite a lot of research on these subjects and we had some lively discussions. I should be happy.

It was April when there was a letter from Grace. It was so long since she had seen us. Might she come and visit us for a few weeks.

My mother replied enthusiastically that we should be delighted to see her.

Aunt Amaryllis was a constant letter writer and she kept us up to date with what was going on in London. Her letters were usually full of Uncle Peter’s clever projects and Matthew’s wonderful performance in the House and what good work Peterkin and Frances were doing at the Mission.

So we had learned that Grace gave quite a lot of parties in her house. True, it was not very large but people seemed to find that amusing. Grace was invited out frequently and Peter made sure she was always at their parties. “Peter says she is a born hostess,” wrote Aunt Amaryllis. “He feels that she ought to get married again. After all it is a long time since Jonnie died. One cannot go on grieving forever. Sometimes I think Grace herself would like to marry. Perhaps one day some nice man will come along.”

I said: “Do you think Aunt Amaryllis is doing a little matchmaking?”

“That could well be,” answered my mother.

Grace arrived. She had always had a look of distinction although she was not what could be called handsome, beautiful or even pretty. But she was certainly soignée and elegant.

Jack drove to the station to meet her and I was with him.

She was effusively affectionate.

“It is just wonderful to see you, Angelet,” she said. “And I can’t wait to see Rebecca.”

“She calls herself Becca,” I told her. “I suppose Rebecca was a little difficult for her to pronounce.”

“Becca. I like that. It is more unusual. I expect your child to be unusual, Angelet. You are rather, yourself, you know.”

“If that is a compliment, thanks.”

“It is wonderful to be here again. I shall never forget all that your family have done for me.”

“It is your family now,” I said. “You married into it and before that you seemed to be a member of it.”

“It’s like coming home.”

My mother greeted her with pleasure.

“Do you remember how you used to make our dresses? I shall be tempted to make use of you while you are here.”

“I should love that,” declared Grace. “It would make me feel so much at home.”

“You must feel that all the time,” said my mother.

Grace was impressed with Rebecca’s beauty, charm and intelligence, which endeared her further to me. Rebecca liked her, too.

It was wonderful to have news from London.

“In our circle,” she told us, “it is politics all the time. There was a great to-do when Palmerston died. We never thought he’d go. There he was past eighty … and no one would have guessed it. He was jaunty till the end. People used to pause outside Cambridge House in Piccadilly to see him come out in his natty clothes and ride his gray horse out to the Row. The people all loved the old sinner. He always had an eye for the women right till the last. It was just the sort of thing to appeal to them. He was Good Old Pam to the end. He remained witty and when he was dying he was supposed to have said, ‘Die? Me? That’s the last thing I shall do!’ The Queen was upset, though he was never a favorite of hers. John Russell had to step in … but not for long. Once Pam had gone the Liberals were out of favor and Lord Derby is back now. That is good for Matthew, of course.”

“Politics,” said my mother, “is an uneasy game. One is in one day and out the next.”

“That is what makes it so exciting,” said Grace.

“We hear quite a bit … even down here … of Benjamin Disraeli.”

“Oh yes, the coming man,” said Grace. “Perhaps not coming though. He’s arrived. We shall be hearing a great deal about him. He has somehow managed to charm the Queen which is amazing. One would hardly have thought she would have approved of those dyed greasy black curls.”

“The Prince Consort would have been most displeased I imagine,” I said.

“How is she getting on after his death?” asked my father.

I saw my mother flash a glance at him. She meant, Don’t talk of dead husbands in front of Angelet.

He saw the point at once and looked abashed:

“It seems that she revels in her mourning,” said Grace and changed the subject.

Rebecca had shown a fondness for one of the parlormaids. She was young and quite clearly had a way with children. Her name was Annie.

My mother had said that she thought Annie might help to look after Rebecca until we came to a decision about a nanny. We had not yet asked Nanny Crossley to return. I remembered her—excellent at her job but a little domineering in the nursery; and I wanted no one to take my daughter from me.

It seemed, therefore, an ideal arrangement that Annie should help, particularly as Rebecca had taken a fancy to her.

I shall never forget that afternoon. During it I experienced some of the most harrowing hours I have ever known.

Grace and I had gone for a ride. Grace wanted to go up to the moors. It was beautiful up there at this time of the year. The gorse was plentiful and the air so pure.

Annie was looking after Rebecca and had said she would take her for a little walk.

When Grace and I returned to the house it was to find it in a tumult. When I heard what had happened, I was cold with fear. Rebecca was lost.

“Lost!” I screamed. “What do you mean?”

Annie was in tears. They had been walking along laughing and talking when Annie suddenly tripped over a stone. She had gone down flat on her head. She showed us her arms which were grazed and had bled a little.

“It knocked me out for a bit,” she said, “and when I come to … she’d gone.”

“Where?” I cried.

My mother put her arm round me. “They’re out looking for her. She can’t have gone far.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“An hour or so …”

“Where? Where?”

“Along the road … not far from Cherry Cottage.”

“They are looking there,” said my mother. “They are looking everywhere.”

Grace said: “We will go and look. Come on, Angelet. She can’t have wandered far.”

“All alone! She’s only a baby.”

“She’s very bright. She’ll probably find her way home.”

“That’s what we thought,” said my mother. “That’s why I’m waiting here.”

“Come along,” said Grace.

“Yes, you go,” added my mother. “She’ll be here soon … Don’t worry.”

We rode off towards Cherry Cottage. On the way I saw my father. He gave me a look of despair. I felt sick with fear.

“We’re going on,” I said.

“We have been up there. No sign …”

“Nevermind,” said Grace. “We’ll look again.”

So we went on and with every moment my fear increased. Hundreds of images crowded into my mind. Where could she have gone? She had never been told not to wander off, simply because she had never been out on her own.

Suppose someone had taken her. Gypsies? There were none in the neighborhood. And then the fear struck me. The pool!

I said to Grace: “Turn here.”

“Where are you going?”

I murmured, “The pool …”

“The pool!” she echoed and I heard the fear in her voice.

She did not speak. My horse broke into a canter. We had turned off the road and there was the pool … glittering, evil. I walked my horse down to the edge and there, as though mocking me, was a little blue silk bag. It was on a gilt frame and had a chain handle. I recognized it. It had been one of the presents on the Christmas tree. Rebecca had received it and she took it everywhere with her.

I cannot describe my terror as I held that little purse in my hands.

I looked at the pool. It was retribution, I thought hysterically. We had hidden the body of the man here … and now it had taken my child.

I think I would have waded in, but Grace restrained me.

“What’s this?” she said.

“It’s Rebecca’s purse.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I know it well. It can only mean …”

I looked at those dark sinister waters.

Grace said: “Let’s get back to the house quickly. We’ll tell them what we’ve found.”

“Becca,” I called senselessly. “Come to me, Becca.”

My voice echoed mockingly it seemed through the willows which hung over the pool … the weeping willows, I thought, weeping for Rebecca.

But Grace was right. There was nothing we could do. We must get help. They could drag the pool, but whatever they did it would be too late.

I was dazed. I heard Grace explaining. There was consternation. My father went off, several of the men with him. I heard them talking. They were going to drag the pool.

Night came. They were out there. I was there, my mother and Grace beside me. I shall never forget the sight of their faces in the torch light—devoid of hope.

I was conscious of a great heaviness of heart. Somewhere in my mind I thought, Will they find her? How can we be sure? But they will find him.

They did not find Rebecca; but there was a result of that operation. On a ledge just below the water they found a man’s gold watch and chain. There were threads of cloth clinging to it. They also found the remains of a man. He had been too long in the water for him to be identified; but officials came and what was left of him was taken away, with the watch which seemed to have aroused some interest.

I was only half aware of this. I was thinking of my child. There was a hope. At least she was not drowned.

My mother’s arms were about me. Grace was at my side looking at me pityingly.

“She’ll come back,” said my mother.

“She could have wandered off and fallen asleep somewhere.”

The thought of her alone and frightened, perhaps unable to find her way home, was terrible, but less so than that she should be lying at the bottom of that treacherous pool.

I could not stay in the house. I had to go out searching; and inevitably it seemed my footsteps led me to the pool. Grace insisted on coming with me.

“She must have come here,” I said. “We found her purse. Becca!” I called and my voice echoed back to me on the silent air.

And then I heard it. It was distinctly the sound of bells and they appeared to be coming from the pool. I must be dreaming. They heralded disaster and I could only think of my child.

I looked at Grace. She had heard them too. She was looking about her, startled. Then suddenly she darted away from me; she had run round the side of the pool towards a clump of bushes. I heard her shout. She was dragging someone with her. It was Jenny Stubbs. In her hand was a child’s toy … two bells on a stick to be shaken in order to make them ring.

Grace called: “Here are the bells.”

Jenny tried to run away but Grace held her firmly.

I went over and said: “So it is you who have been playing tricks with the bells, Jenny.”

She looked at me from under her lids. “My dad never got caught, he didn’t. He played ’em when people came round and he didn’t want them there.”

Grace had taken the toy from Jenny.

She shook the stick. “So much for the Bells of St Branok,” she said.

“Why did you want to drive us away, Jenny?” I asked.

“There’s been a lot of them here …” she said. “All round the pool … And now you’ve come … I thought you’d come to take her away from me.”

My heart leaped in sudden hope.

“Take her, Jenny? Whom did you think we should take?”

“Her. Daisy.”

“Your little girl.”

She nodded. “She came back.”

“Where is she?” I asked breathlessly.

She looked crafty.

I did not wait for more. I started to run towards her cottage. The door was locked. I banged on it. I heard the footsteps of a child and relief flooded over me for I knew whose they were.

“Becca!” I shouted.

“Mama. Mama. I want to come home. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

I said: “Open the door, Jenny. Give me the key.”

She was docile now. She handed it to me. I opened the door and Rebecca was in my arms.

We had a rather disjointed story from Rebecca. When Annie sat down in the road she walked on. She saw Jenny and Jenny took her hand and said she would take her home. She said she was Daisy and not Becca and her home wasn’t where home was. It was somewhere else.

She had not been frightened. Jenny was nice. She gave her milk and said she must lie in the bed with Jenny. She hadn’t minded until she didn’t want to play that game any more.

Everyone joined in the rejoicing but my mother and I were very sorry for Jenny.

“Poor girl,” said my mother. “She wouldn’t have harmed the child. She thought she had found her daughter. She is very sick really. I am going to ask the Grendalls to keep her there for a bit. Mrs. Grendall is a good sort and Jenny has worked quite a bit for her. I’ll go along to see her. That poor creature is in a daze.”

The Grendalls were tenant formers on the Cador estate—good, honest, hard-working people and we were sure they would help.

“She couldn’t be in better hands,” said my mother. “She mustn’t be reproached for what she has done. She meant no harm and she cared well for Rebecca all the time she was with her. She needs to be treated very gently.”

That night I had Rebecca’s little bed brought into my room. She had suffered no harm from her adventure but she wanted to be close to me; and I wanted her there so that I could reassure myself through the night that she was safe and well.

The Bodmin newspapers were full of the discovery at the pool.

The watch and chain which had been found bore initials on it: M.D. and W.B. They were not engraved but appeared to have been scratched on. Readers would be reminded of a case some years ago. A man had been on trial for a particularly dastardly murder; he had sexually assaulted and murdered a young girl. He had been about to stand trial when he had escaped from jail. He had been traced to the Poldoreys area and although there had been an extensive search he had never been found. At length it had been assumed that he had escaped from the country.

He had been in the water so long that it was not easy to identify the body but certain evidence pointed to the fact that it could have been he. The watch bore the initials M.D. His name was Mervyn Duncarry. Those of W.B. might well belong to someone for whom he had a sentimental attachment. It was difficult to imagine how an escaped prisoner could have had such a watch. He certainly would not have been wearing it in prison; but his prison clothes had been discovered on Bodmin Moor so it seemed obvious that he had had help from somewhere. It could have been said that he had stolen the clothes and the watch with them and perhaps scratched on it the initials of himself and this person. The police were reading it as a clue to his identity. It could have been caught in the rocky ledge when he fell into the pool and so remained there near the surface. It was a mystery; but the police were almost convinced that the man discovered in St Branok Pool was Mervyn Duncarry—though they were not closing the files on the murder case yet.

Grace looked rather shaken, I thought. I guessed she was thinking of Rebecca wandering out on her own when there were such people in the world.

A few days later when we were riding together she wanted to go down to the shore. We galloped along the beach to the boathouse. She paused there and said: “Let’s tie up the horses and walk a little.”

We did and as we went along she said: “I can’t help thinking of that man in the pool.”

I did not want to speak of him. I had not been able to get him out of my mind since the discovery in the pool.

I said: “I don’t think we should be back too late. I really don’t entirely trust Annie with Rebecca.”

“She’s bound to be doubly careful now. The others are very watchful. Are you thinking about that man? I remember so well when it happened. There was a young man staying here.”

“Ben … you mean?”

“Yes, Ben. Do you remember you had a ring …?”

“Yes,” I said faintly.

“There were initials on it. M.D. and there were two more besides.”

“I think it was W.B.”

“They were on the watch,” she said. “You found the ring, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“Where, Angelet?”

“It … it was when I had my accident.”

“On the beach here … near the boathouse?”

I did not speak.

“It’s odd,” she said. “The watch was in the pool and the ring … here by the boathouse. Why did he come here and lose his ring and then go and drown himself in the pool? What do you make of it, Angelet?”

“It’s very mysterious.”

“Show me the spot where you found the ring.”

“I can’t remember … quite. Grace, we must go back.”

She laid a hand on my arm. “Angelet.” Her grip was very firm and her eyes looked straight into mine. “You know something … don’t you?”

“What do you mean? Know what?”

“Something about this man. You remember. You had an accident. You were on the beach. You found the ring …”

“It’s so long ago. I don’t remember.”

“Angelet, I think you do remember. It wasn’t like that, was it?”

I felt trapped and again there came that impulse which I had had with Gervaise, to talk and explain.

I heard myself saying: “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“You’ve always felt something about the pool, haven’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“I’ve watched you. Something happens when it’s mentioned. What is it about the pool? Did you know they would find him?”

“Yes,” I cried. “I did know … because …”

She came closer; her eyes were glittering with curiosity; she kept a firm grip on my arm.

“Tell me about it. Tell me, Angelet. It will help you to tell.”

I closed my eyes and saw it all. “We shouldn’t have done it,” I said. “We should have called people. Let them know that he was dead.”

“Dead? Who?”

“That man. That murderer.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes, I saw him. He was going to do to me what he had done to that other girl. Ben came in time … and they fought. He fell and knocked his head on that bit of wall. You could not see it very much before it was excavated. It was just a sharp piece of flint sticking up in the grass. He cut his head on it. It killed him. Ben and I threw him into the pool.”

She was staring at me. I hardly recognized her, her eyes were brilliant in her very pale face.

“And the ring?” she said.

“It was by the pool. I picked it up without thinking. I put it in the drawer. I didn’t remember putting it there. I didn’t think it was his ring. Then you said you liked it and I gave it to you.”

“I see,” said Grace slowly. “And all the time they were hunting for him you knew he was lying at the bottom of the pool.”

I did not speak.

“I can see clearly how it happened,” she said. “Who else knows? Have you told anyone?”

“Only Gervaise.”

“Gervaise,” she said slowly.

“Grace, do you think we were wrong?”

“I think you should not have tried to hide the body.”

“I believe that to be so now. Then it seemed the best thing. We were afraid there would be trouble. We thought they would say we killed him … and it was rather like what happened to my grandfather. You know, he killed a man who was attempting to assault a girl. It was called manslaughter and he was sent to Australia as a convict for seven years.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not so very long. Perhaps we were impulsive. We didn’t know what would be best. He was dead and he would have been hanged anyway. We told ourselves that it was better for him to die the way he did.”

“But it has been on your conscience, hasn’t it? All these years?”

“It’s something you never forget. I’m glad I’ve told you, Grace.”

“Yes, I am, too.”

As we rode home neither of us said very much. We were both thinking of the man who for all those years had lain at the bottom of St Branok Pool.

Grace went back to London. I missed her very much. I was beginning to feel restive. I felt as though I were lying in a great feather bed, overprotected. I think at times my parents forgot I was no longer a child. I was sinking deeper and deeper into a sort of limbo where everyone contrived to stop anything ever happening to me in case it should be harmful. They forgot I had been married; I had traveled to Australia and lived a very unconventional life there. I found it hard to settle down to the quiet life of an English country gentlewoman in a remote corner of England—even though it was the home of my childhood.

My mother knew how I was feeling. I was sure that there were long consultations between her and my father. There were several dinner parties to which young men were invited—or rather they were not very young and most of them I had known since childhood. I knew what they were trying to do. They felt I should marry again and they were trying to find a suitable husband for me.

I did imply that I did not want a husband, and if I did I should prefer to find my own; they knew I saw through their little ruses. Their great desire was for my happiness, but I felt restricted, shut in, with too much loving care. I wished I could have told them about Ben and my feelings for him. But there seemed no one to whom I could talk of that.

One day Mrs. Pencarron came over to tea. She liked to visit us and did so fairly frequently. Then, of course, we were invited to dinner parties at Pencarron Manor and they came to us at Cador.

Morwenna and the Pencarrons were in the conspiracy which was to find a husband for Angelet. I was half amused, half impatient with them.

On this occasion Mrs. Pencarron had news.

Sitting in the drawing room, slowly stirring her tea, she said, “We’ve been talking … Josiah and I … It’s about Justin.”

“Oh?” said my mother.

I was alert. I thought: What has he been doing? I had visions of a card table in the Pencarron drawing room. They never played cards by the way. But I imagined Justin, red-faced and guilty with the ace of hearts up his sleeve.

“He’s a very good young man … very clever,” said Mrs. Pencarron. “We’re so grateful to him. He’s made our Morwenna so happy.”

“She is certainly that,” agreed my mother.

“He truly loves her and he adores young Pedrek.”

“Well, Pedrek is a charming little fellow. Our Rebecca dotes on him and she has very good taste.”

Mrs. Pencarron smiled. “I was all against it at the first. So was Josiah really. But he said we mustn’t be selfish and he’s right really. For a long time … before Morwenna’s marriage … he said we ought to have an office in London. From the point of view of business it would be a good thing … marketing and export and things like that … which Jos says is too much to be done down here. So he’s thinking of opening up this office and putting Justin in charge of it. He’s told Justin … in a vague sort of way. You see, they could go to London … after all, though it is a long way from here … there’s the railways and everything. And Justin says how they could come down here often and perhaps we could have little Pedrek here from time to time, for they’d be very busy in London and the country air would be good for him. It’s going to be a bit of a wrench. But it’ll be good for business … and now there’s someone in the family who could take on this office.”

“I see,” said my mother. “We shall miss Morwenna, shan’t we, Angelet?”

She was looking at me intently; and after Mrs. Pencarron left she said: “I believe you are envying Morwenna … going to London.”

“Justin will be pleased,” I said.

My mother made no other comment on that occasion, but I knew she and my father had many discussions, and I began to guess what was in their minds.

At length it came. “Angelet, I think you would like to go to London. You must find it a little dull here.”

“Of course not. It’s just that …”

“I know.” She was thinking of Gervaise. “It was a tragic thing that happened to you, darling. And you so newly married. It has been a great worry to us. But you know your father and I want the best for you and we have both come to the conclusion that if you felt you would like a little stay in London we wouldn’t want you to think about leaving us. You have the house there. There are Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis and Helen and Matthew. … Well, the family.”

I felt my spirits lift a little. It would be a change and there was always an element of excitement in that.

My mother, who was quick to notice my moods, realized this.

“That’s settled then,” she said. “You could go up with Morwenna and Justin. I’ll write to Amaryllis. I expect you could stay with them until you get settled into your own house. Would you like to take Annie with you for Rebecca? We shall miss you very much but we’ll come and visit you and you’ll come back here.”

I put my arms round her and hugged her. “You are so good to me,” I said.

She laughed and replied: “What else did you expect? There is nothing your father and I … and Jack … want so much as to see you happy again.”

Morwenna came over. She was so pleased because I was going with them.

“I wasn’t looking forward to it, Angelet,” she told me. “I love it here. And I think the country air is so good for Pedrek.”

“There are wonderful parks in London,” I reminded her.

“Yes … but it’s not the same. On the other hand, Justin is so pleased. He’s not really a country man. It’s an excellent idea … this office in London, you know.”

Dear Morwenna. She was disturbed; she wanted to go on with the easy country life just as much as I wanted to escape from it. However, there was no doubt that she felt relieved because I should be with them.

A few days before we left there was a letter from Amaryllis:

I am so looking forward to seeing Angelet and dear little Rebecca … Morwenna and Justin, too, of course. It will be lovely to have them close. We are having her house made ready for Angelet but of course she must stay here as long as she likes … as she must know.

What do you think? Ben has come home. He is very rich now. Peter is so amused … and I think proud of him. He said he wouldn’t come home until he struck gold and my goodness, he has kept his word. Peter says you can trust Ben to do everything in a big way. He’s sold the mine now. I think he has probably had the best from it and he intends to stay at home! “No more roaming,” he says. “I’ve had enough.” He has bought a beautiful house, not far from this one—but his is more grand. There will be a lot of entertaining done, for what do you think? He is going in for politics. Peter thinks that is highly amusing. I wish they were on the same side. You know Peter supports the Conservatives and Matthew is a highly respected member of government in that party when it is in power. Ben is ranging himself with the Liberals. We have some lively conversation here as you can imagine. I must say it has all been very exciting since he came back. Ben is that sort of person. One can’t be dull in his company.

I am rather sorry for his poor little wife. Dear Lizzie, she is such a pleasant creature … so good really, but not in the least suited to all this. She is a little simple. I don’t think she can be very happy although she adores Ben and is very proud of him. But how she’ll stand up to what he’s planning, I don’t know. Helena will tell you what it is like being a parliamentary wife. But Helena has managed to throw herself into it … and Peter of course has done a great deal to further Matthew’s career. He would of course for Ben but it will be difficult their being on opposite sides of the fence as it were.

One thing I’m glad of is that Grace has taken to Lizzie and Lizzie to her. It’s a very good thing. Grace has made herself into a sort of chaperone … helps her choose her clothes and things, bolsters her up. In fact, I think she is making herself invaluable to both Lizzie and Ben. I think Ben is grateful to her. It’s good for Grace, too. I think she is a little lonely sometimes. It has always been my opinion that she would like to marry again. After all, it is so long since Jonnie died. She has mourned long enough. But no one has turned up yet. So this looking after Lizzie has been a blessing to Grace as well as to Lizzie herself.

I am so looking forward to seeing Angelet and Rebecca.

My love to you all.

While my mother was reading the letter I was thinking of Ben … back in London, his mission accomplished.

I was a little apprehensive at the prospect of seeing him again but that feeling was quickly suppressed by an immense excitement.

Arriving in London we went first to the house in the square where we were greeted warmly by Aunt Amaryllis. Rebecca and Pedrek were duly admired and put to bed in the old nursery. There were two little beds, side by side for Amaryllis thought that as they were in a strange house they should be together in case they woke up in the night and were frightened.

We had brought Annie with us and Morwenna had May, Pedrek’s nursemaid. They would probably go back to Cornwall in due course when the nannies were engaged.

Justin and Morwenna were staying for the night. I was to remain until I was ready to go into my house.

It was wonderful to see them all and I was feeling better already. Helena and Matthew arrived with Geoffrey; Peterkin and Frances came too, and just as we were going in to dinner Ben came with Lizzie.

As soon as I saw him, looking taller and extremely healthy, his eyes against his bronzed skin even more blue than I remembered, I told myself that, knowing he was here, I should not have come. In Cornwall I had tried to put him out of my mind; but I should be quite unable to here.

“Angel,” he said. “How marvelous to see you!”

“Thank you, Ben. And Lizzie, too! It is good to see you, Lizzie.”

She smiled at me shyly and I kissed her.

“I did not expect you to be home so soon,” I said.

“I intended to come at the first possible moment,” he answered.

“Aunt Amaryllis did tell us that you would be here.”

“So you decided to come and take a look at me?”

“Well, actually I had already decided to come. It was only a few days ago that I heard you were here.”

“Well, here we are together at last.”

We went in to dinner. Uncle Peter, a little more silvery at the temples, but as distinguished as ever and looking extremely young for his years, was at the head of the table, beaming at us all; Aunt Amaryllis with her gentle unlined face at the other.

“So you are going to set up an office here,” said Uncle Peter to Justin.

“Yes,” replied Justin. “I shall get busy tomorrow.”

“I can introduce you to a few people who might be useful.”

Dear Uncle Peter, someone had once said he had a finger in every pie, and that was true. I thought of what he had done for Gervaise and me and even if he was a wicked old sinner, I was fond of him. I was sure he would be of considerable help to Justin and if ever he discovered Justin’s weakness he would not be censorious. One of the most lovable things about sinners like Uncle Peter was that they were lenient with other people’s foibles.

Peterkin and Frances talked a little about their Mission, and Geoffrey about the law which was going to be his profession; but the conversation was dominated by Uncle Peter and Ben, and politics was the chief topic.

I was very interested to hear them. Matthew had slavishly agreed with his father-in-law; Ben had no intention of agreeing with his grandfather. They were on opposing sides. Uncle Peter extolled the virtues of Disraeli who had just become Prime Minister on the retirement from office of Lord Derby. But William Gladstone was the man to whom Ben was hitching his wagon.

“Disraeli may have the ear of the Queen,” Ben was saying. “But Gladstone is the strong man. He will be Prime Minister, mark my words, and before long. And then he will be with us for a long time. Who is this man, Disraeli?”

“The cleverest politician on the scene at this moment,” retorted Uncle Peter. “The Queen realizes this and gives him her support.”

“But the government of this country does not rest with the Queen. It is an elected government and it is the people who decide. They’ll stand solid behind a strong man like Gladstone—not a fly-by-night like Disraeli.”

“This new Reform Bill will put nearly a million voters on the roll. Gladstone’s bill would have had only half that number.”

“Then,” said Ben, “we must see that the new voters vote for us.”

“No,” cried Uncle Peter. “We shall see that they vote for us.”

And so they went on, fiercely arguing, but with the utmost respect for each other throughout.

I found it stimulating … even on that first day and when I lay in bed that night I was still thinking of Ben in his splendid house with Lizzie who had hardly spoken a word throughout the entire evening; and I did wonder what the future would hold.

Within a week I was settled in my house. Amaryllis and Helena helped me choose a few servants and there was a nanny to help with Rebecca. My daughter was enchanted by London. She loved the parks. Rebecca had great charm. She believed that everyone loved her and consequently she loved everybody; she enjoyed life and could not help sharing that enjoyment. Each day I thanked God for her. She was remarkably like Gervaise; she had his nature, too, which had been a delightful one flawed only by that obsession which I was determined to see never took possession of Rebecca.

Morwenna, too, had settled in. Justin was happy and that was good enough for her; and the children were always eager to see each other.

One day, very soon after I had settled in, Ben came to see me. It was mid-morning, Annie had taken Rebecca to Morwenna’s house. She was going to spend the morning with Pedrek; and as I had planned to do some shopping, I was almost ready to go when Maggie, my new maid, came to tell me a gentleman had called to see me.

“Did he give his name?” I asked.

“Yes, Madam. Mr. Lansdon.”

I expected to see Uncle Peter.

“Ben!” I gasped.

“Well, don’t look so surprised. You knew I’d come to see you. It is wonderful that you are here.”

“Why?”

“What a question! Because what I want more than anything is to see you, is the answer.”

“Would you like some refreshment? Tea? Coffee? Wine?”

“No, thanks. To see you is refreshment enough for me.”

I laughed with an attempt at lightness.

“So the gold ran out and you came back.”

“I never intended to stay. No, it has not run out. There is a certain amount left.”

“But all the certainty has gone. Now it is more or less like any of the others, I suppose.”

“Better than that. I’ve left some for the others.”

“And sold at a good price?”

“A price the buyer thought it worth paying. But I didn’t come here to talk business.”

“What did you come to talk?”

“I just wanted to be with you.”

As he approached me I stepped back. “Nothing has changed,” I said.

“No, I suppose not,” he answered ruefully. “I have missed you so much. I think of you constantly. You remembered me perhaps?”

“There has been a lot to think of.”

“And now we are both in London.”

“I did not know you were here until I had made my plans to come.”

“Would it have made any difference if you had known before?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s stop talking around all this, shall we? I love you, Angel. I have from the first. When you were a little girl … Oh why were you only nine years old when we first met? If only it could have been different.”

“What are you complaining of? You got your mine. If you had married me, you wouldn’t have had that.”

“I know. You should have come to me before. … We would have come home. Gervaise would have divorced you …”

“You are very glib about other people’s divorces.”

“I know now,” he said, “that being with you, loving you … would have been more important to me than anything.”

“More so than the gold mine?”

“Yes. I’d have found some other way to fortune … just as my grandfather did. I am very like him. We think alike.”

“In politics?”

“Yes, in politics. It doesn’t matter if we are on different sides, I don’t mean opinions. I mean aims … the way we set about everything. There is no doubt that I am his grandson. And about us, Angel. Things haven’t worked out as we wanted them to. We were both in the wrong place when we should have been together. That’s how life goes. But if you don’t get exactly what you want you have to take something.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That we love each other. We are here. It can’t be quite as we wished … but why shouldn’t we have something?”

“You mean some clandestine love affair?”

“I mean … something. We can’t just give everything up … because one of us isn’t free. First it was you … and now I am the one.”

“And Lizzie?”

“Ah, Lizzie. She is a good girl and very innocent. I could never leave Lizzie. I feel I have a duty to her. I have promised her father that I will always care for her. She needs care.”

“Your promise was a part of the price you paid for your gold mine.”

“Do you remember long ago … when we were on the moor together and you told me the story of the men in the tin mine who found gold? Those little people showed it them and the men made a bargain always to leave part of their findings to them? And they did?”

“Yes, I remember. It’s a well-known legend.”

“And when the sons failed … the gold failed, too.”

“Are you afraid that if you deserted Lizzie, the gold would fail? But you have finished with the gold. You have your fortune.”

“I mean that if I hurt her in any way I should lose something of myself … my self-respect, shall we say?”

“Oh, Ben, you have suddenly become very noble.”

“I have never been that, as you know. But try to understand my feelings for Lizzie.”

“You regard her as some sort of talisman … like the knackers in the mine who could make some evil befall you if you deserted her … But not so deeply that you would be prepared to have a degrading love affair with someone else … degrading to you … to me … and to Lizzie.”

“You are being over-dramatic.”

“No, Ben, I am not.”

“You love me, do you not?”

I hesitated.

“I know that you don’t want to answer because the answer is yes. You have never forgotten me.”

I said: “We did share a shattering experience. You know what happened a little while ago?”

“Yes, I heard of it. They found a watch or something with his initials on it. That must have been a shock for you.”

“I felt nothing more than relief at first. I had feared they would find Rebecca. She was lost and it was for that reason that they dragged the pool.”

“My poor Angel! What a terrible thing for you.”

“And all the time she was well. She had been taken by a woman who had lost her child and thought Rebecca was hers.”

He put his arms about me and for a few moments I allowed myself the luxury of laying my head against him.

Quickly I drew away.

I said: “I think, Ben, it would be better if we did not see each other … alone. We shall meet at the family gatherings, of course. That must be enough.”

“It will not be enough for me,” he said.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“We are having a dinner party next Wednesday. You have not seen my house yet. Do come.”

“Who will be there?”

“My grandfather and Amaryllis, of course, Helena and Matthew and friends. I am hoping to be adopted as candidate for Manorleigh which is in Essex. There are people I should get to know.”

I smiled knowledgeably.

He added: “Peterkin and Frances I hope will be there. They are, I fear, not very interested in these occasions.”

“But they are good for you,” I said. “Connections devoted to good works and all that.”

He smiled.

“Yes,” I said. “You are very like Uncle Peter.”

“Grace Hume has been very helpful. She has been very good on several occasions. Lizzie clings to her. Poor Lizzie, she loses her head and is sure everything is going wrong … and she is no good as a hostess … but with Grace there beside her she doesn’t do too badly.”

“Grace has always been a help in the family ever since she came … years ago. … Do you remember?”

“That never-to-be-forgotten time.”

“She was there when …”

“Yes, I remember. Well, she helps Lizzie with clothes and things and it is really amazing how she does it. She is often at our place—as a matter of fact when there is something special on she comes and stays.”

“I am glad she is of use. In time Lizzie will get accustomed to it and she’ll make a good Prime Minister’s wife. I suppose that is the office for which you are aiming.”

“It is always a good plan in life to aim high. You may not get right there but you get somewhere.”

“I am sure you are right.”

“So we shall see you on Wednesday?”

“I shall be there.”

“I thought I had better ask Justin and Morwenna. They can escort you.”

“You think of everything.”

He came to me suddenly and took both my hands.

“I am not going to let you go, you know. I’ll find some way.”

“There is no way,” I replied. “There can be no way.”

“There is always something,” he said firmly.

Grace visited me.

There was a subtle change in her; her step was more springy and there was a certain radiance about her.

I thought: Can it be that she is in love?

I remembered what Aunt Amaryllis had written of her. She believed she wanted a husband. It was just a matter of the right one’s coming along. One could not expect her to go on grieving for Jonnie forever.

I waited for confidences, but none came.

Instead she wanted to talk about Lizzie.

“She is such a dear creature,” she said. “I was drawn to her the moment I saw her.”

“Ben told me how good you have been to her.”

“Oh, have you seen Ben?”

I did not want to tell her that he had come to see me. I said: “He was at dinner the night I arrived.”

“Of course. He is so kind and patient. It is a little trying for him at times.”

“Do you mean … Lizzie?”

She nodded.

“He married her,” I reminded Grace.

“Yes, I know. I believe he was very sorry for her.”

I smiled. “She brought him a good deal.”

“I know her father owned the land on which Ben found gold. He has often told us that. Lizzie is delighted about it. She has told me how much. She hasn’t an idea what is expected of her. But she is getting on … a little. I’m doing all I can for her.”

“And that is a great deal I gather.”

“Did Ben say so?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, well pleased. “She tries so hard. It’s rather pathetic. She wants to be a credit to him.”

“Of course. He is going far.”

“In politics you mean.”

“He is one of those men who will always succeed. He had luck in marrying Lizzie.”

“You’re referring to the land that came with her … and the gold.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Don’t you like Ben, Angelet?”

I felt my face twist into a wry smile. “Oh,” I said, trying to speak lightly, “he is clever and amusing and all that.”

“You speak as though you don’t approve.”

“It’s not for me to approve or disapprove. He is happy presumably. I believe he has a splendid house and brilliant prospects. What more can he want? Lizzie, of course, is another matter.”

She wrinkled her brows and looked intently at me. “You are rather vehement.”

“Am I? I didn’t realize it. Tell me, how are things with you? What do you do all the time?”

“I have so little time to spare. I have entertained a little. Of course, my house is rather small. I have some amusing dinner parties. The Lansdons senior have always been good to me and so have Helena and Matthew. They invite me to their houses and there I meet interesting people and ask a few of them to my place. But since Ben and Lizzie came I seem to have much more to do.”

“Ben said you have acted as a sort of duenna to Lizzie.”

“Did he?” She smiled rather complacently. “Well, I couldn’t let the poor innocent little thing loose in the jungle, could I?”

“You call the social circle a jungle?”

“It is in a way. She is such an innocent lamb, and as to clothes, she has no idea how to dress.”

“I thought she looked very charming the other night.”

“My guidance, my dear. I steer her through. I tell her to talk to people … what to say … what they are interested in. She is doing quite well. By the way, there was no more news about that man and the watch, was there?”

“No,” I told her, “nothing at all.”

“I don’t suppose we shall hear any more of it. That’s as well, don’t you agree?”

I did agree.

And I thought to myself: Something has happened. I wonder what.

I was amazed at the grandeur of Ben’s house. Uncle Peter’s had always seemed splendid, but this was more so.

There were chandeliers in the hall and at the top of the wide staircase where Ben and Lizzie stood receiving their guests. Grace was standing a little to the side—like a lady-in-waiting.

There were about thirty guests, many of them well known in political circles. Uncle Peter came up to me. He took my hand and kissed it.

“What do you think of this establishment?” he asked.

“Quite glorious,” I replied.

“To tell the truth I’m a little envious. It took Ben to outdo me.”

“People say he is a chip off the old block.”

“I often regret it took us so long to get together. Irregularities in family life cause so many regrets. I suppose that was why the conventions were thought of in the first place. If you obey them, you sail peacefully through life.”

“Wouldn’t that be a little dull for someone of your temperament?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I should not advise anyone embarking on life to fly in the face of them.”

“To be different from you … and Ben … who have been so successful?”

“We are of a kind. We shouldn’t founder. Some would. I once heard a story about Walter Raleigh and the Queen. He scratched on the glass of a window with a diamond, ‘Fain would I climb, but fear I to fall.’ The Queen took the diamond from him and scratched underneath, ‘If your heart fails you, climb not at all.’ They were very careless with their property. Fancy disfiguring a beautiful window in that way! But perhaps for such sound good sense it was worth it.”

“You were never afraid to climb.”

“Oh no, I suppose not, and I have done some dangerous mountaineering in my time. Ben is like me. Far more than Peterkin is … or Helena for that matter.”

“Yes,” I mused. “You must have been a very attractive man when you were young, Uncle Peter.”

He laughed. “That suggests that you think Ben is very attractive and I am no longer so.”

“I didn’t mean that. You’ll always be attractive … both of you.”

“That reminds me of another quotation. This is our honored friend, Disraeli. ‘Everyone likes flattery but when you come to royalty you must lay it on with a trowel.’ Is that what you are doing now, my dear, laying it on with a trowel?”

“Indeed not … but I do always think of you as King of the family so you are royalty in a way. But what I said is true and has nothing to do with your status.”

“You are a dear girl. You remind me of your grandmother. I was very sad when she died. It seemed such a terrible end for someone so bright and attractive … and so young. Oh dear, you are making me morbid. And here is my noble daughter-in-law Frances coming towards us. I shall leave you with her for she is such a righteous lady who always reminds me of the sinner I am.”

“Dear Uncle Peter, it is so good to be with you.”

“Ah, Frances,” he said. “Where is Peterkin? Oh, I see … over there. I daresay you are longing to have a talk with Angelet. I shall leave you together. I must have a word with some of the guests.”

Peterkin joined us. He and Frances told me how pleased they were to see me, and they asked if I intended to stay long in London.

“It depends,” I said. “I haven’t made up my mind. I have the house here and I can be completely independent which is very pleasant. Not that I haven’t been given wonderful hospitality by Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis.”

“I understand that you like your independence,” said Frances. “You might like to come to see us at the Mission.”

“I intended to invite myself if you didn’t ask me,” I said.

“My dear, there is no need to wait for invitations, is there, Peterkin?”

“Of course there is not. We’d love to see you there. We might even make use of you.”

“There is always a great deal to do,” explained Frances, “especially now we have enlarged the place considerably. We have the house next door now which has made us almost double the size. We have big kitchens. We make gallons of soup each day, don’t we, Peterkin? Good nourishing stuff. We’re always looking for someone to give a hand.”

“Most of our workers,” Peterkin explained, “work because they believe in what we are doing. So we have to have most people of independent means. We can’t afford to pay many people. We need all the money we can get for the work.”

“I know you have done wonders.”

“A lot has been due to my generous father-in-law,” said Frances. “He is very helpful, particularly when there is some political crisis and he wants to call attention to the family’s good works. Matthew benefits from it. And all he asks is that it is known where the help comes from. A small price to pay for the goods, as I always say.”

Frances was a little cynical about Uncle Peter. I knew there was always a motive behind almost everything he did—but he did give the money to the Mission which had made a great deal of difference to it.

“Well, do come along, soon,” said Frances.

And I promised I would.

Dinner was a sparkling occasion. Ben, from the top of the table, led the conversation which was amusing, witty and topical, and there were many references to what was going on in the political field. Many of them seemed to be on intimate terms with “Dizzy” and Mr. Gladstone and Her Majesty herself. There were references to the Queen’s gillie, John Brown, who, some thought, was more than her gillie; they talked of the rather scandalous cartoons appearing in the press, and speculated as to whether the sly gossip would bring the Queen out of her retirement.

I noticed that Grace joined in the conversation and seemed to be as knowledgeable as any of them. Lizzie said hardly a word. She sat at the end of the table, opposite Ben, an unwilling hostess. She looked at times as though she were going to burst into tears and I noticed how often her eyes strayed to Grace, who was seated a pace or two away from her. But Grace was engaged in animated conversation and did not look poor Lizzie’s way.

I wished I was nearer to her so that I could talk to her.

I was very much aware of Ben. There he sat at the head of the table so assured, certain that very soon he would be in Parliament. All he needed was an election. I felt he was certain to win.

Once or twice he caught my eyes and smiled at me. I think he guessed what was in my thoughts. I had a stupid impression that he was doing all this for my benefit … reminding me that he was the kind of person who always won.

After dinner the ladies went to the drawing room, leaving the men at the table with the port.

I saw Lizzie then and I said: “It was a most successful party, Lizzie.”

“Yes,” she said.

Then Grace came up.

“You were very good, Lizzie,” she said.

“Was I?” asked Lizzie.

“Oh yes. It’s getting easier, isn’t it? Isn’t it lovely to have Angelet here?”

“You’ve been living in the country, haven’t you?” said Lizzie.

“Yes … with my parents.”

“That must have been nice.”

“Very nice.”

“I hope I shall see the dear little baby.”

“Oh, you mustn’t call Rebecca a baby. She wouldn’t like that. She’s a little girl now and wants everyone to know it.”

Lizzie laughed delightedly and the furrow disappeared from her brow.

I said: “Pedrek is the same. He’s quite a little man. They play together. They love the parks. I’ll bring them to see you sometime. May I?”

“Oh please do.”

Before the men returned Lizzie took me up to her bedroom. There was a special room set aside for the ladies, but she took me to hers. I fancied she wanted to speak to me alone.

I could see that this was not in any sense Ben’s room. So they occupied separate rooms, I thought.

She said: “It’s nearly over now, isn’t it?”

“Nearly over?”

“This evening.”

“Oh yes. We shall soon be gone and you will have your lovely house all to yourselves.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

She looked at me and suddenly flung her arms about me, starting to cry.

“Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie,” I said, “what is it? Don’t cry, there’s a dear. It will make your eyes red … and you wouldn’t want people to see.”

“Oh no … no …” She began to tremble.

I helped her dry her eyes. “What’s wrong, Lizzie?” I asked gently.

“I … I want to go home … I’m no good at this. I shouldn’t have come.”

“You mean meeting all these people?”

“I don’t know what to say to them. Grace tells me … and I say something … but I don’t know what to do next. I’ll never know. I’m just not clever like they are. I know Ben wishes he hadn’t married me.”

“Has he said so?” I demanded sharply.

She shook her head. “But I know.”

“Isn’t he … kind to you?”

“Oh, he’s very kind … he’s always kind … He’s patient … You see he has to be patient. He ought to have married Grace.”

I wanted to say: But she could not bring him a gold mine. But what I did say was: “He married you, Lizzie, because he wanted to.”

“I think my father persuaded him.”

Poor Lizzie. I was overcome with pity for her. I felt I hated Ben then. He had found the gold in the creek that day … kept it secret, tried to buy the land, and when he couldn’t he had married Lizzie and thrust her into a life for which she was most unsuited.

“All this, Lizzie, this entertaining and meeting people … It’s not important really.”

“Oh it is. … It is to Ben. It’s because he’s going into Parliament. Then it will be worse. I’ll never be able to do that. I try …”

“You do very well …”

“I’m not clever … I’m not clever enough for Ben.”

“Men don’t like clever women, you know.”

She stared at me.

“No,” I elaborated. “They like to think they are the clever ones. I know some clever women who pretend to be less clever … so that the men like them.”

She shook her head. “You’re trying to comfort me,” she said. “Oh, Angelet, it’s so hard. I worry.”

“You mustn’t, Lizzie.”

“Grace has been so good. But she is not there all the time. She helps me. She tells me what to wear and what to say … but I still don’t do it right. I can’t sleep at night. I lie awake thinking about it and wishing I was back and Dad was alive and nothing had changed.”

“Oh, Lizzie, you mustn’t feel that. You are married to Ben and you can see how highly thought-of he is.”

“That’s what troubles me. I ought not to have married Ben.”

“But, Lizzie, you are married to him. Think that without you he would not have all this. You brought him the mine, didn’t you? He owes a great deal to you. I am sure he knows that. You see, you are not looking at this clearly. Do you love him?”

She nodded.

“Well then, everything will be all right.”

“I have Grace … and now you. I can’t sleep though. I feel better when I do. Grace got something for me to make me sleep.”

“Oh, what was it?”

“I’ve forgotten the name. It’s on the bottle. I’ll show you.”

She opened a drawer and took out a bottle.

“Laudanum,” I said aghast.

“It’s good, Angelet. It makes me sleep. You mustn’t take more than it says or you would get too sleepy.”

“Perhaps you should see a doctor. Ask his advice about taking this stuff.”

She shrank. “I couldn’t do that. I’m not ill. I just get worried and then I can’t sleep. I feel better when I take this. I sleep and sleep. Then I wake up and feel better. Things always seem different in the mornings.”

“I don’t know whether you should be taking that, Lizzie. Does Ben know?”

She shook her head. “You won’t tell him, will you? I wouldn’t want him to know I was worried.”

“No, I won’t tell him. But will you see a doctor? I know you have to be careful with laudanum and things like that …”

“Grace says people have it for all sorts of things. It stops toothache. Though I haven’t that … but it makes you sleep. It really does.”

“Do see a doctor, Lizzie, and make sure it is all right. He might give you something else to take for sleeplessness.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Look, Lizzie, you and I are going to see each other … often. We have so much to talk about, and I shall bring Rebecca to see you. Morwenna will bring Pedrek.”

“Promise,” she said.

“I promise, and you will see a doctor. Now I think we ought to go down.”

When we returned to the drawing room the men were already there.

We talked for a while in little groups. I saw Justin in earnest conversation with Grace. Ben came over to me. He sat close to me and asked if I had enjoyed the evening.

“Very interesting,” I replied.

“And you approve of my house?”

“I think it is very suitable for your purposes.”

“I take it that means approval. It is wonderful for me to see you here. You won’t try to avoid me, will you?”

“I don’t know. It depends on what happens.”

“If I can see you sometimes life will be a great deal more tolerable to me.”

“I thought it was highly tolerable. Here you are the epitome of success.”

“It’s rather an empty sort of success.”

“Did you think of that when you were weighing up the carats? And now here you are poised to take parliamentary England by storm.”

“How dramatic you are! You always were.” He moved a little nearer to me. He was looking at me quizzically, I thought.

I said: “Don’t be too effusive. People will notice.”

“I don’t see how I am going to hide my feelings for you.”

“Then in the circumstances it would be better if we did not meet.”

“Perhaps not in public. But somewhere … alone.”

“I have no intention of indulging in a clandestine adventure.”

“We will meet somewhere. Let’s go up the river … somewhere where we can talk.”

I ignored that. I said: “I have been talking to Lizzie. She is not very happy,” I added.

He was silent.

I said: “Is it fair to take her gold mine and with the proceeds thrust her into a life she hates?”

“We share the mine,” he said.

“I thought a married woman’s property became her husband’s. What a pernicious law!”

“I would not dream of taking from Lizzie what is hers,” he said. “I try very hard to give her what she wants.”

“I think what she wants is a quiet life in the country … something rather like that which she enjoyed before her marriage.”

“She will grow to like this. She was so pleased when she heard you were coming.”

Grace had come over and taken the seat on the other side of Ben.

“It has been a most successful evening,” she said. “I do congratulate you, Ben.”

“It’s not over yet,” he reminded her.

“I thought it went very well indeed. I noticed Lord Lazenby was most amused by the cartoons of H.M.”

“He would be. He is very anti-monarchy. I can’t think why, with his background, he should be, except that he has always been perverse.”

“It was great fun. Oh, look at poor Lizzie. She’s all alone. Do come with me, Angelet. I must look after her.”

“Yes,” I said and we rose. Ben gave me a regretful look which I ignored; and we went and talked to Lizzie.

She was grateful and we stayed with her for the rest of the evening.

When I returned home I felt elated but melancholy. I was completely fascinated by Ben. I should have so much enjoyed helping him in his political battles. They said Mary Anne Disraeli was a wonderful wife to her husband. She herself had stated that he had married her for her money but if he had to do it again he would marry her for love. Perhaps it would be like that with Lizzie. Mrs. Disraeli always waited up for her husband to come home from the House and however late, she would have a cold supper waiting for him. “My dear,” he was reputed to have said, “you are more like a mistress than a wife.” Charming in its cynicism. But Lizzie was no Mary Anne Disraeli.

I felt very sad about the situation I had witnessed that night; and it was not only because I had had it brought home to me all that I had missed.

Poor Lizzie, she would never change. When I looked into her clear blue eyes I could see her struggling with herself. Grace had been good to her but Grace could not be beside her all the time … as had been seen tonight.

I wondered what would happen. There was no doubt that Ben would succeed and when he was high up the greasy pole—another Disraeli allusion—how could she help him stay up there? How would an eminent politician feel when his wife would be more at home on the Australian goldfields than in her husband’s luxurious home?