The Pool of St. Branok

Enlightenment

I WAS TORMENTED BY fears and doubts. What I had discovered through Justin unnerved me. I could not get Lizzie out of my mind; and I felt I should never know peace again.

Someone had killed her. My greatest fear was that it might have been Ben. I told myself again and again that if he had intended to kill her he would not have done so at such a time. If he were really so cynical as to marry her for a gold mine and then discard her when she was in the way, he would not have chosen to do it at such a time when he would know it would put an end to his ambitions for a parliamentary career. That was a thought I clung to. Then another idea came to me. Ben was clever. Perhaps he had deliberately chosen such a time because he knew that thought would occur to others.

I could not believe it. He was ambitious, ruthless perhaps … but he had always been kind and courteous to Lizzie. He could never have planned cold-bloodedly to murder her.

Then there was Grace. I could not think of her as Wilhelmina. What did I know of Grace? I thought of her as she had been when she had arrived at Cador … “looking for work,” she said … arousing compassion in my mother and me, and all the time she was involved with a murderer, in love with a murderer. What was she doing in the neighborhood of Cador … and why did he come there? There was so much mystery surrounding her and although I had heard a great deal from Justin, there was much that was not clear to me.

And if neither Ben nor Grace was guilty … then was it Lizzie herself? Did Lizzie find her life so intolerable that she took it?

Whichever way I looked there was no peace.

Timothy came to see me. He took my hands and kissed me gently on the forehead.

“My dear Angelet,” he said. “I have thought of you constantly. This is a terrible tragedy.”

“Thank you, Tim,” I said.

“There is nothing I can say except that you have my heartfelt sympathy. We miss you very much.”

“You mean at the Mission?”

“There and elsewhere. Fanny talks of you constantly, and she is always asking when you are coming down.”

“How is she getting on?”

“Splendidly. She is learning to read and write. She could not bear that Fiona should be able to do it and she but a child. So Fiona started to teach her. They are very good friends already, those two. Now Fanny is there with the governess in the mornings. She is making rapid progress. She is a very bright girl.”

“Does she know that her stepfather is dead?”

“No. We didn’t tell her. It isn’t necessary … just yet. If she asks we shall tell her. I don’t think she will shed any tears for him.”

“Does she still talk of her mother?”

“No. But she is sad at times and I am sure she is thinking of her. We must expect that. She can’t get over it all at once. But things are working out well. She is really very fond of the children. I think she is fond of us all. But you know Fanny. She is not one to betray her emotions. They are there all the same.”

“You have done a wonderful job with her, Tim.”

“You helped. When I think of the Mission and what so many people owe to it I feel I want to dedicate my life to it.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“By the way, your friend Grace Hume has been down.”

“Down to the Mission?”

“Yes. She told Frances she would like to come. She seems very interested. Frances immediately pressed her into service. She found that she was good with accounts and that sort of thing. And that’s the one field where things are in a bit of a mess down there. Grace said she quite enjoyed doing it. I stayed one evening for one of those impromptu sort of meals and we talked. I told her about Fanny. I must say she did seem very interested.”

“I can’t quite see Grace there. She is so much the social hostess.”

“People have many sides to them, Angelet.”

“Yes, I have learned that.”

“The important thing is when are you coming back?”

I hesitated.

“Angelet,” he said. “Let me help. This will pass. It was a great tragedy, and I know how you felt for her.”

“I think,” I said on impulse, “I shall go down to Cornwall. It is a long time since I have been and my parents are urging me to go. I want to go down there and think … away from all this.”

“I understand.”

It occurred to me then that Timothy would always understand.

The thought of going to Cornwall had come to me on the spur of the moment, but as soon as I had said it, it seemed a good idea. I should get away from everything, be able to think more clearly. I had to come to terms with my emotions. I knew now without a doubt that I loved Ben; but Lizzie was between us, as much now as she had been when she was alive. I wanted to protect him; I wanted to help him. At the same time I could not get out of my mind the terrible thought that he might have been tempted to do anything to be rid of her. I knew without doubt that he loved me; and in love, as with everything else, his emotions would be intense. If he had acted on the impulse of a moment could he ever forget? Could I? I knew that in time he would want us to be married.

What would happen? I could not understand my own feelings. In the peace of the country, in the comfortable ambiance of my old home, should I be able to assess … to think clearly … to plan reasonably? Could I look at my feelings for Timothy, whom I did love in a quiet way? I knew he was a good man, a stable man. I could have a peaceful life with him. Rebecca would be happy. I could settle into a cozy cocoon of contentment. But would it be complete? Would I ever forget the man who could arouse passionate emotions in me such as I could feel for no one else?

I longed to be at Cador with the familiar things of my childhood around me, with my ever loving parents. Perhaps I could confide in them. Perhaps I could discover which way I must go.

It was inevitable that Ben should come to the house.

He looked pale and haggard.

“Oh, Ben,” I said, “it has been such a terrible time.”

He looked at me steadily. “It is good to see you, Angel,” he said.

I smiled wanly.

“I had to talk to you,” he went on. “I had to make you understand.”

“It has been such a shock.”

His next words sent a shiver through me. “I killed her, Angel.”

“Ben!”

“As sure as if I put that stuff in her glass, I killed her. She did it because life wasn’t worth living for her. That was my fault. She was so helpless … so vulnerable. She always hankered for Golden Creek. That was where she was happy. I married her for what she could bring me. Yes, I admit it. You were married and there seemed no hope. And there was the gold … waiting to be brought forth. I married her and then I neglected her. I made life so wretched for her that she decided to go.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself too much. It won’t do any good.”

“If I had been different …”

“If we had all been different our lives would not have been as they are.”

“If only I had tried to understand her. I was so immersed in my own life. She hated it all … the fuss … everything. And I had thrust her into that life.”

“She wanted to do all she could for you.”

“Yes, and it was too much for her.”

“But you have to grow away from it. You will in time.”

“No. It will always be there with me. She’s dead … and I could have stopped it.”

I felt a sudden gladness in my heart. It was not he who had given her that extra dose. At least I was sure of that, and that made all the difference to me.

“It’s too late for reproaches, Ben,” I said. “That won’t bring her back.”

“I know. You comfort me, Angel.”

Ben, in need of comfort! Ben, vulnerable and weak! I had never seen him like that before and I loved him the more for his weakness

“I’m going away for a while, Ben,” I told him. “I’m going to my family in Cornwall.”

“Not for long?”

“I don’t know. I want to do a lot of thinking.”

“Yes,” he said, “I understand.”

“Don’t fret, Ben. It’s done with. It’s no use going over it. That can do no good.”

“You’re right,” he said.

“You’ll start again. You’ll be your old self. You know you never liked anything to defeat you.”

“That’s true,” he admitted. “But I see I have taken matters too much in my own hands. I have tried to manipulate life.”

“Strong men do that … do they not? It is just that sometimes Fate is stronger than they are.”

“What shall you do in Cornwall?”

“Walk … ride … play with Rebecca … be with my family. I feel that I shall be able to see which way I have to go.”

He nodded. “Think of me,” he said. “And come back soon. I shall be waiting for you.”

Rebecca was delighted to go to Cornwall and see the grandparents and with equal delight my family greeted me.

Jack was waiting for us at the station. “They are killing the fatted calf,” he said.

And there was my old room, full of childhood memories … happy memories apart from that dark one which would not go away and seemed to be at the center of everything that had happened to me since.

I had been home only two days when my mother announced a breakfast that she had had a letter from Grace.

“She wants to come down and stay for a week or so. She says we have often told her that she will be welcome. I am writing at once to say we shall be delighted to have her. I expect it is very sad for her. She was such a friend of Lizzie’s.”

I felt a shiver run through me.

Grace coming to Cornwall? Why?

I kept thinking of Justin and how earnestly he had warned me. It had all seemed so melodramatic … Grace wanting to murder me … in the hope that one day Ben would marry her!

It was too far-fetched.

I thought I had dismissed the matter from my mind, but here it was back again.

If Ben had been guilty he could not have come to me and talked so earnestly. He was ruthless, I knew; but he was not a murderer. He had been sincere when he had talked to me; his strength had been broken down by a sense of terrible guilt … but it was not the guilt of a murderer.

But what of Grace … who was really Wilhelmina? She had once loved a murderer. I think she had helped him to escape. I tried to remember reports which had come out during the hunt for Mervyn Duncarry. He had made his escape by stabbing a warder with a knife. It was not understood how a prisoner could have a knife. Someone must have smuggled it in to him. That had been suggested at the time.

Who could have done that? Grace?

Was Justin’s theory so wild? And now she was following me to Cornwall.

Grace arrived in due course. She looked changed in some subtle way. There was an air of purpose about her.

My mother welcomed her warmly. She had always been fond of Grace and regarded her as a member of the family.

At dinner, Grace talked about the Mission. She had been there once or twice and was greatly impressed by the work which was being done.

“Well, you know what I’m talking about, Angelet,” she said. “There is that wonderful story of Fanny. I asked Timothy Ransome if I could go down and see her.”

“And did you?” I asked.

“Yes, I did. What a lovely family! Fanny is settling in. She was quite sociable, which I gather is something she has learned there. She asked after you. She told me how you and Timothy came and took her away. She seems fond of you … and Timothy … and the children, of course. Don’t you think that is a wonderful thing to have done?” she added turning to my parents. “And that is just one case.”

My mother said it was indeed wonderful.

“I gather you are doing the books,” I said.

She laughed. “What a mess they were in! Frances is magnificent … but accounts are not her line … and with all the donations coming in and the bills that have to be paid … Well, it does seem to be a line of work which nobody wants to undertake.”

“It’s the less glamorous side of the business, I suppose,” said my father.

“But very necessary,” put in my mother. “So what is happening, Grace? Are you giving them temporary assistance?”

“I’ve found it useful to have something to do. It won’t be figures all the time … once I’ve straightened out the books. I should like to do a little bit of social work, too. I think I shall be there quite frequently.”

“Frances wants all the helpers she can get,” I said.

She smiled at me. There was a certain glitter in her eyes. Or did I imagine that? I could not get the picture of her out of my mind … going into Lizzie’s bedroom … I saw Lizzie drowsy from a laudanum-induced sleep. I seemed to hear Grace’s voice. “Can’t you sleep, Lizzie? You must. You need to be fresh for tomorrow … There is a great deal to do … Here, another few drops won’t do any harm.”

Could Justin have been right?

And Lizzie had been in the way. And now … so was I.

I wanted to think of everything that had happened.

I rode out alone. Memories of the past crowded into my mind and when I remembered the past there was one incident which must always be there. The encounter by the pool … a child murdered … and Ben, younger than he was now … a little uncertain … acting in such a way as was to affect the rest of our lives. I could not help it. I found myself making my way to the pool. There was the cottage where crazy Jenny Stubbs had held Rebecca captive not so long ago. I was thinking of the dragging of the pool, the discovery of the watch and the remains of the man whom Ben and I had thrown in all those years ago.

Violence had come into our quiet lives and it had had an effect on me which was never forgotten.

I slipped off my horse and tied him to the bush just as I had on that other occasion. It was quiet … no sound at all but a sudden sighing of a gentle breeze in the weeping willows trailing into the water.

Thus it had been on that fateful day. There was the spot where he had come upon me—the piece of wall exposed now as it had not been on that day before Gervaise and Jonnie had done their excavating; and Jonnie and Gervaise now both dead.

There was so much to remind me.

The eeriness seemed to surround me. I should not have been surprised if I heard the bells—not Jenny Stubbs’s bells but the real ones—or the fantasy ones perhaps I should say—and perhaps the sound of monks’ singing as they went into their ghostly underground chapel to pray.

I stood by the pool. It looked swollen. There had been a good deal of rain recently, and as the ground about it was flat it had advanced at least a foot.

No sound at all. Nothing but memories and the feeling that here anything might happen.

Someone was coming towards me. I saw that it was Grace. She walked purposefully.

“Hello, Angelet. I guessed you’d be here. Two minds with one thought. I want to talk to you alone. It’s why I have come to Cornwall really.”

She came and stood very close to me. The ground was slippery. I was aware of her … very near to me.

“This pool fascinates you,” she said. “It’s because of what happened.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“You’ve never forgotten. How could you, after what you did with Ben’s help?”

I said: “I believe you know a great deal about that man.”

“Yes,” she answered. “I want to talk to you about it.”

“Why to me?”

“Because it concerns you. I knew Mervyn Duncarry. He was a tutor in a house where I was a governess.”

“Perhaps I should tell you that I know that.”

“Through Justin? I thought he would tell you. He is the reformed character now. Who would have believed it? And he wants to protect you. I know Justin. I know how his mind works. I know how yours works, too, Angelet.”

“I should like to know how yours does,” I retorted.

“I believe you are afraid of me. There is no need to be.”

“What should I be afraid of?”

“That is what you have to tell me. I’ve just come here to talk to you. I told you that is why I have come to Cornwall. I don’t know what is going on in your mind, but I am sure that whatever you are thinking is wrong.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because there is something you have to know and I am going to tell you. I’m fond of you, Angelet. I’m fond of your family. I remember what they did for me. I don’t know what would have happened to me but for them. Let me tell you all about it. Imagine a rather frightened young woman who suddenly has to go out and earn her living. I had looked after my mother for many years. My father had died and from then on I had cared for her. My parents had educated me well and I was said to be clever, so when she died and there was only a small income left to me I had to become a governess. I went to a house where there were two children—a girl and a boy. There was a tutor for the boy and a girl for me.”

“I know that,” I told her.

“I fell in love with the tutor. He was charming but there was this flaw in his character. It was like two personalities. There are people like that. They can be cured … with the right treatment, I believe. One night he went out and killed a girl.”

“He was the murderer,” I said.

“I loved him. I wanted to help him. You can understand that, I know. I visited him in prison. We planned to escape together. He chose a place near the sea where I would stay until he was ready to go. That’s why I came to this neighborhood. I stayed at that inn for a few nights, but I wanted to save as much money as I could for we should need it … so I decided to find a sort of post … where I need not spend money and that’s why I came to you. I went to see him in jail. I smuggled in the knife he asked for …”

“But you knew he could kill again.”

“I was desperately in love with this man. In spite of everything I wanted our future to be together. I believed I could take him away … right out of this country. I believed I could cure him. You see, it was because I refused him that he went out and did that dreadful thing. I had left clothes for him in a broken-down old hut on the moor. I put the watch there with the clothes. It had belonged to my father and I had scratched our initials on it. It was meant to be a sign that I was with him whatever happened. Then he met you.”

“And he tried to murder me.”

“I could have cured him. I was sure of it. I cannot tell you what I suffered. I thought he had deserted me. If I had known that he was lying at the bottom of the pool I could have borne it more easily. You lied. You said you found the ring near the boathouse. The boat was missing.”

“I remember. We gave it to one of the fisher boys.”

“I thought he had escaped without me and that I had helped him to do that. That was the most unhappy time of my life. I was so bitter … so angry.”

“You threw the ring into the sea.”

She nodded. “And when they dragged the pool they found the watch … they found his remains … and I knew that he had not deceived me. I hated you then … you and Ben … for all the years that I had suffered when I thought he had deserted me. He had not. He would have been faithful to me. I told myself that we could have got away together. We could have found a new life overseas. And you killed him … you and Ben.”

“We did not kill him. He killed himself. He fell and struck his head.”

“But you hid him. You gave me all those years of anguish. I hated him for what I believed he had done to me, and all the time he was lying there in that pool. He was faithful to me and I had believed him faithless.”

“So you hated us for that.”

“It was difficult to hate you, because I had grown fond of you. You and your family had been so good to me.”

“You married Jonnie. Had you forgotten your murderer then?”

“I’ll never forget him. I loved once. Some people are like that.”

“After all he did! After all he was!”

“Love such as I had for him does not take count of things like that.” She seized my arm and pressed it, and for the moment I thought she was going to attempt to throw me into the pool.

I jerked myself free. I said: “You married Jonnie for his money, I suppose.”

“I liked Jonnie. Jonnie was a good man. I worked hard in Scutari. You simplify things too much, Angelet, and people are the least simple of all things on earth. I was a good nurse. I liked Jonnie … I liked him very much. We were happy for the little time we were together. But there was one I cared for more than anyone else … and would go on caring for.”

“And Ben? You wanted Ben, didn’t you?”

“I thought I would be a very suitable wife for a politician.”

“I am sure you would. And Ben?”

“Ben was looking in another direction, wasn’t he? He was always besotted about you. I think that adventure you had together did something to you both. You wanted Ben and he wanted you and he was married to Lizzie.”

“And what of you? You wanted Ben, too.”

“Yes. I thought I might make it, too. Ben is a powerful man … the sort who was a challenge to me. He was rich … thanks to Lizzie’s gold mine. I wanted to be rich.”

“Tell me what happened on the night Lizzie died.”

“I only know what happened on the morning after. I went in and found her dead.”

“Who killed her?”

She looked at me and her lips curled faintly at the corners. “You think I might have done it, don’t you? Or was it Ben? We both had our reasons, didn’t we? It would have been rather silly of Ben to kill her just then because it would inevitably lose him that seat he so much wanted. On the other hand it would be a master stroke. People would say, If he was going to kill her why do it at such a time? On the other hand you suspect that I may have done it. Why? Because I wanted Ben for myself. But he is in love with you. I’ve always known that—so what chance have I? You wouldn’t expect me to kill a woman to make way for you, would you?”

“Grace, why are you saying all this?”

“Because I want you to see it clearly and I want to see it that way myself.”

Then I said: “Why should you kill her?”

“Because … you would not many Ben if you suspected him of murder, would you? I was ready to help and look after Mervyn, but perhaps your feelings do not go as deep as mine. I wasn’t sure. And then, you see, there was the nice kind Timothy Ransome … the pleasant life in the country, the waif living there to remind you of your virtue. You had a choice. I might have thought that if you suspected Ben of murdering his wife you would have turned to Timothy. Then the field would be clear for me, wouldn’t it?”

“Grace … I don’t understand.”

“Do you believe in reformed characters?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at Justin … card-sharper, blackmailer, adventurer … and now good business man, the perfect husband and father. What a transformation!”

“I really believe that Justin has changed.”

“So do I. He was lucky. I wonder what would have happened to him if he hadn’t found Morwenna and his accommodating father-in-law. Justin is one of the lucky ones.”

“And he’s turned his good fortune to advantage.”

“Nobody is entirely virtuous, you know. Not you … nor Ben … nor any of us … and some are worse than others … Mervyn, for instance, who had that terrible affliction … if affliction it was. Justin the adventurer … and I suppose you would call me an adventuress. Even Gervaise was a gambler and died owing money, didn’t he? People have to be accepted for what they are. We should not judge them too harshly.”

“Once again, Grace, why are you telling me all this?”

“I am pleading for myself.”

“Why do you have to plead with me?”

“Because I have lied and cheated. I came to your family under false pretenses. I have watched Justin and I have been to the Mission. I have been down to see that child Fanny and I feel that whatever one has done in the past, one could find a certain salvation in a place like that. Do you believe that?”

“Are you serious, Grace?”

She took my arm again. “I am deadly serious,” she said. “I am going to work in the Mission. When I have set the accounts to rights I am going to do active work. I have talked to Frances and Peterkin. They are willing to have me there. I think I can forget my bitterness, my ambition, everything … there. I think I have learned that there is more contentment to be found in trying to comfort others than in seeking it for oneself.”

I looked at her suspiciously.

“I have been wicked,” she said. “When I thought Mervyn had deserted me, I said to myself, I will never love anyone again. I will work for myself. I will take all I can get. I might have loved Jonnie if he hadn’t died. He was very good to me. He made me independent but not content. I wanted power. And there was Ben. I did a terrible thing, Angelet.”

She put her hand in her pocket and drew out a letter.

She said: “I held this back. I wanted Lizzie to stand between you and Ben. The letter was there by her bedside that morning. I read it … and I held it back. I am giving it to you now. I think it will make all the difference to you … and Ben.”

I unfolded the sheet of paper and read:

My dearest Ben,

I hope you will understand and forgive me for what I am going to do. There is nothing for me but pain. I knew it … some months ago. It gets worse. I saw it with my mother. The pain is unendurable. It is exactly what happened to her and there is no stopping it. I have kept it from you all. Laudanum helps. It was good at first but it is no longer enough. I nursed my mother and this is exactly the same as what killed her. But the pain while I am waiting for death is too much. If I could have helped her out I would have.

I want to thank you for making me happy. I have always known that I was not suitable for you. You needed someone who could help you in your life. I was never good at that, but you were always so kind and never said how I disappointed you. I want you to know that I love you very much. I wish I could stay. But I know I could not hide my illness much longer and that would distress you … and everybody. I know I could not bear to suffer as my mother did. So this seems the best way. I wished there had been an easier way for my mother.

Don’t grieve for me. Try to forget me and be happy.

Lizzie

There were tears in my eyes and I saw that there were in Grace’s also.

“She was a very good woman,” said Grace. “An example to us all. Forgive me for withholding it. It was wicked of me. But you have it now. You have the truth. Ben must know. It is his letter. You must both forgive me, Angelet. Can you?”

I nodded. I was too moved to speak.

Grace and I returned to London that day.

I went straight to Ben.

I said: “I have something to show you, Ben. Grace gave it to me.”

He took the letter and read it.

It was as though a burden of guilt dropped from him. He turned to me and took my hands.

There was hope in his eyes; and I shared it.