Pool of St. Branok

by Philippa Carr

  “Well, seeing as ’ow it ain’t used like.”

  “You take it, John.”

  “Oh, thank ’ee, me lady.”

  He darted off.

  “Do you know that old boat he was talking about?” asked my mother.

  “I think I’ve seen an old one there at some time.”

  “Well, he might as well make use of it then.”

  And we rode on to Pencarron.

  Grace Gilmore was often in my company. She was always pleased to do something for me. She would kneel at my feet, pins between her lips, turning up a hem, or make me stand on a chair to assure herself that she had got the length absolutely right; and I always had the impression that she was particularly interested in me—as indeed I was in her.

  I was beginning to feel better. I was quite enjoying Mrs. Penlock’s muggety and lamby pies. My hair was growing. It was down to my shoulders, long enough to tie back with a ribbon. I no longer looked like a wraith. I was laughing more frequently and indulging in those daydreams in which I had played the central and heroic part. I was returning to normal.

  I had not been to the pool since it happened and it was beginning to seem like a bad dream. Benedict had gone right out of my life. I was hurt about his going. I remembered vividly how he had said to me so vehemently, “I love you, Angel,” and I had replied that I loved him, too. And now he was on the other side of the world and perhaps I should never see him again. I should have thought he was running away from our terrible secret, but I could not believe that Benedict would ever run away from anything. No, he had gone to find gold … like the men in the story of the old Scat Bal. But I was left where it had all happened.

  They were less careful of me now. I used to go off on my own. I even rode Glory again. She seemed glad to have me back. Horses are very intelligent and I wondered whether she knew she had been disgraced and wrongly accused.

  “It had to be, Glory,” I whispered to her. “It was all part of the secret.” She seemed as though she understood. After all, she had seen it happen.

  I must not think of it.

  It was gone. It was past. It wasn’t the same as killing an ordinary man. I kept telling myself that he had been going to die in any case … far more horribly. It had just happened more quickly and easily than it would in the hands of the law. How often had I gone over and over that point.

  One day, when my thoughts were running on these lines, I felt I had to exorcise the ghost which was haunting me. I had to go back to the pool. I had to see it again. I had to convince myself that I was cured of my guilt. I kept telling myself that I was not to blame. I would have been the victim. I had just helped to keep his death a secret and that had been the right thing to do. But I had to go to the pool. I had to convince myself that I was not afraid of it any more.

  I rode over there. It was less than a mile from the house. I wanted to turn back but I would not allow myself to do so. I rode through the trees and there it was … glittering in the sunshine … still mysterious … just as it had been on that dreadful day.

  I dismounted and tethered Glory to the same bush as I had on that other occasion.

  I patted her head, wondering if she remembered. “Don’t fret,” I said, “I’ve just got to do this. It won’t be anything like that other time. And then we’ll think nothing of coming here.”

  I walked down to the edge of the pool and stared into the still water. There were weeping willows hanging over it and some bedraggled-looking plant-life floated on the surface of the water. I wondered how many secrets besides mine it was hiding.

  I continued to look into the water, fearing to see his face again. It was greenish brown, but now there was no trace of the pink which had once colored it.

  I strained my ears. I half fancied I could hear the tinkle of bells—but it was the faint breeze ruffling the trees. How easy it was to fancy one heard music.

  I closed my eyes trying to wipe out memories. I had been foolish to come. Oh no. This was the way to be reasonable. To say to oneself: There was nothing wrong about it. Ben had to do what he did. We both had to.

  I opened my eyes. Silence and then … what it was, I was not sure, but I guessed I was not alone. I just felt a presence. I stood very still looking at the water. The movement came from behind. Someone was standing close to me.

  I half expected to see him there … his ghost risen from the waters of the pool.

  I turned sharply.

  “Grace!” I cried in immense relief. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you, Miss Angelet? I saw you standing by the water, so quiet and still. I wondered if you could hear the bells.”

  Relief swept over me. It was only Grace … not some grisly ghost … the murderer resurrected from the dead.

  “I … I was just looking at the pool,” I said.

  “You are very interested in the pool,” she replied.

  “I suppose it is because of the bells. I’ve always been interested in things like that.”

  She came close and looked at me intently.

  “You talked of it … when you were ill. But come away. It’s damp and cold … an unhealthy place.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  I noticed that there was a baffled look on her face and I wondered what she was thinking. There was something eerie about the situation … the two of us standing there, as though we were both hiding something.

  I said: “Did you walk here?”

  “Yes. Then I saw you at the pool and I wondered what you were doing. I thought it might be damp and you’d catch a cold.”

  I walked back to Glory, Grace beside me.

  “You’ll go straight home, I suppose,” she said.

  I nodded. “You too?”

  “Yes. I must finish that petticoat for your mother.”

  I mounted Glory and rode away.

  I was glad I had been to the pool. I felt better after it. It was no longer a place to avoid. I was growing away from my memories. I no longer had to tell myself we were not to blame. I knew we were not. All we did was what had to be done and it was what was best in the circumstances. I should come to the pool again and again and next time I should not try to recall. I should simply forget.

  When I look back I think it was rather strange how Grace Gilmore had become almost a member of the family. I liked to be with her. She intrigued me. I felt there was a part of her which I did not know. Subconsciously I wanted to find out about her; I think that was why she was rather exciting to me.

  I talked to Morwenna Pencarron about her. “What do you think of Grace?” I asked.

  “Oh, she’s very nice.” Most people were “very nice” in Morwenna’s opinion. She reminded me a little of Aunt Amaryllis.

  “But do you think there is something different about her?” I persisted. “She doesn’t talk much about her past. Do you know where she comes from?”

  “She comes from somewhere near Devon.”

  “I know. But she never really talks.”

  It was no use trying to explain to Morwenna.

  My mother encouraged our friendship because she liked someone to be in charge of me when I went out; she knew my spirit and did not want to restrict it, but since what she thought of as my fall, she did like me to be in the company of an adult. In London I should never have been allowed to go out alone; but here, where everyone knew each other, it seemed safe. I had discovered that this was not always so.

  So if Miss Prentiss or Miss Derry did not accompany us, it was usually Grace.

  One day we went to the fair with her, Morwenna, Jack and I. I had always loved the fair. There were several of them—they were annual occasions, and the best of all was St Matthew’s Fair which was held on the first of October.

  It was so full of life. People from the surrounding villages merged onto the place. There was noise and bustle everywhere. The horse and cattle dealers were there; one heard the continual lowing of cows and the grunting of pigs. There they would be in their pens while the fanners leaned ov
er the rails and poked the pigs with sticks to see how fat they were and cast shrewd eyes over the lambs, the cows, the bullocks. But what I liked best were the stalls with their goods for sale: comfits, fairings, china jugs, cups and saucers, teapots, farm implements, clothing, saddles, ribbons, dresses, boots and shoes, pots and pans and even cloam ovens; and all the traders shouting their wares. Then there was the food; the constant smell of roasting meat, bread, potatoes in their jackets, sugar animals, hearts in pink sugary sweets with “I Love You” on them. There were the peep shows and the puppets, the marionettes, the dwarves, the fat woman, the bearded lady and the strong man; and of course the gypsies who would tell your fortune.

  On this occasion Miss Prentiss had a headache and my mother asked Grace Gilmore if she would take us so that we should not be disappointed. She accepted with alacrity, and we set off.

  We had a wonderful time roaming among the stalls. We visited two of the shows and marveled at the rippling muscles of the strong man and tried our hand at the hoopla; we bought slabs of hot gingerbread, eating it as we went along, which Grace was not sure we should have been allowed to do.

  Jack assured her that people could do things at a fair which they could not do elsewhere. He was more excited than Morwenna and I were. I suppose we were a little blasé.

  Fiddlers were playing and several people were dancing.

  “The most exciting part is when it gets dark,” I said, “and then they light the flares.”

  “Your mother will want you home long before that,” Grace told us.

  “I should like to have my fortune told,” said Morwenna. “Ginny, our parlormaid, had hers told at Summercourt Fair. She is going to marry a rich man and travel overseas. It was a wonderful fortune.”

  “How can they tell?” asked Jack.

  “They can see into the future … and into the past,” Morwenna replied. “They can see all you’ve done. It’s all clear to them. It’s all in your hand, particularly if you’ve done something wicked. That’s easiest to see.”

  Jack looked uneasy, but Morwenna clasped her hands and said: “Oh, I wish we could.”

  I thought: It’s all very well for you. You have never done anything except cheat at lessons a bit … copying out something from a book which you’re supposed to know … taking a jam tart from the kitchen when the cook’s back is turned and saying you didn’t. Little sins … nothing like killing a man and hiding his body.

  The pleasure of the fair had gone. That was how it was. Memory came up suddenly … as that man had come to the pool … and the pleasure in the day was spoilt.

  I was glad when Grace said there was no time to have our fortunes told. She said: “We must start for home now.”

  And we left the fair. As we walked away the sound of the fiddlers grew fainter but we could hear them singing:

  Come lasses and lads

  Get leave of your dads

  And away to the maypole hie

  For every he has got him a she

  And a fiddler standing by …

  Jack was disappointed at leaving the fair. He had expressed his displeasure and demanded to know why we could not stay. Grace explained that we must get back before dark. Jack never sulked for long and in a few minutes he was himself again. He had a very lovable nature.

  The gypsy was sitting by the side of the road. She had a basket full of clothes pegs beside her and I was not sure whether she was coming from or going to the fair.

  “Good day to ’ee, ladies and little gent,” she said.

  “Good day,” we replied.

  “How would you like the gypsy to give you a nice fortune?”

  I heard Morwenna murmur: “Oh yes. Oh, Miss Gilmore, may I?”

  Grace hesitated, but Morwenna turned such a happy face to her that she was unable to resist.

  “All right then, dear. But we mustn’t stay long.”

  “Cross the gypsy’s hand in silver,” said the woman.

  Morwenna drew back. “Oh … I don’t think I have enough.” She produced some coins.

  “Well, seeing as you be such a nice little lady, I’ll take what you’ve got. Wouldn’t want to disappoint a little love like you.”

  Morwenna dimpled prettily and held out her hand.

  “Oh, I see a long and happy life. You’re going to have great good fortune, you are. You’re going up to London to see the Queen … when you’re a little older, that is … and there you are going to find a rich husband and live happy ever after.”

  It seemed very little for all the money Morwenna had left; and I knew she had wanted to buy a pink sugar mouse and had hesitated because she had thought it too costly. It was very likely that Morwenna might go up to London for a season when she grew older and the object would be to find a suitable husband for her.

  She turned to me. “And you, me ’andsome. There’s a nice fortune for ’ee, I can see.”

  She had taken my hand. I was terribly afraid. Was it written there? Was she seeing the pool and that inert body … those eyes staring at us as the head disappeared?

  “Naught to be frightened at, lovey. ’Tis all fair and smiling for a little lass like you. You’re going to London, too. Perhaps you’ll go with your little …” She was trying to decide on our relationship and added: “… little companion.” Then I felt that if she didn’t know who Morwenna was she would not know about the pool.

  Now she turned her attention to Grace.

  “Life writes as it goes along,” she said. “There’ll be more to be seen, little lady, when you be a few years older. And now, my lady, it be your turn.” She had taken Grace’s hand.

  “No,” said Grace, “I don’t think …”

  The gypsy was looking at her intently. “Oh, there be trouble ’ere … deep sorrow …” Grace had turned pale. The woman went on: “I can see water … water between you and what you desire …”

  I felt myself go limp with apprehension. It was clear to me that she had thought the fortunes of young girls—as she regarded Morwenna and me—were not worth telling. Little did she know! I had a vague idea how this fortune-telling was done. There was a good deal of chance in it, I had no doubt, but I did believe that flashes of truth occasionally emerged; and if something really violent had happened … it might be possible to detect it. I felt that she may have seen something in my hand which she could not explain. Who would have thought that a girl of my age could be involved in such an experience; and she was transferring it to Grace.

  “You will be strong,” she was saying. “You will overcome.”

  The gypsy seemed a little shaken. Her eyes were fixed on Grace’s face.

  Grace withdrew her hand. “Well … thank you …”

  “It’s trouble … trouble … but nature made you strong. You will overcome. All will be well. You’ll find happiness in the end.”

  Grace opened her purse and gave the woman money.

  “Come on,” she said. “We shall be late back and that will not do.”

  The gypsy was silent. She slipped the money into her pocket and sat down.

  We walked away.

  “We should never have stopped,” said Grace. “It was a lot of nonsense.”

  “It cost a lot of money,” commented Jack. “You could have bought six slices of gingerbread and a pink pig with what you gave her.”

  “It was rather silly of us,” admitted Grace. Her voice was cold and her face looked different somehow.

  She might say it was a lot of nonsense but I believed the gypsy had frightened her.

  I looked over my shoulder. The woman was still seated by the side of the road staring after us.

  I told my mother of the encounter.

  “She promised Morwenna and me that we should go to London and find rich husbands.”

  “You’ll have to go up for a season, but that’s some time away. And as to the rich husband … we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “I think she rather upset Miss Gilmore. She talked about some trouble.”

  “One doesn�
��t take any notice of them.”

  “Not unless they tell you something nice.”

  “That’s the idea,” said my mother, smiling. “By the way, soon we shall be going to London. I’ve been talking to Grace about new clothes. She says she could make them. I wonder if she could. One doesn’t want to look countrified. What passes here might look a little dowdy in London. But I thought we might give her a try with the blue linen. It’s just the color for you.”

  Grace was very anxious to try with the linen. She came to my room with some patterns which she wanted to discuss with me, and she had the blue linen with her.

  She said: “I thought we’d have a little piping round the sleeves … as it is in this pattern. Don’t you think that would look nice? I think a lightish brown … very light … would look effective.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” I said. “I have a scarf which I think would be just the right color to match up with the blue. It will be in that drawer behind you.”

  “May I?” she said, opening the drawer.

  There was a short silence. She was staring at something in the drawer. She picked up the ring I had found at the pool. I had put it there when I came home and forgotten all about it.

  “This gold ring …”she said. “Is it yours?”

  I felt uneasiness gripping me as it always did when there was any reference to that day.

  “Oh …” I stammered. I held out my hand for the ring. “I … I found it.”

  “Found it? Where?”

  “It … was when I had my accident. I remember it now. I picked it up without thinking.”

  “On the beach?”

  I did not answer. I ruffled my brows as though trying to remember … although I recalled perfectly well every detail of that fearful time.

  “What? When you fell?”

  “Y-yes … it must have been. I fell … and there was the ring.”

  “On the beach,” she repeated. “And you picked it up then. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I always pick up things. I suppose I do it without thinking … It’s difficult to remember … I must have seen the ring and picked it up and put it in my pocket.”

  “It’s rather a nice one,” she said. “It is gold, I think. What are you going to do with it?”