Pool of St. Branok

by Philippa Carr

  “And he was fond of you,” I told her.

  “Yes, we had a great deal in common. I was with him every day. He used to look for me. I was so moved to see his face light up when I came. I nursed him. They had to take a bullet out of his leg and I was there when they did it. They had very little to kill the pain. That sort of thing is heartrending. He held my hand while they did it. Then … afterwards … I nursed him and he began to recover. If his recovery had been longer he might not have died.” She bit her lips and seemed unable to continue.

  Then she turned to me and pressed my hand. “I had him walking again soon. They needed men. He had a few days’ leave and then was to join the men outside Sebastopol. When you are in that position … when you feel you are facing death and the chances are that you can’t be lucky twice … a kind of desperation gets hold of you. It might have been like that with Jonnie. Perhaps I ought to have realized it, but I was fond of him, Angelet, very fond. I loved him, Angelet. We had this little time together. I got leave and we went out together. There was little on our side of the Bosphorus and they took us back and forth to Constantinople on the other side in little boats they called caliques … and we dined in the city. We were reckless … like two people who know they have not long to be together. Constantinople is different from any place I have ever seen. There are two cities really—Christian Constantinople and Stamboul. Bridges connect them and if ever the nurses went out—which they did occasionally in parties—they were warned not to cross the bridges into Stamboul. I was not afraid of anything with Jonnie. It was a wonderful evening. We sat in an alcove in this restaurant which he knew of and we ate exotic foods—caviar and peppers stuffed with meat. It was all very strange and foreign. But I did not notice the food. We talked and talked … not of the war, not of the hospital but of the future and what we should do when we were home again. He wanted to go to Italy. He was fascinated by the site at Pompeii and he talked as though I should be with him. Then suddenly he took my hand and said, ‘Will you marry me?’ ”

  I drew breath sharply. Somewhere in my dreams I had thought of marrying Jonnie. Then I had thought of marrying Ben, it was true. But I went back to Jonnie after Ben had gone to Australia.

  “I said I would,” she went on. “It’s easy there, Angelet. There is no formality. You have to pay them well and you can get a priest to marry you. It is probably some unfrocked priest from England … I don’t know. But he married us … and that was what we both wanted. We spent three days together … and then I went back to the hospital and he went to Sebastopol. That is my story, Angelet. You know the rest. He never came back.”

  “So you … you are Jonnie’s wife?”

  She nodded. “What do you think they will say, Angelet?” she asked anxiously. “They might not … accept me.”

  “What do you mean? You are Jonnie’s wife. Therefore they must.”

  “I am afraid they will say it is no true marriage.”

  “How can they? Don’t they have certificates? Do you?”

  “I have one, but, as I say, it was different from the way it is done here. We knew of this priest. He had married one or two other people. It might be that they won’t accept it. They could raise all sorts of objections … if they wanted to.”

  “They wouldn’t do that. Why should they?”

  “Angelet, you must see. Jonnie belongs to a different family from mine. I worked for your mother.”

  “What has that to do with it?”

  “They might say … everything.”

  “I don’t see how they can if you are married with a certificate to prove it.”

  “If they wanted to disprove it …”

  “They are good kind people. Jonnie loved you and married you. We all knew that he liked you very much. That was obvious. So they wouldn’t be very surprised. You were both out there. It seems natural to me.”

  “I wouldn’t want to embarrass them. I wouldn’t want to be there … if they didn’t want me.”

  “But you are Jonnie’s wife!”

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  “I am going to tell them right away … and you are coming with me.”

  She drew back. “No … no. Let me wait here. You go and tell them. But if they think it is no true marriage I will say goodbye to you … to you all …”

  “My mother would never allow that. She is always saying how she misses you.”

  “She made me so happy … you all have.”

  “I shall go right away. Promise me you won’t leave this garden, Grace.”

  “I promise. If you don’t come back in say half an hour, I shall know they do not believe me … they do not accept me, I shall understand.”

  “You are being foolish, Grace, and I always thought you were so clever.”

  I came out of the gardens and ran across the road.

  Aunt Amaryllis was in the little room where she did the flowers, a vase of water before her and the flowers lying at the side of the sink.

  “Aunt Amaryllis,” I cried. “Grace is in the gardens. She has married Jonnie.”

  Aunt Amaryllis turned pale and then pink. She dropped the scissors and wiped her hands.

  “Come,” I said. “I will take you to her.”

  I was glad that they welcomed her so warmly. Jonnie’s widow would have a very special place in the household.

  Aunt Amaryllis was almost happy. Helena came and listened sadly to Grace’s story.

  “My dear,” she said, “you made him happy before he died.”

  “Yes, we were very happy,” Grace told them.

  “I’m glad,” said Helena.

  I wondered what Uncle Peter thought. He seemed to like Grace but he was suspicious by nature. He asked a lot of questions and I fancied that in his mind he was making notes of details which he would later verify. But even he had been deeply affected by Jonnie’s death and was pleased to see that Grace’s coming and her announcement had lifted the spirits of Helena and Amaryllis. He may even have felt a twinge of conscience because he had been rather pleased with what Jonnie’s going to war had done for Matthew.

  The rest of that visit was dominated by Grace’s return to the household.

  Of course Jonnie had been rather a rich young man. He had left no will but his widow would not be penniless. She said that she would be happy to leave everything in Uncle Peter’s capable hands.

  I don’t know what arrangements were made or how much money Lord John had left to Jonnie. There was no doubt that Uncle Peter had made inquiries as to the validity of the marriage and he must have been satisfied, for Grace now became an independent woman with her own income.

  Helena wanted her to live with them until she made plans. She said: “I always wanted a daughter and that is what you will be to me now.”

  Everyone seemed satisfied at the outcome; and there was a certain contentment about Grace. She was happy to be in Jonnie’s home.

  The London Season

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You didn’t have a season, Mama?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “Angel!”

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

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

  I put my arms round her and kissed her.

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

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

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

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

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

  Grace was very interested to hear of my proposed season.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Grace and I rode over to the Pencarrons’.

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

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

  “They must be very rich.”

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

  Morwenna came running out to meet us.

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

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

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

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

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