Pool of St. Branok

by Philippa Carr

  Poor Gervaise. He had always lost.

  Morwenna had left Golden Hall, much to Lizzie’s sorrow. She visited us frequently and was constantly bringing gifts for the baby. She was worried about me, too.

  “Angelet,” she said, “you must go and stay at the Hall. Your baby must be born there.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “Thank you, but that is not possible. You are so good to us all and it is so kind …”

  “But I want you to come,” she insisted, her eyes filling with tears. “I love little babies.”

  “We have to be in our own homes, Lizzie,” I said. “We just cannot go into other people’s.”

  “Ben wants you to come.” She smiled triumphantly. “He says he is going to insist.”

  “I couldn’t, Lizzie.”

  She thrust that aside. I could see she thought Ben’s wish must be law.

  I had long talks with Justin and Morwenna.

  “We’re going home,” said Morwenna with delight. “We have decided that, haven’t we, Justin? I have written to Pa and Mother. They’ll be so very pleased. They’ve hated our being so far away. We are going to take you with us, Angelet.”

  I looked down at my spreading figure.

  “We’re going to wait,” said Morwenna. “We’ve worked it all out. We won’t go before the baby is born. You couldn’t travel yet and then you wouldn’t want to until the baby is, say … six months old.”

  “That will be nearly nine months. You wouldn’t want to wait all that time. You’d better go now. I’ll make my own way home.”

  “Of course we wouldn’t do that, would we, Justin? You see, if you know that you are going, it is not so bad. You count the days … You tick them off as they pass and you know it’s getting nearer. What is so dreadful is not knowing when it is going to end. We want to wait for nine months, don’t we, Justin?”

  Justin answered: “Yes, we do and we shall. We’re not going to leave you here, Angelet. We shall all go back together. After all, even if we weren’t going to wait for you we couldn’t just walk out. In the meantime I shall get someone to help me work the mine.”

  “Oh Justin, you can’t go down there again … after what happened.”

  “I think I know where it went wrong. There was so much damp down there that the wood rotted. You get to learn these things, you know. You don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

  “I know you are longing to get away after all you went through … particularly Justin. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.”

  But they would not hear of it.

  Later I talked to Justin alone.

  He said: “I feel so ashamed. Only you in this place can know how ashamed I feel.”

  “It’s all over,” I said. “Gervaise is dead. Only the three of us knew what happened on that night. You can’t go on thinking of it forever.”

  “We had not spoken in friendship … since it happened,” he went on. “He despised me, I know he did. I saw it in his eyes …”

  “Yes,” I said. “Cheating at cards. It was the ultimate sin. Gervaise was obsessed by gambling …”

  “So many of us are.”

  “Are you going to give it up?”

  He looked helplessly into space.

  I said: “You could go home. There would be a place for you with Morwenna’s father …”

  “I know. I’m going to try. I feel I can never forget this. It was so noble of him.”

  “There was a lot of nobility in Gervaise.”

  “Oh yes. He hated me. He despised me. There was no need for him to come down like that. If he had not, he would be here today. I should be lying where he is. Why did he do it? He knew what a risk he was taking.”

  “He liked to take risks. He was a gambler right to the end. He thought he could win … always. He was betting then against the biggest odds ever. But this time he was betting for a different reason. Not for gain … but for another man’s life.”

  “And he lost,” said Justin.

  “No, he won. He saved your life, Justin. That was his aim.”

  I turned away to hide my emotion.

  “Oh, Angelet, I’m sorry. I should have been the one. I’m the unworthy one.”

  I said: “You have made Morwenna happy. That is wonderful. You have your son. You will love him and care for him. Justin, we have to forget what we have done in the past. We have to grow better for our experiences … we have to learn from them.”

  He looked at me very seriously and said: “I shall do all I can for you, Angelet. I shall try to repay Gervaise through you.”

  The weeks passed. Everyone in the township wanted to show their appreciation to the widow of a hero.

  Morwenna was my constant companion. She was very happy at the prospect of going home. She talked of it most of the time. “Eight more months … the time will soon be gone.”

  Justin had taken a partner with whom he worked—John Higgs, who would take over the claim when he left. They had shored up the mine afresh and everyone declared it was as “safe as houses” now—however safe they were.

  I believe it must have been something of an ordeal to descend the mine after what had happened to him; but he did. I daresay he was spurred on by the hope that he would find gold after all. What a wonderful conclusion to his life at Golden Creek that would be … to have escaped death to find a fortune.

  Nothing so spectacular happened; there were the trivial finds now and then—just enough to raise hopes. He played cards occasionally. I wondered if he cheated. I did not ask. I did not want to know.

  I no longer wanted to make hasty judgments of people. One could not know them … ever, it seemed. I thought often of Gervaise … sadly, nostalgically, remembering so much of him that I had loved. Whenever I thought of our escape from the auberge I would supplant that image with one of the hero and remember the last glimpse I had had of him, the dirt caking his hair and streaking down his face—Gervaise the elegant man about town as I had first seen him. I would always remember the look of triumph on his face when he had brought up Justin. He had gambled his life and lost it but he had won in the end because his goal had been to save Justin, the man whom he despised as a cheat.

  My thoughts were now centered on my baby which was the best thing that could happen to me.

  I did not want to dwell on the past. I wanted to put all that behind me. I did not want to think of Ben and Lizzie. I did not want to remember how I might so easily have been unfaithful to Gervaise; I did not want to think of the disappointment and disillusion I had suffered from Gervaise. It was all over. The new life with the baby was about to begin.

  One day when I was in the store Mrs. Bowles said to me: “I’ve arranged everything. We’re going to have the rooms Mrs. Cartwright had when young Pedrek was born.”

  “What!” I said.

  “Now … now … this is a time when you don’t have to think at all. You leave everything to me. I’m to have the room next to yours and we’ll go there a week before the baby is due. It’s all been fixed.”

  “I haven’t fixed it, Mrs. Bowles.”

  “I have … with Mr. Lansdon and Miss Lizzie. We’re going to send for Dr. Field. He’ll be staying for a night or two at the Hall. The first signs of the baby and Jacob will ride over to fetch him.”

  “I can’t … have all these arrangements made for me, Mrs. Bowles.”

  “Here. Don’t you get into a fratchet. Not good for the little ’un … that sort of thing. We don’t want him poking his nose out to see what all the fuss is about do we … not before we’re ready for him.”

  “But I want to be in my own place.”

  “No place for a baby. What could have happened to Mrs. Cartwright, do you think … if she hadn’t been in the right place … with the right people there on the spot?”

  “I’m different.”

  “No, you’re not. Women is all one and the same all the world over … specially at times like this. Now you stop worrying. It’s all fixed. Why, if you go on like this folks’ll t
hink you’ve got something against them there up at the Hall.”

  Then I realized that I had to give in—for the baby’s sake as well as for “what folks would think.”

  I have to admit I did so with a certain relief. Morwenna had been extremely worried at the prospect of my having the baby here—and so had I.

  I would forget from whom the hospitality came. After all, my child’s life was more important than my pride.

  My time was near. I was greatly looking forward to having my child. And soon we should be leaving. I longed for the time to pass. I heard a good deal of talk about Morley’s Mine. Presumably it was more productive than even had been thought in the first place. Ben had always been the most respected man in the town; now he assumed an almost godlike aura. He had found gold; he had contrived to make it his. It was something they all admired.

  They knew, of course, that he had married Lizzie for it. Lizzie must have known, too. But as they were both satisfied with the bargain, I remarked to Morwenna, what did it matter what was the motive behind it?

  Morwenna was romantic. “I would rather think that he had fallen in love with Lizzie and married her for that reason … and then discovered gold on the land. After all she is pretty and appealing and so sweet-natured. I don’t think she has ever had an evil thought against anyone in her life. And he would want to protect her. Strong men like to have someone to protect.”

  I smiled at her. She was so innocent. I rejoiced that we had managed to keep Justin’s disgrace from her.

  In due course I went to Golden Hall. Ben was there with Lizzie, when I arrived in the company of Mrs. Bowles.

  “I’m glad you have come,” said Ben.

  “It was not really necessary. It was all arranged for me.”

  He just put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Lizzie insisted.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Lizzie delightedly. “And Ben said you must come, too, didn’t you, Ben?”

  I was taken to the room I was to occupy. How different from the shanty! No, I could not have let my baby be born there.

  Mrs. Bowles bustled round in profound appreciation for her own efficiency. In due course Dr. Field arrived.

  It was a simple and uncomplicated birth and I experienced a thrill of joy when they laid my little girl in my arms.

  I said that what I had wanted more than anything was a little girl.

  “It is so nice,” said Morwenna, “because Pedrek is a boy. Perhaps when they grow up they’ll marry.”

  “I insist that you allow my child time to get out of her cradle before you plunge her into matrimony,” I said.

  We talked of names.

  Morwenna wanted her to be called Bennath which was Cornish, she told me, for “blessing.”

  “And that,” she said, “is what this child is going to be for you, Angelet.”

  Bennath … I thought: People will call her Ben or Bennie. I could not have that. It would remind me of him.

  What I wanted to do was take my child away and forget this place … and all that had happened in it.

  I would go home where perhaps it would be possible to start afresh.

  I finally decided on Annora Rebecca—Annora after my mother and Rebecca because I liked it. “But we shall call her Rebecca,” I said, “because it is always awkward to call two in one family by the same name.”

  So Rebecca she became.

  She flourished. I stayed on at Golden Hall. I said it was for the baby’s sake; but I wanted to be there, too.

  I could not face going back to the shack.

  Mrs. Bowles stayed with me and taught me all the things one has to learn about babies. And I found myself happier than I had been for a long time.

  I wrote to my parents and told them about Rebecca and that I should be with them as soon as my baby was old enough to travel. I had written in detail of Gervaise’s death and I had had letters from them urging me to come home as soon as possible.

  We were ready to leave. Justin had been to Melbourne to book our passages on the Southern Cross and all being well we should arrive in England in about three months’ time.

  It would be spring there and here the winter would be starting. Winter in the township was hard to bear; although the heat of the summer could perhaps be equally trying. I noticed the envious looks which were cast in my direction. We were the lucky ones even if we had not found gold. We were going home.

  I was in the shack one day packing up the last of my things when Ben came in. In two days we were to take the Cobb’s coach to Melbourne.

  He shut the door and stood against it looking at me.

  “So soon,” he said, “you will be gone. Oh, Angel, what a mess we have made of everything.”

  “What? You … the envy not only of Golden Creek but the whole of Australia!”

  “It wasn’t the way I wanted it to be.”

  “It was the way you made it be.”

  “It is going to be very dull here when you have gone.”

  I tried to laugh and said: “I have hardly been the life and soul of the party.”

  “You know what you have been to me.”

  “I remember what you have told me … in the past,” I replied.

  “I shall always love you, Angel. Everything was against us. When I was free you were not … and now. … Who would have thought …?”

  I wanted to be flippant. I felt I had to be before I broke down and betrayed my true feelings. That, above all, I must not do. “Are you implying,” I said, “that Gervaise might have timed his exit more conveniently to suit you?”

  He looked aghast.

  I went on: “Perhaps you should be grateful. Just suppose I had listened to you. Suppose I had left with you as you suggested … I should still be a woman without a husband and you a man without a gold mine.”

  “You were more important to me than the mine.”

  “Remember your vow. You weren’t coming back until you found gold … a lot of it. Well, now you have.”

  “I shall come back,” he said. “Soon.”

  “Not while the mine yields up such rewards, Ben.”

  He came towards me but I held back.

  “No, it is over,” I said. “Over? Well, it never was, was it?”

  “I should never have come to this place. I should have come back to Cador. I should never have left Cador. I should have insisted on staying with you.”

  “It is all in the past, Ben. I shall leave here and everything will seem different when I get home. I have my child. I shall begin a new life. This is over … finished … It is going to be as though it never was.”

  “You won’t forget. You did care for me.”

  I said: “I shall try to forget, and if I ever do look back and feel the slightest bit sad, I shall say to myself: He married Lizzie. He married her because he knew there was a gold mine on her father’s land and that was the only way he could get his hands on it.”

  “It is not a flattering picture, is it, Angel?”

  “Oh … I’m not judging. It has made Lizzie happy. It has given you what you want. Lizzie’s father died contented because of it. I suppose there is good in everything. I have my child now. You have your mine. You see, we both have a great deal to be thankful for.”

  “It is not goodbye, you know. I shall soon be in England.”

  “Oh no, Ben. There must be more gold in that mine … yet.”

  “Gold! Gold! You think of nothing but gold.”

  “No, Ben, I only talk of it. You live for it.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I do … absolutely. Enjoy what you have and don’t reach for the impossible. That is what I am going to do. You must go now.”

  He went to the door and looked back at me.

  “Angel, please don’t forget me.”

  He was gone. I went to the door and leaned against it. A terrible desolation swept over me.

  Then I went to Rebecca’s cot. She was awake. She looked at me wonderingly and then I saw recognition in her eyes. I s
aw what seemed to me a smile of contentment.

  I thanked God for Rebecca.

  Two days later we left. It seemed that everyone in the township had come to see us off.

  Our baggage had been sent to the docks a week before and now we ourselves were ready to board the coach.

  There were handshakes and good wishes; signs of envy and the nostalgia for home were more evident than usual.

  Ben was there with Lizzie. He looked very sad; so did she.

  “Both of the little babies going,” sighed Lizzie.

  Ben took my hand.

  “Don’t forget us. Don’t forget me.”

  I looked at him intently and I said: “Do you think I ever could?”

  The words would have seemed normal enough to any listener, but both of us knew they meant something special.

  Then we were off. I looked out of the window until we had passed through the town. I had longed to go and now I could only think: I may never see him again.

  But Rebecca was in my arms; and as I held her warm body against my own I knew I had a great deal to live for.

  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.”