Pool of St. Branok

by Philippa Carr

  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 yo
u 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?

  Fanny

  THE CHILDREN LIKED TO be together, and we arranged that one day Rebecca would go to the Cartwright house and on the next Pedrek should come to mine. This gave Morwenna and me time to shop and do many things which would otherwise have been difficult, for neither of us wished to leave our children entirely to servants.

  It was on one of these days when I decided to take up the invitation Frances and Peterkin had given me to visit their Mission again.

  When I told Helena of this she said I would find it interesting and perhaps a little heartrending for people had no idea of the suffering which was endured by others. Matthew was deeply aware of and had talked to her about it. He had discovered a great deal when he was gathering material for his books; and Frances and Peterkin could tell some very sad stories.

  She said she would have me driven down there in the morning and send the carriage to pick me up.

  There was no need, I told her, I would get a cab.

  “You might get one to take you there, but I doubt you would pick up one to bring you back.”

  So I set off in the middle of the morning and as I was driven eastwards I was struck by the change. The streets of London had always interested me; they were so full of life; in that area which I knew best the houses were large and elegant; there were many garden squares and the parks added a delightful suggestion of the countryside. The Row, the Serpentine, the Palace where the Queen had spent her childhood—they were all delightful to the eyes. But what a contrast when we came to the mean streets.

  The vitality had increased. There was noise everywhere. People seemed to talk at the top of their voices. We kept to the main road but I glimpsed side streets. I saw grim-looking children, barefooted; I saw stalls onto which seemed to have been crowded every commodity one could think of … from chests of drawers to fly papers. There were women selling pins and needles, and men selling hot pies; there were men sitting on the pavements doing something with counters which I presumed was some sort of game; there were ballad singers who gave demonstrations of their goods. There was noise and bustle everywhere.

  The Mission was a tall square building which had, at one time, been two houses built at a time when there had been a certain affluence in the district.

  The door was open and I stepped into a large hall. It was lofty and there was no furniture apart from a table and a chair. On the table there was a bell so I rang this. Almost at once a young woman appeared. She was tall, large-boned, with untidy hair, and wearing a coat-like overall.

  I thought she was a servant until she spoke.

  She said: “Oh, hello. You’re Mrs. Mandeville. Frances said you would be coming. She’s in the kitchen. It will be open shortly and we are running a bit late. I’ll take you to her. By the way, I’m Jessica Carey. How do you do?”

  I said How do you do and thanked her.

  She smiled at me and started off, so I followed her.

  I could smell something savory.

  We went down a flight of stairs to a large room in which was a big fire. There were several large cauldrons on this and on a table a pile of wooden bowls.

  And there was Frances herself in a coat-like overall, rather flushed giving orders in that precise way which I had come to know; when she saw me she smiled.

  “Welcome,” she said. “We’re running late. They’ll be here in half an hour. We have to get these bowls up. You could help carry them.”

  “Yes. Where?”

  Jessica Carey picked up a handful of the bowls and said: “I’ll show you.”

  I did the same and followed her.

 
We went up a short staircase. We were in a room with a long wooden table on which were several iron stands. I gathered they put the cauldrons on these. Beside them were laid several large ladles.

  “We serve it here,” Jessica told me. “It’s convenient. The door is right on the street … and they can just come in. It’s a busy time of the morning, this. Feeding time. Frances says it is one of the most important. We have to look after their bodies as well as their souls.” She laughed. “I’m glad you’ve come. We need all the help we can get.”

  We put the bowls on the table and went down to get more.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Jessica Carey. “It will be a great help. There are one or two things I have to see to. If you’ll get these bowls up and help dish out. … They’ll be here at eleven thirty. We have to be ready by then or there is chaos. There seems to be more of them every day. And we’ve had to make extra. Frances gets really upset if we run out and have to send some of them away.”

  I thought this was a strange welcome. Frances had been so earnest in her desire that I should come. But I did realize that her work here was most sincere. Amaryllis had always said that she and Peterkin worked as hard as anyone she knew.

  I toiled up and down with the wooden bowls and had set up quite a pile of them on the table when the door opened and a man came in from the street.

  I was about to say that we were not quite ready yet when I realized he could not possibly have come for soup.

  He was neatly dressed and there was an air of distinction about him. I noticed that he had a rather sad face which changed when he smiled.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” I replied.

  “We haven’t met before.”

  I wondered why he should think we had. Then it occurred to me that he must be a frequent visitor to the Mission and there would be quite a number of helpers doing brief spells of duty.

  “I’m Timothy Ransome,” he said.

  “How do you do? I’m Angelet Mandeville.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Frances mentioned you. You’re related to Peterkin, I believe.”