Филиппа Карр - The pool of St Branok

I was surprised when I saw a young woman there. She was seated on an upturned boat close to the old boathouse which was never used nowadays and she was staring out to sea.

She looked startled when she heard me galloping towards her. I pulled up.

"Good afternoon," I said.

She returned my greeting. She was quite young—just under eighteen, I decided. There was something about her which interested me. She looked serious, anxious, and when she saw me, a little alarmed.

I wondered who she was, and that natural curiosity, deplored by Mrs. Penlock, always got the better of me. She was a stranger and we rarely saw strangers here. Visitors were usually relations of the inhabitants and their presence was always a matter of gossip. I had heard nothing of this one.

"It's a lovely day," I went on. "Are you staying here?"

She replied: "I'm staying a few days at the Fisherman's Rest."

"Oh? Are you comfortable there?"

"Well ... yes."

I knew the Pennylegs had little to offer paying guests; there were so few of them. I believed there were only two rooms available and they were small and cramped. Most of the trade was provided by the local miners and fishermen.

"Are you staying long?"

"I'm unsure."

She was not very communicative.

She said suddenly: "Do you live here?"

I nodded and pointed upwards to where Cador stood, on the top of the cliff.

"It's magnificent," she said.

I warmed to her as I always did to anyone who praised Cador.

"Is this your boathouse?" she asked.

"I suppose so. It is never used."

She interested me, but then people always did ... particularly strangers. I fancied I detected a certain tension in her. Then I told myself it was my imagination again.

I said goodbye and rode up the incline through the gorse and valerian and sea pinks to Cador.

I forgot all about her until next day when I saw her again.

I was with my mother in the garden. She had come through the courtyard and was standing there looking at us. She seemed very sad and pathetic.

My mother said: "Good afternoon. Do you want to see someone?"

"Are you the lady of the house?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I met your daughter."

"That's right," I said. "On the sands by the old boathouse. Are you staying at the Fisherman's Rest still?"

She nodded. "I was wondering if there was any work ..."

"Work?" echoed my mother.

"I'd do anything," she said with an air of desperation, which I could see touched my mother as it did me.

"Watson, the butler, engages staff," said my mother. "You could see him."

I imagined Watson. He would be condescending. What work could he give her? As far as I knew we did not need another servant and she did not look like a house- or parlormaid, or anything like that. She was good-looking in a severe sort of way. Not the kind who would attract Watson.

"I ... I can sew," she said.

My mother looked at me. I could see that the girl had aroused her sympathy as she had mine and we both wanted to do all we could to help her.

I read my mother's thoughts. This might be a possibility. Clothes were bought on trips to London or even in Plymouth. There was one stylish dressmaker there. But I had often heard my mother say: "How I wish we had dear old Miss Semple here." Miss Semple had had her room in the attics somewhere and up there was a big airy and light room which had been used as a sewing room. Miss Semple had worked there until she died three years ago.

At that moment the girl swayed a little; she would have fallen to the ground if my mother had not caught her.

"Poor soul, she has fainted," said my mother. "Help me, Angelet. Get her head down. That will revive her."

In a few seconds she had opened her eyes.

"Oh forgive me," she said.

"My dear child," began my mother, "we're going to take you into the house. You need to rest a while."

We took her into a room leading off the hall where people waited if they wanted to see my parents about anything.

"Ring and tell someone to bring me some brandy," said my mother.

I did so.

The girl was sitting in a chair. She said: "I'm all right now. I'm sorry. It was foolish of me."

"You're not all right," said my mother firmly. "You're going to rest a while."

A servant brought the brandy which the girl took half reluctantly. She seemed to recover a little.

She half rose to her feet but my mother gently pushed her back into the chair.

"Tell me," she said. "Where have you come from? And why is a girl like you looking for work?"

She smiled ruefully. "It's no use pretending, is it? I have to find work . quickly. I'm desperate. I have nowhere to go."

"I thought you were staying at the Fisherman's Rest," I said.

"I have to leave tomorrow. I have no ..."

"Why did you come here?" asked my mother.

"I knew there were one or two big houses in the neighborhood. I thought I might find work in one of them. So ..."

"I see," said my mother. "And where have you come from?"

"My home was in Barnton ... in Devon. My father was the rector. He was much older than my mother and my parents were not young, either of them, when they married. I was the only child. I looked after my father and when my mother died ... well, it was not easy. He was ill for some time and he had to retire. All his savings were used up. There were some debts and when everything was sold I had very little. I knew it wouldn't last. I had to find something I could do. You see, I have never been trained for anything but I used to do a lot of sewing for people in the neighborhood and acquaintances. I'm really good at it ..." she ended almost pleadingly.

My mother had made a decision. "You could see how you liked it here," she said. "We had Miss Semple who worked for us for years. She died three years ago. We were all very fond of her and she has never been replaced. Her room has never been used and there is the sewing room next to it" Her face was illumined with joy. She said: "Do you really mean it ... ?"

"Of course," replied my mother. "Now let us be practical. I'll take you up to see the room right away."

She had taken my mother's hand; her eyes were closed. I thought she was going to burst into tears, but she did not.

My mother was faintly embarrassed by this show of gratitude. She said quickly: "I suppose you have some things which you will want to bring."

"I have a few clothes at the Fisherman's Rest. That's all."

"I'll show you your room and then you can go to the inn and collect your things. You can settle in right away."

"You are so kind ... This seems too wonderful to be true."

We took her up and showed her the rooms. In the sewing room was a big table at which Miss Semple had sat; and there were the dummies she used, and in the drawers of the table her cottons and tape measure just as she had left them.

She told us then that her name was Grace Gilmore, and that she hoped one day to repay us for all the kindness we had shown her.

That was how Grace Gilmore came to Cador.

There was a certain resentment below stairs where what was called "Interference from the Top" was not approved of; but my mother told them that Miss Gilmore was a genteel young lady who had fallen on hard times and she wanted them all to be as helpful towards her as possible.

Watson and Mrs. Penlock both agreed that they would do all they could to help "the young body" settle in and they implied that although it was Watson's prerogative to engage staff, they did see that sewing was something outside his domain; so perhaps on this occasion it was not such a breach of household protocol as it had at first seemed.

Later that day, Grace Gilmore arrived with her personal belongings and was settled into the rooms at the top of the house.

She was very eager to begin work and we soon discovered that she was an excellent seamstress.