Филиппа Карр - The pool of St Branok

"I ain't never been to the country."

"Well, now is your chance to see it."

"With 'im?" she said, pointing to Timothy.

"That's right. It's his home. He's got two children ... a girl and a boy. They've heard of you. You could help look after them."

I could see that she liked the idea of looking after children.

"What about 'er?" she said nodding in my direction.

"I don't live there, you see, Fanny."

"Oh." I felt flattered that she looked disappointed.

"Perhaps we could persuade Mrs. Mandeville to come and stay with us," said Timothy.

"All right," she said.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," I said. "We'll go out today and buy another merino dress ... a blue one as like the other as we can find."

"And a red hair ribbon?" she said.

"That too," I promised.

And that was settled.

The next day Timothy took Fanny down to Hampton. I missed them very much and was surprised that some savor seemed to have gone out of my life.

But there was a letter from my mother. She was coming to London immediately and would be with us in two days' time.

My mother was eager to know all that had been happening in London. I noticed how she kept studying me intently. I knew what she meant. She wanted to know how far my friendship with Timothy had progressed and whether I was happy.

I could not tell her because I did not know myself.

I thought increasingly of Ben and wished more than ever that I were at Manorleigh helping with the campaign.

I had enjoyed working at the Mission and little could be as worthwhile as that, but how I should have enjoyed doing all the things which Lizzie hated so much and which, presumably, Grace was helping her to do.

I thought it must be a most exciting life—but perhaps that was because it was Ben's.

One of the first things Amaryllis did when my mother arrived was to invite Timothy to dinner.

"I know," said Aunt Amaryllis, "that your mother is eager to hear how you helped that young girl."

Then my mother had to hear the story of Fanny.

"You went into that dreadful place alone!" was her first comment.

"I didn't think of it. I just followed Fanny."

My mother shivered. "It was foolish of you."

"But if I hadn't what would have happened? It was all for the best. And Timothy was not far behind."

"What a terrible thing! That poor woman ... murdered."

"It will, at least, be the end of that ... monster," said Aunt Amaryllis. "He's guilty and everyone knows it. He admits it himself. He'll hang."

"And that poor child?"

"She's with Timothy's family at the moment."

"Oh yes ..."

It was clear that my mother had had a full report on Timothy's family from Aunt Amaryllis.

"It was good of him to take her in," said my mother. "I must say he seems to me to be a very kind person ... working for the Mission and all that."

"Oh, you know Frances. She insists that people come and then she makes them work."

"Frances is wonderful."

"Peterkin is a great help to all those people, too."

"They are a wonderful pair."

"I am so glad Timothy's coming to dine. I do look forward to meeting him."

When Timothy came it was obvious from the first that they took an instant liking to each other.

"I've heard so much about you," said my mother, "and all that you have been doing at the Mission. There is so much I want to know about the poor child you rescued. I do think it was wonderful."

We were at the dinner table with, as usual, Uncle Peter at one end and Aunt Amaryllis at the other. They were beaming like two benign gods who have settled the troubles of the world. I could see that they had decided that I should marry Timothy Ransome and live happily ever after. Why is it that other people's problems are so easy to solve? It is only one's own which are fraught with difficulty.

They talked of little but politics. It would not have been a dinner party at that house without that. My mother wanted to know how Ben was getting on and I noticed the pride with which Uncle Peter told her that he had a fair chance of beating his opponent.

"It is rather amusing," said my mother. "You and Matthew on one side and Ben on the other."

"It adds spice to the contest," agreed Uncle Peter.

"Grace is being so useful," said Aunt Amaryllis.

"She is a clever woman," replied my mother. "I always thought that ... from the day she came to us. Do you remember that day, Angelet?"

I said I did.

"And I gather she is looking after Lizzie ... which is good of her. Poor Lizzie!"

"She ought to have married someone not quite so demanding," said Aunt Amaryllis. "Well, at least she has Grace."

"What about this poor child you rescued? Isn't it dreadful about her mother and stepfather? What will happen do you think?"

"He will get his deserts," replied Uncle Peter. "It's a plain case of murder. It's good publicity for the Mission, though, because the young girl was there when it happened. She might have shared her mother's fate if she had been in her home."

"How is she taking it, poor child?" said my mother.

"We haven't told her yet," explained Timothy. "She's settling in quite happily. I don't know what will happen when she does. She was devoted to her mother."

"Poor, poor girl," said my mother.

"We didn't want her to think that her mother died because she, Fanny, left home."

"She didn't, did she?"

"Well, the stepfather didn't want Fanny to go. He wanted the few pence she earned as a salesgirl to buy himself gin. Coming home drunk and finding Fanny gone he apparently attacked his wife and killed her."

"We can't be sure it was quite like that," I said.

"In any case," went on Timothy, "it would have happened sooner or later. He had ill-treated the poor woman often enough before. Fanny is liking the country." He turned to me and smiled. "She looks quite different. The children like her. They think she is quaint. She was with their governess when I left them to come to town. I think she is a little put out because Fiona, who is so much younger than she is, can read and write. Fanny herself would like to do that."

"So you will have her taught?" asked my mother.

"If she wants to. I am not quite sure what we should do for her. My sister Janet would train her as a parlormaid or something. I want to do the best for Fanny. She is unusually bright and intelligent. I was hoping to ask your advice." He looked at me. "You understand her ... you always did. I wish you would come down to Hampton and see her there." He glanced at my mother. "Perhaps you would come with Angelet, Mrs. Hanson. My sister Janet would enjoy that."

"I don't see why not," answered my mother. "I think it is an excellent idea."

"It is not very far out of London."

"We should enjoy it so much, shouldn't we, Angelet?" said my mother.

I smiled and said we should.

Everyone was satisfied. The evening was going according to plan.

And so my mother, Rebecca and I went to Hampton, Timothy escorting us there. Rebecca was very excited. She already knew Timothy well and in her usual affectionate manner accepted him as a friend. She was elated at the prospect of visiting him, but a little sad because Pedrek was not one of the party.

Riverside Manor was a beautiful old Tudor house and, as its name implied, close to the river. It was the black and white type of building so typical of the period, with black beams and white-washed plaster panels in between. The upper floors projected over the ground floor and in front of the house was a garden now full of chrysanthemums and dahlias. It must have been very colorful in the spring.

We stepped right into a typical Tudor hall with high vaulted ceiling, thick oak beams and paneled walls, where Janet Ransome was waiting to receive us. She was a tall woman with a spare figure and a certain severity of countenance. Crisp, neat and rather taciturn, I thought; but I was to discover that this exterior hid a kind and sentimental heart.