Philippa Carr: Pool of St. Branok

What would happen? I could not understand my own feelings. In the peace of the country, in the comfortable ambiance of my old home, should I be able to assess … to think clearly … to plan reasonably? Could I look at my feelings for Timothy, whom I did love in a quiet way? I knew he was a good man, a stable man. I could have a peaceful life with him. Rebecca would be happy. I could settle into a cozy cocoon of contentment. But would it be complete? Would I ever forget the man who could arouse passionate emotions in me such as I could feel for no one else?

I longed to be at Cador with the familiar things of my childhood around me, with my ever loving parents. Perhaps I could confide in them. Perhaps I could discover which way I must go.

It was inevitable that Ben should come to the house.

He looked pale and haggard.

“Oh, Ben,” I said, “it has been such a terrible time.”

He looked at me steadily. “It is good to see you, Angel,” he said.

I smiled wanly.

“I had to talk to you,” he went on. “I had to make you understand.”

“It has been such a shock.”

His next words sent a shiver through me. “I killed her, Angel.”

“Ben!”

“As sure as if I put that stuff in her glass, I killed her. She did it because life wasn’t worth living for her. That was my fault. She was so helpless … so vulnerable. She always hankered for Golden Creek. That was where she was happy. I married her for what she could bring me. Yes, I admit it. You were married and there seemed no hope. And there was the gold … waiting to be brought forth. I married her and then I neglected her. I made life so wretched for her that she decided to go.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself too much. It won’t do any good.”

“If I had been different …”

“If we had all been different our lives would not have been as they are.”

“If only I had tried to understand her. I was so immersed in my own life. She hated it all … the fuss … everything. And I had thrust her into that life.”

“She wanted to do all she could for you.”

“Yes, and it was too much for her.”

“But you have to grow away from it. You will in time.”

“No. It will always be there with me. She’s dead … and I could have stopped it.”

I felt a sudden gladness in my heart. It was not he who had given her that extra dose. At least I was sure of that, and that made all the difference to me.

“It’s too late for reproaches, Ben,” I said. “That won’t bring her back.”

“I know. You comfort me, Angel.”

Ben, in need of comfort! Ben, vulnerable and weak! I had never seen him like that before and I loved him the more for his weakness

“I’m going away for a while, Ben,” I told him. “I’m going to my family in Cornwall.”

“Not for long?”

“I don’t know. I want to do a lot of thinking.”

“Yes,” he said, “I understand.”

“Don’t fret, Ben. It’s done with. It’s no use going over it. That can do no good.”

“You’re right,” he said.

“You’ll start again. You’ll be your old self. You know you never liked anything to defeat you.”

“That’s true,” he admitted. “But I see I have taken matters too much in my own hands. I have tried to manipulate life.”

“Strong men do that … do they not? It is just that sometimes Fate is stronger than they are.”

“What shall you do in Cornwall?”

“Walk … ride … play with Rebecca … be with my family. I feel that I shall be able to see which way I have to go.”

He nodded. “Think of me,” he said. “And come back soon. I shall be waiting for you.”

Rebecca was delighted to go to Cornwall and see the grandparents and with equal delight my family greeted me.

Jack was waiting for us at the station. “They are killing the fatted calf,” he said.

And there was my old room, full of childhood memories … happy memories apart from that dark one which would not go away and seemed to be at the center of everything that had happened to me since.

I had been home only two days when my mother announced a breakfast that she had had a letter from Grace.

“She wants to come down and stay for a week or so. She says we have often told her that she will be welcome. I am writing at once to say we shall be delighted to have her. I expect it is very sad for her. She was such a friend of Lizzie’s.”

I felt a shiver run through me.

Grace coming to Cornwall? Why?

I kept thinking of Justin and how earnestly he had warned me. It had all seemed so melodramatic … Grace wanting to murder me … in the hope that one day Ben would marry her!

It was too far-fetched.

I thought I had dismissed the matter from my mind, but here it was back again.

If Ben had been guilty he could not have come to me and talked so earnestly. He was ruthless, I knew; but he was not a murderer. He had been sincere when he had talked to me; his strength had been broken down by a sense of terrible guilt … but it was not the guilt of a murderer.

But what of Grace … who was really Wilhelmina? She had once loved a murderer. I think she had helped him to escape. I tried to remember reports which had come out during the hunt for Mervyn Duncarry. He had made his escape by stabbing a warder with a knife. It was not understood how a prisoner could have a knife. Someone must have smuggled it in to him. That had been suggested at the time.

Who could have done that? Grace?

Was Justin’s theory so wild? And now she was following me to Cornwall.

Grace arrived in due course. She looked changed in some subtle way. There was an air of purpose about her.

My mother welcomed her warmly. She had always been fond of Grace and regarded her as a member of the family.

At dinner, Grace talked about the Mission. She had been there once or twice and was greatly impressed by the work which was being done.

“Well, you know what I’m talking about, Angelet,” she said. “There is that wonderful story of Fanny. I asked Timothy Ransome if I could go down and see her.”

“And did you?” I asked.

“Yes, I did. What a lovely family! Fanny is settling in. She was quite sociable, which I gather is something she has learned there. She asked after you. She told me how you and Timothy came and took her away. She seems fond of you … and Timothy … and the children, of course. Don’t you think that is a wonderful thing to have done?” she added turning to my parents. “And that is just one case.”

My mother said it was indeed wonderful.

“I gather you are doing the books,” I said.

She laughed. “What a mess they were in! Frances is magnificent … but accounts are not her line … and with all the donations coming in and the bills that have to be paid … Well, it does seem to be a line of work which nobody wants to undertake.”

“It’s the less glamorous side of the business, I suppose,” said my father.

“But very necessary,” put in my mother. “So what is happening, Grace? Are you giving them temporary assistance?”

“I’ve found it useful to have something to do. It won’t be figures all the time … once I’ve straightened out the books. I should like to do a little bit of social work, too. I think I shall be there quite frequently.”

“Frances wants all the helpers she can get,” I said.

She smiled at me. There was a certain glitter in her eyes. Or did I imagine that? I could not get the picture of her out of my mind … going into Lizzie’s bedroom … I saw Lizzie drowsy from a laudanum-induced sleep. I seemed to hear Grace’s voice. “Can’t you sleep, Lizzie? You must. You need to be fresh for tomorrow … There is a great deal to do … Here, another few drops won’t do any harm.”