Philippa Carr - Pool of St. Branok

She turned to me. “And you, me ’andsome. There’s a nice fortune for ’ee, I can see.”

She had taken my hand. I was terribly afraid. Was it written there? Was she seeing the pool and that inert body … those eyes staring at us as the head disappeared?

“Naught to be frightened at, lovey. ’Tis all fair and smiling for a little lass like you. You’re going to London, too. Perhaps you’ll go with your little …” She was trying to decide on our relationship and added: “… little companion.” Then I felt that if she didn’t know who Morwenna was she would not know about the pool.

Now she turned her attention to Grace.

“Life writes as it goes along,” she said. “There’ll be more to be seen, little lady, when you be a few years older. And now, my lady, it be your turn.” She had taken Grace’s hand.

“No,” said Grace, “I don’t think …”

The gypsy was looking at her intently. “Oh, there be trouble ’ere … deep sorrow …” Grace had turned pale. The woman went on: “I can see water … water between you and what you desire …”

I felt myself go limp with apprehension. It was clear to me that she had thought the fortunes of young girls—as she regarded Morwenna and me—were not worth telling. Little did she know! I had a vague idea how this fortune-telling was done. There was a good deal of chance in it, I had no doubt, but I did believe that flashes of truth occasionally emerged; and if something really violent had happened … it might be possible to detect it. I felt that she may have seen something in my hand which she could not explain. Who would have thought that a girl of my age could be involved in such an experience; and she was transferring it to Grace.

“You will be strong,” she was saying. “You will overcome.”

The gypsy seemed a little shaken. Her eyes were fixed on Grace’s face.

Grace withdrew her hand. “Well … thank you …”

“It’s trouble … trouble … but nature made you strong. You will overcome. All will be well. You’ll find happiness in the end.”

Grace opened her purse and gave the woman money.

“Come on,” she said. “We shall be late back and that will not do.”

The gypsy was silent. She slipped the money into her pocket and sat down.

We walked away.

“We should never have stopped,” said Grace. “It was a lot of nonsense.”

“It cost a lot of money,” commented Jack. “You could have bought six slices of gingerbread and a pink pig with what you gave her.”

“It was rather silly of us,” admitted Grace. Her voice was cold and her face looked different somehow.

She might say it was a lot of nonsense but I believed the gypsy had frightened her.

I looked over my shoulder. The woman was still seated by the side of the road staring after us.

I told my mother of the encounter.

“She promised Morwenna and me that we should go to London and find rich husbands.”

“You’ll have to go up for a season, but that’s some time away. And as to the rich husband … we’ll have to wait and see.”

“I think she rather upset Miss Gilmore. She talked about some trouble.”

“One doesn’t take any notice of them.”

“Not unless they tell you something nice.”

“That’s the idea,” said my mother, smiling. “By the way, soon we shall be going to London. I’ve been talking to Grace about new clothes. She says she could make them. I wonder if she could. One doesn’t want to look countrified. What passes here might look a little dowdy in London. But I thought we might give her a try with the blue linen. It’s just the color for you.”

Grace was very anxious to try with the linen. She came to my room with some patterns which she wanted to discuss with me, and she had the blue linen with her.

She said: “I thought we’d have a little piping round the sleeves … as it is in this pattern. Don’t you think that would look nice? I think a lightish brown … very light … would look effective.”

“Yes, perhaps,” I said. “I have a scarf which I think would be just the right color to match up with the blue. It will be in that drawer behind you.”

“May I?” she said, opening the drawer.

There was a short silence. She was staring at something in the drawer. She picked up the ring I had found at the pool. I had put it there when I came home and forgotten all about it.

“This gold ring …”she said. “Is it yours?”

I felt uneasiness gripping me as it always did when there was any reference to that day.

“Oh …” I stammered. I held out my hand for the ring. “I … I found it.”

“Found it? Where?”

“It … was when I had my accident. I remember it now. I picked it up without thinking.”

“On the beach?”

I did not answer. I ruffled my brows as though trying to remember … although I recalled perfectly well every detail of that fearful time.

“What? When you fell?”

“Y-yes … it must have been. I fell … and there was the ring.”

“On the beach,” she repeated. “And you picked it up then. Why?”

“I don’t know. I always pick up things. I suppose I do it without thinking … It’s difficult to remember … I must have seen the ring and picked it up and put it in my pocket.”

“It’s rather a nice one,” she said. “It is gold, I think. What are you going to do with it?”

“Oh … nothing.”

“You didn’t think of returning it to its owner.”

“I don’t know whose it is. I shouldn’t think any of the fishermen have a ring and it wouldn’t be theirs because they don’t come to that part of the beach. It might have been there a long time. Some visitor lost it I expect and it’s so long ago they’ve forgotten about it.”

“If you don’t want it … may I have it?”

“Of course.”

She slipped it onto the first finger of her right hand.

“This is the only one it fits,” she said.

I found the scarf and we set it side by side with the blue linen. But I was not really attending. It was incidents like that which shook me terribly and brought it all back to my memory.

Miss Gilmore seemed a little absent-minded too.

Grace Gilmore was quite a good horsewoman. My mother was constantly urging her to accompany me when I went riding.

“Angelet is so independent,” I heard her say. “She does love to ride off on her own. But I’d rather someone was with her.”

Grace Gilmore was nothing loath. There was little she seemed to like better than regarding herself as a member of the family.

We were riding along the beach one day when we came close to the boathouse. She pulled up suddenly.

“It must have been somewhere near here where you found the ring,” she said.

I nodded. I hated telling a lie, but it was necessary.

She was looking along the shore, past the boathouse to where the harbor was just visible. She took off the ring.

“Look at these initials inside it,” she said. “Did you notice?”

“No. I didn’t look at it … much. I just picked it up.”

“You weren’t in a fit state to examine it closely, I suppose.”

“No. I don’t know why I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Just force of habit, I expect. I wasn’t really thinking of it.”

“No, you wouldn’t at such a time. Do you see what the initials are?”

She handed me the ring. Engraved inside were the initials M.D. and W.B.

“I wonder who they are,” I said.

She took the ring from me. What a fool I had been to pick it up. If I tried to return it the people would want to know where I found it. It might well be that the owner of the ring had never been near the sea. Ben had talked of clues. This could be one of those. I wished that Grace had never found it. I would have thrown it away if I had remembered. I should have remembered. When one practiced deceit one had to be careful. Her next words made me shiver.

“Those initials M.D. What was the name of that man who escaped from Bodmin Jail?”

“I … er … I don’t remember.”

“It was Mervyn Duncarry, I’m sure. M.D. You see?”

“There could be lots of people with those initials.”

“He must have been here … on this beach. I feel certain it is his ring.”

“And who is W.B.?”

“Some woman I suppose who was fool enough to love him.”

She held the ring in the palm of her hand and then suddenly she flung it into the sea.

“I couldn’t wear the ring of a murderer, could I?”

“No,” I said vehemently, “of course you could not.”

She could not guess how relieved I was to see the end of that ring. It was what I had begun to see as a piece of incriminating evidence.

WE WERE GOING TO London to pay that long delayed visit to Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis.

It was the year 1854 and I had now passed my twelfth birthday. There was a great deal of preparation, as there always was for these trips. Grace Gilmore had made a success of the blue linen and had made other dresses for me and for my mother.

Grace was really part of the household now. She had taken charge of my mother’s wardrobe, and was able to dress her hair for special occasions. She was no ordinary lady’s maid, of course. My mother had a real affection for her and was eager to help her in every way and Grace showed her gratitude by making herself almost indispensable to my mother.

“I don’t now how I managed before she came,” she used to say.

Grace was treated more and more like a member of the family. She was clever. There might have been revolution in the kitchen at such elevation of one who was in their eyes a mere servant, though an upper one. But Grace Gilmore was possessed of great tact. She always treated Mrs. Penlock and Watson as equals; and although they felt they should be given the respect due to the heads of the servant oligarchy, they did accept that Grace was outside the usual laws of protocol. She now had her meals with us. At first Watson was inclined to sniff at that, and we wondered whether the parlormaids would be allowed to serve her or whether she would be expected to help herself. My mother soon put an end to this nonsense and as Grace herself was the essence of tact, the situation was eased and finally accepted.

So Grace had become almost like a daughter of the household—and a very useful one.

She would travel with us—as one of us—but she insisted on lady’s maiding my mother; keeping an eye on our wardrobes; and she was helpful with Jack.

This hovering between upper and lower parts of the household might have presented a problem to a lesser person, but Grace dealt with it calmly and efficiently as she did all things.

We were greeted with great delight by Aunt Amaryllis, who scolded my mother for delaying so long. She embraced me and looked at me anxiously.

“My poor darling Angelet,” she said. “What a terrible accident that was! Well, you look quite healthy now, doesn’t she, Peter?”

Uncle Peter looked a little older, but the years only added to his distinction. He kissed me on both cheeks and said how pleased he was to see me.

“Matthew and Helena will be over with Jonnie and Geoffrey,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “When Jonnie knew you were coming he was so pleased. He is really very cross with you for staying away so long—so are we all.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” replied my mother. “Don’t think we did not miss our visits. But why didn’t you come to Cador?”

Aunt Amaryllis lifted her shoulders. “Peter has been so busy and we are all here … the whole family. It is so much better for you to come to London.”

“And this is Grace,” said my mother. “Grace Gilmore.”

“How do you do, Miss Gilmore. We are so pleased you came. We have heard so much about you.”

“You are all so kind,” murmured Grace.

“Now then … to your rooms. Luggage will be sent up … and dinner is at eight. Do come down when you are ready. Matthew and the family will be here at any minute.”

Grace helped my mother unpack and then came to me.

“What a lovely house!” she said.

“I’ve always been fascinated by it,” I told her. “And Aunt Amaryllis always gives me a room overlooking the river.”

She went to the window and looked out.

I stood beside her. “You can just see the new Houses of Parliament. They really are magnificent. Did you know the Queen opened the Victoria Tower and the Royal Gallery only two years ago; and she knighted the architect. It really is a wonderful sight when you look across the river.”

“It is a great pleasure for me to be in London. It was a very fortunate day when I walked into your garden.”