Philippa Carr - Pool of St. Branok

“It is comforting to know that you see me in such a light. I fancy your parents will have a clearer and more penetrating vision.”

“Seriously, Angelet, there is nothing to worry about. They haven’t all that much of a high opinion of me. I am not the apple of the parental eyes, nor the hope of the family. They don’t expect me to marry royalty. All they want is for me to ‘settle down.’ ”

“You’re a great comfort to me, Gervaise.”

“It’s what I intend to be … in one of your favorite phrases, until death do us part.”

We were to leave for Derbyshire at the end of the week, and the days were spent in preparation for the visit. My mother, Grace and I had discussions as to what clothes we would need. “Something for the country,” said Grace, which I had not brought with me. We went to Jay’s in Regent Street; and for the rest I had my evening clothes and riding habit.

“You fuss too much,” said Gervaise. “We shall not be entertaining royalty while you are there.”

It was the day before we were to leave. I was doing some last minute packing when Morwenna came into the room we shared.

She said: “Grace has just come. We’re going for a walk in the Park. I thought you had finished your packing.”

“I have really.”

“Why don’t you come with us?”

“I’d like to.”

“Come on. Get your cloak. I shall miss you very much, Angelet, when you go.”

“It’s only for two weeks.”

“It is wonderful … you and Gervaise. You are so happy together and he is delightful. What I like about him is that although he is so amusing and sometimes cynical … he is so kind.”

“Yes,” I said. “That is what I like about him.”

“You are so lucky,” she said wistfully.

“I know. I wish …” I did not finish but she knew I was about to say that I wished she could find someone like Gervaise. It was what she needed. Poor Morwenna. She had so convinced herself that no one could care for her, that she became awkward and self-effacing in company. She would have loved to make a grand marriage … not so much for herself, but to please her parents.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re keeping Grace waiting.”

We went down together.

“Angelet has decided to come with us,” said Morwenna.

“Oh, I thought you would have too much to do,” said Grace.

“It’s practically done. I’m all ready for the fray, and I thought I’d like a walk in the Park.”

We were talking about the trip to Derbyshire and the coming parties which Morwenna would be attending without me—a prospect she did not relish—when a small boy, barefooted, ragged and unkempt, dashed up and almost knocked Morwenna over. She gave a little cry and put a hand to her side.

“My purse!” she cried. “He’s taken it from the pocket of my cloak.”

We were too stunned to do anything. For a few seconds we stood staring after the boy who was running with Morwenna’s purse in his hands.

And then … a man appeared. He emerged suddenly from a clump of bushes near the path. He was about two yards ahead of the boy. The boy swerved, but he was too late and not sufficiently agile. The man had him in his grip.

He shook him and took the purse from him. Then he suddenly released the boy and gave him a push. The boy scampered off and the man, holding Morwenna’s purse, came walking towards us.

He took off his hat and bowed. “I saw what happened. I’m afraid I let him go. Poor creature, he looked half starved.”

He handed the purse to Morwenna. “Yours, I believe.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said.

There was something familiar about the man. I had seen him before but for the moment could not think where. Then suddenly it came to me. He was the man who had approached us some little time ago because he thought Grace was someone else.

“Why, I do believe …” he said, smiling at Grace. “Yes, of course, you are the lady who bears such a strong resemblance to a lady of my acquaintance.”

Grace smiled. “I remember you,” she said. “We saw you almost at this spot. It is a favorite walk of ours.”

“It is becoming one of mine.” He turned to Morwenna. “I’m afraid that was rather a shock for you.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “It was silly of me really … carrying a purse in that pocket.”

“These people are sharp. They are trained to it, you know. They can almost sniff out a stealable object. Why do we not sit down for a moment.” He indicated a seat.

He was smartly dressed in morning coat and top hat; he was young, the type of man we met in the London social circle.

“I hope you don’t think this is indecorous,” he said. “But perhaps in view of our little adventure …”

“I am so grateful to you,” said Morwenna. “I am glad to have a chance to thank you. I hadn’t much in the purse but it was worked by my mother, and I do value it for that reason.”

“These sentimental gifts cannot be replaced. This makes me doubly happy to have been of assistance.”

“I was so fortunate that you happened to be so near.”

He introduced himself. “I am Justin Cartwright,” he said.

“Do you live near here?” I asked.

“I have been abroad,” he said. “I have only recently returned home. I am staying in London … in a hotel at the moment. I am making plans.”

“That sounds very interesting,” said Morwenna.

He smiled at her. He seemed to be quite interested in her for which I was glad; and she responded. She did not seem to be trying to shrink away. After all, it was her purse which had been stolen; and she could be said to be the center of this adventure.

We chatted a little; and after a while he said he must not detain us further.

Morwenna thanked him again for his help and he left us.

“An interesting man,” said Grace.

“And very kind,” added Morwenna.

“I wonder what his business is and what he has been doing abroad,” I said.

“He was so quick after that boy,” went on Morwenna. “And I am glad he let him go. He said he looked so frightened and he is obviously very, very poor. It was kind of him. Most people would have made a fuss and there would have been a lot of trouble. Goodness knows what would have happened if that boy had been handed over to the law. I’ve been reading Matthew’s book on Prison Reform. Some of the things which happened to those people are quite terrible.”

“They are criminals,” said Grace. “And that boy would have made off with your purse. He will go on doing that sort of thing and will probably steal the purse of someone who depends on what is in it for his next meal.”

“Well, I didn’t,” said Morwenna. “And I am glad he let him go. He was touched by him and I think that shows a good nature.”

“Well,” said Grace, “it is time we went back. It will teach you to be more careful in the future, Morwenna.”

Morwenna said it would; but I could see that she had quite enjoyed the encounter. The theft had been shocking, but the rescuer had been both courteous and attentive to her. That was rare for Morwenna and she seemed to blossom under it.

I wished again that she would lose that sense of inferiority—then I was sure she would be quite attractive.

GERVAISE HAD LEFT LONDON a few days before we set out for Derbyshire and he was at the station to meet us. He had come in a carriage with the Mandeville arms emblazoned on it and drawn by two rather sprightly gray horses.

When he greeted us he told us how delighted he was to see us and that the family was agog with excitement at the prospect.

Our luggage was put into the carriage by a respectful porter whose manner indicated to us the importance of the Mandevilles in this part of the world; and soon we were riding through the country lanes.

And there was the house.

There had been a Mandeville Court in Tudor times, but the old building had burned down in the early 1600s and a few years later had been rebuilt. It was of a rectangular shape composed of bricks and Portland stone. There was a portico and steps leading to the front door; and the tall windows gave a touch of elegance.

It was a very attractive house though it lacked the antiquity of Cador. In fact it seemed quite modern in comparison; but it was stately and dignified—a house to be proud of.

We were taken immediately into the house where Gervaise introduced us to his parents.

Sir Horace was benign and told us how pleased he was that we were able to come. Lady Mandeville was pleasant but I could see that she was a forceful woman and her gimlet eyes were naturally focused on me.

Then there were the rest of the family: the eldest son, William, who would inherit the title and the estates; Henry, the second son, who was studying law; and Marian, the daughter, the youngest member of the family, slightly younger than I was, I guessed.

We were shown our rooms which were lofty and elegant, and mine, next to that of my parents, looked out on the gardens.

A maid came in to help us unpack, although we could easily have done it ourselves and would have preferred to. One did not need a great deal of baggage for two weeks.

My evening dresses, my riding habit and my “country costumes” were soon all hanging up in the wardrobe and I was washing my hands in the basin provided, when my mother came.

She sat on the bed and smiled at me.

“Well,” she said. “I don’t think it is going to be all that much of an ordeal, do you?”

“I am not sure of Lady Mandeville. She looked at me so piercingly that I thought she was seeing right through me.”

“Well, naturally she would want to get to know her prospective daughter-in-law.”

“I rather like Sir Horace.”

“Yes, he resembles Gervaise.”

“I saw that and it endeared him to me.”

“It’s going to be amusing. The daughter looks as if she could be fun. The brothers are rather serious. I imagine they take after their mother. I shall invite them to Cador, of course.”

“When?” I asked.

“It all depends when the wedding will be. I suppose that is something we shall decide while we are here.”

“I thought I was here on approval.”

“Then don’t. I have an idea that Gervaise is the sort of young man who will make up his own mind without seeking advice; and he has already done that.”

“What does Father think of him?”

“Much the same as I do. He’s interested in the second son … rather naturally because he is in the law … as your father was when he started out.”

“Well, we shall see how it goes.”

“Not nervous now?”

“No. Though I should like to make a good impression. I am sure Gervaise would be happy if I did.”

“All you have to do is be yourself … and you will.”

In the dining room the whole family were assembled. I was seated beside Sir Horace. Lady Mandeville was at the other end of the table with my father next to her. Conversation was mostly about the house, and when we described Cador to them, they were very interested.

They had arranged one or two dinner parties so that we could meet the family’s friends who lived in the neighborhood; and they were pleased to hear that I enjoyed riding.

Once or twice I caught Marian’s eye across the table. I could almost imagine that she winked at me. My father talked about some of the old customs of Cornwall and they were very interested in these.

“We are not so imaginative here in Derbyshire,” said Sir Horace. “I do not think we would accept the story of those little people finding gold in a tin mine.”

“I would say we were more realistic,” put in Lady Mandeville.

My mother told them the story of the Bells of St Branok to which they listened with the utmost skepticism, but which sent shivers through me; and I wished that subject had not been brought up.

“Cornwall must be quite different from the rest of England,” said Lady Mandeville.

“Oh, it is,” declared my mother. “I am only half Cornish … through my father, and Rolf … well, he is what is called a foreigner there. You are right when you say it is different. I hope you will visit it and see for yourselves.”

They all declared they would be delighted to do so.

“Tomorrow,” said Lady Mandeville, “I shall show you the house … if you wish to see it; and I will tell you some of the tales which have been handed down to us. We have had our adventures. The Wars of the Roses … the Great Rebellion … but all perfectly natural. As I say, we are a down-to-earth people here.”

“It will be most fascinating,” said my mother.