The Pool of St. Branok (43 page)

I said to my mother, “Nothing changes in the Poldoreys. Here it seems just the same as it ever was.”

“Yes. People die and get born. … You remember old Reuben Stubbs in the cottage near Branok Pool?”

I started as I always did at the mention of that place.

“Old Reuben, of course. He was quite a character, and what of his daughter? Jenny, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what I am going to tell you. Reuben died before you were married.”

I remembered him. An unkempt old man who always seemed to be collecting the wood or beachcombing. I had always felt there was something uncanny about him. He glared at all who came near his cottage as though he feared they would take something from him. Jenny, his daughter, was what they called in these parts “pisky-mazed.”

“I was going to tell you about Jenny,” went on my mother. “She was always a little strange, remember … going round talking to herself … singing, too. If you spoke to her she’d look scared and turn away. Well, she went very strange after her father died. She lived on in the cottage. Your father said we should just leave her alone. She was harmless. She kept her place clean. She always had and after her father died it was quite sparkling. She does a little work at the farms when they want extra help. She’ll give a hand at anything. There was nothing wrong with anything she did. It was just that she was a little strange. Well, what do you think? She had a baby.”

“She married?”

“Oh no. Nobody knows who the father was. There was a man who came to do hedging and helped the farmers. He was one of those itinerant laborers … so useful at haymaking and harvest and planting and so on. He used to talk to her and she didn’t seem to be scared of him. We think it must have been this man. Well, he went off and later she had the baby. Born about the same time as Rebecca. We all wondered what would happen, but we need not have done. It changed her completely. It brought her back to normality. No mother could have cared more for a child than she did hers. The change is miraculous. Did you see her cottage when you went to the pool?”

“I … I don’t go down there very much.”

“You might see her about the town … always with the baby.”

“I’m glad she’s happy,” I said. “What was the verdict of the town? I can guess Mrs. Fenny’s.”

My mother laughed. “Sitting on the Seat of Judgment, of course. Well, that’s her way. And it doesn’t make much difference to Jenny.”

I could understand how Jenny’s life had changed. I had my own child.

The summer passed; it was autumn. Christmas came. The Pencarrons spent it with us.

My parents tried to make it a very special Christmas because I was back and there was now a new member of the family and it would be the first Christmas she was really aware of.

She was nearly two years old now. I could hardly believe it was so long since I had seen Ben. I still thought of him constantly. In fact, more than ever. There had been the excitement of coming home and being reunited with my family; and now that I had settled into this routine, memory was more acute. I had judged him harshly. He was ambitious. I had always known that. He wanted money and power. It was a very common masculine trait. He had to win. My refusal of him must have been the first real defeat he had ever suffered. I could see it all so clearly now. He was determined to fail in nothing else. His search for gold would be successful for
he
had already found it on another man’s land. And because of Lizzie that land was not out of reach. I could understand it all so well. I knew that I could never be really happy without him. I should always be haunted by the thought of what I had missed. I accepted what he had done for when one loved one loved for weakness as well as strength. I tried to throw myself into the Christmas spirit.

Rebecca was talking now. She called herself Becca and everyone took up the name.

It was touching to see her eyes alight with wonder when the Yule log was brought in and the house decorated with holly, box and bay. Red-faced and flustered, Mrs. Penlock was busy in the kitchen. Rebecca was a special favorite with her and the child seized every opportunity of going down to the kitchen. I did not encourage this because Mrs. Penlock could never resist popping things into Rebecca’s mouth for she had a conviction that what everyone needed was “feeding up.”

My mother and I decorated the Christmas tree with the fairy doll on top which was to be Rebecca’s and the jester in cap and bells beside her which was for Pedrek.

We still made the Christmas Bush, which had been part of the decorations before the coming of the tree. It was two wooden hoops fastened to each other at right angles and the frame was covered in evergreens and apples. It was hung up and any pair of the opposite sex meeting under it were allowed to kiss. We had mistletoe as well as the Kissing Bush in the kitchen, which I believe gave great delight to them all, and the stable men often came in to try to catch the young maids, while Mrs. Penlock looked on, purring and not objecting to a kiss for her own august self, because of the time of the year, she said.

There were the carol singers and the poor who came begging with their Christmas bowls. There was the wassail. We kept up the old Cornish customs because my father—though he himself was not Cornish—took a great interest in the old Celtic ways, and as a matter of fact knew far more about the ancient laws of the Duchy than the Cornish themselves.

He encouraged the Guise Dancers because they had existed before the coming of Christianity, and consequently we had dancers in the neighborhood who visited all the big houses in turns and gave performances during the year. The children clapped their hands with glee to watch them and to see the conflict between St. George and the dragon.

In the morning we went to church and came home to the traditional goose and plum pudding; the tree was stripped of its gifts and there was something for everyone. It was wonderful because of the children and I had rarely seen such contentment as that on the faces of the Pencarron parents and their daughter.

Justin was, as they said, “settling in,” but I guessed it was not easy for him to fit in with the quiet country life. It was expecting too much. Gervaise could never have done it. I hoped fervently that it would always remain as it was now for Morwenna and her parents.

When the children, exhausted by the joys of Christmas, could no longer keep their eyes open they went to bed and Rebecca’s last words before she fell into a deep sleep were: “Mama, may we have Christmas tomorrow?” And I knew that it had been a success.

So the time passed.

During the winter Jenny Stubbs’s baby died. It was a calamity which touched the whole neighborhood. Even Mrs. Fenny was sorry. It always amazed me how people who deprecated others, largely because they were not like themselves, and have little sympathy with their minor predicaments, will suddenly change when real tragedy strikes. Everyone was sorry for Jenny Stubbs. It was so tragic. Her baby had developed a sore throat and in a few days was dead.

Poor Jenny! She was dazed and heartbroken. My mother went to the cottage with a basket of special food for her and to offer comfort.

She took me with her.

Jenny seemed hardly aware of us. Because of Rebecca I could feel deeply, especially deeply for her in her sorrow. I wished I could do something to help her.

She changed after that; the new sensible Jenny retreated; the poor dazed creature emerged. It was very sad. Everyone tried to help. Those for whom she had worked offered her more work. They wanted her to know how they sympathized with her.

“She’ll get over it,” said Mrs. Penlock. “It takes time.”

Mrs. Fenny thought it was the wages of sin. “When all’s said and done she was born out of wedlock and that ain’t going to please the Lord.”

I felt so angry with her that I retorted: “Perhaps He was pleased to see the difference the child made to Jenny.”

She gave me one of her sour looks and I knew she would tell the next person who came along that that Miss Angelet should never have gone to foreign parts because if people live among heathens they start to take after them.

There was nothing we could do to help poor Jenny over her sorrow; but everyone continued to be gentle with her and whenever she appeared would call a greeting to her, as they had never done before.

It was spring, the best time of the year in the Duchy where the land is caressed by the south-west wind bringing the warm rain from the mighty Atlantic Ocean. Flowers were blooming in abundance—bright yellow celandines, golden dandelions, pink crane’s bill and purple ground ivy. The woods were full of color; the songs of the blackbirds and thrushes filled the air; and the wind which blew off the sea was fresh and invigorating.

Time was passing. Was I becoming reconciled? How often were my thoughts in that shanty township? Winter would be coming on now. I thought of Mr. and Mrs. Bowles in their store. How many babies had been born? I thought of the graveyard. Gervaise and David Skelling lying not very far from each other. I tried to shut out the memory of Golden Hall. How had they spent Christmas? How was Ben faring? How was his marriage? Was the mine as profitable as ever? It must be or he would have come back. I could not believe that he was happy. How could he be? He was a man who liked lively conversation. He had always enjoyed discussion. There were one or two educated men in the township to whom he could talk. But Lizzie? Lizzie was gentle and kind and loving … but could she give him what he wanted? Perhaps she could. Perhaps a dominating man like Ben was happiest with a docile wife.

And so my thoughts went on. I tried to forget, but although I was in Cador where everything was done to make me happy, and although I had a beloved daughter with me, still I hankered for a crude Australian township … for the dust, for the dirt, for the flies … and the discomforts of a two-roomed shack.

You must be crazy, I said to myself.

Then I would play with Rebecca; we would walk in the gardens; I would listen to her amusing comments; I would talk with my mother and father. I read a great deal. My father was making me more interested in the distant past, the history of the Duchy and its quaint customs; he had done quite a lot of research on these subjects and we had some lively discussions. I should be happy.

It was April when there was a letter from Grace. It was so long since she had seen us. Might she come and visit us for a few weeks.

My mother replied enthusiastically that we should be delighted to see her.

Aunt Amaryllis was a constant letter writer and she kept us up to date with what was going on in London. Her letters were usually full of Uncle Peter’s clever projects and Matthew’s wonderful performance in the House and what good work Peterkin and Frances were doing at the Mission.

So we had learned that Grace gave quite a lot of parties in her house. True, it was not very large but people seemed to find that amusing. Grace was invited out frequently and Peter made sure she was always at their parties. “Peter says she is a born hostess,” wrote Aunt Amaryllis. “He feels that she ought to get married again. After all it is a long time since Jonnie died. One cannot go on grieving forever. Sometimes I think Grace herself would like to marry. Perhaps one day some nice man will come along.”

I said: “Do you think Aunt Amaryllis is doing a little matchmaking?”

“That could well be,” answered my mother.

Grace arrived. She had always had a look of distinction although she was not what could be called handsome, beautiful or even pretty. But she was certainly soignée and elegant.

Jack drove to the station to meet her and I was with him.

She was effusively affectionate.

“It is just wonderful to see you, Angelet,” she said. “And I can’t wait to see Rebecca.”

“She calls herself Becca,” I told her. “I suppose Rebecca was a little difficult for her to pronounce.”

“Becca. I like that. It is more unusual. I expect your child to be unusual, Angelet. You are rather, yourself, you know.”

“If that is a compliment, thanks.”

“It is wonderful to be here again. I shall never forget all that your family have done for me.”

“It is your family now,” I said. “You married into it and before that you seemed to be a member of it.”

“It’s like coming home.”

My mother greeted her with pleasure.

“Do you remember how you used to make our dresses? I shall be tempted to make use of you while you are here.”

“I should love that,” declared Grace. “It would make me feel so much at home.”

“You must feel that all the time,” said my mother.

Grace was impressed with Rebecca’s beauty, charm and intelligence, which endeared her further to me. Rebecca liked her, too.

It was wonderful to have news from London.

“In our circle,” she told us, “it is politics all the time. There was a great to-do when Palmerston died. We never thought he’d go. There he was past eighty … and no one would have guessed it. He was jaunty till the end. People used to pause outside Cambridge House in Piccadilly to see him come out in his natty clothes and ride his gray horse out to the Row. The people all loved the old sinner. He always had an eye for the women right till the last. It was just the sort of thing to appeal to them. He was Good Old Pam to the end. He remained witty and when he was dying he was supposed to have said, ‘Die? Me? That’s the last thing I shall do!’ The Queen was upset, though he was never a favorite of hers. John Russell had to step in … but not for long. Once Pam had gone the Liberals were out of favor and Lord Derby is back now. That is good for Matthew, of course.”

“Politics,” said my mother, “is an uneasy game. One is in one day and out the next.”

“That is what makes it so exciting,” said Grace.

“We hear quite a bit … even down here … of Benjamin Disraeli.”

“Oh yes, the coming man,” said Grace. “Perhaps not coming though. He’s arrived. We shall be hearing a great deal about him. He has somehow managed to charm the Queen which is amazing. One would hardly have thought she would have approved of those dyed greasy black curls.”

“The Prince Consort would have been most displeased I imagine,” I said.