The Pool of St. Branok (17 page)

“Oh, not so much as all that. Anyway we shall find out.”

“I hope you won’t expect me to walk off with the catch of the season.”

“My dear child, your father and I want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“I heard Helena say she hated every minute of it.”

“Well, Helena’s a very retiring sort of girl. You are not like that.”

“You didn’t have a season, Mama?”

“No. Because I went to Australia with my parents … and you know what happened there. Afterwards it seemed unnecessary.”

I smiled apologetically. I knew she was reminded of the death of her parents. It was the last thing I wanted to do.

I said: “Well, I suppose I shall find it amusing.”

“You will. You will enjoy it. And if nothing comes of it …”

“You mean if I don’t find a rich and handsome husband?”

“Angel!”

“Well, that is what it is all about, isn’t it?”

“My dear child, it gives you an opportunity to meet people. I know some girls suffer torments. They fear they will prove unattractive and nothing is more likely to make them so than that. I want you to go into all this in a carefree way. I’ve talked about it with your father. We certainly don’t want you to feel you are up for auction. Just enjoy the parties and if by chance you meet someone whom you think you can love, we shall be delighted. But don’t let it worry you. It will just give you a chance to go to places and meet all sorts of people. Whatever happens we have each other, don’t we? You’ve always been happy at home.”

I put my arms round her and kissed her.

“I am sure Aunt Amaryllis meant that with Helena, but I suppose she didn’t tell her. And I think Uncle Peter might have expected a good deal. I am lucky to have you and Papa.”

“I think we are lucky too. Your father thinks Jack will do a good job at Cador when the time comes.”

“Oh Heavens … that’s years and years away.”

“Yes, please God. But what I want you to know is that we are here … as long as you want us … no matter what.”

I had an impulse to tell her then of that incident which now seemed so long ago. I wondered what her reaction would be. It was almost irresistible … but not quite. She would be disturbed, worried. It would make me different in her eyes—not her innocent daughter any more. I could not do it. I did not want to disturb her. She was so happy in her cozy family cocoon. I could not spoil it with the grisly tale. So I said nothing.

Grace was very interested to hear of my proposed season.

“I hope I shall be able to take part in it,” she said.

“My dear Grace” replied my mother “everything will be taken care of.”

Grace’s face fell and my mother went on quickly. “Oh, I am sure you will be most useful. You have a style … an elegance … You could advise about clothes. Of course there are court dressmakers and people like that.”

“I understand,” said Grace. “But I should like to help if there is anything I can do. I get rather lonely and it would be so exciting.”

“There will be a great deal of preparation,” said my mother.

“I am sure you are going to enjoy it,” said Grace.

I was not so sure, but I promised myself that I would not attempt to look for a rich husband. I would make a turn-about of the whole procedure; and instead of being up for auction, I should inspect the gentlemen and if I did not like them, be they marquesses or dukes, I would refuse them. I laughed at myself. As Mrs. Penlock would say, “Opportunity would be a fine thing.”

But one could not enter into such an undertaking without thinking rather seriously about marriage. I remembered the two passions of my younger life: Jonnie and Ben. This was different. Those had been childish fancies. I had seen them both as heroes. I did not think that Ben was quite that. Jonnie might have proved to be one, and he would always remain one in my eyes because he had died before his claim to the title could be disproved. And in any case, I dramatically told myself, he had become another woman’s husband.

Grace and I rode over to the Pencarrons’.

“What a lovely old house this is,” she said.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “The Pencarrons have done wonders with it. My father said it was almost a ruin when they took over. They call it Pencarron Manor now and the mine is Pencarron Mine.”

“They must be very rich.”

“I suppose so. I believe the mine is very profitable and my father said Josiah Pencarron has other interests in the Duchy.”

Morwenna came running out to meet us.

She had grown a little plump and she had the rosy complexion of a country girl and little confidence in herself. I could never imagine why. She had a kindly nature and her parents were devoted to her—especially her father. I should have thought his almost besotted devotion might have made her quite conceited.

Mrs. Pencarron once told me that it had been a great disappointment to him that they had no son … until the day when Morwenna was born.

“She came rather late,” she said. “I’d thought I was too old to get a child. But she is all the more precious for that. Father said he wouldn’t change her for twenty boys.”

Morwenna was delighted to see Grace. She liked her. But then Morwenna liked everybody.

We went into the hall. It was essentially Tudor with enormous oak beams supporting the vaulted ceiling. The linen fold paneling on the walls had been painstakingly restored at great cost.

The staircase at one end of the hall had carved banisters decorated with the Tudor rose. There were arms on the wall … but of course not the Pencarrons’.

Josiah had imitated one or two features of Cador’s, and we were amused by this—and flattered.

He was ostentatiously gratified of his rise in life and although he would have greatly liked to have been born into the gentry he was proud that, by his wits and good sense, he had been able to live like one of them.

My father said it was most commendable for a man to have come so far; he had the greatest respect for him.

In fact, there was something very likable about all the Pencarrons.

Luncheon was served in the dining room which they used for a few guests; if there was a large company they would eat in the great hall—according to the old custom. But for this occasion it was, of course, the dining room—a beautifully proportioned room with high ceiling and wall tapestries which Josiah had bought with the house.

Conversation turned to my coming out.

“I shall go up to London,” I told them, “and be put through my paces. I believe one has to learn how to curtsy and walk backwards. There is a great deal to learn and I don’t know how long one is with Her Majesty. A matter of seconds I suppose. You curtsy … and that is it. You pass on and it is ‘Next, please.’ And for all that you have to have a special court dress and feathers and learn how to keep them steady and how to smile in the most genteel manner. You must not lose your balance when you curtsy. In fact, you must not make one mistake. Well … there wouldn’t be much time to, I suppose.”

“So you are to be presented to the Queen!” said Mrs. Pencarron in an awed voice. “My word, that’s something to be proud of.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Oh, go on with you,” said Mrs. Pencarron. “I reckon it’s a great honor, wouldn’t you Jos?”

“I would that,” replied Josiah. “And that’s what’s going to happen to you. Well, I never.”

They were interested to hear more about it. I told them all I knew which was not much, but they kept plying me with questions.

Josiah was looking at his daughter with loving pride.

“What do you say, Mother? I reckon our Morwenna would look a real treat in a court dress and feathers.”

Grace said: “I believe it is quite a sight to see all the carriages lined up in the street on their way to the Palace. Who will present you, Angelet?”

“I think it will probably be Helena. She has already been presented so she knows how to go on and then of course she is the wife of a prominent member of Parliament … and the mother of a hero …” My voice faltered a little as it always did when I mentioned Jonnie.

“I reckon it has to be someone like that,” said Mrs. Pencarron regretfully.

“It doesn’t have to be a relation,” said Grace. “Of course it’s a costly matter … but they seem to think it is what every girl needs to launch her into society.”

“I’d like to see our Morwenna there.”

“Oh no, Pa,” said Morwenna quickly. “It wouldn’t do for me.”

“And why not indeed?” Josiah was the important business man suddenly, bristling at the notion that there was something his little girl was not good enough to take part in.

“Do you really mean …” began Grace. “Do you really mean that you would like Morwenna to be presented at court?”

“Would that be allowed?” asked Mrs. Pencarron.

Grace smiled. “I shouldn’t think there would be any difficulty. You are doing good work down here … employing large numbers of men. You don’t have to be related to the presenter. I can see no reason why, if you wanted it, Morwenna and Angelet should not be presented together.”

Grace was looking at me and I was thinking what fun it would be to have Morwenna share in this ordeal with me. She was a very pleasant girl and I was fond of her. She might be a little dull; she always agreed with everything I said, but she was straightforward and reliable; and when people were as nice as Morwenna was, one should be prepared to put up with a little boredom.

“It would be lovely,” I said. “We’d go into it together. Helena could take us both under her wing.”

Morwenna was looking alarmed.

“Well, I never did!” said Josiah.

“Would you like us to make inquiries?” I asked.

“I’d be that grateful. Think of it, Mother. Our little girl going to see the Queen.”

They talked of nothing else for the rest of the meal: what dresses would be needed; what we should have to learn to do.

“It will be fun,” I said, to cheer a worried Morwenna. “We will do it together.”

“Then, of course, there is the season,” Grace reminded us.

“Balls and parties and things,” I added.

The Pencarron parents exchanged excited glances. I could see that they felt this was hardly within their scope.

“It will all be in London,” I said. “I shall probably be staying with Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis. My mother will surely be there. I might stay at Helena’s. Morwenna could be with me.”

Josiah could think of nothing to say to this glittering prospect and fell back on: “Well, I never did.”

When we rode home, Grace said: “The seed is sown. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Morwenna went with you to London.”

“I hope she does.”

“I can hardly think she will be the debutante of the season. The poor girl is a little gauche.”

“Well, she has lived her life in the country. I don’t think she is as happy at the prospect as her parents are.”

“She has to do the hard work while they bask in the glory.”

“I’m not sure that it is such a good idea. I am not eager and Morwenna is far more retiring than I am.”

“Perhaps we shall hear no more of it.”

“I rather think we shall. Has it struck you that Josiah Pencarron is the sort of man who, once he has made up his mind he wants something, will make sure that he gets it? Well, I think that he has made up his mind that Morwenna is going to court.”

“We’ll wait and see,” said Grace.

It was as I thought. The seed had been sown in the minds of the Pencarron parents. Their girl was going to become a real lady; she was going to have all the advantages which had been denied them; and Morwenna and I went to London to begin the grueling process of molding us into young ladies of the court.

We had lessons in dancing and deportment from Madame Duprey. We walked round the room carrying a small pile of books on our heads. “Shoulders back. Draw yourself in below the waist. One foot in front of the other. No, not like that, Morwenna. Just slightly.” And then there was the dancing. Sometimes I took the male part, sometimes Morwenna. “It is
nécessaire
to know where your partner should be at every second. That is better, Angelet. No, no, Morwenna, to the right. To the right.
Ma foi,
you will disrupt the entire cotillion.”

Poor Morwenna! She did not take to it as easily as I did. She was in despair. “I shall never be able to do it,” she said.

“Oh yes you will,” I assured her. “It’s easy. You just worry too much.”

I would go through the steps with her in our bedroom, for we shared one in Helena’s house which was not as big as the one in the square.

Helena was very kind and sympathetic. I believed it brought back her own days when she had been put through her paces and had been, I fancied, rather like Morwenna.

“What I don’t want to do is disappoint Pa and Mother,” said Morwenna. “I am sure they are expecting me to marry a duke at least.”

“Dukes are sparse on the ground,” I told her. “We’d be lucky to get an Hon or a mere knight.”

I could joke about it because I did not have to worry. If nothing came of my entry into high society I would just go back to Cador and everything would be as it was before. My parents would not harry me into making a brilliant marriage. As for Morwenna: it was just that they wanted so much for her; but I told her again and again that what they wanted most was for her to be happy; and if her father knew how worried she was, he would stop the whole thing.

“I know,” she said. “They are such darlings and so good to me always. It is just that I should like to make them proud.”

And so we went on. It was amazing how much practice had to go into the perfect curtsy. We would do it correctly one day and the next day it did not work. We were the despair of poor Madame Duprey, who, I suspected, was really plain Miss Dappry or something like that and had never been nearer to France than Folkestone. But the French had a reputation for elegance and so from necessity and the success of her career she must become one of them, if in name only.

Then we had our singing master, Signor Caldori, for girls must be able to sing and play the pianoforte. One did not need to be a Jenny Lind or Henriette Sontag, but one should be able to trill pleasantly.

We must have elocution lessons. These were particularly difficult for Morwenna who had a slight Cornish accent which had to be completely eliminated; we had to be able to talk freely without embarrassment on any subject which might be raised, and yet not to be over-bold or force our opinions on the company. One must never try to ape the men; one must preserve one’s femininity in all eventualities.