The Pool of St. Branok (44 page)

“How is she getting on after his death?” asked my father.

I saw my mother flash a glance at him. She meant, Don’t talk of dead husbands in front of Angelet.

He saw the point at once and looked abashed:

“It seems that she revels in her mourning,” said Grace and changed the subject.

Rebecca had shown a fondness for one of the parlormaids. She was young and quite clearly had a way with children. Her name was Annie.

My mother had said that she thought Annie might help to look after Rebecca until we came to a decision about a nanny. We had not yet asked Nanny Crossley to return. I remembered her—excellent at her job but a little domineering in the nursery; and I wanted no one to take my daughter from me.

It seemed, therefore, an ideal arrangement that Annie should help, particularly as Rebecca had taken a fancy to her.

I shall never forget that afternoon. During it I experienced some of the most harrowing hours I have ever known.

Grace and I had gone for a ride. Grace wanted to go up to the moors. It was beautiful up there at this time of the year. The gorse was plentiful and the air so pure.

Annie was looking after Rebecca and had said she would take her for a little walk.

When Grace and I returned to the house it was to find it in a tumult. When I heard what had happened, I was cold with fear. Rebecca was lost.

“Lost!” I screamed. “What do you mean?”

Annie was in tears. They had been walking along laughing and talking when Annie suddenly tripped over a stone. She had gone down flat on her head. She showed us her arms which were grazed and had bled a little.

“It knocked me out for a bit,” she said, “and when I come to … she’d gone.”

“Where?” I cried.

My mother put her arm round me. “They’re out looking for her. She can’t have gone far.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“An hour or so …”

“Where? Where?”

“Along the road … not far from Cherry Cottage.”

“They are looking there,” said my mother. “They are looking everywhere.”

Grace said: “We will go and look. Come on, Angelet. She can’t have wandered far.”

“All alone! She’s only a baby.”

“She’s very bright. She’ll probably find her way home.”

“That’s what we thought,” said my mother. “That’s why I’m waiting here.”

“Come along,” said Grace.

“Yes, you go,” added my mother. “She’ll be here soon … Don’t worry.”

We rode off towards Cherry Cottage. On the way I saw my father. He gave me a look of despair. I felt sick with fear.

“We’re going on,” I said.

“We have been up there. No sign …”

“Nevermind,” said Grace. “We’ll look again.”

So we went on and with every moment my fear increased. Hundreds of images crowded into my mind. Where could she have gone? She had never been told not to wander off, simply because she had never been out on her own.

Suppose someone had taken her. Gypsies? There were none in the neighborhood. And then the fear struck me. The pool!

I said to Grace: “Turn here.”

“Where are you going?”

I murmured, “The pool …”

“The pool!” she echoed and I heard the fear in her voice.

She did not speak. My horse broke into a canter. We had turned off the road and there was the pool … glittering, evil. I walked my horse down to the edge and there, as though mocking me, was a little blue silk bag. It was on a gilt frame and had a chain handle. I recognized it. It had been one of the presents on the Christmas tree. Rebecca had received it and she took it everywhere with her.

I cannot describe my terror as I held that little purse in my hands.

I looked at the pool. It was retribution, I thought hysterically. We had hidden the body of the man here … and now it had taken my child.

I think I would have waded in, but Grace restrained me.

“What’s this?” she said.

“It’s Rebecca’s purse.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I know it well. It can only mean …”

I looked at those dark sinister waters.

Grace said: “Let’s get back to the house quickly. We’ll tell them what we’ve found.”

“Becca,” I called senselessly. “Come to me, Becca.”

My voice echoed mockingly it seemed through the willows which hung over the pool … the weeping willows, I thought, weeping for Rebecca.

But Grace was right. There was nothing we could do. We must get help. They could drag the pool, but whatever they did it would be too late.

I was dazed. I heard Grace explaining. There was consternation. My father went off, several of the men with him. I heard them talking. They were going to drag the pool.

Night came. They were out there. I was there, my mother and Grace beside me. I shall never forget the sight of their faces in the torch light—devoid of hope.

I was conscious of a great heaviness of heart. Somewhere in my mind I thought, Will they find her? How can we be sure? But they will find him.

They did not find Rebecca; but there was a result of that operation. On a ledge just below the water they found a man’s gold watch and chain. There were threads of cloth clinging to it. They also found the remains of a man. He had been too long in the water for him to be identified; but officials came and what was left of him was taken away, with the watch which seemed to have aroused some interest.

I was only half aware of this. I was thinking of my child. There was a hope. At least she was not drowned.

My mother’s arms were about me. Grace was at my side looking at me pityingly.

“She’ll come back,” said my mother.

“She could have wandered off and fallen asleep somewhere.”

The thought of her alone and frightened, perhaps unable to find her way home, was terrible, but less so than that she should be lying at the bottom of that treacherous pool.

I could not stay in the house. I had to go out searching; and inevitably it seemed my footsteps led me to the pool. Grace insisted on coming with me.

“She must have come here,” I said. “We found her purse. Becca!” I called and my voice echoed back to me on the silent air.

And then I heard it. It was distinctly the sound of bells and they appeared to be coming from the pool. I must be dreaming. They heralded disaster and I could only think of my child.

I looked at Grace. She had heard them too. She was looking about her, startled. Then suddenly she darted away from me; she had run round the side of the pool towards a clump of bushes. I heard her shout. She was dragging someone with her. It was Jenny Stubbs. In her hand was a child’s toy … two bells on a stick to be shaken in order to make them ring.

Grace called: “Here are the bells.”

Jenny tried to run away but Grace held her firmly.

I went over and said: “So it is you who have been playing tricks with the bells, Jenny.”

She looked at me from under her lids. “My dad never got caught, he didn’t. He played ’em when people came round and he didn’t want them there.”

Grace had taken the toy from Jenny.

She shook the stick. “So much for the Bells of St Branok,” she said.

“Why did you want to drive us away, Jenny?” I asked.

“There’s been a lot of them here …” she said. “All round the pool … And now you’ve come … I thought you’d come to take her away from me.”

My heart leaped in sudden hope.

“Take her, Jenny? Whom did you think we should take?”

“Her. Daisy.”

“Your little girl.”

She nodded. “She came back.”

“Where is she?” I asked breathlessly.

She looked crafty.

I did not wait for more. I started to run towards her cottage. The door was locked. I banged on it. I heard the footsteps of a child and relief flooded over me for I knew whose they were.

“Becca!” I shouted.

“Mama. Mama. I want to come home. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

I said: “Open the door, Jenny. Give me the key.”

She was docile now. She handed it to me. I opened the door and Rebecca was in my arms.

We had a rather disjointed story from Rebecca. When Annie sat down in the road she walked on. She saw Jenny and Jenny took her hand and said she would take her home. She said she was Daisy and not Becca and her home wasn’t where home was. It was somewhere else.

She had not been frightened. Jenny was nice. She gave her milk and said she must lie in the bed with Jenny. She hadn’t minded until she didn’t want to play that game any more.

Everyone joined in the rejoicing but my mother and I were very sorry for Jenny.

“Poor girl,” said my mother. “She wouldn’t have harmed the child. She thought she had found her daughter. She is very sick really. I am going to ask the Grendalls to keep her there for a bit. Mrs. Grendall is a good sort and Jenny has worked quite a bit for her. I’ll go along to see her. That poor creature is in a daze.”

The Grendalls were tenant formers on the Cador estate—good, honest, hard-working people and we were sure they would help.

“She couldn’t be in better hands,” said my mother. “She mustn’t be reproached for what she has done. She meant no harm and she cared well for Rebecca all the time she was with her. She needs to be treated very gently.”

That night I had Rebecca’s little bed brought into my room. She had suffered no harm from her adventure but she wanted to be close to me; and I wanted her there so that I could reassure myself through the night that she was safe and well.

The Bodmin newspapers were full of the discovery at the pool.

The watch and chain which had been found bore initials on it: M.D. and W.B. They were not engraved but appeared to have been scratched on. Readers would be reminded of a case some years ago. A man had been on trial for a particularly dastardly murder; he had sexually assaulted and murdered a young girl. He had been about to stand trial when he had escaped from jail. He had been traced to the Poldoreys area and although there had been an extensive search he had never been found. At length it had been assumed that he had escaped from the country.

He had been in the water so long that it was not easy to identify the body but certain evidence pointed to the fact that it could have been he. The watch bore the initials M.D. His name was Mervyn Duncarry. Those of W.B. might well belong to someone for whom he had a sentimental attachment. It was difficult to imagine how an escaped prisoner could have had such a watch. He certainly would not have been wearing it in prison; but his prison clothes had been discovered on Bodmin Moor so it seemed obvious that he had had help from somewhere. It could have been said that he had stolen the clothes and the watch with them and perhaps scratched on it the initials of himself and this person. The police were reading it as a clue to his identity. It could have been caught in the rocky ledge when he fell into the pool and so remained there near the surface. It was a mystery; but the police were almost convinced that the man discovered in St Branok Pool was Mervyn Duncarry—though they were not closing the files on the murder case yet.

Grace looked rather shaken, I thought. I guessed she was thinking of Rebecca wandering out on her own when there were such people in the world.

A few days later when we were riding together she wanted to go down to the shore. We galloped along the beach to the boathouse. She paused there and said: “Let’s tie up the horses and walk a little.”

We did and as we went along she said: “I can’t help thinking of that man in the pool.”

I did not want to speak of him. I had not been able to get him out of my mind since the discovery in the pool.

I said: “I don’t think we should be back too late. I really don’t entirely trust Annie with Rebecca.”

“She’s bound to be doubly careful now. The others are very watchful. Are you thinking about that man? I remember so well when it happened. There was a young man staying here.”

“Ben … you mean?”

“Yes, Ben. Do you remember you had a ring …?”

“Yes,” I said faintly.

“There were initials on it. M.D. and there were two more besides.”

“I think it was W.B.”

“They were on the watch,” she said. “You found the ring, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“Where, Angelet?”

“It … it was when I had my accident.”

“On the beach here … near the boathouse?”

I did not speak.

“It’s odd,” she said. “The watch was in the pool and the ring … here by the boathouse. Why did he come here and lose his ring and then go and drown himself in the pool? What do you make of it, Angelet?”

“It’s very mysterious.”

“Show me the spot where you found the ring.”

“I can’t remember … quite. Grace, we must go back.”

She laid a hand on my arm. “Angelet.” Her grip was very firm and her eyes looked straight into mine. “You know something … don’t you?”

“What do you mean? Know what?”

“Something about this man. You remember. You had an accident. You were on the beach. You found the ring …”

“It’s so long ago. I don’t remember.”

“Angelet, I think you do remember. It wasn’t like that, was it?”

I felt trapped and again there came that impulse which I had had with Gervaise, to talk and explain.

I heard myself saying: “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“You’ve always felt something about the pool, haven’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“I’ve watched you. Something happens when it’s mentioned. What is it about the pool? Did you know they would find him?”

“Yes,” I cried. “I did know … because …”

She came closer; her eyes were glittering with curiosity; she kept a firm grip on my arm.

“Tell me about it. Tell me, Angelet. It will help you to tell.”

I closed my eyes and saw it all. “We shouldn’t have done it,” I said. “We should have called people. Let them know that he was dead.”

“Dead? Who?”

“That man. That murderer.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes, I saw him. He was going to do to me what he had done to that other girl. Ben came in time … and they fought. He fell and knocked his head on that bit of wall. You could not see it very much before it was excavated. It was just a sharp piece of flint sticking up in the grass. He cut his head on it. It killed him. Ben and I threw him into the pool.”