The Pool of St. Branok (48 page)

I wondered what would happen. There was no doubt that Ben would succeed and when he was high up the greasy pole—another Disraeli allusion—how could she help him stay up there? How would an eminent politician feel when his wife would be more at home on the Australian goldfields than in her husband’s luxurious home?

T
HE CHILDREN LIKED TO
be together, and we arranged that one day Rebecca would go to the Cartwright house and on the next Pedrek should come to mine. This gave Morwenna and me time to shop and do many things which would otherwise have been difficult, for neither of us wished to leave our children entirely to servants.

It was on one of these days when I decided to take up the invitation Frances and Peterkin had given me to visit their Mission again.

When I told Helena of this she said I would find it interesting and perhaps a little heartrending for people had no idea of the suffering which was endured by others. Matthew was deeply aware of and had talked to her about it. He had discovered a great deal when he was gathering material for his books; and Frances and Peterkin could tell some very sad stories.

She said she would have me driven down there in the morning and send the carriage to pick me up.

There was no need, I told her, I would get a cab.

“You might get one to take you there, but I doubt you would pick up one to bring you back.”

So I set off in the middle of the morning and as I was driven eastwards I was struck by the change. The streets of London had always interested me; they were so full of life; in that area which I knew best the houses were large and elegant; there were many garden squares and the parks added a delightful suggestion of the countryside. The Row, the Serpentine, the Palace where the Queen had spent her childhood—they were all delightful to the eyes. But what a contrast when we came to the mean streets.

The vitality had increased. There was noise everywhere. People seemed to talk at the top of their voices. We kept to the main road but I glimpsed side streets. I saw grim-looking children, barefooted; I saw stalls onto which seemed to have been crowded every commodity one could think of … from chests of drawers to fly papers. There were women selling pins and needles, and men selling hot pies; there were men sitting on the pavements doing something with counters which I presumed was some sort of game; there were ballad singers who gave demonstrations of their goods. There was noise and bustle everywhere.

The Mission was a tall square building which had, at one time, been two houses built at a time when there had been a certain affluence in the district.

The door was open and I stepped into a large hall. It was lofty and there was no furniture apart from a table and a chair. On the table there was a bell so I rang this. Almost at once a young woman appeared. She was tall, large-boned, with untidy hair, and wearing a coat-like overall.

I thought she was a servant until she spoke.

She said: “Oh, hello. You’re Mrs. Mandeville. Frances said you would be coming. She’s in the kitchen. It will be open shortly and we are running a bit late. I’ll take you to her. By the way, I’m Jessica Carey. How do you do?”

I said How do you do and thanked her.

She smiled at me and started off, so I followed her.

I could smell something savory.

We went down a flight of stairs to a large room in which was a big fire. There were several large cauldrons on this and on a table a pile of wooden bowls.

And there was Frances herself in a coat-like overall, rather flushed giving orders in that precise way which I had come to know; when she saw me she smiled.

“Welcome,” she said. “We’re running late. They’ll be here in half an hour. We have to get these bowls up. You could help carry them.”

“Yes. Where?”

Jessica Carey picked up a handful of the bowls and said: “I’ll show you.”

I did the same and followed her.

We went up a short staircase. We were in a room with a long wooden table on which were several iron stands. I gathered they put the cauldrons on these. Beside them were laid several large ladles.

“We serve it here,” Jessica told me. “It’s convenient. The door is right on the street … and they can just come in. It’s a busy time of the morning, this. Feeding time. Frances says it is one of the most important. We have to look after their bodies as well as their souls.” She laughed. “I’m glad you’ve come. We need all the help we can get.”

We put the bowls on the table and went down to get more.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Jessica Carey. “It will be a great help. There are one or two things I have to see to. If you’ll get these bowls up and help dish out. … They’ll be here at eleven thirty. We have to be ready by then or there is chaos. There seems to be more of them every day. And we’ve had to make extra. Frances gets really upset if we run out and have to send some of them away.”

I thought this was a strange welcome. Frances had been so earnest in her desire that I should come. But I did realize that her work here was most sincere. Amaryllis had always said that she and Peterkin worked as hard as anyone she knew.

I toiled up and down with the wooden bowls and had set up quite a pile of them on the table when the door opened and a man came in from the street.

I was about to say that we were not quite ready yet when I realized he could not possibly have come for soup.

He was neatly dressed and there was an air of distinction about him. I noticed that he had a rather sad face which changed when he smiled.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” I replied.

“We haven’t met before.”

I wondered why he should think we had. Then it occurred to me that he must be a frequent visitor to the Mission and there would be quite a number of helpers doing brief spells of duty.

“I’m Timothy Ransome,” he said.

“How do you do? I’m Angelet Mandeville.”

“Oh,” he said. “Frances mentioned you. You’re related to Peterkin, I believe.”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s rather a complicated relationship but it exists.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Yes. I came to visit once before.”

“And they’ve put you onto the bowls, have they?”

“They all seemed so busy, and these things had to be brought up here.”

“Oh yes, for the morning soup. I’ll give you a hand.”

He took off his coat and set to work.

When we went into the kitchen several of them called, “Hello, Tim. Running late.”

“I’m helping with the bowls,” he said.

“Good.”

Soon we had brought up all the bowls. He said: “Many hands make light work.”

“It seems so. Are you a frequent helper?”

“I come quite often. I think Frances and Peterkin are doing a wonderful job here.”

“Yes, I have always heard so.”

“And now you have come to see for yourself.”

Someone was calling. “Tim. Tim. Strong man wanted for the cauldrons.”

“Right,” he answered. “Coming.” And to me: “Excuse me.”

That was a strange morning. I stood behind the table with several others, Timothy Ransome among them—ladling out soup. It was a sobering exercise … to see those eager hands stretched out for the bowl, to watch the ravenous manner in which they devoured the soup. They were ragged, unkempt and hungry. It made me both sad and angry. It was the children who touched me most. I thought of our own children … of Pedrek who sometimes had had to be coaxed to eat. And the fisherman caught another little fish to feed his family and he popped it into the mouth of the youngest, and then the second youngest … and so on until he had eaten it all.

At last it was over. The morning’s supplies were diminished and everyone had had their share.

Timothy Ransome said to me: “You mustn’t get too upset. At least we are trying to do something about it here. It’s a grueling experience at first.”

“I suppose you have done it many times.”

“Oh yes. … There are many things that you will find upsetting here … things you didn’t dream of.”

“I know I have to be prepared.”

“After this, there is a little refreshment for us. Humble fare. Bread and cheese and a glass of cider.”

“It sounds good to me.”

“I’ll show you. If we are lucky we can help ourselves and have half an hour’s respite.”

I saw Frances then. She came hurrying towards us. “Hello, Angelet, lovely to see you. Sorry I was so busy when you came. What a morning! I thought we shouldn’t be ready in time for the hungry hordes. Tim … you’re looking after Angelet. Showing her the ropes. Good.” She grinned at me. “You soon get used to it. In the evenings we have a supper when we all get together and talk about the day. That is when you ought to be here. I’ll see you later. I’m having a little trouble with Fanny …”

“Can I do something?” asked Timothy.

“No. I’ve got someone on it. I don’t know what we’re going to do about that child. We’ll see. I’ll be with you later, Angelet … if I can.”

Then she was off again.

Timothy Ransome said: “Let’s see about that food.”

It was a strange experience sitting in a small room with a man whom I had never met before, eating hot crusty bread and cheese with a tankard of cider beside me.

“I have to admit I know something about you,” he told me. “I heard about your husband. It was in the papers at the time. That’s when I learned you were related to Peterkin. I am so sorry. It was a terrible tragedy.”

“It is over now,” I said.

“Your husband was a hero.”

“Yes,” I said. “He died saving another man’s life.”

“You must be very proud.”

I nodded.

“Forgive me,” he went on. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken of it. Do you intend to work here?”

“Oh no. I couldn’t. I have a daughter. She is four years old. I am here today because she is with friends.”

He looked disappointed.

“But I shall come again,” I said, “when I have the opportunity.”

“It can be very distressing,” he said. “It’s so strange and upsetting at first. One gets over that. One realizes that there is no virtue in being upset and shaking one’s head in pity and doing nothing about it. This place grows on you. Frances is one of the most wonderful women I have ever met. She never sits down and groans about inequality … she does something practical. Of course, everyone could not do it, I know. Frances has her private income … so has Peterkin. They are a good team. Theirs is a good marriage … perfect I should say … except that they have no children. Yet if they had I suppose this work would suffer. On the whole I would say theirs is one of the few perfect unions.”

“You admire them very much, don’t you?”

“I do. Everyone must. … Once they get used to Frances’ rather stringent manner they must know that beneath it lies the proverbial heart of gold.”

The very mention of the word “gold” always took me back to Golden Creek … Ben washing his hands in the stream and discovering the presence of the precious metal. But for that he might be free now.

I said: “I think she is wonderful, too.”

“You’ll come again. You’ll get caught up in it. I come two or three days during the week. I’m what Frances calls one of her casual laborers. What she likes is full-timers like the Honorable Jessica. You know her?”

“I met her when I arrived.”

“Oh yes, Jessica is the right-hand woman. She’s dedicated, and we should all like to be but for commitments.”

“Have you many commitments?”

“An estate to run. Fortunately close to London … which makes it easy for me. It is just outside Hampton. I have a son and daughter. So you see I cannot give myself entirely to the cause.”

“I understand.”

“Your daughter must be a great compensation.”

“Oh yes.”

“I find that with Alec and Fiona. I lost my wife, you see.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“It was some four years ago. A riding accident. It was so sudden. She was there in the morning … and by night time she was gone.”

“What a terrible tragedy!”

“Well, these things happen all the time. It is just that one doesn’t expect them to happen to oneself!”

“How old are the children?”

“Alec is ten, Fiona is eight.”

“So they remember.”

He nodded sadly. Then he smiled. “Well, this is gloomy talk. Would you like some more cider? I am sure I could find some.”

“No thanks,” I said.

When we took back our plates and tankards and washed them in the kitchen we saw Frances.

“There’s trouble,” she said. “Billings is up to his tricks again.” She turned to me. “We get cases like this all the time. But this kind makes me mad. It’s where young people are concerned.”

“Fanny again?” asked Timothy Ransome.

“Yes. I don’t know what we can do. I’d like to get Fanny away … but there’s the mother. She doesn’t want to leave him.” She wrinkled her brows. “Billings drinks. He’s not so bad when he’s not drinking, but he can’t resist the gin palaces. You know what they say: ‘Drunk for a penny and dead drunk for tuppence.’ Well, he’s dead drunk most of the time. Emily Billings is a silly woman. She should leave him. But she won’t. He’s the second husband and seems to have her completely under his spell. Fanny was the daughter of the first marriage,” she explained to me. “He was a builder and fell from the scaffolding. There was no compensation. That’s one of the things we’re working on. In the meantime … Emily married Billings and her troubles really started.”

“There are so many similar cases,” said Timothy Ransome.

“True. As far as Emily’s concerned I’d say, All right, if you won’t leave him take the consequences. It’s the child … Fanny. She’s a bright little thing. I could do something for her. But I can’t take a girl of fifteen away from her home. Emily would stand by him in a court of law. She’d deny anything. He could almost kill her and she’d say she had fallen down the stairs. But it is Fanny. From what I hear there is danger of sexual abuse. Emily knows it and tries to hide it. It was something Fanny said that gave me the clue. I just can’t put it on one side. I have to do something because of Fanny.”

“It’s a problem,” agreed Timothy Ransome. “If there is anything I can do …”