Midsummer's Eve (57 page)

So Ben had gone away to a new country. I supposed that was the best way of forgetting. I felt a tinge of resentment, as though the burden of our secret had been left to me to bear. That was foolish. He had to make his fortune. He would come back.

And then I shall see him again, I thought. In the meantime I must keep our secret.

We did not go to London that year. I know my mother was very worried about me. I had changed so completely. The impulsive, rather garrulous girl had become a quiet, secretive one. It must have seemed strange that my illness should have changed my character. Sometimes I was on the verge of confessing for if they only knew what had happened to me they would understand.

But I was resilient and ebullient by nature and I gradually found myself forgetting my secret for long periods at a time. Then I would have a dream or something would remind me and memories would come back to me and I would revert once more to the quiet withdrawn girl.

I knew they were puzzled and was deeply touched by their concern for me.

Mrs. Penlock tut-tutted at the sight of me. “A beanpole, that’s what you are, Miss Angel. You want to get a bit of flesh on them bones of yours. I could make you a beautiful taddage pie. That’ud put some life into you, that would.”

I used to enjoy her taddage pies, made with young suckling pigs; but I had no desire for them now. She was always trying as she would say “to tempt me,” as though food was the cure for all ailments.

They were all very kind to me and when they saw my spirits lifted were so obviously pleased that I felt I must cast off my melancholy to please them.

In any case I was coming to terms with it.

We were getting very friendly with the Pencarrons who owned the tin mine close to the moor. They were a very old Cornish family and had originally come from somewhere near Land’s End. They had owned a mine there which had been worked out and that was why they had come to our neighborhood. They had acquired the mine which was now known as Pencarron Mine, and their house was Pencarron Manor. Since they had arrived some ten years before, they had become part of the community.

Morwenna was a quiet girl, rather serious; she suited my mood at that time; she did not ask questions and although she was a year older than I she would follow me. She was very good-natured and hardly ever ruffled her governess. Miss Derry was friendly with Miss Prentiss and they took pleasure in comparing their pupils. I was sure I suffered in the comparison.

Morwenna was a great help to me at that time. She was so undemanding. We used to ride together round the paddock. My mother did not want me to go out without her or my father, or at least a groom; that made me restive, but I was too listless to protest at that time.

One day my mother and I rode over to the Pencarrons’ to have lunch with the family—a fairly frequent occurrence. We were passing through the town as my mother wished to call on one of the old ladies in East Poldorey to take her some wools for her tapestry which my mother would have to buy when it was finished. We had quite a stack of this kind of work in one of the store rooms. My mother felt in duty bound to buy the wools and silks and then the finished product.

As we rode through the town young John Gort came running up to us. His grandfather, Jack Gort, had been one of the leading fishermen of his day and he was still to be seen on the quay supervising the family as to the best way of conducting the business they had inherited from him.

Young John looked rather anxious.

“What is it?” asked my mother.

“I’ve just been wondering, me lady,” he stammered, “about that there boat by the old boathouse.”

“Oh?” said my mother. “Why?”

“Well, ’tas been there for years and ’as no one wanted it like … I thought as how … if no one wanted it like … I thought as how …”

“You want it?” said my mother.

“Well, seeing as ’ow it ain’t used like.”

“You take it, John.”

“Oh, thank ’ee, me lady.”

He darted off.

“Do you know that old boat he was talking about?” asked my mother.

“I think I’ve seen an old one there at some time.”

“Well, he might as well make use of it then.”

And we rode on to Pencarron.

Grace Gilmore was often in my company. She was always pleased to do something for me. She would kneel at my feet, pins between her lips, turning up a hem, or make me stand on a chair to assure herself that she had got the length absolutely right; and I always had the impression that she was particularly interested in me—as indeed I was in her.

I was beginning to feel better. I was quite enjoying Mrs. Penlock’s muggety and lamby pies. My hair was growing. It was down to my shoulders, long enough to tie back with a ribbon. I no longer looked like a wraith. I was laughing more frequently and indulging in those daydreams in which I had played the central and heroic part. I was returning to normal.

I had not been to the pool since it happened and it was beginning to seem like a bad dream. Benedict had gone right out of my life. I was hurt about his going. I remembered vividly how he had said to me so vehemently, “I love you, Angel,” and I had replied that I loved him, too. And now he was on the other side of the world and perhaps I should never see him again. I should have thought he was running away from our terrible secret, but I could not believe that Benedict would ever run away from anything. No, he had gone to find gold … like the men in the story of the old Scat Bal. But I was left where it had all happened.

They were less careful of me now. I used to go off on my own. I even rode Glory again. She seemed glad to have me back. Horses are very intelligent and I wondered whether she knew she had been disgraced and wrongly accused.

“It had to be, Glory,” I whispered to her. “It was all part of the secret.” She seemed as though she understood. After all, she had seen it happen.

I must not think of it.

It was gone. It was past. It wasn’t the same as killing an ordinary man. I kept telling myself that he had been going to die in any case … far more horribly. It had just happened more quickly and easily than it would in the hands of the law. How often had I gone over and over that point.

One day, when my thoughts were running on these lines, I felt I had to exorcise the ghost which was haunting me. I had to go back to the pool. I had to see it again. I had to convince myself that I was cured of my guilt. I kept telling myself that I was not to blame. I would have been the victim. I had just helped to keep his death a secret and that had been the right thing to do. But I had to go to the pool. I had to convince myself that I was not afraid of it any more.

I rode over there. It was less than a mile from the house. I wanted to turn back but I would not allow myself to do so. I rode through the trees and there it was … glittering in the sunshine … still mysterious … just as it had been on that dreadful day.

I dismounted and tethered Glory to the same bush as I had on that other occasion.

I patted her head, wondering if she remembered. “Don’t fret,” I said, “I’ve just got to do this. It won’t be anything like that other time. And then we’ll think nothing of coming here.”

I walked down to the edge of the pool and stared into the still water. There were weeping willows hanging over it and some bedraggled-looking plant-life floated on the surface of the water. I wondered how many secrets besides mine it was hiding.

I continued to look into the water, fearing to see his face again. It was greenish brown, but now there was no trace of the pink which had once colored it.

I strained my ears. I half fancied I could hear the tinkle of bells—but it was the faint breeze ruffling the trees. How easy it was to fancy one heard music.

I closed my eyes trying to wipe out memories. I had been foolish to come. Oh no. This was the way to be reasonable. To say to oneself: There was nothing wrong about it. Ben had to do what he did. We both had to.

I opened my eyes. Silence and then … what it was, I was not sure, but I guessed I was not alone. I just felt a presence. I stood very still looking at the water. The movement came from behind. Someone was standing close to me.

I half expected to see him there … his ghost risen from the waters of the pool.

I turned sharply.

“Grace!” I cried in immense relief. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you, Miss Angelet? I saw you standing by the water, so quiet and still. I wondered if you could hear the bells.”

Relief swept over me. It was only Grace … not some grisly ghost … the murderer resurrected from the dead.

“I … I was just looking at the pool,” I said.

“You are very interested in the pool,” she replied.

“I suppose it is because of the bells. I’ve always been interested in things like that.”

She came close and looked at me intently.

“You talked of it … when you were ill. But come away. It’s damp and cold … an unhealthy place.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

I noticed that there was a baffled look on her face and I wondered what she was thinking. There was something eerie about the situation … the two of us standing there, as though we were both hiding something.

I said: “Did you walk here?”

“Yes. Then I saw you at the pool and I wondered what you were doing. I thought it might be damp and you’d catch a cold.”

I walked back to Glory, Grace beside me.

“You’ll go straight home, I suppose,” she said.

I nodded. “You too?”

“Yes. I must finish that petticoat for your mother.”

I mounted Glory and rode away.

I was glad I had been to the pool. I felt better after it. It was no longer a place to avoid. I was growing away from my memories. I no longer had to tell myself we were not to blame. I
knew
we were not. All we did was what had to be done and it was what was best in the circumstances. I should come to the pool again and again and next time I should not try to recall. I should simply forget.

When I look back I think it was rather strange how Grace Gilmore had become almost a member of the family. I liked to be with her. She intrigued me. I felt there was a part of her which I did not know. Subconsciously I wanted to find out about her; I think that was why she was rather exciting to me.

I talked to Morwenna Pencarron about her. “What do you think of Grace?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s very nice.” Most people were “very nice” in Morwenna’s opinion. She reminded me a little of Aunt Amaryllis.

“But do you think there is something different about her?” I persisted. “She doesn’t talk much about her past. Do you know where she comes from?”

“She comes from somewhere near Devon.”

“I know. But she never really
talks.
”

It was no use trying to explain to Morwenna.

My mother encouraged our friendship because she liked someone to be in charge of me when I went out; she knew my spirit and did not want to restrict it, but since what she thought of as my fall, she did like me to be in the company of an adult. In London I should never have been allowed to go out alone; but here, where everyone knew each other, it seemed safe. I had discovered that this was not always so.

So if Miss Prentiss or Miss Derry did not accompany us, it was usually Grace.

One day we went to the fair with her, Morwenna, Jack and I. I had always loved the fair. There were several of them—they were annual occasions, and the best of all was St Matthew’s Fair which was held on the first of October.

It was so full of life. People from the surrounding villages merged onto the place. There was noise and bustle everywhere. The horse and cattle dealers were there; one heard the continual lowing of cows and the grunting of pigs. There they would be in their pens while the fanners leaned over the rails and poked the pigs with sticks to see how fat they were and cast shrewd eyes over the lambs, the cows, the bullocks. But what I liked best were the stalls with their goods for sale: comfits, fairings, china jugs, cups and saucers, teapots, farm implements, clothing, saddles, ribbons, dresses, boots and shoes, pots and pans and even cloam ovens; and all the traders shouting their wares. Then there was the food; the constant smell of roasting meat, bread, potatoes in their jackets, sugar animals, hearts in pink sugary sweets with “I Love You” on them. There were the peep shows and the puppets, the marionettes, the dwarves, the fat woman, the bearded lady and the strong man; and of course the gypsies who would tell your fortune.

On this occasion Miss Prentiss had a headache and my mother asked Grace Gilmore if she would take us so that we should not be disappointed. She accepted with alacrity, and we set off.

We had a wonderful time roaming among the stalls. We visited two of the shows and marveled at the rippling muscles of the strong man and tried our hand at the hoopla; we bought slabs of hot gingerbread, eating it as we went along, which Grace was not sure we should have been allowed to do.

Jack assured her that people could do things at a fair which they could not do elsewhere. He was more excited than Morwenna and I were. I suppose we were a little blasé.

Fiddlers were playing and several people were dancing.

“The most exciting part is when it gets dark,” I said, “and then they light the flares.”

“Your mother will want you home long before that,” Grace told us.

“I should like to have my fortune told,” said Morwenna. “Ginny, our parlormaid, had hers told at Summercourt Fair. She is going to marry a rich man and travel overseas. It was a wonderful fortune.”

“How can they tell?” asked Jack.

“They can see into the future … and into the past,” Morwenna replied. “They can see all you’ve done. It’s all clear to them. It’s all in your hand, particularly if you’ve done something wicked. That’s easiest to see.”

Jack looked uneasy, but Morwenna clasped her hands and said: “Oh, I wish we could.”

I thought: It’s all very well for you. You have never done anything except cheat at lessons a bit … copying out something from a book which you’re supposed to know … taking a jam tart from the kitchen when the cook’s back is turned and saying you didn’t. Little sins … nothing like killing a man and hiding his body.