The Pool of St. Branok (26 page)

I could often forget my misgivings when I was with Gervaise; he had a convincing way of making light of difficulties.

I had thought at first that Justin and Gervaise were very much alike. They were in some ways, of course; their style of life; their affability towards everyone; their love of gambling. Neither of them worked. I realized I had been used to people’s working around me. There had always been problems on the Cador estates and my father had frequently been busy; Mr. Pencarron was deeply concerned with the mine; our friends in the two Poldoreys were lawyers or doctors; Uncle Peter was immersed in his business; Matthew was at the House; Peterkin and Frances with their Mission. But Gervaise and Justin were different in this.

Justin was considering, he said. He was going to do something. He had arrived in this country from America not long ago. He had been involved with the production of cotton over there. He was, as he said, feeling his way. He wanted to do something but he was not yet sure what. Gervaise had no such pretensions. He was quite content with life as it was. He had the belief that one day he would make such a killing at the card tables that his fortune would be made.

I did try to reason with him sometimes. I said: “If you made a fortune at the card table you would immediately risk it again.”

“Yes. And win an even greater fortune.”

I said: “Do you forget what happened to your ancestor?”

“I was never allowed to. It was preached as Holy Writ in our household.”

“Well then, perhaps it is as well to keep it in mind.”

He always laughed at me when I was serious. Sometimes I found it faintly irritating; but he could always charm me out of that mood.

We were frequent visitors at the house in the square. Both Aunt Amaryllis and Helena took a motherly interest in us—Amaryllis, I suppose, because that was her way with all the young members of the family and Helena because she had “brought us out.”

I enjoyed these dinner parties. Conversation was always lively, particularly when Uncle Peter was present. He and his daughter-in-law Frances often sparred, but I think he admired her as he did all people who lived energetically.

Politics were often the subject of the discourse and I wished that Matthew and Uncle Peter would differ now and then; but Matthew always agreed with Uncle Peter’s views.

At this time he was deploring the continued premiership of Palmerston.

“Surely it’s time he retired,” said Uncle Peter. “If he did, I think we should see a return of the party and office for you.”

Matthew said he would never retire. “He’ll die in harness. That is the old man’s way. Sometimes he looks as if he is half asleep or wholly so. He sits there on the bench with his eyes half closed … a real dandy in his frock coat and light gray trousers, wearing his gloves. He always wears his gloves. You’re certain he hasn’t heard a word of the debate. Then he’ll get to his feet … You know that way of his, poking fun at things … getting them laughing … and then he’ll somehow get the vote going the way he wants it.”

“A remarkable man,” said Uncle Peter. “He should have been with us.”

“That’s true,” agreed Matthew. “Who else could overcome all that tittle-tattle about his love affairs? Who would believe that a Prime Minister could be nicknamed Cupid?”

I loved to hear those little anecdotes of people whose names I knew so well. So those dinner parties were always a delight. Gervaise enjoyed them too. Sometimes I felt that Uncle Peter saw too much. I believe he knew about Gervaise’s gambling for one day he said to me: “You want to keep a tight hand on that husband of yours. He’s too fond of the tables.”

Uncle Peter should know. He had made his fortune out of those clubs where gambling—among other diversions—was in full swing.

He was very watchful of Justin, and I was sure that Justin puzzled him more than Gervaise did.

There came one evening at the house in the square which was to change our lives, although I did not know it then.

They had been discussing Palmerston’s increasing age again and expressing some anxiety for the health of Lord Derby who must surely defeat him at the next election; then they went on to the antics of Benjamin Disraeli whose sights were set on the highest post of all.

Then Uncle Peter said suddenly: “By the way, I have heard from Benedict.”

I saw Gervaise glance at me. I started, but not with that apprehension which I had known before my confession to Gervaise. He had convinced me that I was in no way to blame and that it would be sensible for me to put the incident right out of my mind.

Uncle Peter went on: “He writes rarely. I don’t think it has been as easy as he at first thought it would. But now it seems there has been a breakthrough.”

He explained to Gervaise and Justin. “Benedict, my grandson … an earlier family … is a very go-ahead young man and had this notion of going out to Australia when he heard gold had been found there.”

“That was a long time ago,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

“Yes, it must be now. Benedict is not a letter-writing man and he certainly wouldn’t communicate when times were hard. But I must say that he is a sticker. He went to Australia convinced that he would come back with a fortune and he is the sort who wouldn’t want to return without one. That’s why he is still out there.”

“Well,” said Matthew, “there hasn’t been a fortune yet.”

“He writes and says that there have been difficulties, but he thinks he’s on a good strike now. There’s a lot of hard work to be done, it seems, but his luck is changing. He says he has been scratching a living from the goldfields so far but he was always hopeful … and now it looks as though those hopes are about to be realized.”

“In what part of Australia is all this happening?” asked Justin.

“It’s somewhere north of Melbourne.”

“I remember what a lot of talk there was about finds there,” said Justin. “It was very exciting. It must be more than ten years ago. There was a similar sort of thing in America. But that was somewhat earlier, I think. A man comes across it … there’s a lot of talk … and the Rush is on. Someone did very well at a place called Golden Point, I believe. That was in Australia. He made a vast fortune. People left everything to go out there. They thought they were coming back millionaires.”

“And did they?” I asked.

“Some of them did.”

“Well, let’s hope Benedict is successful,” said Uncle Peter.

“Somehow I don’t think he will come home until he is. He’s got that bulldog tenacity. Once he gets hold of an idea he won’t let it go. He’ll succeed or stay out there for the rest of his life … trying to.”

“It is very interesting,” said Gervaise. “I can understand how people get caught up in it.”

“It’s a gamble,” said Uncle Peter. “So much would depend on luck. You would get some working day and night and finding nothing … and then someone comes along and in a week or so he’s stumbled on a fortune.”

Aunt Amaryllis shivered. “I should hate that,” she said.

Uncle Peter smiled at her tenderly.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I have no intention of throwing up everything to go to the goldfields of Australia.”

Everyone laughed and they began to talk of other things.

When we returned home Gervaise was thoughtful.

“Interesting about Benedict,” he said. “He was the one you told me of.”

I nodded.

“He seems rather a forceful character.”

“Oh yes. I am sure he will find his gold.”

“It seems to have taken him rather a long time.”

“Yes, but he is bound to win in the end.”

“And come back a millionaire.”

I was wondering if he ever thought of me and of that adventure which we had shared together. It was significant that I could think of it now without that little shiver of fear. Gervaise had done that for me.

I did not notice how thoughtful Gervaise had become.

It was some days later when he broke the news to me. When we had last been at the house in the square he had left me with Aunt Amaryllis and had disappeared with Uncle Peter. When they rejoined us, Gervaise looked a little flushed—excited, I thought. Uncle Peter was his usual calm self.

I fancied Gervaise was impatient to leave.

When we finally did he was rather silent on the way home and at last in our bedroom I asked him if anything was wrong.

“Wrong?” he said. “No. About to be right. How would you like to go to Australia?”

“What?” I cried.

“We’re going,” he told me. “That is if you like the idea … I shall have to go. I hope you will come too.”

“Gervaise, whatever are you talking about?”

“I suppose,” he said, “I had better begin at the beginning.”

“It is usually advisable to.”

“I’m in debt … up to my ears.”

Horror seized me. I felt limp with dismay and fear.

“But how? I’ve tried so hard …”

“I know you have. I’ve lost a lot to Justin. That’s not so important. It’s the clubs … I have to pay my debts. I’d never be received in any of them again if I didn’t.”

“Perhaps that would be just as well.”

“You don’t understand, Angelet. They are debts of honor. One can make one’s tailor wait … or the butcher, the baker and the candlestick-maker … but one must pay one’s gambling debts at the clubs.”

“How much?”

“Too much to tell you.”

“I had better know.”

“I’m not sure … except that it is too much for me to handle. That’s the bad news. Now here is the good. My debts are going to be settled. I have had a word with your Uncle Peter.”

“Why is he brought into this?”

“He does own several of the clubs where I play.”

“Oh, Gervaise, I thought you were getting better.”

“Sorry,” he said ruefully. “But listen. We’re going to Australia. We are going to find gold. We’re going to be millionaires. Then I shall shrug aside my debts because with a lordly gesture I shall pay on the nail.”

“Do be sensible, Gervaise. This is a serious matter.”

“Sorry again, darling. Of course it is a serious matter. But it is going to be exciting.”

“What has Uncle Peter said to you?”

“He will settle my debts and pay our passage out … with a little to spare for the time before we get started. He’s writing to Benedict asking if he will meet us and help us get started, to be our sponsor and guardian angel. And we shall be leaving shortly for our adventure overseas.”

“Why should Uncle Peter settle your debts?”

“It’s not quite so altruistic as you might be thinking. Your uncle is an astute business man. He wants what they call collateral for his money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some sort of security which we are in a position to offer.”

“What?”

“This house, of course.”

“It was my parents’ wedding present!”

“That does not in any way detract from its value.”

“Gervaise, what have you done!”

“Nothing as yet. It’s all in the air. But it is a wonderful solution. In fact it is the only solution … or I fear that ’ere long I shall find myself languishing in prison for debt; and what chance has a poor debtor then of repaying what he owes?”

“Gervaise, you’re frightening me.”

“I’m frightening myself. I am seeing more and more that I have to find a way out of this trouble … and this is it. I have to do something, Angelet.”

“Some work, you mean. Yes, I have thought of that.”

“This will be admirable. It will suit my temperament. Every day will be a gamble. Just imagine it … the excitement of going into those goldfields … never knowing whether it is going to be The Day.”

“We know nothing about it. Where shall we live?”

“Oh, there are places. The experienced and knowledgeable Benedict will show us the way. From him we will learn all we need to know. You don’t seem enthusiastic, Angelet.”

“It’s hard to. I know nothing about it. It all seems a trifle mad to me. And you have given Uncle Peter this house in order to settle your debts. You can’t do that.”

“It’s only on paper … a safeguard … for him. When we come back with all this millions of pounds’ worth of nuggets … I think that’s what they call them … we shall hand him back what we owe him and we shall have our dear little house waiting for us. But Angelet Mandeville might wish for a grander place in which to live now that she is a golden millionaire. A country mansion and a town house. I wonder if there are any castles for sale?”

“Be practical, Gervaise.”

“I’ll try but I’m so excited about this project. I know in my bones that it is going to be right for us.”

We lay awake for a long time talking about Australia. It seemed to me a wild dream … something that Gervaise liked to contemplate and had no roots in reality. But I was perturbed about all the debts and that he could mortgage our house in order to settle them.

I thought it might be one of those dreams with which Gervaise liked to soothe himself and that he only half believed it. But this was not so. He really had spoken to Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter himself took me on one side and said: “I think it is not such a bad idea. Gervaise is one of those people who are always going to gamble. Nothing would cure him. I’ll take care of things here while you are away. If he could get himself a fortune I fancy he would not be so reckless. Young men with small incomes often try to augment them. It might be that if he were rich the urge might diminish a little.”

“Do you really think we should go to Australia?”

“I think it is not a bad idea, as I said. People are beginning to talk of Gervaise’s tendency … not for play but not to pay. A man needs a good income to live the way he does. Let him go to Australia. It might be good for him … and it could be the making of him. I have written to Benedict. I am sure he will do all he can to help.”

My parents came to London. I could see that they did not like the idea—particularly my mother. That was understandable. She would be thinking of her own visit to Australia which had ended in such a disastrous climax.

I was sure that my father would have settled Gervaise’s debts rather than we should go, but I was beginning to see that that would be no real solution. Gervaise must do something for himself. If his debts were paid there would be more. I knew him now. This gambling was not merely a pastime with him; it was an obsession. It was almost like an illness; it would recur. If he did find a fortune in Australia it was just possible that that urge would diminish … possibly be cured. I had come to the conclusion that it was something we had to try.