The Black Swan (9 page)

There seemed to be an understanding between my grandparents and Pedrek’s that the subject of my father’s death should not be referred to. But there were often times when it seemed to be there, and it put such a restraint on us that sometimes I felt that it would have been better to say what was in our minds. He was always in my thoughts though … and in theirs too, I imagined.

I had to make a pilgrimage to Branok Pool. Rebecca and I went there together.

She understood. It meant a great deal to us both. For her it held terrible memories, for it was there that Belinda had said that Pedrek had attempted to molest her and that had almost ruined Rebecca’s life.

So the Pool had a special significance for her; as for me—it had been close to my first home—that cottage in which I had lived with Jenny Stubbs.

We rode the horses close to the Pool. It was grim as ever with the willows trailing into the muddy water which had been churned up by the recent rains. An eerie spot, full of secrets and memories, the place where legends would be born.

“The cottage is still there,” I said.

“Yes. It is occupied sometimes. It’s useful when it is needed. There are emergencies. The Blakeys are in it now. They have been there for a year or more.”

I nodded.

She must be thinking of the people who had been there at the time when Belinda had set the Pool for the scene of her cruel melodrama, which fortunately had been revealed in time for what it was. And I was thinking of poor, mad Jenny Stubbs—a vague and shadowy figure to me … a soft singing voice, tender hands … Jenny, who had taken me so happily as her own when I was a sickly baby and had nursed me back to health.

With such events to remind us, both Rebecca and I had plenty to think about when we came to the Pool. Perhaps it was not very wise of us to come here.

Mrs. Blakey came out of the cottage while we were standing by the pool.

She called, “Good day to ’ee, Mrs. Cartwright. I see you’ve got Miss Lucie with ’ee. Good day to you, Miss Lucie.”

“We must go and speak to her,” whispered Rebecca and we walked over.

“Miss Lucie is here for a little holiday,” Rebecca explained.

“Oh, my dear, I did hear …”

Rebecca said quickly, “Yes, it was all very sad. You seem to have settled into your cottage very well now.”

“It will be a year or more since we came here, Mrs. Cartwright. Now you must come and take a glass of my cider. My Tom do say that it be better than anything they do serve up at the Fisherman’s Rest.” She assumed a touch of modesty. “Well, maybe that’s for other folks to say.”

Rebecca was always tactful with the local people. She had learned that from my grandmother.

“Well, that would be nice, wouldn’t it, Lucie?” she said.

Mrs. Blakey was all smiles. She was clearly proud of her home, and it certainly was a picture of shining neatness. The warming pan hanging by the fireplace gleamed and shone like gold; the fire irons were the same; the linoleum gleamed and the furniture was highly polished.

“You have certainly made it comfortable,” said Rebecca.

Flashes of memory came back to me. In the first years of my life this had been my home. It was familiar and yet strange. It must have been very different when Jenny Stubbs lived here.

The cider was brought and placed on the table.

“Now, if you’d care for a little pasty … I be right down proud of my pasties. My Tom do take one with him every day … when he be working. He says it do keep him going until he do come home.”

“I’m afraid we can’t manage the pasty,” said Rebecca, “much as we should like to. They’ll have a meal waiting for us when we get back and we shall be expected to eat that. This cider is delicious.”

“Delicious,” I echoed.

Mrs. Blakey was a garrulous woman and I sensed at once that she was grateful to Pedrek, and wanted Rebecca to know that she had not forgotten what he had done for them.

“It was a terrible blow to Tom,” she confided to me more than to Rebecca, who must have heard the story many times before, “when this here rheumatics struck. Sudden-like it came … just a little pain here and ache there … and there came the time when he could hardly get up again if he knelt down. The doctor, he said, ‘It’s this ’ere rheumatics, Tom. It seems your mining days are over.’ We were in a rare old trouble, I can tell ’ee. Tom had been in the mines all his life and his father before him … and his grandfather before that. Doctor said a little light work is all he’d be able to do. It broke Tom’s heart. He’s always been a good workman, always brought his pay packet home regular … a proud man, my Tom. ‘What be I going to do, Janet?’ he said. ‘Where’ll we be to?’ ‘Well, I be a good hand with the needle,’ I said. ‘We’ll pull through.’ Well, there was our home. The cottage near the mine … that goes with the job. That would be wanted for him as took Tom’s place. Then Mr. Cartwright says, ‘I’m sure I can arrange that you have that place at Branok. It belongs to Mrs. Cartwright’s family. It’s empty now and I’ll have a word with them.’ And so he did and we come here … thanks to Mr. Cartwright and them up at Cador.”

“Our grandparents,” said Rebecca with a little smile at me.

“Well, they did say, ‘You just have the cottage, Tom, and never mind about rent and such. It’s there for them as needs a roof over their head. You take it … while you do want it.’ And there’s little jobs Tom can do … on the farms and at Cador. They’ve kept him busy ever since, and my bit of sewing brings in a tidy bit. So there, you see … we’re better off than we was when Tom was in the mines.”

“And how is the rheumatism?” I asked.

“On and off, Miss Lucie. You can tell the weather by it. ‘Going to have a bit of rain tomorrow,’ Tom will say. ‘My leg’s giving me gippo.’ It’s a sure sign. And do you know, he’ll be right. He’s a real weathercock, our Tom, since he got his rheumatics. And now let me top you up, Mrs. Cartwright.”

“Oh, no thanks, Mrs. Blakey,” cried Rebecca in alarm. “It’s strong, your cider.”

Mrs. Blakey laughed happily. Then she looked at me solemnly and said, “Oh, we be happy here. There’s some as say it be a gloomy old place and there’s ghosts and such like on the prowl. Tom and me … we don’t mind the ghosts.”

“Do you ever hear the bells?” I asked. “You know … the ones which are supposed to ring from the monastery at the bottom of the pool.”

“That old tale! How could monks live down there for hundreds of years? It’s just a lot of nonsense, I say. So does Tom. No, we don’t hear no bells. We’re settled here and I don’t mind telling ’ee that, if it wasn’t for them old rheumatics giving Tom gip now and then, I’d be glad. Mines are dangerous things. Terrible things can happen to miners. I used to worry about Tom down the mine. But we were lucky. Tom happened to work for a good owner. I’ll never forget Mr. Cartwright and your grandfather, Mrs. Cartwright. Mr. Cartwright, he be a good master.”

“I am so glad you feel like that,” said Rebecca. “I shall tell Mr. Cartwright. He will be very pleased. He always wants to do what is right for the miners.”

“The Lord will bless him,” said Mrs. Blakey, “for what he had done for us.”

On that happy note we left.

As we made our way back Rebecca said, “She has transformed that place. I always used to think it was rather eerie. It looks so warm and cozy. I wonder how many hours she spends polishing the furniture and the brass.”

“It makes her happy,” I said.

“Oh yes. And talking of mines reminds me. We shall have to go to Pencarron. It’s a week since we were there. We must take the children. The Pencarrons get a little hurt if they don’t see them frequently.”

“Could we go tomorrow?”

“I’m sure we could,” said Rebecca.

The next day Rebecca and I with the children went over to Pencarron Manor. Celeste had said she wanted to go into the Poldoreys to shop. She was anxious not to intrude. The children were excited. They always enjoyed visiting their grandparents for at Pencarron they were apt to be spoiled.

Pencarron Manor lacked the antiquity of Cador and High Tor. It was a solid Victorian edifice, as Josiah said, “Built for use.” And what it lacked in fancy battlemented towers it made up for in modern improvements. “A bit of comfort’s worth a houseful of ghosts,” was his favorite comment.

He was bluff, kindly and somewhat contemptuous of the fanciful Cornish folk, with their piskies and what he called fancy tales about this and that happening to folk who didn’t look out. Mining had been his life; and he had come to Pencarron after his marriage, built the house and turned a failing old mine into a prosperous one.

He and his wife had longed for a child and had had to wait some time for Morwenna. When she came she had been the center of their lives and now Pedrek and the children made up for the fact that she lived chiefly in London where her husband managed the transport of tin and matters which could not be easily dealt with in Cornwall.

We were all welcomed warmly but I noticed the Pencarrons could not take their eyes from the children.

They wanted to know how Pedrek was, although they must have seen him a few days before. We all had a lavish meal which was typical of Pencarron hospitality. The children had to be at the table with us, for their grandparents could not bear to be deprived of their company even for a short while; and there was a great deal of laughter.

When this was over the children wanted to play in the garden and were allowed to do so; and we sat before the French windows so that we could watch them while we talked.

Coffee was served and Mrs. Pencarron was saying that we should come more often, and weren’t the little ones growing, and Jake was going to be the image of Pedrek. You could see it already, and Alvina was a little madam, wasn’t she?

“The country air is so good for them,” said Josiah.

“I can’t tell you how relieved we were when Pedrek decided he wanted to take over the mine,” added his wife.

“We thought he might have wanted to join his father in London, but he had the good sense to choose this.”

“It wouldn’t have been any good for the children up there.”

“We do have our parks, you know,” I said.

“Parks,” snorted Josiah. “You can’t compare them with the moors and the sea.”

“They are very pleasant,” said Rebecca.

“I reckon the country air is better,” insisted Josiah. “Life’s safer here, I reckon.”

“Well, there is the occasional accident in the mines and then the fishermen have a bad time when the storms arise.”

“You get disasters everywhere. What about those Members of Parliament?”

“On the whole they’re safe enough.”

“I was talking about those two. It was in the papers this morning. Have you seen the morning paper?”

“No … not yet. We thought we’d better get here early. We didn’t stop for very much.”

“You wouldn’t have seen it then. Apparently they were in Africa … or somewhere. Two of them … they’re missing.”

I said quickly, “Where were they?”

“They were visiting there with some others …”

“Was it Buganda?”

“Now you come to mention it, I think it was. Gone out for the government or something … some fact-finding mission, they called it. Well, two of them have disappeared. The rest of them are coming home … quick. It seems they were not well received by the natives.”

“I … I know the mission you are talking about,” I said. “In fact, I know very well one of the members who went out. He was a friend of … my father … of the family. Who are the two who are missing?”

“It did say their names, but I don’t remember.”

He could see that I was uneasy.

Rebecca was looking at me anxiously.

“Perhaps we could see the paper?” she suggested.

“I’m sure you can find it, can’t you, Mother?” said Josiah.

“Of course. Have some more coffee, Rebecca … Lucie?”

I could not concentrate on what they were saying. I kept thinking of Joel and the conversation we had had before he left, when we had declared our feelings for each other and our intentions. Two of them missing, I thought. Oh, not Joel!

It seemed a long time before the paper was found; and when I saw it I almost wished I had not.

I read,

The government mission to Buganda has not been an unqualified success. Some of the natives objected to what they call interference, and there was not always a warm welcome for the delegation. In fact they were often met with some hostility and will be returning home within the next day or so … unfortunately without two members of the party. They are Mr. James Hunter and Mr. Joel Greenham. …

My heart beat faster as I read and the paper trembled in my hands.

It appears that the whole party were at a meeting and, when it was over, prepared to return to their hotel. There was not room on the carriage for them all, and Mr. Hunter and Mr. Greenham, being the youngest members of the party, decided to walk to the hotel. They have not been seen since. Inquiries are being made.

I kept staring at his name. I kept seeing him as he had been when we had planned our future together. “When I come back we will announce our engagement. …”

But he would not come back with the others. What could be happening to him?

Rebecca was saying quietly, “Are you all right, Lucie?”

“It … it’s a shock. This … er …”

“Well, it’s what I was saying,” said Josiah. “Life’s better in the country. You know where you are.”

I don’t know how I got through the time before we left. Rebecca came to my aid and did what she could.

As we drove home she said, “Of course, we know very little yet. It’s probably very exaggerated. We must hear more news later on.”

But I felt bewildered and lost. I was beginning to ask myself what dire tragedy could happen next.

It was indeed hard to imagine that this had happened, following so soon after that other tragedy.

Celeste, who had guessed what the relationship between Joel and me was blossoming into, was most upset. She had had so many troubles of her own that she was always ready to sympathize with others.

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “It’s so soon after. Didn’t Shakespeare say that when troubles came they came not singly but in battalions?”