The Drowning Pool

by Syd Moore

  The man I presumed to be Laurens gestured to a rickety table covered in a beautiful lace tablecloth, which stood by the open windows. The subtle bouquet of geraniums filled the room. ‘Please. Claudia is with my father. He is preparing for your visit.’

  I nodded, wondering why the old man needed to be ‘prepared’ but then realized this could be a translation quirk. Perhaps Laurens meant his wife was getting him dressed.

  In stilted English the old man offered us tea, which we both accepted. He told us to sit down and disappeared through a door to the left of the room.

  I obeyed his instructions and took my notebook out of my handbag. I’d also, on a whim whilst packing, tossed an old Dictaphone into my case. I placed it carefully on the table and pressed play. A gaggle of Alfie-talk sounded loudly across the room followed by a brief rendition of ‘Postman Pat’.

  Andrew laughed.

  ‘Just needed to test it.’ I pressed record and asked him what he had for breakfast.

  He leant in to the small oval microphone. ‘You,’ he said, just as Laurens returned with a tray filled with cups and teapot.

  I rewound the tape and heard myself ask Andrew the question. It was clear, so I turned it off quickly and turned to Laurens, who had positioned himself opposite me to pour the tea. ‘Thank you, that’s lovely. It’s very kind of you.’

  ‘I have to say,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the stream of liquid, ‘I would prefer you not to see my father.’

  ‘Oh?’ Andrew took the cup and saucer and declined the milk. ‘Why is that?’

  Laurens offered me sugar, which I took, and answered Andrew. ‘He is not a well man. He, you know, suffered a,’ he searched inwardly for the right word. ‘I’m sorry my English it’s not good. Claudia is better. She’ll be in soon.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I moved the sugar bowl across the table to Laurens. He directed my gaze to his chest. ‘He suffered a …’

  ‘Heart attack?’ Andrew suggested.

  Laurens stirred his tea. ‘A paralysis. Here – arm and face.’ He patted his cheek.

  ‘Oh.’ I stopped the firm fixed smile I’d worn since arriving in his home. ‘A stroke?’

  Laurens pointed in my direction with his forefinger and nodded. ‘That’s it. He should not be,’ he paused, ‘over stimulated.’

  ‘I see.’ At once guilty and intrigued, I figured Tobias must have something important to say. Why else would he see us?

  Laurens continued. ‘But I understand his will. I would tell you, but Father wishes for you and he to converse. My thought,’ he raised the china teacup to his lips and took a small sip, ‘we do not gain from it. Many years ago is gone. But that generation, they lived through much devastation, loss. The continue, continuation? Is that right?’ he asked, though I was unsure if he was referring to his choice of word or the convoluted concept that he was trying to get across.

  Andrew stepped in. ‘Continuation? Yes that’s right.’

  ‘The continuation of l’histoire, of legacy. It means much to him.’

  I was beginning to doubt that our interview with Tobias would yield much at all if he had the linguistic skills of his son, as nice as Laurens was.

  ‘Ah,’ Laurens broke off and glanced over my head to the doorway we had come through. A dark-haired woman of about my age came towards us, smiling widely. ‘Claudia.’

  Claudia was obviously not Laurens’ wife as I had assumed. Fashionably dressed, wearing three-quarter-length cropped jeans, trainers and a tight-fitting green t-shirt, with a designer logo emblazoned across the left breast, which brought out her vivid green eyes circled in dark eyeliner and the olive glow of her skin. Claudia was a very attractive woman. Her black hair was platted into a loose pigtail that hung down into the small of her back.

  She came straight to me. ‘Sarah Grey!’ Her English was practically perfect. I rose from my chair to greet her and thrust out my hand but she ignored it and threw her arms around me and kissed me. ‘It’s good to meet you at last.’

  I darted a look at Andrew. He seemed as mesmerized as me. Claudia followed my gaze. ‘Sorry,’ I said, disentangling myself from her arms. ‘This is Andrew McWhittard who has …’ I was going to say accompanied me but Claudia sussed it, bent down and kissed him on both cheeks.

  ‘The scholar of the bishop,’ she said, stepping back to survey Andrew. ‘He doesn’t know of your Eden,’ she said very suddenly. ‘But you,’ she turned back and patted my arm. ‘He has waited a long time for you. We all have.’

  Laurens muttered something in French, evidently telling her to sit down at the table. She rolled her eyes at us but moved to the window and took a chair beside her father. ‘He’s worried I’ll say too much.’ She laughed. I shot another glance at Andrew. His mouth was half open, his teacup frozen mid-air. He looked from Claudia to Laurens and back again.

  ‘I won’t though.’ Claudia reached across the table, earning a ‘tut’ from Laurens, and abruptly changed the subject. ‘So where are you staying?’

  We informed her of the hotel’s name and location and she remarked that she knew it, and approved of our choice. Again Laurens said something in French. Claudia answered and then put down her cup.

  ‘Are you ready to see Grandfather, then?’

  We both nodded. I drained my cup and picked up my belongings. All apart from Laurens stood up.

  ‘No,’ Laurens said, wagging a finger at Andrew. ‘Only the women.’

  Claudia took me gently by the arm. ‘Sorry, Andrew. It is only possible for Sarah Grey. He has nothing for you.’

  Andrew hovered between dismay and protest, unsure whether he should object. My heart went out to him – to be denied like this at the climax. But then again, this was my story.

  ‘Can he not come in and listen?’ I asked Claudia.

  She shook her head firmly. ‘Too many strangers will tire him.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Andrew said. ‘This means more to you. Can you record it on your Dictaphone?’

  I looked at Claudia and pointed to the device in my hand. ‘If that’s OK with Tobias?’

  ‘Oh, that will be fine,’ said Claudia breezily. ‘Can’t be too long though. He’s an old man, you know.’

  She squeezed my arm as she led me into the darkness of the corridor beyond.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tobias Fitch was propped up on his bed. The stroke seemed not to have incapacitated him as much as I had expected, though it must have been a while since his skin had seen daylight. It was almost the same colour as his thick, white hair, trimmed smartly into a short back and sides. He wore an open-necked shirt and suit trousers, as if he had dressed for the occasion. Although slim, he didn’t look wasted. He smiled as he saw me enter. The same green eyes as his granddaughter flashed at me, full of intelligence, though hooded by age.

  ‘Here she is,’ said Claudia with a flourish, and pulled out a stool by the bed.

  I half expected her to pull up a chair herself but she simply asked Tobias if he needed anything and, finding the answer negative, withdrew leaving the two of us alone.

  ‘She is much like my mother, Evalina,’ Tobias said, as the door closed. ‘Not married yet either. Like Evalina. You?’ His voice was gentle but hoarse with nearly a century of use. I was relieved his English, though not in the same league as his granddaughter’s, was far superior to his son’s.

  ‘I was,’ I said. ‘But he died.’

  Tobias beckoned me closer to the bed. I shifted the stool over. ‘History repeats itself then? You and I, we are living proof of that in our names, yes? My mother named me after her grandfather. And you too have inherited the name of old Madam Grey.’

  He assumed then, not illogically, I was a descendant of Sarah Grey. It was pointless explaining how I’d come to trace him, so I let him conclude what he wanted and instead flattered him on his excellent English.

  ‘Yes.’ Tobias did his best to nod amongst the overstuffed pillows. ‘My first wife was English.’ He wheezed out the last consonants.

>   ‘Laurens’ mother?’

  Tobias’ green eyes squeezed shut as he spluttered out a laugh. ‘No, no. Laurens’ mother was Belgian. Irene was killed in the war. With my mother. We had no time to have children.’ He winked then added, somewhat inappropriately I thought at the time, ‘We have many wives in this family.’

  Surprise must have shown on my face because he reached for my hand. I offered it to him and he gave it a pat. ‘One after the other. Not together. One after the other. You have widows, am I right? And we have widowers. History repeats itself.’ His eyes glittered in their sunken sockets. ‘And so do I.’

  The old man was growing on me. A strong sense of mischief projected from him. Although his mouth was lopsided as he spoke, sometimes obscuring his words, there was no doubt that neither the stroke nor his maturity had destroyed any brain capacity. Tobias Fitch was as sharp as a razor. It was I who needed my wits about me.

  ‘So, Sarah. You must pass me that book and the box.’ Tobias extended a finger to the table on my right. I picked up the two objects placed in the middle: an ancient looking exercise book and a wooden box about the size of a paperback, and placed them in Tobias’ hands.

  He let them rest on his lap and gave them a pat. ‘So, it is all here. My great grandfather’s confession. It is what you have come for, yes?’

  The word confession hit me. My mind raced through the connections – confession – crime.

  Without realizing it I had moved to the edge of the stool. ‘Can I record you, Mr Fitch? Would you mind?’ I held the Dictaphone up.

  ‘I have no objections.’

  I clicked on the record button.

  ‘So,’ he repeated. ‘It is not quite as he spoke it here, but you will gain an impression. My mother took down my great grandfather’s words in 1896. She was only thirteen and did not realize what she was writing at the time.’

  He had lived on then.

  For a very long time.

  Sarah was right to have had her suspicions.

  ‘1896?’ I double-checked. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite. The journal was dated. My great grandfather was becoming ill and knew he would be nearing the end. He had a wish to tell of what he had done. He was not proud of it, but he wanted to confess. Evalina was his favoured granddaughter. Bright and educated, he requested she write it down. She kept the book for many years, not understanding what my great grandfather had to say.’

  Tobias tapped the exercise book. It was plainly not an antique. His keen eyes read my gaze. ‘That book was destroyed by the bomb that killed her and Irene – New Year’s Day 1945. The war would end that year.’ He looked away, grief plain in his face. But he mastered the emotion and went on. ‘She read the book to me. I don’t know why. I don’t think she knew either. Maybe she wanted to share the burden of the secret. Maybe it was just to amuse me. If it was, it worked. I loved it as a child and as a teenager it fascinated me. I didn’t know my father. He died before my mother knew she was pregnant. He and Evalina never married. There was no time in that war. I did not have the privilege of knowing my great grandfather either. He passed away twenty-one years before I was born. But his story caught my imagination. He wasn’t just a man but a hero, so it seemed in my youth. His tale was an adventure, like a romance …’

  I held the recorder closer to the old man. He was looking straight ahead, away from me, smiling at his memories. ‘Like Sinbad, he sailed the seven seas. When the book was destroyed I took some time to write down what I could remember so I could pass on the story to my sons and grandsons when they came to be born. That, Sarah Grey, is what’s on the pages in here.’

  Tobias fingered the exercise book. It trembled and yawned open as he held it for me.

  Beneath my fingertips the fine leaves of the script were fragile, delicate, browning. With trepidation I opened the first page.

  My heart sank.

  It was in French.

  Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Nethertheless I was crestfallen. ‘What does it say?’ I asked, too taken aback to remember my manners.

  Tobias coughed. ‘You must get it translated. Claudia perhaps. It will have more to tell you than I can.’ He raised a shaky hand to his head and pretended he was knocking on his skull. ‘But I will try.’

  He reached a shaky finger at the Dictaphone. ‘It is on?’

  I showed him the glowing red button and he began.

  ‘Tobias Fitch, my great grandfather, was of disputed lineage. He never said who his mother was but Evalina suspected that she was a slave. After her death he was taken aboard a ship bound for England by General Sparrow, a well-known Brigadier and a Lord. It was Tobias’ early assumption that the Brigadier General was his father, but he had no clear idea. I think as he grew older, he wondered if the Brigadier had perhaps merely shown Christian compassion or was helping a friend or a faithful servant. We don’t know. Nor will we. It is of little significance to you.

  ‘The Brigadier did not survive the journey home. A fever took him. His men buried him on the island of Tortolo. But Tobias did survive and on his return was given to the Brigadier’s widow, a woman who treated him with some affection. She often made trips to the town where he was to meet your ancestor, Sarah. Is that right?’

  I spoke urgently, impatient now. ‘That’s right, Sarah Grey. Do go on.’

  ‘He described your Madam Grey with fondness. Blackest hair of the raven, eyes afire like an angry sea. She was a beauty. He loved her very much and intended to marry her. He told his employer, Lady Sparrow. I understand there was a disagreement between them. Lady Sparrow did not want him to marry Sarah. She was suspicious of her intentions.’

  ‘Of Sarah’s?’

  ‘Your forebear was not well thought of. There were rumours of witchcraft. Of course Tobias knew Sarah was not a witch and tried to appease Lady Olivia but to no avail. She forbade him to see Sarah again.

  ‘But Tobias had a friend in whom Lady Olivia had confided also. And so, this man offered to help them to elope. Tobias was overjoyed. His friend had promised him a wedding gift – money enough to set up the couple with a shop in a neighbouring town. It seemed there was nothing to stop the two now.

  ‘The night of the elopement was stormy and wild. As he waited for Sarah, taking shelter in a huge elm tree, he was seized by a mob of men. He was a strong man, my great grandfather, and fought hard with his attackers, redoubling his efforts as he saw Sarah approach. She too tried to help him but was thrown off by one of the gang. Enraged by this Tobias struck down one of the men who had touched her. Then he was struck down himself.

  ‘When he regained consciousness his friend was there at his side. He announced the dreadful news that Sarah had been killed by the fall and that the man he himself beat down had not survived. Tobias Fitch was without his betrothed and now a murderer too. It was his aim to stand trial and face justice, but his friend urged him to flee with the money he had given him. In the dark hours of the next morning, before the sun had risen, he was conveyed in a Leigh boat to a waiting ship that brought him via many different routes eventually to Antwerp.

  ‘A quick learner, whilst on board he had made himself useful, and got friendly with the captain and the crew. They taught him the skills of the open seas and he put them to use. Fearful that he was still hunted by the mob for the death of their man, he did not disembark when the ship put in at the first port of Calais, but remained aboard, not as a passenger but one of the crew.

  ‘For the next six years he traversed the globe. That was until he caught a fever in the South Americas which left him washed up in the docks of Antwerp.

  ‘He made money from his time at sea and had also not touched that of his friend, meaning to repay him one day. Tobias found lodgings in the city and convalesced.

  ‘It was during this time that he met my great grandmother, Alice. She was the landlord’s daughter and very pretty. He would never forget the tragedy of his first love, but he and Alice were happy together. They had two sons, Jools and my grandfather, als
o called Tobias, then Greta. I remember her.

  ‘When Alice’s father died, Tobias used his savings to buy the property and for a while they were content. But once a man has gone to sea it stays in his blood and it called to him to return. Alice did not like him to be away for such lengthy periods so after two years he gave it up.

  ‘The property business went well and over the next decade Tobias acquired more lodging houses by the docks. The family became affluent, but my great grandfather never forgot his humble background nor the friend who had helped him to escape the punishment that he felt sure would catch up with him one day. He was a good man and with his wealth he built a home for aged seamen. He insisted his stewards rent half of his properties to poor families at a fraction of the cost that they could command.’

  ‘In 1865 he was made a burgher. I think it was that, combined with the gradual onset of rheumatism in his legs, which spurred him to return to England one last time while he was still able. He told Evalina he was to repay the debt to his friend. Alice consented. He chartered a boat, disguising himself as the captain, still fearful of being recognized and caught.

  ‘In 1867 he travelled to England, and docked one last time at the town of Leigh. Tobias planned only to stay to find his friend, if indeed he were still alive, then intended to go on to London to buy items the family had requested.

  ‘He dined in an inn by the waterside with his men. There was great unease amongst them for the weather. The sea was tempestuous and the sky black – a storm was drawing close. Tobias resolved to find his friend and leave as soon as possible.

  ‘That afternoon, as the clouds rolled in above the town, he saw a hunched figure shuffling along the high street. He would never have known her, she had changed so, but she saw him and called out his name. At first he panicked, thinking he’d been recognized as the murderer, but when he looked beyond the lines of age, he found himself gazing into the beautiful eyes of his former lover, Sarah Grey.