“Oh … nothing.”
“You didn’t think of returning it to its owner.”
“I don’t know whose it is. I shouldn’t think any of the fishermen have a ring and it wouldn’t be theirs because they don’t come to that part of the beach. It might have been there a long time. Some visitor lost it I expect and it’s so long ago they’ve forgotten about it.”
“If you don’t want it … may I have it?”
“Of course.”
She slipped it onto the first finger of her right hand.
“This is the only one it fits,” she said.
I found the scarf and we set it side by side with the blue linen. But I was not really attending. It was incidents like that which shook me terribly and brought it all back to my memory.
Miss Gilmore seemed a little absent-minded too.
Grace Gilmore was quite a good horsewoman. My mother was constantly urging her to accompany me when I went riding.
“Angelet is so independent,” I heard her say. “She does love to ride off on her own. But I’d rather someone was with her.”
Grace Gilmore was nothing loath. There was little she seemed to like better than regarding herself as a member of the family.
We were riding along the beach one day when we came close to the boathouse. She pulled up suddenly.
“It must have been somewhere near here where you found the ring,” she said.
I nodded. I hated telling a lie, but it was necessary.
She was looking along the shore, past the boathouse to where the harbor was just visible. She took off the ring.
“Look at these initials inside it,” she said. “Did you notice?”
“No. I didn’t look at it … much. I just picked it up.”
“You weren’t in a fit state to examine it closely, I suppose.”
“No. I don’t know why I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Just force of habit, I expect. I wasn’t really thinking of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t at such a time. Do you see what the initials are?”
She handed me the ring. Engraved inside were the initials M.D. and W.B.
“I wonder who they are,” I said.
She took the ring from me. What a fool I had been to pick it up. If I tried to return it the people would want to know where I found it. It might well be that the owner of the ring had never been near the sea. Ben had talked of clues. This could be one of those. I wished that Grace had never found it. I would have thrown it away if I had remembered. I should have remembered. When one practiced deceit one had to be careful. Her next words made me shiver.
“Those initials M.D. What was the name of that man who escaped from Bodmin Jail?”
“I … er … I don’t remember.”
“It was Mervyn Duncarry, I’m sure. M.D. You see?”
“There could be lots of people with those initials.”
“He must have been here … on this beach. I feel certain it is his ring.”
“And who is W.B.?”
“Some woman I suppose who was fool enough to love him.”
She held the ring in the palm of her hand and then suddenly she flung it into the sea.
“I couldn’t wear the ring of a murderer, could I?”
“No,” I said vehemently, “of course you could not.”
She could not guess how relieved I was to see the end of that ring. It was what I had begun to see as a piece of incriminating evidence.
A Marriage in a Far Country
WE WERE GOING TO London to pay that long delayed visit to Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis.
It was the year 1854 and I had now passed my twelfth birthday. There was a great deal of preparation, as there always was for these trips. Grace Gilmore had made a success of the blue linen and had made other dresses for me and for my mother.
Grace was really part of the household now. She had taken charge of my mother’s wardrobe, and was able to dress her hair for special occasions. She was no ordinary lady’s maid, of course. My mother had a real affection for her and was eager to help her in every way and Grace showed her gratitude by making herself almost indispensable to my mother.
“I don’t now how I managed before she came,” she used to say.
Grace was treated more and more like a member of the family. She was clever. There might have been revolution in the kitchen at such elevation of one who was in their eyes a mere servant, though an upper one. But Grace Gilmore was possessed of great tact. She always treated Mrs. Penlock and Watson as equals; and although they felt they should be given the respect due to the heads of the servant oligarchy, they did accept that Grace was outside the usual laws of protocol. She now had her meals with us. At first Watson was inclined to sniff at that, and we wondered whether the parlormaids would be allowed to serve her or whether she would be expected to help herself. My mother soon put an end to this nonsense and as Grace herself was the essence of tact, the situation was eased and finally accepted.
So Grace had become almost like a daughter of the household—and a very useful one.
She would travel with us—as one of us—but she insisted on lady’s maiding my mother; keeping an eye on our wardrobes; and she was helpful with Jack.
This hovering between upper and lower parts of the household might have presented a problem to a lesser person, but Grace dealt with it calmly and efficiently as she did all things.
We were greeted with great delight by Aunt Amaryllis, who scolded my mother for delaying so long. She embraced me and looked at me anxiously.
“My poor darling Angelet,” she said. “What a terrible accident that was! Well, you look quite healthy now, doesn’t she, Peter?”
Uncle Peter looked a little older, but the years only added to his distinction. He kissed me on both cheeks and said how pleased he was to see me.
“Matthew and Helena will be over with Jonnie and Geoffrey,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “When Jonnie knew you were coming he was so pleased. He is really very cross with you for staying away so long—so are we all.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” replied my mother. “Don’t think we did not miss our visits. But why didn’t you come to Cador?”
Aunt Amaryllis lifted her shoulders. “Peter has been so busy and we are all here … the whole family. It is so much better for you to come to London.”
“And this is Grace,” said my mother. “Grace Gilmore.”
“How do you do, Miss Gilmore. We are so pleased you came. We have heard so much about you.”
“You are all so kind,” murmured Grace.
“Now then … to your rooms. Luggage will be sent up … and dinner is at eight. Do come down when you are ready. Matthew and the family will be here at any minute.”
Grace helped my mother unpack and then came to me.
“What a lovely house!” she said.
“I’ve always been fascinated by it,” I told her. “And Aunt Amaryllis always gives me a room overlooking the river.”
She went to the window and looked out.
I stood beside her. “You can just see the new Houses of Parliament. They really are magnificent. Did you know the Queen opened the Victoria Tower and the Royal Gallery only two years ago; and she knighted the architect. It really is a wonderful sight when you look across the river.”
“It is a great pleasure for me to be in London. It was a very fortunate day when I walked into your garden.”
“I know we all share that view,” I told her.
It was wonderful to see the family, particularly Jonnie. There had always been a special friendship between us. He was four years older than I which had seemed a great deal when we were younger, but as we grew older the gap seemed to lessen. I had hero-worshiped Jonnie in those days but when Ben had come I had been rather fickle and transferred my adoration to him.
He took my hands and gave me that rather gentle smile which had always made me feel cherished.
“Why, how you’ve grown, Angelet. And you’ve been so ill. We were all so anxious a
bout you.”
“I’m all right now, Jonnie. How are you getting on? Still concerned about all those old relics … still digging up the past?”
He nodded. “I’m getting completely immersed. There is a party going out to Greece next year. I’m hoping to go.”
“What are you hoping to find … a lost city?”
“That’s hoping for a lot. Generally it’s just dig … dig … and you’re lucky if you find a drinking vessel.”
“Oh, this is Miss Grace Gilmore,” I said as Grace appeared.
“How do you do?” said Jonnie. “I’ve heard so much of you. Aunt Annora has told us how good you have been to her.”
Grace laughed. “It is more she who has been good to me.”
She looked not so much pretty as interesting. She was elegant. Her sense of dress was perfect. Her clothes were simple and yet noticeable for that very reason. She wore a gown of a light biscuit color which toned with her hazel eyes; her smooth brown hair fell rather loosely over her ears and was caught in a knot at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a garnet brooch which my mother had given her—her only jewelry. Everything was plain but decidedly elegant.
Jonnie smiled at her. If he thought she was some sort of higher servant he would be especially gracious to her. Jonnie was that kind of person.
Ben had been so flamboyantly attractive that he had made me forget what a very delightful person Jonnie was.
Grace said: “I heard you are interested in archaeology. I’ve always been fascinated by things that belong to the past. What an exciting time you must have!”
“I have just been saying to Angelet that people imagine we are coming upon old treasures all the time. That, if one is lucky, is the experience of a lifetime.”
“I’d love to hear more about that.”
“Well, you’ll stay for a while and we shall meet again. There’s plenty of time for us.”
Matthew and Helena came in to welcome us and in turn were introduced to Grace. Geoffrey was growing up. He must be nearly fifteen by now.
“Peterkin and Frances will be coming,” announced Aunt Amaryllis. “I was determined to muster as many of the family as possible. It is such a long time since we have seen you all. I know it was due to Angelet’s accident and subsequent illness. … Well, all that is over now. It is wonderful to see her so blooming.”
In due course everyone was assembled and we were seated at the dinner table, Uncle Peter at one end, Aunt Amaryllis at the other.
There had been occasions in the past when I had sat at this table and I remembered the conversation. It always seemed to be dominated by Uncle Peter as far as I remembered and everyone deferred to him. There was a good deal of politics which I believed interested him more than anything else. Of course I had been very young then and my opportunities to listen had not been very frequent.
Now, of course, I was older but perhaps not yet of an age to take a great part in the discourse.
The talk at this time was about the situation between Russia and Turkey and the part England should play in it.
“Palmerston has the people with him,” said Uncle Peter.
“But is he right?” asked Matthew.
“I think war is wrong in any circumstances,” said Frances.
Frances was a very forthright woman, one of the few who would directly contradict Uncle Peter. For many years she had been running what was called a Mission in the East End of London; she had married Peterkin and they worked together. She was rather a plain woman, but attractive because of her vitality and enthusiasm; she was highly respected in many quarters because of the work she had done, and was doing, for the poor.
“My dear Frances,” said Uncle Peter, with a kindly but faintly condescending smile, “we all think war is wrong, but sometimes it is inevitable, and a prompt action in which a few suffer may prevent the deaths of thousands.”
“In my opinion,” went on Frances, “we should keep out of this.”
“I am inclined to agree,” said Matthew. Matthew was a reformer by nature. He had come into prominence with his book on Prison Reform and from that had stemmed his career in politics. Uncle Peter had been of inestimable help to his son-in-law; and Matthew never forgot that; he must have felt very strongly on this matter of war to express an adverse opinion.
Uncle Peter came in firmly. Lightly he might brush Frances aside, but he was really concerned about Matthew.
“My dear Matthew,” he said, “often it is necessary to take the long term view. You will never have the support of the people by a weak pacifist policy.”
“But if it is right …?”
Uncle Peter raised his eyebrows. “In politics we have to think what is best for the country. What is going to keep power in our hands? We cannot allow sentiment to play a part in our judgment. The people are even now turning against the Queen … and Albert is the villain-in-chief.”
“They are always against Albert,” said Frances.
“Yes, but they now think he and the Queen are considering their Russian relations rather than the country. The people want Palmerston and his gun-boat policy. You have to admit that it is not without its merits.”
I could see Matthew wavering. He would conform with Uncle Peter’s wishes. He always had. That was how he had got on. He had been made by Uncle Peter.
“The point is,” said my father, “is there going to be war?”
“I think it is almost certain. We shall have to go to Turkey’s aid. We shall have the French with us and we shall settle this matter very quickly and show the world that we are masters of it.”
“Aberdeen is against it,” said Matthew.
“Aberdeen is too weak. The people are clamoring for Palmerston. Mark my words, Palmerston will be back. We shall go to war. It is what the people want. Palmerston is the hero of the day.” He looked at Matthew sternly. “It is necessary to be on the winning side.”
So the conversation went on. Then we talked of Cornwall; and my father and Uncle Peter were in deep conversation about the estate. Aunt Amaryllis told us of the London scene, that she had recently been to the opera and that she hoped we would all go very soon.
But the talk did keep coming back to the possibility of war and that was really what was in everybody’s mind.
I lay in bed that night and thought about the evening. London always made an impact on me. It was not only the streets, which always seemed so alive in contrast to our country lanes. Perhaps it was the feeling that life here could never be dull. Something important was just about to happen, I always felt. That was probably the impression I had in this house and it was largely due to the impact of Uncle Peter’s personality.
Already I was aware of the impending disaster of war and I had seen opposite reactions to it; and what had impressed me was Uncle Peter’s control of Matthew, and as Matthew was one of those people who make our laws, I thought of Uncle Peter as a puppet master jerking his protégé in the way he must go. Matthew’s instincts were against war; but he was going to support it because Uncle Peter was jerking him.
It was so interesting that St Branok’s Pool seemed a long way away.
The days began to fly past. There was the visit to the opera which Aunt Amaryllis had promised us; we went riding in the Row; Jonnie was a constant companion. He had not yet completed his education but as he had decided to take up archaeology as a profession he would interrupt it to go to Greece for a period of practical study; and was at the moment preparing for it.
He usually spent his mornings in private study but in the afternoons he would be free and that was the time that he was in our company. I say our because Grace Gilmore seemed always to be with us.
In the mornings we often went shopping with my mother, Grace with us. Being in London, said my mother, gave us an opportunity to replenish our wardrobes. She and Grace liked to study the fashions in the shops and consult together. Grace was very knowledgeable about materials and styles.
Sometimes in the afternoon we rode in Rotten Row. It was n
ot, of course, like riding at home. It was more like a parade; Jonnie, and occasionally Aunt Amaryllis, were with us and when they were they were constantly being greeted by people. Riding there was more like a social event.
I enjoyed very much walking in the Park which we did frequently. Jonnie or Geoffrey would accompany us. Sometimes we took Jack, who was wide-eyed with wonder at everything he saw and asked interminable questions.
The best times of all were with Jonnie and Grace. She and Jonnie had taken quite a liking to each other. She was so interested in everything and she asked all sorts of intelligent questions about archaeology; he had lent her books on the subject.
I used to love to sit by the Serpentine in blissful forgetfulness of that terrible day which during the visit to London seemed so far from what I thought of as the scene of the crime. It had faded into the past and was of far less significance than it had been in Cornwall.
There was one day, I remember, when we talked of Ben, that brought it back a little, for I had not seen Ben since it happened. I had been aware of him at my bedside, I supposed, but that was all.
“You remember Benedict, Angelet,” said Jonnie one day.
“Oh yes, I remember him.”
“Of course you do. Do you know, Miss Gilmore, I was quite jealous of Benedict at one time. Angelet used to be my particular friend and when he came along she completely forgot me.”
“Who is he exactly?” asked Grace. “I know he was at Cador for a while but I was never quite sure.”
“He took a bit of explaining,” said Jonnie. “He’s my grandfather’s grandson. I suppose that makes him a cousin. What complicated relationships we have in our family.”
“Perhaps that’s why you are rather complicated people,” said Grace.
“That must be the answer. Do you know, I never thought of that.”
“I wonder if he has found gold and become rich,” I said.
Jonnie said to Grace: “That was what he went to Australia to find. Gold! Do you remember some time ago there was a great deal of comment about the goldfields of Australia. A place called Ballarat, I believe. Well, Benedict just thought he would like a share of it and he went in search of his fortune.”
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