Midsummer's Eve

by Philippa Carr

  “I expect if he had found gold he would have been delighted to let us know,” I said.

  “Yes, I’m sure of that, too,” agreed Jonnie. “Benedict was not one to hide his light under a bushel.”

  I wished they wouldn’t talk of him. They were bringing it all back to me again.

  “Perhaps he is having a hard time,” I suggested.

  “Well, I should think it is not a very easy life … until one strikes gold.”

  “He sounds a very interesting young man,” said Grace. “I remember him only slightly.”

  “He is rather overpowering, wouldn’t you say, Angelet,” said Jonnie. “In fact he is very much like my grandfather.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Grace. “Tell me, when are you planning to go to Greece?”

  “Next spring, I think.”

  “How very exciting! I think it must be one of the most thrilling things one can do … to discover the past, for that is what it is.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Jonnie. “Then I hope to get to Pompeii. I feel there is a good deal to discover there. People have explored a little. I have been there once … two years ago. They have worked on it … spasmodically. There is no system, though. I believe work on it would be very rewarding.”

  “How fascinating,” cried Grace rapturously. “It was the volcano which erupted, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but there was a series of earthquakes before that. It was the shocks which set Vesuvius erupting and sending out those ashes and hot stones pelting down on the cities and utterly destroying them.”

  Grace shivered. “It makes you realize how uncertain life is.”

  “It does indeed. Well, I intend to get out there and work. I shall do everything I can to make that possible. There is so much to do, I am sure we can uncover a whole city.”

  “How did they know there was a city there?” I asked.

  “The walls of the amphitheater marked the spot, but it was just a lot of hardened mud with sparse grass on it … enough though to show that there had been a city there. As far back as the sixteenth century they came upon ancient buildings. There have been excavations but they have never been carried out in a scientific way. It’s time they were. Then Heaven knows what treasures we shall uncover.”

  “I think it must be a wonderful profession,” said Grace enthusiastically. “I’d love to be concerned in it.”

  “It’s hard work … digging and all that.”

  “I’m strong.”

  “I tell you what; I’ll lend you some more books.”

  “Oh will you?”

  “Of course.”

  He did and soon they were involved in intelligent discussions and I felt rather left out. It was the first time I had been made aware that I was still a child and Jonnie and Grace were adults. She must have been four or possibly five years older than he was. I liked Grace very much but I did wish that she was not always present when we went on our rides and walks. I also wished that she were not quite so clever; she seemed to have acquired quite an understanding of archaeology which she had certainly not had when she came to London.

  I remember one day when we were walking back to the house we encountered a band of men walking along carrying banners. We stood watching them. They were singing something. It was hard to decipher but Jonnie translated for me. It was:

  You jolly old Turk, now go to work

  And show the Bear your power.

  It is rumored over Britain’s Isle

  That A is in the Tower

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  “Well,” said Jonnie, “the people are all for war. People always are if the war is taking place elsewhere. They like to hear of the glory but they would certainly not want to suffer the discomforts. This war is far away. Therefore they are all for it. Palmerston is all for making England the greatest power in the world. If anyone utters the mildest word against us he sends out the gunboats to parade along their coasts, to show them our power. The people like it. They love Old Pam as they call him. He’s colorful. Of course he’s very old now, but in his youth he was a rake. I believe he may still be. Funnily enough the people like that. They don’t want a good man; they want a colorful one. Poor old Aberdeen, with his pacific policies, is dull. The fact is the people are blaming the Queen and Prince Albert for our reluctance to go to war. It is quite unfair. They say the Russians are the Queen’s relations and she cares more for them than for England. But they prefer to blame Albert, so they are calling him Traitor.”

  “And he is the A who is rumored to be in the Tower?” said Grace.

  “That’s so. But it is all nonsense. Albert is by no means a prisoner. But I daresay war will be declared on Russia sooner or later.”

  The next day an article appeared in The Morning Post written by Mr. Gladstone setting out the Prince’s virtues and commenting on the folly of blaming him. John Russell and Benjamin Disraeli made speeches about him in the Houses of Parliament—the latter’s was brilliant; and this with Mr. Gladstone’s article made a deep impression on the people.

  And still the threat of war hung in the air.

  An ultimatum was sent to Russia to the effect that if they did not return the Danube principalities which they had annexed we should declare war.

  When no answer was received, there was only one action the government could take.

  We were at war with Russia.

  It was amazing how quickly people’s views could change. Matthew was now in full agreement with the declaration. This was probably due to Uncle Peter’s influence. But Jonnie, too, had changed his mind. He was now for teaching the Russians a lesson, and saving little Turkey from the bully.

  War fever swept over the country. It would all be over in a few weeks, they said. The Russians would soon see what happened to those who thought they could bully their neighbors.

  They would find they had to face the wrath of powerful Britain.

  That was April and in May we returned to Cornwall. Life settled down to normality. There was little talk down there about the tension between Turkey and Russia. It was all a matter of whether there would be a good harvest this year and whether the rain would keep off until Midsummer’s Eve.

  The rain did keep off for that important occasion and as if to make up for it it began to pour; and as often in Cornwall, as Mrs. Penlock said, once it started it did not know how to stop.

  There was speculation as to whether the Tamar would overflow its banks; and the possibility of high tides was considered with some apprehension. Some of the fields were flooded and there was consternation among the farmers.

  Then one day I heard disquietening news.

  The Pencarrons were coming to dinner and my mother had asked me to go down to remind Mrs. Penlock that Mr. Pencarron could not take any dish with pilchards in it. Mrs. Penlock was very fond of starting a meal with a special dish of which she was very proud and even when my mother had not suggested it, she had a habit of slipping it in. The fish was served with oil and lemon and some ingredient which Mrs. Penlock would not divulge. “Fair Maids” was what she called it which, I had discovered, was her version of Fumadoe—which meant “Fit for a Spanish Don,” and reminded us that there was a certain Spanish element in the Duchy after the defeat of the Spanish Armada when the galleons had been wrecked along our coast and many Spaniards found refuge here.

  When I arrived in the kitchen a great deal of excited talk was going on.

  Mrs. Penlock was saying: “Stands to reason. People don’t invent such things. They’m handed down … generation to generation. I reckon ’tis true then and some ’as heard them bells.”

  I felt that twinge of fear which I always had when people referred to the pool.

  “Truth in what?” I demanded.

  “ ’Tis all this rain we’m ’aving. That there pool … St Branok’s you know. ’Tas overflowed. Well, stands to reason … all this rain. ’Tas washed away the soil and they do say ’tis true. There be the remains of an old monastery … bits of rock and t
hings sticking out of the ground. They’m saying you can see it … clear as daylight … and it’s a wall … an old stone wall.”

  “You mean … right there by the pool?”

  “That’s where I do mean. It be all this rain … loosens the soil, it do. And there be this bit of a wall, they do say. ’Tis unmistakable.”

  I told her about the pilchards.

  “There’s some as don’t know what’s good for ’em,” she grumbled. “I do reckon them Fair Maids be a real and proper way to start a meal. Gives you appetite, they do say, and they’m right. No bones about it.”

  “Well, not for Mr. Pencarron.”

  I wanted to ask her more about the pool but I was afraid to; and as soon as I could I rode out there.

  The ground was very wet and soggy. I saw two people standing close to the water and recognized one as John Gurney, the other was his son. They farmed on the Cador estate.

  I rode up to them.

  “I have heard that a wall has been exposed,” I said.

  “ ’Tis all this flooding, Miss Angelet. No good to the crops …”

  “They are saying there really is a monastery here.”

  “It seems they’m right. This here’s a wall.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Could well be, Miss Angelet. Not much of it to see … just enough to show it might have been. Look, ’tis over there.”

  I shivered. I wondered if there was any sign of blood on the stone. It was there that he had fallen and struck his head. Foolish thought! The rain would have washed it away even before the last deluge.

  I walked Glory over and looked at it. I couldn’t help but see him in my mind’s eye. I glanced across to the pool. It was swollen and the water was dribbling beyond that spot where we had stood by the willows and let him slip down to his watery grave.

  I turned back to the men.

  “I suppose all sorts of things could be brought up on the water?”

  They looked puzzled. “Things that may have fallen in,” I said.

  “Oh no, Miss Angelet. Reckon anything that went in would go right down to the bottom.”

  “They say it’s bottomless.”

  “Must have a bottom somewhere, Miss Angelet.”

  “But they did say …”

  “Well, them bells ’as got to rest somewhere, ’asn’t ’em?”

  They laughed.

  “I reckon there’ll be some as ’ull be hearing ’em after this,” said John Gurney.

  “You can bet your life on that,” said his son.

  I rode back. It was foolish to worry but anything connected with the pool made me uneasy, and I supposed it would as long as I lived.

  I was amazed when a letter came from Jonnie to my mother. When I went down to breakfast she was reading it.

  “Good morning, Angelet,” she said. “This is from Jonnie. He wants to come down.”

  “That will be nice,” I said.

  “He wants to bring a friend.” She glanced at the letter. “Gervaise Mandeville. They’ve been studying together. So I suppose he’s an archaeologist as well. Shall I read to you what he says?”

  “Please do,” I replied.

  “ ‘We’re so excited about this find at the pool. It sounds quite fascinating. We should love to come down. I am referring to a friend. He’s very enthusiastic and if I could bring him with me, it would be wonderful. Ever since Miss Gilmore wrote about the exposed wall, I was eager to come and see it. Could you put up with us both? We could of course stay at the inn if it wasn’t convenient. …’ ”

  My mother looked at me. “What nonsense! As if we would let them stay at the inn. Of course they will come here.”

  “He’s quickly learned about the discovery of the pool,” I said.

  “He and Grace have been writing to each other. Naturally she would tell him such a piece of news.”

  I felt a certain resentment. It was foolish. Why should they not write to each other?

  “I suppose she thought he’d be particularly interested in that sort of thing,” said my mother. “And she was right. He’s hoping to unearth a monastery.” She added lightly: “He’ll be wanting to get down to the bottom of the pool to see if there are any bells there.”

  I could not share her lightness though I tried to pretend to.

  And this friendship with Grace? He had not written to me. Of course she had shown a marked interest in his archaeology. It must be due to that.

  A few weeks later they arrived.

  Jonnie embraced me warmly. He was full of enthusiasm. “And this is Gervaise … Gervaise Mandeville,” he said.

  Gervaise was very good-looking, tall with blond hair and blue eyes. He seemed to be laughing all the time—even when one would expect him to be serious. It was as though he found everything a joke and such was his personality that when one was with him, one felt the same. I liked him from the moment I saw him. He was not so intense as Jonnie, although he was excited at the prospect of discovering a monastery—but even that seemed like a joke to him—as everything else was.

  Having visitors from London was always refreshing. We were rather cut off from affairs in the country and the first night at supper we seemed to be catching up with what was happening in the outside world.

  The war was by no means over. The Russians had not, contrary to the expectations of the people in the streets, given up as soon as they knew the British were on the way.

  “It looks,” said Jonnie, “as though it might go on for a long time.”

  He was very sad about it.

  “Some people think we should never have gone into it.”

  “Peterkin and Frances and Matthew do, I know,” I said.

  “Peterkin and Frances certainly. Matthew has swung right round. He has made some stirring speeches in the House.”

  I smiled thinking of Uncle Peter jerking his puppet.

  Gervaise said lightly: “I’d give it another three months. Then we must win … if only to oblige me. I have a bet on with Douglas.”

  “Gervaise likes a gamble,” Jonnie explained to us. “And Tom Douglas is as bad as he is. When the two of them get together they’ll wager on how many cabs they’ll see on the way to the club. I’ve seen them watching raindrops falling down a window … urging the particular one they have put their money on to move faster … as though it were a horse in a race.”

  Gervaise grinned. “It brings an added zest to life,” he explained.

  Grace was full of information about the discovery at the pool and she could talk knowledgeably on the subject. I wondered how interested she really was and whether she was doing this to please Jonnie.

  They talked enthusiastically of what they were going to do.

  “I suppose,” said Jonnie, “if we’re going to dig we have to get permission from the owner.”

  My father smiled. “The Cador estate extends to the pool. It’s all Cador land.”

  Jonnie beamed. “So all we have to do is ask you and Aunt Annora.”

  “Exactly,” replied my father.

  “And have we your permission?”

  “I can only say,” said my father, “that I should be most interested to know if it is really the site of an old monastery.”

  “Hurrah!” cried Gervaise. “We can go ahead.”

  Grace said: “Shall I be allowed on the site?”

  Jonnie turned to her beaming with pleasure. “I should be put out if you were not there.”

  “I daresay you would like to be there, Angelet,” said my mother.

  Jonnie smiled at me. “Of course,” he said. “You must come and help, Angelet.”

  I felt very pleased that he obviously wanted me to go.

  “We shall make the place famous,” said Gervaise. “Imagine the press. ‘Great Find by Students. Jon Hume and Gervaise Mandeville have outclassed the experts. Hitherto unsuspected monastery has been excavated from remote part of Cornwall …’ ”

  “It was not unsuspected,” I reminded them. “People have been saying they
heard the monastery bells for ages.”

  “Ah, the Bells of St Branok! That will fascinate people. … We ought to have some bells rung … just to create the right atmosphere.”

  “The bells,” said my mother, “are supposed to herald a disaster.”

  “That makes it all the more exciting.”

  “Heralded disasters often come to pass,” I said, “because people expect them to.”

  “She is a wise woman, this daughter of yours,” said Gervaise, smiling warmly at me. “I’m all eagerness to get to work. Jon, I wager you twenty pounds that we’ve got that wall uncovered within a week.”

  “I’m not the betting man you are,” said Jonnie. “I’ll wait and see.”

  The next day they inspected the site. I went with them—so did Grace.

  The place seemed to have lost its eeriness. It was only when I was there alone that the atmosphere seemed to envelop me. They inspected the jutting stone on which that man had cut his head.

  “Yes,” said Jonnie, “it’s part of a wall. We’ll have to start digging here.”

  He walked down to the pool, examining the water.

  “I reckon,” he said, “that this was once a fishpond. They always had fishponds in their monasteries. They provided food for the monks.”

  “We’ll try to fish,” said Gervaise. “Ten pounds for the first one who makes a catch.”

  “Be serious,” said Jonnie. “Any fish in that pool would have been poisoned long ago. Heaven alone knows what has gone down into that water over the years.”

  “Well, it will be fun to try. Let’s say a tenner for the first one who brings up anything at all. It might not be a fish. Angelet is looking disapproving. I’m sorry, Angelet. I’m really a very serious character under my skin.”

  He smiled at me so charmingly that I wished I could tell him what I was thinking. I was sure he would have made some light-hearted comment and made me feel that I was worrying unduly.

  That very afternoon they started to dig. They had brought the necessary equipment with them and they wore what they called working gear. My parents were very amused by them.

  There was a great deal of comment throughout the neighborhood and it was largely critical. Mrs. Penlock expressed the general feeling.