The Pool of St. Branok (22 page)

I did not like this, particularly the suggestion that Gervaise could not be trusted, and the talk of settlements cast a little cloud over my happiness. I had been made to understand that Gervaise was a little extravagant; he was not always thinking about wealth; he was over-generous. I remembered how he had given the flower-woman that money when he had bought me a bunch of violets.

I liked it. He wanted to give pleasure to people and if he were a little extravagant in doing so, I liked him for that too.

I would forget all about this sordid business of settlements and money and think about my wedding day.

All the way up to London we were taking excitedly about the coming wedding.

“Two months,” my mother was saying. “It really doesn’t give us a great deal of time. While we are in London we must do some more shopping. It would be nice to have the dresses made here in London … but I don’t quite see how. Perhaps we could buy the materials here and have them made up in Plymouth. However, we’ll see. I think, Rolf, we should have another week at least. We’ll need that.”

My father thought he ought to return to Cador. “But you and Angelet could stay a little longer,” he added.

“All right,” replied my mother. “You go ahead. Grace will be very helpful. She seems to have a natural flair for clothes. I always think she looks so elegant. I fancy she is a little lonely. What a sad life … to lose one’s husband almost immediately after marriage.”

I was to return to Helena’s and Matthew’s and my parents were staying at the house in the square, so the cab would drop me first; and while my bags were being taken into the house, Helena came out.

I could tell immediately that she was extremely distraught.

I cried: “What has happened?”

She stared at me for a few seconds, then she burst out: “Morwenna has disappeared.”

The cabby was quickly paid off and instead of going straight to the house in the square, my parents stayed.

As soon as we were inside, Helena said: “She has just … disappeared. It was two days ago.”

“Disappeared?” cried my father. “But … how?”

“Grace was coming and they were going out together, and when Grace came the maid went up to Morwenna’s room to call her and the room was empty. The time went on … and Grace was waiting there. She said she would go over to my mother’s house to see if Morwenna was there. It was unlikely, but we did not know. We thought she had to be somewhere. She wasn’t there, of course. And then we began to get worried.

“Grace was a great help. She went back to her own place to see if Morwenna had gone there and they had just missed each other. She wondered whether there had been some misunderstanding about arrangements. Of course, Morwenna rarely went out on her own. We never thought it was right that she should … but on isolated occasions she might have done so. Well, the plain fact is that she has gone. We can’t find her anywhere.”

“Has she taken anything with her?”

“No … only what she was wearing … everything seems to be here. … It is just as though she has walked out.”

“Surely she would never do that,” said my mother.

“She was always nervous about going to places,” I said. “She always wanted someone with her.”

“It’s been driving us mad.”

“And she has been gone two days?”

“We haven’t known what to do.”

“The police should be told,” said my father.

“We have told them … and we have sent word to her parents. I just can’t think what has happened.”

“If there had been an accident we should have heard.”

My father was thoughtful. “You … don’t think she has been kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped?” cried Helena. “Who would kidnap her?”

“I was thinking of a ransom,” said my father. “There was some mention in the paper a few weeks back about mining in Cornwall and how successful the Pencarron Mine was. I saw something about Josiah Pencarron’s daughter, Morwenna, being in London for the season. I just wondered …”

“Good Heavens,” murmured my mother. “It seems feasible.”

“What would they do to her?” I asked in terror.

My mother turned away. “They would have to treat her well. She would be their bargaining counter.”

“It’s terrible” I cried. “Morwenna … of all people. I wish she had come with us.”

We did not know how to act. The police were making inquiries. No one had any information except the maid who thought she had seen Morwenna leaving the house late on the night before her disappearance.

We could not understand that. Why should Morwenna have left the house late at night? There was no letter or anything in her room to give an indication that she had been called away. But who could have called her at that time of night?

None of us could understand what it could mean.

The maid thought her bed might not have been slept in although it had been turned back and made to seem as though it could have been.

We sat there in terrible dismay. We all felt we should be taking some action. But what? Morwenna just walking out of the house. It didn’t make sense. There must have been a reason. There must have been a message if she went of her own accord.

And her departure might not have been discovered until about twelve hours after she left. What could have happened during those fateful twelve hours?

Uncle Peter came to the house with Aunt Amaryllis.

“This is an extraordinary affair,” he said. He felt certain that Morwenna had been kidnapped and that sooner or later a ransom would be demanded. Then we should have to go very carefully from there.

“But what is so strange,” said my mother, “is that she appears to have gone willingly.”

“She must have left some message,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

“The servants have been questioned,” Helena reminded her. “Nothing has been found.”

Uncle Peter said: “She was probably lured out of the house to where her kidnappers were waiting.”

“She would never have done such a thing,” I cried. “She would have been scared. If I had been here she would have told me. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been here.”

“It is all very mysterious,” said Uncle Peter, “and unfortunate that she should be staying at this house.”

I felt impatient with him. He was afraid, even at a time like this, that there would be some scandal which would harm Matthew’s parliamentary image; yet he would also be wondering if there might not be some good publicity in it. I could imagine his weighing this up. It was how he looked on everything.

“What we have to think about is Morwenna,” I said. “Where it happened is not important. All that matters is that it has happened.”

“We have to consider all the details carefully,” put in my father. “Where it happened … might be very important.”

“Her parents will know by now,” said Aunt Helena. “I can’t bear to think what their feelings are at this moment.”

“But what are we going to
do
?” I asked.

“We shall hear something in due course,” said Uncle Peter. “There will be a demand for a ransom, I expect. It has probably been sent to her parents. They are the ones they will have their eyes on.”

“It will be terrible for them,” said my mother.

I imagined Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron receiving a demand for money in exchange for the return of their daughter and threatening … what? … if they did not comply.

I felt frantic with anxiety. I could not bear to think of Morwenna in the hands of desperate men.

Later that day Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron arrived in London. They had aged considerably. It was immediately clear that they had no news of Morwenna.

“I can’t understand all this,” said Mr. Pencarron. “Our girl … what has she done? Why should they do this to her?”

“We should never have let her come to London,” mourned Mrs. Pencarron. “I always knew it was a wicked place.”

“We’ll find her,” said my father firmly.

“You will, won’t you?” pleaded Mrs. Pencarron. “What do you think they are doing to her?”

“They won’t harm her, that’s for sure,” replied my father. “They can only bargain for her if she is alive and well.”

“Alive … you don’t think …”

“Oh no … no … What I am telling you is that if she is well they can bargain for her. I expect sooner or later they will be asking for some money.”

“I’ll do anything to get my girl back,” cried Mr. Pencarron. “They can have all I’ve got.”

“We’d do anything … anything,” sobbed Mrs. Pencarron.

I went to her and put my arms round her. “She’s all right, Mrs. Pencarron. I know she’ll be all right.”

“Did she say anything to you?” she asked piteously. “Did she seem frightened that someone was going to take her away?”

“I was in Derbyshire with my parents,” I explained. “I wasn’t here. But I just feel she is all right. She must be.”

“And you weren’t here,” said Mrs. Pencarron almost accusingly.

I shook my head.

They were absolutely brokenhearted. Mrs. Pencarron kept telling everyone that she had given up hope of having a child … and then they had their little Morwenna. They would give anything … anything they had …

“If the press come round don’t tell them that,” said Uncle Peter. “The demand will go up. We will have to play this carefully.”

We were all relying on Uncle Peter. The existence of his dubious clubs from which he had made his great fortune was what my father called an open secret in the family, which meant that everyone knew of it and kept up the pretense that Uncle Peter’s business was perfectly respectable. But he would have knowledge of the underworld; all kinds of people came to his clubs; the matter would be better in his hands than anyone else’s.

He said there should not be too much said about the case until there was some notion as to what it was all about.

There must come a demand soon. The best thing for us to do was to wait for it.

It was hard. It was four days since Morwenna had disappeared and there was no news.

The Pencarrons, who had been taken off by my mother to Uncle Peter’s house where there was room for them, did not help matters. They were in a state of utter despair. If I had a chance I would tell Morwenna that she must never again think of herself as unloved. She meant everything to her parents.

Uncle Peter was making inquiries. The police were asking questions and we were all getting desperate. And then, one morning, when I was thinking, Here is another day without news, a cab drew up at the door and from it alighted Morwenna. She was not alone. A man was with her. I recognized him at once. He was Justin Cartwright, the man who had retrieved her purse when it was stolen from her.

“Morwenna!” I cried. “Where have you been?”

I was so delighted to see her that I had to stop myself from bursting into tears of relief. I hugged her to make sure she was real. I gazed at her. She looked very happy.

“Where have you been?” I demanded. “We have all been frantic.”

She turned to the man and said: “This is my husband, Angelet. I eloped with him. We were married at Gretna Green.”

The first thing I had to do was to get her to her parents and we set off immediately. As soon as the door was opened I shouted into the house: “She’s here. Morwenna’s back.”

There were exclamations of joy as, it seemed, the entire household were running into the hall. When the Pencarrons saw their daughter they flew at her and the three of them were there in a sort of huddle … just clinging to each other. There were tears in Mrs. Pencarron’s eyes. I could see her lips moving and I knew she was thanking God for giving her her daughter back. They did not ask for explanations. All they cared about was that she was back with them; she was safe and unharmed; and they were ready to forget their sufferings in the sheer joy of having her returned to them.

“Oh, Ma and Pa,” she said at last. “I didn’t think you’d be so worried.”

Then came the explanations.

“It was thoughtless of us,” said Justin Cartwright. “I take the blame. I persuaded her. She didn’t want to do it this way. But I feared objections. I could not bear the thought of losing her.”

Morwenna was smiling happily. I could not believe this. She was like a different person. She had cast off that hangdog look; she was desired, wanted; she was loved; she had had a romantic wedding and it was quite easy to see that she adored her husband.

I could have been angry with her if I was not so delighted. This was what I had always wanted for Morwenna. It was a pity she had had to put us all through such an ordeal to achieve it.

“You see,” explained Morwenna, “it all happened so suddenly.”

Justin went on humbly, looking at Mr. Pencarron, “The moment I saw your daughter I knew she was the only one for me. I fell in love at first sight. I did not believe in such things … until now. I am afraid I acted thoughtlessly. But I was overwhelmed. I had to persuade her. … You se e, I feared there might be obstacles. I know I’m not good enough … and I was afraid. I can only hope that you will forgive me for all the terrible suffering I have caused you.”

“Well, I never,” said Mrs. Pencarron. “It’s like something out of a book.”

Uncle Peter was standing by, faintly cynical; not so Mr. Pencarron. It seemed to him the most natural thing in the world that a young man seeing his daughter should fall in love with her so madly that he persuaded her to elope with him.

“Morwenna wanted to leave a note,” went on Justin Cartwright, smiling wryly at Mr. Pencarron, “but I was afraid you would have us followed and prevent the marriage. I am entirely to blame. I hope … that Morwenna will give you a good account of me.”

Mr. Pencarron said gruffly: “Are you happy, my girl?”

“Oh, Pa … I am, I am.”

“Then that’s all we want don’t we, Mother?”

“That’s all we want,” said his wife.

Uncle Peter sent to the cellars for champagne that we might drink the health of the newlyweds.

“Then,” he added, “I daresay Mr. and Mrs. Pencarron will want to have a little talk with their son-in-law.”

There was a great deal of consternation in the family. Who was this Justin Cartwright? It seemed that he had no definite employment. He had been abroad for some years and had just returned home and was wondering what he would do. He had a little money and was what was called a gentleman of independent means. He and Morwenna would not be rich but he could provide for his wife—albeit modestly.