The Pool of St. Branok (51 page)

Children were squatting on the pavement playing some game; they stopped to stare at me. There was a woman on a doorstep. She pushed the greasy hair back from her face and laughed at me.

Two men … little more than boys … were coming towards me.

“Can we ’elp yer, Miss?”

As I stepped back and they came forward, one slipped behind me, the other faced me.

I was filled with terror.

“Fanny!” I called.

But what was the use? She had disappeared. She could not hear me and she had taken no heed of me when she had.

One of the men seized my arm. He was leering at me.

“Good-looking gal,” he said meaningfully.

I shouted: “Go away. How dare you!”

And then I heard a voice.

“Angelet!”

It was Timothy. He took hold of the young man who was touching me and threw him to the ground. The other came at him but Timothy was too quick for him. They were spindly youths, ill-nourished, I could see. They were no match for Timothy.

“Angelet … what on Earth …” he began.

I pointed to the house. “Fanny,” I said. “She has gone in there.”

Timothy hesitated for only a second. Then he said: “Come on. We’ll go in.”

His face was grim. He took a firm hold of my arm and we went towards the hovel which I presumed was Fanny’s home.

We were in a dark passage which smelt of damp and decay. A door opened and a woman with a baby in her arms came out and said: “What do you want?”

“Fanny …”

She jerked her head. “Upstairs.”

We mounted the rickety staircase. The banister was broken and water was dripping through the ceiling.

There was a door at the top of the stairs. We opened it and were in a room. A piece of torn cloth had been put up across the window to serve as a curtain. There was a couch from which the springs protruded and which I presumed was used as a bed. But I hardly noticed the room because there was Fanny and with her the woman I judged to be her mother.

Fanny was wearing the blue merino which had lost its pristine freshness. She wore the ribbon in her hair. She looked ashamed and very unhappy.

“Fanny,” I said. “Why didn’t you speak to me?”

“You didn’t ought to have come,” she snapped.

“Of course I had to come.”

“Likes of you shouldn’t be here.” It was the old aggression.

“We had to come,” said Timothy gently.

“Fan,” said her mother. “You ought to go with ’em. You oughtn’t to of run away. I told yer.”

“I had to, didn’t I? ’Cause of ’im.”

Poor Mrs. Billings. I could see the wretchedness in her face.

I realized with a rush of gratitude to fate that he was not here and that raised my hopes.

Timothy said, “We want to take you back, Fanny. You were getting on so well.”

“That’s what I tole her,” said her mother.

But Fanny looked at us and scowled. I knew instinctively that it was because she was afraid she would cry and that would be the ultimate weakness.

“I tole her,” said Mrs. Billings. “Time after time I tole her. I said, ‘You go back to that Mrs. Frances, Fan. It’s best for you. You gotter get away.’ But she won’t. She’s always hoping he’ll kill hisself … fall down stairs or something. He did once.”

“Mrs. Billings,” said Timothy. “We want to take Fanny back. We were getting on so well. You can always come and see her at the Mission … or wherever she is. Mrs. Frances would like you to come with her, too.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t leave ’im,” she said. “Not that.”

“And what of Fanny?”

“Fanny should go. I tole her … time after time …”

“There you are, Fanny,” I said. “Your mother wants you to come with us.”

“What about him?” said Fanny.

“Leave him to me,” said her mother.

“Mum, you come too. It’s ever so nice. They’re kind. Mrs. Frances and these two …”

“I can’t leave ’im, Fan, you know that.”

“But what he does! He’s a beast.”

“I know … but I can’t leave him.”

“But Fanny is coming with us,” said Timothy. “We won’t go without Fanny.”

“He mustn’t come back and find you two here,” said Fanny aghast.

“So, let’s go now,” I said. “Come on. Mrs. Billings, you understand. We want to help. Fanny was so happy with us. Please … it is important for her. Come and see for yourself. Mrs. Frances would find work for you. Come with us … both of you.”

Fanny was looking pleadingly at her mother.

There were tears in the woman’s eyes. She shook her head. “I’d never leave him. He’s me ’usband when all’s said and done.”

“Then we will take Fanny,” said Timothy firmly.

“Yes, Fan, you go,” begged her mother. “Go, girl. It’s what I want. It’s better you’re not ’ere. It’s better then. Strike me pink if it ain’t. I fret over you, I do. I’m all right on me own. Go, Fan. It’s what I want. It’s best for you.”

“Oh, Mum …”

“Come on,” said Timothy. “Mrs. Billings, thank you. Do remember. There will always be a welcome for you at the Mission.”

She nodded. “Take Fanny. It’s what I want for her. It’s a blessed relief to me … if she goes.”

“He’ll knock you about, Mum,” said Fanny hesitantly.

“You go. It’s what I want. It’s best for you … best for us all.”

Fanny was still wavering.

“It’s all right, Fanny,” I said. “You can do no good here. Your mother will come and see you and perhaps one day you can be together.”

I held her hand firmly and drew her to the door.

“I dunno,” she began.

“Oh yes, your mother is right. Mrs. Frances is right. She is always right, isn’t she? Come on.”

At last we took her away.

The journey back was horrifying. I had not realized how far I had come. I saw the old clothes shop with the second-hand clothes hanging outside the door, the under-nourished children, the cursed gin shops. People called after us. At one stage Fanny turned and stuck her tongue out at them. They laughed at us jeeringly. I think it might have been difficult if they had not known that we came from the Mission; and they had a certain respect for that place.

I wondered where the beast was drinking. … In the gin shop on the corner? What if we came across him? But we were safely past the shop now.

After a long walk we came to the Mission.

Frances’ joy at seeing us was great. But at first she gave her attention to Fanny, who went through the same washing process as before. The merino dress and ribbon were sacrificed to the flames and I promised that I would find another exactly like it. The red ribbon could be easily replaced.

While this was in progress we told Frances what had happened.

Timothy said: “I was paying the woman at the stall when I realized that Angelet had gone. I saw her running off. I left everything and hurried after her. I was just in time to see where she was going. I had no idea what it was all about at first because I didn’t see Fanny. Unfortunately Angelet had a fair start of me.”

“You should never have gone into those streets alone,” said Frances, “but I’m glad you did. God knows what might have happened to you.”

“Something might if Timothy hadn’t come up in time.”

“I arrived panting, to see her being accosted by two very unsavory-looking youths.”

“Just in time,” I said smiling at him. “He played the gallant knight and saved me. Then together we went into the house … if you can call it a house.”

“The living conditions are appalling. I hope we shall be able to do something about that in time. And you saw Mrs. Billings?”

“Poor woman. How can she? She should have come with Fanny. Why does she stay with the brute?” said Timothy.

“The answer to that,” replied Frances, “is involved with the complexity of human nature. Some people call it love. I’ve seen it happen again and again. They come to us almost battered to death. They ask for refuge. We give it to them. We nurse them back to health. We set them on the road to a decent life … and then … they go back to be battered all over again. It’s disheartening. But it is something in a certain type of female. While that exists we shall always be the weaker sex … because somewhere inside these women … they want to be dominated. It maddens me. Well, I can do nothing for Mrs. Billings. What we have to concentrate on is Fanny … and that, my dear, is what you are going to do. Bless you for bringing her back. I’ve vowed to myself that I am going to give Fanny a chance of a good life … and you have helped me more than I can say.”

She did a rare thing. She kissed us both and we kissed each other, Timothy and I. He took my hands and looked earnestly into my eyes. I believed then that he loved me.

There was a dramatic sequence to that adventure.

The next day the papers were full of it.

“Horrible Murder in Swan Street.”

I read it over breakfast and as I did so the significance of what had happened dawned on me. “Jack Billings returned home after a drunken spree and battered his wife, Emily, to death in their home. Mrs. Billings’ daughter by her first marriage, was by good fortune staying at the Mission run by Peter and Frances Lansdon, son and daughter-in-law of the well-known philanthropist Peter Lansdon.”

That was all.

I went at once to see Frances. She had heard the news.

“Thank God you brought Fanny here,” she said.

“I think Mrs. Billings’ death is probably due to the fact that Fanny left,” I said.

“It might have been, but there was bound to be something like this sooner or later.”

“What of Fanny? Does she know?”

“Not yet. I’m wondering what’s best to be done.”

Timothy arrived, having heard the news.

His first words were: “What of Fanny?”

“She doesn’t know yet,” said Frances. “I am considering what to do.”

“Would it be a good idea to get her away?”

“I think it might.”

“I could take her down to Hampton.”

“Oh, Tim … would you?”

“I don’t see why not. I’ve told my sister and the children about her. They’d be pleased.”

“I think that is an exciting idea. There will be lots in the paper. Fanny can’t read … but there’ll be talk. She’s very sharp. I want the shock to be cushioned when it comes.”

“Do you think Fanny would agree to come?” asked Timothy.

“I think she would with you. We’ll ask her. She is fond of you and you have won her confidence … particularly after the way you two went down there and brought her away.”

It was a new Fanny we saw—washed and shining. Her dress was a little too big for her but it was the best Frances could find among the clothes which had been donated to the Mission from time to time.

“Fanny,” said Frances, “Mr. Ransome wants to take you to his house in the country. Would you like to go?”

“I ain’t never been to the country.”

“Well, now is your chance to see it.”

“With ’im?” she said, pointing to Timothy.

“That’s right. It’s his home. He’s got two children … a girl and a boy. They’ve heard of you. You could help look after them.”

I could see that she liked the idea of looking after children.

“What about ’er?” she said nodding in my direction.

“I don’t live there, you see, Fanny.”

“Oh.” I felt flattered that she looked disappointed.

“Perhaps we could persuade Mrs. Mandeville to come and stay with us,” said Timothy.

“All right,” she said.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” I said. “We’ll go out today and buy another merino dress … a blue one as like the other as we can find.”

“And a red hair ribbon?” she said.

“That too,” I promised.

And that was settled.

The next day Timothy took Fanny down to Hampton. I missed them very much and was surprised that some savor seemed to have gone out of my life.

But there was a letter from my mother. She was coming to London immediately and would be with us in two days’ time.

My mother was eager to know all that had been happening in London. I noticed how she kept studying me intently. I knew what she meant. She wanted to know how far my friendship with Timothy had progressed and whether I was happy.

I could not tell her because I did not know myself.

I thought increasingly of Ben and wished more than ever that I were at Manorleigh helping with the campaign.

I had enjoyed working at the Mission and little could be as worthwhile as that, but how I should have enjoyed doing all the things which Lizzie hated so much and which, presumably, Grace was helping her to do.

I thought it must be a most exciting life—but perhaps that was because it was Ben’s.

One of the first things Amaryllis did when my mother arrived was to invite Timothy to dinner.

“I know,” said Aunt Amaryllis, “that your mother is eager to hear how you helped that young girl.”

Then my mother had to hear the story of Fanny.

“You went into that dreadful place alone!” was her first comment.

“I didn’t think of it. I just followed Fanny.”

My mother shivered. “It was foolish of you.”

“But if I hadn’t what would have happened? It was all for the best. And Timothy was not far behind.”

“What a terrible thing! That poor woman … murdered.”

“It will, at least, be the end of that … monster,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “He’s guilty and everyone knows it. He admits it himself. He’ll hang.”

“And that poor child?”

“She’s with Timothy’s family at the moment.”

“Oh yes …”

It was clear that my mother had had a full report on Timothy’s family from Aunt Amaryllis.

“It was good of him to take her in,” said my mother. “I must say he seems to me to be a very kind person … working for the Mission and all that.”

“Oh, you know Frances. She insists that people come and then she makes them work.”

“Frances is wonderful.”

“Peterkin is a great help to all those people, too.”

“They are a wonderful pair.”

“I am so glad Timothy’s coming to dine. I do look forward to meeting him.”

When Timothy came it was obvious from the first that they took an instant liking to each other.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” said my mother, “and all that you have been doing at the Mission. There is so much I want to know about the poor child you rescued. I do think it was wonderful.”