The Pool of St. Branok (54 page)

“It looks like it.”

“Well, good luck, Ben.”

“There is one thing that matters to me more than anything else.”

I smiled at him ruefully and left him.

When I returned to the house Grace was there with my mother.

“I had to come and see you,” she said. “It is just a flying visit.” She smiled at my mother. “I heard you were in London and I told myself I must see you.”

“I was just saying to Grace how nice it is to be here and that I hope she will come to Cornwall when this election is over.”

“Thank you,” said Grace. “I should like to. But you can imagine how it is in Manorleigh just now. There is very little respite.”

“How is Lizzie?” I asked.

“Oh …” She frowned. “She is always tired. She doesn’t really like all this public life.”

“It rust be a terrible trial to her.”

“I help her all I can and she manages.”

“It’s a change from Golden Creek.”

“Indeed yes. I hear you have been doing wonderful things at the Mission. Your mother has been telling me about the poor girl whose stepfather is on trial for murder.”

“It’s a very sad case.”

“And Timothy Ransome has taken her in?”

“He is a wonderful man,” said my mother.

“He must be. And you have just returned from a visit to his place. Frances thinks a great deal of him, I gather. I always admire those people who give up so much of their time to good works.”

“Angelet has been doing her share lately.”

“So I heard. You’re rather friendly with Mr. Ransome, I believe.”

“Oh yes … we’re good friends.”

My mother was smiling a little complacently.

“I am lucky to have this work,” went on Grace. “It’s done a lot for me. I suppose you feel the same about the Mission. It can be lonely for a widow … on her own.”

“Well,” said my mother, “perhaps life will change for both of you.”

I did get a few words alone with Grace before she went.

She said: “Is it true that you are going to marry Timothy Ransome?”

“No. Who told you that?”

“I gathered it from the way they were talking … Amaryllis and your mother. They seemed to think that an engagement was imminent.”

“No … not imminent.”

She nodded. “It’s a big step … marriage. One needs time to consider it particularly when one has already experienced it. You realize how easily things can go wrong. It makes you cautious.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Well, Angelet, I wish you every happiness. I hope it works out well for you. I do know that Timothy Ransome is a very good man. People talk. And … good men are rare.”

Another, I thought, who wants to see me married.

She left that afternoon with Ben and Lizzie for Manorleigh; and the next day my mother went back to Cornwall.

I had just had breakfast and was in the nursery with Rebecca when one of the maids came round with a message from Aunt Amaryllis. Would I go to them at once.

Uncle Peter was there. He was preparing to leave. He looked white-faced and shocked—quite unlike himself.

“Oh, Angelet,” cried Aunt Amaryllis, embracing me, “I wanted to tell you before you heard elsewhere. The papers are full of it. Uncle Peter is going straight away to Manorleigh. He knows Ben will need his support.”

“What is it, Aunt Amaryllis?”

“It’s Lizzie …”

“Lizzie? Is she ill?”

“She’s … dead.”

“Dead!” I cried. “How? Why?”

“It looks like an overdose of laudanum.”

I clutched a chair. I felt I was going to faint.

Aunt Amaryllis was beside me, putting an arm round me.

“I’m sorry. I should have broken it more gently. We’re all so terribly shocked.”

“Tell me. Tell me all about it.”

“They found her … this morning … It was Grace who was the first. She went into her room and found her … dead.”

“Where was Ben?”

“He was in his room, I suppose. They had separate rooms, you know. There was the bottle beside her bed. Poor Lizzie …”

“I’m going down to see what can be done,” said Uncle Peter. “I’ll be in touch as soon as possible.”

He left us and Aunt Amaryllis said to me: “I’m going to get you some brandy. You look so shocked.”

“No thanks, Aunt Amaryllis. It’s just …”

“I know how you feel … I do the same. It’s so awful. That poor child … I don’t know what it means.”

She made me drink a little brandy, but I knew that nothing could stop the terrible thoughts which were crowding into my mind.

We sat there. Aunt Amaryllis was talking. Grace had gone in and found her. … Ben had sent a message to his grandfather at once.

“Peter will sort things out,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

How did one sort out death in such circumstances? I wondered. Surely that was beyond even Uncle Peter’s powers.

I don’t remember the next few days in detail. It was like living in a nightmare.

I went back to my house. Morwenna and Justin came to see me.

“This is terrible,” said Morwenna.

“The papers will have a field day,” added Justin.

“Yes,” I said. “They will.”

“This is a little different from the snippets of scandal we’ve had so far,” said Justin. “Is Grace still there?”

“Well, she was with them. She and Lizzie were great friends. She was such a help to her. Oh, poor Lizzie, she never wanted to leave Golden Creek.”

“I wonder if Grace will stay there,” said Justin.

“She’s been helping with the campaign. I suppose that has to go on.”

“It will be a hopeless cause now.”

“You mean …”

“Why, Angelet, you don’t think they would elect a man whose wife has just died in mysterious circumstances?”

“Mysterious circumstances …”

“It will come out at the inquest. No one can say till then. I wonder if Grace will stay. She can’t very well without Lizzie’s being there.”

“What does that matter?” I asked. “Lizzie is dead. I can’t believe it.”

I lived in a daze. There was one thought which kept coming into my mind. It was what Ben had said: “Don’t give up hope. Something will be done.”

Something had been done.

No. I would not believe
that
of Ben. He was vigorous in his pursuit of what he wanted. He had married for it. Would he murder for it?

There! I had said the word to myself. And now it haunted me and I could not get it out of my mind.

There was great anxiety in the family. We met and talked over the matter. They all said that Lizzie had been taking the drug to help her sleep. Some drugs were dangerous. It was easy to take too much.

Uncle Peter was staying at Manorleigh for the inquest.

We were all waiting for the outcome. That would either still our fears or make them realities.

We did not want to read the papers but we could not stop ourselves. They were full of the case. Everyone was talking of the sudden death of Mrs. Elizabeth Lansdon … wife of one of the candidates in the constituency of Manorleigh. She had been found in her bed by the close friend of herself and her husband … Mrs. Grace Hume, widow of the Crimean hero, grandson of Peter Lansdon the philanthropist. Why did they have to go into those details every time they mentioned them?

There were hints as to what might have happened. Mrs. Elizabeth was shy and retiring; she had given the impression that the life of a successful politician’s wife had little charm for her. It was her friend, Mrs. Grace, who had shone at the meetings; she it was who mingled with the people, kissed the babies and expressed general concern for the welfare of the voters … taking on the work and duties of the candidate’s wife.

Hints … all the time. I was amazed how the press enjoyed the hunt for sensation. They reminded me of a pack of hounds chasing a fox. Ben had angered them. He had been too clever, too successful they hated that. And now was their opportunity to destroy all that success.

We heard the result of the inquest before Uncle Peter came back to tell us about it.

We were all gathered together in the house in the square. Justin and Morwenna were with us. They said they felt like members of the family and wished to share our grief at such a time.

We heard the paper boys crying out in the street. “Inquest Result … Mrs. Lizzie Inquest. Read all about it.”

The papers were brought to us. In thick headlines it read: “Coroner’s Verdict: Accidental Death.”

We all breathed with relief. I was sure the others had feared what I had that it might have been “Murder by some person or persons unknown.”

Uncle Peter returned. Lizzie’s body was to be brought to London and she would be buried in the family vault. He told us all about it.

“What an ordeal! It seems that Lizzie had been in the habit of taking the stuff. It’s a dangerous habit. She should have been stopped. Ben didn’t know about it. That didn’t do him much good. It gave the impression that he was a neglectful husband.

“Grace was put through a lot of questioning. She was the great friend. Yes, she had known about the laudanum. No, she had not thought it necessary to inform Lizzie’s husband. She knew that Lizzie had difficulty in sleeping and was amazed how well and happy she was when she had a good night’s sleep. Grace had thought it was helpful … taken in moderation. She had had no notion that Lizzie might be exceeding the dose. In fact she had thought she took it only rarely. Then she told them how she had gone to see Lizzie that morning. They had already ascertained that Ben and Lizzie did not share a room. They didn’t like that very much. As a matter of fact at this time I was getting a little worried.

“Grace was good. An excellent witness. She said Ben was a kind husband and that Lizzie was very fond of him. The only thing Grace knew of that worried her was having to face people and do what was expected of her … not by her husband. He was always very gentle with her … but by others. Grace had always done her best to help her.

“They asked if Grace was aware of certain remarks which had been made in the press. Grace said she was. And how did they affect her? She ignored them, because they were nonsense and she knew that they were made by people who feared their candidate was not going to win the election. Mr. Lansdon had never behaved in any way which was not in keeping with the conduct of a gentleman and a good and faithful husband.

“Did she think that Lizzie would take an overdose deliberately, knowing the effect it would have? Grace said she was sure she would not. She could have been careless. She could have taken a dose and forgotten she had taken it and then … perhaps sleepily have taken more. She was forgetful. But, they said, she was aware of her inadequacies and worried about them to the extent that they gave her sleepless nights. Grace admitted this was true.

“ ‘In view of this,’ she was asked, ‘having made yourself her protector, did you think it wise for her to have the bottle close to her bed?’

“I must say Grace was magnificent. She was so cool. In my opinion it is she who is really responsible for the verdict. She replied that the idea had not occurred to her until this moment when it had been put into her mind. ‘It would never have occurred to me that Lizzie would think of taking her own life. In my opinion, knowing her well, it could only be that she took the overdose by mistake.’

“And so the verdict. Accidental death.”

The next ordeal was her funeral. She was to be buried in St. Michael’s churchyard, where other members of the London branch of the family were laid to rest. It was a short carriage drive from the house, but because of the publicity which had been given to the case, there were many people besides the family to witness the burial.

Poor Lizzie. She was more famous in death than she would have believed possible.

Ben was there, looking unlike himself, serious and very sad. I wondered if he was reproaching himself for marrying her in the first place and then neglecting her and planning divorce.

Grace was elegant in black, attempting, it seemed, to keep herself aloof. The crowd wanted to see her. I think some of them had made up their minds that she was “the other woman” in the case and for her Ben had murdered his wife. They wanted drama and if it was not there they determined to create.

As the coffin was lowered into the grave someone threw a stone at Ben. It hit him in the back. There was a scuffle, someone was hurried away, and the burial continued.

I watched sadly as I listened to the clods falling on the coffin and I threw down a bunch of asters which I had brought.

We walked away from the grave—Uncle Peter on one side of Ben, Aunt Amaryllis on the other. We went back to Ben’s grand house. It seemed like an empty shell now. We drank sherry and ate ham sandwiches in sorrowful silence.

Grace came and talked to me. She seemed calm.

“I blame myself,” she said. “I should have taken more care of her.”

“Blame yourself! Why, Grace, you were wonderful to her. She relied on you.”

“And I did not see what she was doing.”

Justin came to us.

“It is a relief that this is over,” he said looking at Grace.

She nodded.

“You did well,” he added.

I thought there was a faint hostility between them and for a fleeting moment it occurred to me that Justin may have believed the story that Grace was too friendly with Ben. Then it passed. It was nonsense. I was imagining this.

“I hope so,” said Grace. “It was rather alarming.”

“It must have been,” replied Justin. “Are you going back to Manorleigh?”

“Of course,” said Grace. “How could I not?”

“If you do, it might look as though …”

“Oh, all that nonsense!” said Grace. “Nobody believes that. It’s all party politics.”

“Of course,” said Justin.

Morwenna came over. “Oh dear,” she said. “I do hope Ben is not too depressed by all this.”

“Here he is,” said Grace. “He’ll tell you.”

Ben stood before us and for a few seconds his gaze held mine … at least I suppose it was only for a few seconds. It seemed more and I felt that everyone in that room must be aware of his feelings for me. Then he said: “What am I to tell?”

“I was just saying,” Morwenna explained, “that I hoped you were recovering from this terrible shock.”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I am.”