The Pool of St. Branok (8 page)

“How can it ever be over?”

“It will be … if we don’t let anyone know. They will hunt for him and they won’t find him. They’ll think he has escaped. There’ll be questions and more questions. They’ll never let us rest. They’ll say I killed him and you were an accessory after the fact … that’s how they talk. We don’t want a great fuss. It would be exaggerated and remembered for the rest of our lives. It is always so in these cases. Consider all your legends. How they have grown up through distortion and exaggeration. We should be branded forever and they would punish us in some way … even though they would have hanged him … which would have been far worse for him than the way he died. So we’ve got to think of a way out of this. We have to think of our families. It’s the only way. I know what we must do.”

“What?” I asked.

“We must get away from here at once and not let anyone know we came here. We must say nothing about what happened. Can you do that, Angel? Not to anyone … not a word.”

“Yes … yes, I think so.” But I looked down at my sodden clothes. There was blood on my jacket.

“We’ll have to give some sort of explanation,” Ben went on. “We’ll say you had a fall. That’s the answer. It will account for the state you are in. But there must not be a word about what actually happened … about him.”

“There’ll be some way they’ll find out.”

“Not if we play it carefully. Stop shaking, Angel.”

“I can’t help it. I just feel so cold.” I started to sneeze and for a few moments could not stop.

He looked at me anxiously and said: “Listen, Angel. This is terrible, but we’re in it now and we have to get out of it.”

“When they don’t catch him …?”

“They’ll think he’s got away. It will be as easy as that.” Ben was beginning to regain his confidence. There was even a look of excitement in his eyes. “We’ll do it. But we’ve got to plan very carefully. He’s gone. He won’t be able to murder any more young girls … never again. We’ve done a good thing. No one will ever know that he is at the bottom of the pool. His clothes will be waterlogged. He’s right down at the bottom. He’ll never be found. We’ve saved him from the hangman’s rope, and that was what he deserved and what would have come to him. We’ve done him a good turn. We’ve done all those little girls whom he might have murdered a good turn. …”

Cold and shivering as I was I felt better. Ben was so convincing. I began to believe that if he decided what we must do was the best thing for us, it would be for everyone else too.

There was nothing I wanted more than to get away and forget.

He was talking coaxingly. “You see, Angel, how awful it would be for us and our families if it were known. I don’t know what they would do to us. They wouldn’t let us go off scot free. When people are killed there is always trouble. But we mustn’t stay here. What are we going to do? You’re wet through … and so am I. We can’t say we’ve been in the pool. We’ll have to say we were wet through by the sea. Look. It happened this way: You were galloping along the beach. You know how you like to do that. Glory stumbled over a boulder and threw you. You were close to the sea and the waves washed over you. You hurt yourself on a rock. That will account for the blood. You just went over Glory’s head. You lost consciousness for a few seconds. Thank goodness I was with you. That’s how it will have to be. Can you do it?”

“Yes, Ben, I think I can.”

“Then let’s get away from here. The sooner the better.”

He took my hand. I was still trembling.

“You’d better not ride,” he said. “We’ll get you up on Glory and I’ll walk you home.”

He was right. I realized I could not have ridden. There were times when it seemed as though the earth were coming up to meet me and I was shaking all over.

Ben murmured soothingly to me as we walked along. “The thing is not to talk too much about it. Make yourself believe it happened the way we said it did. You can come to believe it. …”

“I’ll never forget it … the way he looked at me. Oh, Ben, it was so horrible.”

“You’ve got to forget it. It doesn’t do any good to go on remembering that sort of thing. We did the best possible thing … the only possible thing … and now we’ve got to forget it and make our story the real one. When the truth is too distressing to contemplate it’s not a bad idea to substitute it with fancy.”

“You’ll be there to help, Ben?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I think I can do it then.”

“Angel,” he said, “you know I love you.”

“Oh really, Ben? I love you, too.”

“When I think of that man … and you … dear innocent Angel … I’m
glad
I did it.”

“I wish someone else had. I wish he had never escaped out here.”

“It’s no use wishing it away. It won’t go that way. It’s our secret and, dear Angel, you will be all right. It will be better as time passes.”

“I feel very strange, Ben. Everything seems far off.”

“It will be all right.”

He held me firmly. I was hardly aware of the road as we traveled along.

I vaguely remember my mother as she rushed out crying: “What is it? What’s happened?” And Ben replying: “Angelet’s had an accident. Glory threw her.”

“My darling child!”

I was so relieved because my mother was there.

My father came running out, fearful and horrified to see the state I was in.

“We’ll get her to bed quickly,” said my mother. “She’s had an accident … riding.”

“Riding? Riding Glory?”

“I don’t think she’s in a fit state to talk,” said Ben.

My mother took me up to my room. She took off my coat and for a second or two studied it in consternation, and putting my hand in the pocket of my skirt, I felt the ring I had picked up.

“What’s that?” asked my mother.

“Oh … nothing … something I picked up.”

“Never mind that now,” said my mother, and I opened a drawer and put the ring into it, vaguely wondering why I had bothered to pick it up except that I had always been interested in things I found and did it automatically.

“We’ll soon have you comfortable,” said my mother. “You’re soaked to the skin. We’ll get you out of just everything.”

She wrapped me in a blanket and put me into bed. I still could not stop trembling.

“Your father has sent one of the men to get Dr. Barrow,” said my mother.

“I’ll be all right.”

“The doctor is going to have a look at you. You never know when you have a fall like that. I don’t think anything can be broken.”

I lay in my bed. My mother sat beside me and in due course the doctor came.

He examined my head. There was now a vivid bruise on my cheek. “Did you fall on your face?” he asked.

“I … I can’t remember. It is all so confusing.”

“Hm,” he said. “Open your mouth. You’ve bitten yourself, I think. You must have done that as you fell. You’ve got some good bruises.”

I was terrified that what he discovered would not fit in with our story.

“On the beach …” he murmured, looking puzzled.

“I can’t remember much about it. Suddenly I was down …”

He nodded and turned to my mother. “Might be a little concussion. It’s a good thing she fell on soft sand. It’s the shock more than anything else. Keep her warm and I’ll give her a sedative that will ensure a good night’s sleep. Then tomorrow we’ll see.”

A good night’s sleep! I thought: I shall never sleep peacefully again. I shall dream of that awful moment when he had his hands on me … and when he fell down … the trail of blood as we dragged him to the pool … and that moment before he went down when he seemed to stare at me with his dead eyes and the water was pink with his blood.

I knew I could never forget and nothing would ever be the same again.

I did sleep deeply, due to what Dr. Barrow had given me, and when I awoke next morning my head was heavy. I felt dizzy and very hot. Memory came back to me and hung over me like a stifling cloak. I just wanted to get back to blissful forgetfulness.

My mother was alarmed when she saw me and Dr. Barrow was immediately summoned.

It was a blessing in a way. It saved me from too many questions and I believe that if I had had to face them while the incident was fresh in everyone’s mind, I might not have been able to support our story.

I had a cold which, during the next few days, developed into bronchitis and then pneumonia. I was very ill and there was a possibility that I might not recover. I lived through the days in hazy dreams. For a lot of the time I was floating in a strange world. I was not sure where I was. I would see my mother’s face watching me so tenderly that I felt I must get well. Then I would be back at the pool. I would see that face floating on the water and I would cry out “No, no.” Then I would hear my mother’s voice: “It’s all right, darling. I’m here. Everything is all right.”

There was a great deal of activity in the room. Through the haze of unreality I saw Grace Gilmore. She seemed to be there often. Ben came to see me. I was aware of him as he was standing by my bed; and I thought we were at the pool together. I started up.

I heard my mother say: “I don’t think she should have visitors … yet.”

Then they were talking about the crisis. There were many people in the room … faces which swam vaguely before me … voices which came from a long way off. My mother was trying to smile, but I knew she was crying and I thought: I am dying.

And then the fever had gone and everyone was smiling and my mother was bending over the bed and saying: “How are you feeling, darling? You are better. You will soon be well.”

I was like a new person—not a child any more. I had grown up. The world in which I had complacently lived before that day at the pool had evaporated. It was a different place now—a world in which terrible things could happen. The fears of the past had been shadowy … something one only half believed; they were for other people; not for me. I had my parents, my secure home, and nothing could harm me. Ghosts and witches, cruelty and horror, pain and murder, that might happen to other people, but not to me and those around me. They were something to talk about, to frighten oneself about … but with the delicious fear of childhood … when you terrified yourself knowing that mother was close behind and you could run to hide yourself in her skirts and the bogey would go away.

But I had left all that behind now. I had come face to face with horror. I knew a little of what that man would have done to me before he killed me. The awful realization had come to me. It could have happened to me!

My mother would not let me look in the glass for some time, and when I did it was a stranger who looked back at me. Pale and thin, my eyes seeming bigger, but my hair … it was short like a boy’s.

My mother touched it gently. “It will soon grow. And look, it is wavy. We had to cut it off because of your fever.”

I could not stop looking at that face in the mirror. There were secrets there. Those were not the innocent eyes of childhood. They had looked on the fearful realities of life.

I felt older. My illness had changed me. While I had lain there in limbo, I had grown up. I knew now that what we did was the only thing we could have done. Ben had been right. He had killed a man but it was something which had had to be done; the man was a murderer; he would have committed more murders. It was not like killing an ordinary person.

But I had to stop going over it. I had to accept what was done. Ben had said I had to believe what we had said had happened and he was right.

I was feeling better. I was sitting up now.

My mother said: “Watson was down at the quay this morning and found this John Dory. He thought it would be just the thing to tempt you. Mrs. Penlock has done it in a special way. You’d better eat every scrap of it. You know what they are.”

I smiled. I cherished every aspect of normality, of the return to the old days.

I heard my mother whisper to my father: “Better not say anything about the accident. It seems to upset her.”

I was glad of that. I didn’t want to have to talk of it. I did not want to have to lie more than was necessary. That was a great help.

I learned that I had been very ill for three weeks.

“Jack has been so upset,” my mother told me. “He’s been wanting to bring you his train and you know that is his dearest possession. You should have seen the glum faces in the kitchen. Mrs. Penlock is full of ideas as to what she is going to give you to eat. She says she is going to ‘build you up’ as though you are some sort of edifice. You would be the size of a house if she could have her way. We’ve all been so worried … every one of us, and we are so happy now that you are getting well. But don’t think you are going to rush it. You’re going to spend another week in bed; and then we are going to take it very slowly.”

“I must have been very ill.”

She nodded, her lips trembling.

“You thought I was going to die.”

“Pneumonia is very serious … and there was a fever. You seemed to be so disturbed. But it is all over now.”

All over? I thought. It will never be all over. He will always be there … lying at the bottom of the pool.

I said: “How is Ben?”

“Oh, he has gone. He waited to see if you … he waited until he knew you were going to recover. He couldn’t go till then. Well, you know, he was only coming here for a month or so.”

“He didn’t come to say goodbye.”

“No. I didn’t want you to have visitors … and you seemed a little upset when he came.”

“Didn’t I speak to him?”

“No … not really. You muttered something we couldn’t understand … and I said that I thought too many people in the room was not good for you. He went back to London about a week ago. There is a lot to tell you when you are stronger.”

I was feeling a little better every day. Nothing had been discovered then.

How right Ben had been! It had happened. It was over, and we had to forget.

I was very weak and was surprised how tottery I felt when I got out of bed.

“It will take time,” said my mother.

She would sit with me during the afternoons. Sometimes she read to me; at others she sat at her sewing … and we talked.

It was some little time before I could bring myself to say: “Mama, I haven’t heard anything about … that man … that convict who escaped.”