The pool of St Branok

"I've got to stop that. These people are capable of descending to the very depths of depravity. Their lives are so empty. They go to the bottle and then they lose all sense of decency. You get someone like Billings ... no sense ... no morals ... nothing. I'm sorry for him in a way. I don't know what his life has been. How can one judge? But I know, I've got to keep Fanny here. I'll find something for her soon. I'd like to get her into a nice home. She'd make a good parlormaid ... with training. But just now she isn't ready. I want her to stay here for a while."

"She'll stay. She adores you," I said.

"I hope she will. I can't hold her against her will ... yet I want to fight for her."

"Why should she want to go?"

"Who knows what Fanny thinks? She has this feeling that she has to protect her mother. That's what has kept her in this wretched hovel so long. I should have had her here weeks ago. Well, at the moment I'm holding everything as it is ... It all depends on what happens. You two have done a good job with her. She's quite fond of you."

"I think she despises us sometimes. She thinks we're soft."

"That's her way. She's fond of you all right. And she trusts you. That means a lot with Fanny."

As the weeks passed the change in Fanny was miraculous. She did odd jobs about the Mission. Frances gave her a small wage which she hoarded with delight. I believe she felt she was rich. Her hair, now that it was washed, was glossy and fell in soft curls about her face; her small dark eyes were clear and alert; they darted everywhere as though she were afraid she was going to miss something; her skin had lost that pasty look and although she was still pale she looked far from unhealthy. I gave her a ribbon for her hair. She treasured it and said she would save it for Sundays.

Timothy and I looked upon her as our protégée. We talked of her constantly; we watched her progress, marveling. One day we went out and bought a dress for her. When we brought it back to the Mission she stared at us in amazement.

"It's not for me," she said. "It can't be."

We assured her it was.

"I ain't never had nothing like that in my life before," she said.

"Well, it's time you did," Timothy told her.

She looked at us and said, "Well, I dunno ... You two ... I reckon you are a pair of old softies."

That was thanks enough.

One of the jobs which gave her most pleasure was to go to the market and buy provisions for the Mission. This had been one of the tasks allotted to Timothy and me and we had always enjoyed it. She accompanied us once or twice and was scornful of our achievement.

"Tell you what," she said when we returned to the Mission. "They see you two coming and up goes the price."

"Surely not," I said.

She looked at me derisively. "You don't know nothing," she said.

She told Frances that she could shop cheaper than we could and Frances, who was always eager to help Fanny prove herself, immediately complied with her request that she should do the shopping herself; and from that moment Fanny brought in the bargains. It was a great game to her.

"I got him to knock three farthings off that for you," she would announce proudly. We always marveled at her bargaining skills.

"You're saving us pounds, Fanny," Frances told her.

This state of affairs went on for three weeks and during that time Fanny emerged as herself.

Then one day, she disappeared.

She had dressed herself in her blue merino and tied the red ribbon in her hair, and gone off to the market as she did every morning.

At first we thought the shopping had taken her a little longer than usual and we were not unduly concerned; but as the time began to pass we grew anxious. Then we found the shopping bag which she usually took with her and with it the money she had been given to shop with; so we knew her departure was intentional.

Frances was bitterly disappointed.

"What did we do” I cried.

"I think it must be her mother," said Frances. "She's gone back to her."

"But the stepfather ..."

"Fanny is a girl who has a strong sense of right and wrong. She may have got that from her own father. You see, she takes the dress and the ribbon—they are hers. She has taken the wages she has earned; but she leaves the shopping money. How many girls in her position would have done that?"

"But what are we going to do?" asked Timothy.

"There is nothing we can do. I can't storm her home and take her away. She's gone back to them of her own accord. I'm sorry. It's disheartening, but there is nothing we can do. It is just another of those cases which didn't work out the way we wanted it to. There are many of them."

I realized how much our concern for Fanny had drawn Timothy and me together. We had shared our delight in her progress and now our sorrow and disappointment at her departure.

I was trying not to think of Ben, working hard in Manorleigh for the coming election.