The pool of St Branok

Riverside Manor was a beautiful old Tudor house and, as its name implied, close to the river. It was the black and white type of building so typical of the period, with black beams and white-washed plaster panels in between. The upper floors projected over the ground floor and in front of the house was a garden now full of chrysanthemums and dahlias. It must have been very colorful in the spring.

We stepped right into a typical Tudor hall with high vaulted ceiling, thick oak beams and paneled walls, where Janet Ransome was waiting to receive us. She was a tall woman with a spare figure and a certain severity of countenance. Crisp, neat and rather taciturn, I thought; but I was to discover that this exterior hid a kind and sentimental heart.

She looked at me keenly and I think very soon decided to like me; and I was very pleased that she did.

My mother was effusively complimentary about the house, said that houses fascinated her and that our own had been in the family for generations.

While we were introducing ourselves, there was a patter of feet overhead and the children came down—Fanny hovering in the background.

"Fanny," I cried.

She came hurriedly to me and then stopped. " 'Ello," she said. "So you've come."

"Fanny likes Hampton, don't you, Fanny?" said Timothy.

"It's all right," said Fanny grudgingly.

"Oh, and this is Fiona."

The bright-eyed little girl gave me a smile of welcome.

"And here's Alec."

Alec, a rather tall and gangling youth, shook hands rather awkwardly; and I felt I was going to like Timothy's family. This was quickly confirmed.

Fiona immediately decided that it was her place to look after Rebecca. This greatly pleased her father, and Janet Ransome looked on approvingly.

Janet and Timothy showed us the house from top to bottom: the buttery, the laundry house, the great kitchens with their stone floors, big ovens and roasting spits.

"We don't use these much now," said Janet. "Thank goodness we don't eat the gigantic meals our forefathers did."

We went on our tour of inspection; the hall, the dining room with the delightful linen fold paneling, the long gallery with the portraits of the family, the tapestries on the dining room walls and the chair seats of needlepoint in rich shades of blue worked by some ancestress who had lived more than a hundred years before. There was the crown post room, the attics, and all the bedrooms, many with their four-poster beds which had been in the family for generations.

From the windows were views of the river and the gardens running down to it. There were a few stone steps leading to the water which they called the privy stairs: there were two boats, attached to posts there, in which one could row oneself up and down the river.

From the topmost rooms one could see Hampton Court, the famous palace which had once been Wolsey's before he was compelled to make a present of it to his king.

It was a delightful place.

"I wonder you can bear to leave it," I said to Timothy.

He looked a little sad. I supposed the place was full of memories. This was where he had lived with his wife. From these stables she had gone out one morning and had been carried back to this house on a stretcher—gone forever.

There was a portrait of her in the gallery—a pretty woman with a pleasant smile. I had guessed who she was before I was told.

My mother was delighted with our visit. She thought the place enchanting and the family delightful. I could see that she had decided that I could do far worse than settle down here.

In a few days I was feeling that I knew the house and its inhabitants very well indeed. Rebecca had settled in and her new playmates compensated for the loss of Pedrek. She was delighted with Fiona but I think she was especially fascinated by Fanny.

Fanny was obviously pleased by Rebecca's preference; and when I saw Fanny with my daughter I believed she looked happier than I had ever seen her before.

"I like it here," said Rebecca. "Are we going to live here?"

Her words startled me. I knew my family thought that marriage with Timothy would be the best possible solution for me, and now that I had met Timothy's sister, I was sure that she too was not averse to the idea. Her home was in this house and she had been mistress of it, but I could see that kind of authority did not mean a great deal to her. She was absolutely devoted to Timothy and she firmly believed that he needed to marry again to enable him to recover from that devastating blow which the death of his wife had obviously dealt him.

I had not realized until I came to the house how deeply he had suffered and still was suffering, I believed. In my heart I guessed that no one could ever take the place of his first love, the mother of his children. But it would not surprise me if he asked me to marry him.