The pool of St Branok

"It's a diary. I've had it for some time. Read it ... and when you have read it, we must meet again and I will tell you what I am afraid of. You wouldn't believe me ... until you read that and then I think you would understand a good deal."

"A diary? Whose?"

"Angelet, I must ask you not to show it to anyone. Will you promise?"

"Of course, but ..."

"Take it to your room. Wait till tonight. Read it when you are quite alone. That is very important."

"I am very puzzled, Justin."

"I know. But just do as I say. Take it straight to your room. Lock it away and when you retire tonight and can be sure of being quite alone, read it ... and when you have read it I will come and see you and tell you why I am behaving in such an extraordinary way."

"Why can't I look at it now?"

"Someone might come in. You would be interrupted. Please, do as I say. Promise me, Angelet."

"All right. I'll promise."

"Thank you. I'll go now. I'll come tomorrow and we'll talk."

Then he left.

I looked at the parcel and was greatly tempted to open it, but having given my promise I took it to my room and locked it in a drawer.

Really Justin was behaving in a very odd manner.

I retired early that night and as soon as I was alone I unlocked the drawer and took out the package. Stripping off the paper I found a diary. I glanced at the dates at the top of each entry and the small neat handwriting.

I undressed, got into bed, and began to read.

On the flyleaf was an inscription: "For Mina with love from Mother."

Mina presumably was the owner of the diary.

January 1st: I found this diary when I was getting ready to leave, and I remembered that last Christmas Mother had given it to me. She had said: "Write in it, Mina. Then you can look back on your life at this time in years to come and it will seem as though it is happening to you now." I thought I would, but I didn't. And now she is dead and I have to leave here and start a new life. I think it might be interesting. What to write about is difficult to know. So much will be just not worth recording. I shall see how it goes. This is my first entry and it seems I am telling myself things I already know. I don't suppose I shall continue. I am just starting because it is all new and I am leaving here and have to earn my own living. Mother never wanted that, but the little she was able to leave is not really enough to live on. I don't want to scrimp and scrape all my life. Besides, what would ever happen to me here? I had to take this job with the Bonners, for the only thing a woman can do when she has to earn a living and she is in my position, is to be a governess. I shall look upon it as an adventure and if it is intolerable I shall not be completely penniless. I can look for something else. So this is a start.

The next entry was a week later.

January 8th: Something worth writing. Here I am installed in Crompton Hall, Crompton, near Bodmin, Cornwall ... a rather eerie sort of place and the Bonners are rather impossible. But they amuse us ... Mervyn and me. I suppose I ought to record our meeting. I thought it was a coincidence at first that we should meet on the way to the Bonners' but as we were traveling on the same day it was quite natural that we should meet, because the little branch railway line is not used by many people. It is more like a toy railway than a real one—though it is the pride of the local inhabitants' lives. It was snowing when I boarded the little train. There were only three other passengers. It was late because the main line train had been delayed. The little train was waiting for its arrival, I was told. Two of the passengers were a middle-aged couple; Mervyn was the other. I liked him from the moment I saw him. He helped me with my bags and soon we were facing each other in the carriage. I remember the conversation:

"What a day for a journey!"

"It is winter."

"Still, it could have been better than this. Are you going to Crompton?"

"Yes, are you?"

"Yes. I was wondering if I should be met."

"You are staying there, are you?"

"I'm going as governess ... to Crompton Hall."

He started to laugh. He had beautiful white teeth.

"I'm going to Crompton Hall ... as tutor."

We stared at each other in disbelief.

I thought: Now this is something to put into the diary.

That journey was quite exciting. It was long because there were so many delays on the line. I didn't mind in the least. I wanted it to go on and on. He told me about himself. He was alone in the world—no parents. They had spent all they had on educating him and now here he was forced to earn a living and fully equipped to take the post of tutor to "a young gentleman in the country" —"as he was described to me," he said.

I told him I had nursed my widowed mother for years—I being the only child. She had had an annuity which had made living comfortable enough, but when she had died there was little else. Like him, I had received a good education so I was equipped to be a governess to "a young lady in the country."