The pool of St Branok

As we rode through the town young John Gort came running up to us. His grandfather, Jack Gort, had been one of the leading fishermen of his day and he was still to be seen on the quay supervising the family as to the best way of conducting the business they had inherited from him.

Young John looked rather anxious.

"What is it?" asked my mother.

"I've just been wondering, me lady," he stammered, "about that there boat by the old boathouse."

"Oh?" said my mother. "Why?"

"Well, 'tas been there for years and 'as no one wanted it like ... I thought as how ... if no one wanted it like ... I thought as how ..."

"You want it?" said my mother.

"Well, seeing as 'ow it ain't used like."

"You take it, John."

"Oh, thank 'ee, me lady."

He darted off.

"Do you know that old boat he was talking about?" asked my mother.

"I think I've seen an old one there at some time."

"Well, he might as well make use of it then."

And we rode on to Pencarron.

Grace Gilmore was often in my company. She was always pleased to do something for me. She would kneel at my feet, pins between her lips, turning up a hem, or make me stand on a chair to assure herself that she had got the length absolutely right; and I always had the impression that she was particularly interested in me—as indeed I was in her.

I was beginning to feel better. I was quite enjoying Mrs. Penlock's mug-gety and lamby pies. My hair was growing. It was down to my shoulders, long enough to tie back with a ribbon. I no longer looked like a wraith. I was laughing more frequently and indulging in those daydreams in which I had played the central and heroic part. I was returning to normal.

I had not been to the pool since it happened and it was beginning to seem like a bad dream. Benedict had gone right out of my life. I was hurt about his going. I remembered vividly how he had said to me so vehemently, "I love you, Angel," and I had replied that I loved him, too. And now he was on the other side of the world and perhaps I should never see him again. I should have thought he was running away from our terrible secret, but I could not believe that Benedict would ever run away from anything. No, he had gone to find gold ... like the men in the story of the old Scat Bal. But I was left where it had all happened.

They were less careful of me now. I used to go off on my own. I even rode Glory again. She seemed glad to have me back. Horses are very intelligent and I wondered whether she knew she had been disgraced and wrongly accused.

"It had to be, Glory," I whispered to her. "It was all part of the secret." She seemed as though she understood. After all, she had seen it happen.

I must not think of it.

It was gone. It was past. It wasn't the same as killing an ordinary man. I kept telling myself that he had been going to die in any case ... far more horribly. It had just happened more quickly and easily than it would in the hands of the law. How often had I gone over and over that point.

One day, when my thoughts were running on these lines, I felt I had to exorcise the ghost which was haunting me. I had to go back to the pool. I had to see it again. I had to convince myself that I was cured of my guilt. I kept telling myself that I was not to blame. I would have been the victim. I had just helped to keep his death a secret and that had been the right thing to do. But I had to go to the pool. I had to convince myself that I was not afraid of it any more.

I rode over there. It was less than a mile from the house. I wanted to turn back but I would not allow myself to do so. I rode through the trees and there it was ... glittering in the sunshine ... still mysterious ... just as it had been on that dreadful day.

I dismounted and tethered Glory to the same bush as I had on that other occasion.

I patted her head, wondering if she remembered. "Don't fret," I said, "I've just got to do this. It won't be anything like that other time. And then we'll think nothing of coming here."

I walked down to the edge of the pool and stared into the still water.

There were weeping willows hanging over it and some bedraggled-looking plant-life floated on the surface of the water. I wondered how many secrets besides mine it was hiding.

I continued to look into the water, fearing to see his face again. It was greenish brown, but now there was no trace of the pink which had once colored it.

I strained my ears. I half fancied I could hear the tinkle of bells—but it was the faint breeze ruffling the trees. How easy it was to fancy one heard music.

I closed my eyes trying to wipe out memories. I had been foolish to come. Oh no. This was the way to be reasonable. To say to oneself: There was nothing wrong about it. Ben had to do what he did. We both had to.

I opened my eyes. Silence and then ... what it was, I was not sure, but I guessed I was not alone. I just felt a presence. I stood very still looking at the water. The movement came from behind. Someone was standing close to me.