The pool of St Branok

"I wish," wrote Aunt Amaryllis, "that that man Russell would stop writing such terrible things and sending them home. It makes us fret so. Poor Helena is beside herself with grief, and I think all the time of our dear Jonnie out there in that terrible place ... and that nice Grace, too. Although, of course, she is not in the battle. I do wish it would all be over. It is so far away. What has it to do with us? But that's wrong of me. Peter says the war is right and we have to preserve our influence all over the world. It is so necessary for everyone ..."

"Poor Aunt Amaryllis," said my mother. "Usually she can let ill fortune sail over her ... but this is a little too close ... with Jonnie at the front."

The siege of Sebastopol continued. Once that fell into allied hands, it was said that the war would be all but over, but the Russians were a stubborn people; they would not give in; and our men on the outskirts of Sebastopol suffered more through the terrible winter than those who were within the city ... many dying of the cold, so said Russell. Miss Nightingale and her nurses were doing a wonderful job but what could the most efficient nursing do without supplies? And conditions were still terrible.

It seemed to go on and on. The winter was over; spring came. Each day we waited for news, but all through that year there was nothing that was good.

Then came the sad letter from Aunt Amaryllis:

I don't know how to tell you. We are all devastated. Jonnie has been killed. He was so brave, they say. He was a wonderful soldier. But I am afraid that is no consolation to poor Helena. She is prostrate with grief; and we are all very, very sorrowful. Peter is most affected. He saw that there was a fine piece in the papers about Jonnie’s bravery and how he gave his life for his country. He says that, sad as this event is, it will increase public appreciation of Matthew. That does not console poor Matthew. He loved him. We know Jonnie was not his son but he had always been brought up as such and the fact that John Milward was his real father makes no difference to Matthew's affection for him. It is such a sad time for us all. I wonder if you could come up. It would be such a help if you could. Helena is so fond of you. She talks quite a lot now of how wonderful you were to her in her trouble ...

My mother stopped reading. She stared ahead of her and I knew she was too emotional to go on.

She said: "It is terrible, Angel. You know the story now. We were on the ship together going to Australia when I heard she was going to have Jonnie. She was so distressed. She was going to throw herself overboard, but Matthew saved her. He is a very good man. But he has allowed his father-in-law to lead him in every way. But what can he do? Peter made him. He would never have got far without him. He cared about people. Those books of his show that. But no one would have taken any notice of them if Peter hadn't thrust them forward. Matthew knows that and he's ashamed in a way ... and yet he is bound to Peter. He couldn't do a thing without him ..."

She was talking as though to herself. Then suddenly she remembered my youth as people often did. I had developed a way of lapsing into silence when people talked like that so they forgot how young I was and said more than they would if they remembered it. I had learned a good deal that way.

She stopped abruptly.

"I think," she said, "that we ought to go up. We might be able to help. I'm afraid it won't be a very happy visit. Poor Helena. She is like Amaryllis. She needs to be cared for. And all that business of John Milward's being brought up again must have been very upsetting for her."

"I think Jonnie must have been a little pleased. His real father remembered him and he had such plans for his diggings. The money would have been a great help in that and now ..."

The knowledge that I should never see him again enveloped me and I felt the tears in my eyes.

My mother put her arms round me and we wept together.

"Yes," she said at length. "We must go up. We must be able to comfort them a little."

My father said that, although he would be unable to accompany us to London, my mother and I must go.

There were high hopes now that Sebastopol would fall. Surely they could not hold out much longer? People were full of hope and then these hopes would be dashed and we would seem no nearer to the end.

When the Emperor of Russia died there had seemed to be a chance of peace, but like all hopes this evaporated. That had been early in the year.

We had had the news of Jonnie's death late in August and just as we were ready to leave the Russians evacuated Sebastopol.

There was great rejoicing in the Poldoreys for this could only mean that the war was virtually over.

It was too late for us, my mother said. Jonnie had already died.