The pool of St Branok

"Well, look how it's turned out for me. Look at my land ... and who's to say I've finished yet. There's money in sheep. There's money in cattle. I reckon I've got the finest house here ... barring none."

"Well, mine is not exactly a hovel," said Ben. "Bear me out, Angel, Mrs. Wilder, Lizzie ..."

Lizzie laughed. "It is a lovely house," she said. I saw her father's eyes on her. They were fond and a little sad.

"Tell me," went on James Morley, "what is happening in London. We don't get much news out here."

I tried to think of what had happened. England seemed far away. I told him of the death of the Prince Consort and how sad the Queen was; then I wished I hadn't because I saw him look at the picture on the mantelshelf.

I searched my mind. There had been trouble with the cotton workers in Lancashire. Not a very pleasant topic. The Prince of Wales was going to marry Princess Alexandra of Denmark and there was Civil War in America.

It all sounded very remote. So I told them about our journey and the ports we had visited. Then I said: "Morwenna ... Mrs. Cartwright ... would love to visit you. She would have been with me this morning but in fact she was not feeling very well. She is going to have a baby."

Lizzie's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I love little babies."

"Well," I said. "You will be able to see Morwenna's."

Mrs. Wilder said: "Not very many babies are born out here. Has Mrs. Cartwright seen Mrs. Bowles yet?"

"No ... not yet."

"I think she should. I know a little about nursing ... not very much.

But I did look after my husband for several years. Babies are not my line. It's more general nursing."

"I’ll tell Morwenna. You will like her."

"Morwenna ..." repeated Lizzie.

"Yes. Isn't it a pretty name, Lizzie? Is it Cornish?" asked Mrs. Wilder.

"Yes. Morwenna is Cornish. So am I partly. My grandfather was Cornish. We have a house there."

"A wonderful place," said Ben. "It has stood there for hundreds of years. You must tell Lizzie all about it."

"Oh yes, please," said Lizzie clasping her hands and smiling.

I noticed how pleased her father looked and when we rose to go he took my hand and pressed it warmly.

"Come again," he said. "There will be a welcome for you at Morley House."

"Thank you," I replied. "I am so pleased we called in."

Mrs. Wilder and Lizzie walked with us to the stables to get our horses. They stood waving as we rode away.

Ben said: "You see how it is with Lizzie."

"They seemed to treat her like a child."

"She is a child in a way. She is not dull. It is just that she has never really grown up."

"Who is Mrs. Wilder?"

"She is the indispensable one. She came to the place when her husband died. Another casualty of the mines. He was half suffocated down there and after they brought him up he was never the same again. When James's wife died he was always looking round for someone to look after the servants and to be a surrogate mother to Lizzie. Mrs. Wilder came ... She's been there ever since."

"She seems very efficient."

"Morley is lucky. So is Mrs. Wilder. It is a good post for her and she fills it admirably. She gets on wonderfully well with Lizzie."

"I could see that Lizzie is fond of her."

"My dear Angelet, Lizzie loves the whole world. She thinks everyone is as good and kind as herself. Sometimes I think people like Lizzie are the lucky ones. They think the world is a beautiful place. They are happy." He looked at me steadily. "It is because they never reach out for the impossible."

I felt there was some deep meaning behind his words and they made me uneasy.

After the first two or three weeks at Golden Creek time began to fly past. The days were so full. We had to clean the shacks and try to bring a little homely comfort to them, which was not easy. Neither Morwenna nor I was accustomed to housework; moreover we had to cook. We took this in turns—sometimes the four of us eating in their shack, at others in ours.

Both Gervaise and Justin—perhaps even less accustomed to the sort of work they were doing than we were—were exhausted at the end of the day. I used to wonder how long they would stay here. I could sense a growing disillusionment. I mentioned this to Gervaise when we lay in our narrow uncomfortable bed, too tired almost even to talk and just doing so in sleepy sentences.

"Gervaise," I said, "why don't we go home?"

"To all those debts?"

"We'd do something. How can you go on digging ... endlessly tipping those cradles into the stream ... looking in vain."

"It won't always be in vain. If I left ... and the very next day they found gold I should never forgive myself."

I understand what kept all these men going. Not yesterday ... not today ... but tomorrow.

There was a similarity between Gervaise, Justin and all these men around us. It was the lust for gold. Ben had it, too. It was only a few like Arthur Bowles and James Morley who had turned their backs on what I thought of as the Golden Goddess and when I considered those two I sensed a certain serenity about them which the others lacked.