The Return
The voyage was uneventful. There were warm days on deck when we sat and dreamily talked. We could not help comparing this with the last voyage and memories of Gervaise were ever present. He had been full of optimism, so certain was he that he would come home a rich man. It had never occurred to him that he might not come home at all.
There was rough weather in the Tasman Sea and sailing round the Cape, Morwenna kept to her cabin. Justin and I sat on deck and, because we were alone, we could refer to matters which we had kept secret from Morwenna.
He was amazingly frank. I think he could not forget that Gervaise had saved his life and it seemed incredible that he could have lost his own in doing so when only a short time ago he had clearly shown that he despised him.
I had a notion that Justin wished to look after me as a kind of compensation for not being able to express his gratitude to Gervaise.
"He was the one who should have been saved," he said. "He was a better man than I.I do not believe I should have gone down to save him. I have thought a lot about it, Angelet. They brought him up dead and my first thought was: No one will know now what happened. Only Angelet knows and I am safe with her."
"I should not reproach yourself on that score, Justin," I said. "I suppose it would be a natural reaction."
"But that he should have died saving me ..."
"Yes, that was significant. But it was typical of Gervaise. He would always act nobly automatically ... in ordinary life. It was only when he was at the card table that he changed."
"But he would never have cheated."
"No ... not at cards. But it is cheating in a way to gamble with money you haven't got." I was thinking too of Madame Bougerie. "Gervaise did that." I went on: "He was noble in a way; he was wonderfully kind, self-sacrificing too as he showed so clearly ... but no one is perfect. Justin, you've got to forget all this. It's all behind you."
"I haven't cheated at cards since," he said.
"And you will give all that up?"
He was silent for a while. Then he said: "It was my living, Angelet."
"You mean ... you lived on your winnings ... those which came to you through your way of playing!"
"It's polite of you to put it that way. It's what is called living by your wits. One can win large sums of money in the London clubs. What I did in the township was ... trivial. It's exciting because once you are caught it is over forever. But I was very good at it. I must have been very slack to have been caught like that by Gervaise."
"Poor Morwenna," I said. "She has such a high opinion of you."
"I promised myself that if I found gold I'd give it all up. I was longing for that. Since I married Morwenna, I've battled with my conscience. She thinks I have a private income. The only income I have is ... from this."
"You could have gone to work at Pencarron Mine."
"I couldn't face it. Life in that remote spot far away from everything I was used to ..."
"And now?"
"I've changed. All that has happened has changed me. I'm trying to be honest. I was caught by Gervaise ... That means I'm slipping. I was not so good. It's ever since I married Morwenna ... And now there is the baby ... It's made a lot of difference to me. If Morwenna's father offered me something down there, I'd take it, Angelet ... and I'd do my best to make a good thing of it."
"Oh, Justin, I'm so glad. You'll have to forget all that has gone before."
"You've been a good friend to me, Angelet. I feel safe with you. You'd not betray me."
I laughed. "My dear Justin, I don't think you are so very wicked. I suppose you only took from the rich."
"Well ... perhaps not in the township ..."
"If you give it up ... if you live honorably from now on ... I think you can be very happy. It must have been a terrible strain ... wondering all the time that you might be caught."
"Yes ... but there was a sort of excitement which is irresistible."
"But you have Morwenna and Pedrek to think of now. Can you give all that up, Justin?"
"Yes, I can do it," he said.
I was glad for Morwenna's sake. She at least could be happy.
And so the days passed and the ship was taking us nearer and nearer to home.
At last the great day arrived.
What a bustle of preparation! What a mass of emotion! We were all on deck to catch the first glimpse of the white cliffs.
And at last I saw my parents and those of Morwenna eagerly scanning the passengers as they disembarked. Then the cry of joy and my parents side by side staring at me in wonder for there was I with their granddaughter in my arms.
We seemed to be in a huddle. My father and mother were trying to embrace me at the same time; and it was happening like that with Morwenna. Justin stood by smiling.
"My dearest child," cried my mother. "Oh ... Angelet ..." There were tears in her eyes. "And this is Rebecca. Oh, what a beautiful child! She is just like you were. Look, Rolf ..."
They were both ecstatic.
"Thank God you've come home," said my father.
We were all going to London first to spend a few days there before returning to Cador.
"Everyone in London wants to see you," said my mother, "so that has all been arranged. Let me take the baby, Angelet. My goodness, you are thin. We'll have to remedy that."
My father took the light luggage. The rest was to be sent direct to Cornwall.
And so we arrived in London.
We stayed at the house in the square which was the most convenient. The whole family was there to greet us—Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis, Matthew and Helena with Geoffrey and Peterkin and Frances: Grace Hume came too.
They all kissed me fondly and marveled at the baby.
"I hope you don't mind my intrusion at this very special occasion," said Grace. "But everyone is so kind to me that I really feel I am one of the family."
"It is wonderful to see you, Grace," I said.
"You must come and stay with us in Cornwall now that Angelet is home," added my mother.
Amaryllis was cooing over the babies. They were being put together in the old nursery and the servants were vying with each other for the privilege of looking after them.
To sleep in a luxurious bed, to eat graciously, to be back in this world of ease and comfort, was wonderful. But one soon grew accustomed to such things and the dull ache returned.
I thought of Gervaise ... dead, and Ben far away ... and I felt incredibly lonely.
During the days we were in London my mother was very concerned for me.
She said: "Do you want to talk about it? My poor darling, it must have been terrible for you. He was so very noble. There was a piece in the papers about it. When he heard what had happened Uncle Peter arranged that." She smiled ruefully. "You know how he likes to squeeze a little advantage out of everything that happens."
I could visualize the caption: "Relative of Matthew Hume in valiant rescue. The hero who lost his life saving a friend is related to Matthew Hume, the well-known politician ..." And I could imagine his thought: This will be worth a few votes.
I said I could talk about it.
"If only you had never gone out there," said my mother.
"Gervaise wanted it."
"Yes ... I heard about the debts."
"He thought if he found gold he would pay it all back."
"Gambling, wasn't it? So many young men fall foul of that. They have to learn their lesson."
I did not tell her that Gervaise would never have learned the lesson. He was a born gambler and would have remained so. I wanted her to keep the picture of the gallant hero.
"And he never saw Rebecca!"
"No. But he knew she was coming."
"Poor Gervaise. My dearest, you will get over it. You are young. At the time these things happen they seem overwhelming."
"Yes," I agreed. "I have to get over it."
"And you have the adorable Rebecca. We are going to take you home.