The Black Swan (2 page)

I had built up new interests. As the daughter of the house I had found greater confidence, something until that time I had lacked. It was probably because of Belinda, who had reminded me so often of my status in the house. No one else ever did—but Belinda had been a force in my life. I often thought nostalgically of her disturbing presence. Perhaps it was because we had grown up together, because we had been bound together by the dark secret of our births, and we had become a part of each other before we had had any say in the matter.

But I had quickly become absorbed in the new relationship with my father. Before, he had been a godlike presence in the house. I had thought he was scarcely aware of us children, although it was true that at times I had caught his eyes on me, and I fancied that if he ever spoke to me—which he did not very often do at that time—his voice was gentle and kind.

Belinda used to say she hated him. “It is because he hates me,” she explained. “I killed my mother by getting born. He thinks it’s my fault. I don’t remember anything about it.”

Right from the beginning of our new relationship my father used to talk to me about politics. I found it hard to understand at first but gradually I began to get an inkling. I became familiar with names like William Ewart Gladstone, Lord Salisbury, Joseph Chamberlain. Because I wanted to please him, I used to ask Miss Jarrett questions and I learned a good deal from her; and she, being in a political household, as she said, found her interest aroused by what was happening in parliamentary circles.

As I grew older my father used to discuss his work with me; he even read his speeches to me and watched their effect on me. Sometimes I would applaud them, and I even dared to make suggestions. He encouraged this and always listened.

As I emerged into my teens I was able to talk with a certain knowledge and his pleasure in my company was intensified. He would open his heart to me. The man he most looked up to was William Ewart Gladstone, who, according to my father, should have been in power.

The Liberal Party had not been the government since 1886—which at that time was some four years previously—and then only for a brief spell.

My father had explained this to me then. He said, “It is the Old Man’s obsession with Home Rule for Ireland which is the greatest obstacle. It is not popular in the country. It’s splitting the party right down the middle. Joseph Chamberlain and Lord Hartingdon are breaking away. So is John Bright. It is the worst thing for a party when prominent men decide to break away.”

I listened avidly. I had a glimmer of understanding and I remember that night some years ago when he came home dispirited.

“The voting went against the Bill,” he said. “Three hundred and thirteen for and three hundred and forty-three against; and ninety-three Liberals went into the lobby against the Bill.”

“What does it mean?” I asked him.

“Resignation! Parliament will be dissolved. This will be a defeat for the party.”

And it was, of course; and Mr. Gladstone was no longer Prime Minister. Lord Salisbury had taken his place. That had happened in 1886 when I was beginning to know something of the ways of politicians.

I realize how disappointed my father was because he had never achieved Cabinet rank. There were whispers about him, concerning past scandals, but I could not get anyone to tell me what they were about. Rebecca would tell me one day, I was sure, with more details of my mysterious childhood.

My father was not a man to give up easily. He was no longer young, but in politics shrewdness and experience were greater assets than youth.

Mrs. Emery, the housekeeper at Manorleigh, once said: “You’re the apple of his eye, Miss Lucie, that’s what you are, and what a good thing it is that he is so pleased with you. I feel sorry for Madam though.”

Poor Celeste! I am afraid I did not think very much about her in those days, and it did not occur to me that I might be usurping the place which she should occupy. She should have been the one he liked to return to, the one he talked to.

Now I knew that she was aware that he would not be pleased at the prospect of Belinda’s return and she wanted me to broach the matter to him.

It was the least I could do.

On those evenings when he was late home from the House, I made a habit of waiting up for him and, with the connivance of the cook, had had a little supper waiting for him in his study. There might be some soup which I would heat up on a little stove, and a leg of chicken or something like that. I had heard that Benjamin Dirsaeli’s wife used to do this for her husband, and I had always thought what a loving gesture it was.

It amused my father very much. He had scolded me at first and said I should not be allowed to stay up so late, but I could see how pleased he was; and I knew how much he looked forward to talking to me about the events of the evening, and we would chat together while he ate.

There was an understanding between us that if he did not arrive by eleven thirty it meant he would be staying the night at the house of a colleague, Sir John Greenham, who lived in Westminster, not far from the Houses of Parliament.

On the evening of the day when the letter arrived, he was late, so I made the usual arrangements to wait in his study for him. He came home about ten o’clock to find me there with his supper.

“I know these are busy days,” I said, “but I guessed you’d be here sometime.”

“There’s a lot going on just now.”

“Working up to the next election. Do you think you’ll get back?”

“We’ve a good chance, I think. But it will be some little time before we go to the country.”

“What a pity! But Lord Salisbury does seem to be quite popular.”

“He’s a good man. The people don’t forget the Jubilee. They seem to give him credit for that. Bread and circuses, you know.”

“I thought it was the Queen they were all admiring. Fifty years on the throne and all that.”

“Yes, the Queen and her Prime Minister with her. Oh, he’s quite good … Salisbury. Bringing in free education is a mark in his favor. The Queen likes him, too. He doesn’t toady to her as Disraeli did, and she is clever enough to respect him for that, although she loved the flattery Dizzy laid on … with a trowel, as he himself admitted.”

“The Queen doesn’t have the same admiration for Mr. Gladstone.”

“Good Heavens, no … she really has taken against him. Very willful of Her Majesty. But there it is.”

“But you have high hopes … when the election comes …”

“Oh yes. People always want change. Never mind if it is for the better. Though we should be that, of course. But change … change … they all cry for change.”

He was in a mellow mood and I thought it would be an appropriate moment to introduce the subject of Belinda.

I said, “By the way, there was a letter from Australia. Tom Marner is dead.”

“Dead!”

“Yes. It was a heart attack. Apparently the mine was not doing so well …”

“It has run out, I daresay. It has to be expected. Poor fellow! Who would have thought it?”

“Apparently it was a great shock, and Leah herself is not in the best of health.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She didn’t say. She has hinted at something … rather bad. And she has written to Celeste because she is worried about Belinda.”

“I see.” He was staring down at the chicken bones on his plate. “So … she wrote to Celeste.”

“Well, Celeste
is
Belinda’s aunt. The letter came this morning.”

“What does she want?”

“She wants Belinda to come back here.”

He did not speak for some time.

I went on, “I think Celeste feels some responsibility.”

“That girl made trouble,” he replied.

“She was only young.”

“She might have ruined Rebecca’s life.”

I was silent.

“I have to admit I was relieved when she went,” he said.

“I know … but …”

Silence again.

I went on, “What will become of her? She will be out there … and if there isn’t any money and Tom is dead … and Leah is so ill …”

“I suppose you think we should invite her to come back here?”

“A lot of what happened was not her fault.”

“Ask Rebecca if she feels that. That wicked story of hers … pretending that Pedrek had assaulted her … trying to break up everything between them just because she did not want them to marry …”

“She thought it was best for Rebecca.”

“She thought it was best for Belinda.”

“Well,” I insisted, “she was only young then … only a child. She’s older now.”

“And capable of greater mischief.”

“Oh, I daresay she has settled down. From the letters we’ve had they all seem to be happy out there.”

“Do you want her back?”

I nodded.

“Well, if she did come back we would not have any nonsense.”

“You mean she may come?”

“I expect Celeste feels she must have her, and you want it.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, I’m glad. I’ll tell Celeste. I think she was afraid you might say no.”

“Good Heavens! This is her home.”

“She wouldn’t dream of asking anyone you didn’t want!”

“No, I suppose she wouldn’t. Well, you have decided, have you, you and Celeste between you? So Belinda and Leah had better come here.”

I felt excited. Belinda was coming home!

He looked at me quizzically and said, “I believe she was not exactly charming toward you.”

“Oh … she was Belinda.”

“That is just it—Belinda!” he retorted. “Well, we shall see. But we shall have no nonsense. If she does not behave well here, she will go.”

“She will be different. She’s grown up. She is my age.”

“Ah. The age of great wisdom! By the way, I’ve asked the Greenhams for tomorrow night … dinner. That will please you, won’t it?”

“Of course. I suppose there will be lots of speculation about the next election.”

“That,” he replied, “is something you can be sure of.”

Then he went on to talk of the recent debate, but I fancied he was still thinking about Belinda.

I was always pleased when the Greenhams visited us or when we went to them—and the main reason was Joel Greenham. Joel and I were very great friends and always had been. He was about twenty-five, and although I was catching up on him now, I must have seemed like a child to him for some time, but he had always been attentive to me even before I entered my teens.

He had all the qualities I admired most in a man. He was not exactly good-looking; his features were too irregular for that, but he had a most charming smile; he had a musical voice to which I loved to listen; he was tall and looked even taller because he was rather slender. He was a Member of Parliament—one of the youngest, I believe—and I heard that in the House he spoke forcibly, with an air of strength; yet there was a certain gentleness about him which was rare in a man and which I found particularly endearing. He had never treated me as anything but an intelligent person. My father was interested in him and often said he had the making of a good politician. He was popular with his constituents, who had elected him with a very good majority.

In his turn he had a great admiration for my father. Perhaps that was why my father liked him. One has to be very self-critical not to like people who admire one—and my father was certainly not that. Joel had always been interested in me, and he was pleased when I contributed to the conversation and would take up the points I made as though they were well worth considering.

I would sit listening to them as they talked over dinner—my father, Sir John and Joel. Lady Greenham would try to engage me and Celeste in conversation, and I would make a great effort not to be drawn in, so that I could hear the men talk.

My father was always fiercely authoritative, Sir John amused and a little half hearted. Joel would take up the points made by my father and when he did not agree with them he would put forth his views in what I considered to be a concise and clever way. I could see that my father thought so, too. I enjoyed listening to them; and I loved them both dearly.

It had been a century-old tradition with the Greenhams that there must be one politician in the family. Sir John had held the seat at Marchlands for many years and gave it up when Joel was ready to step into his shoes. Since taking it Joel had increased the already sizeable majority.

There was an ancestral home at Marchlands in Essex, close to Epping Forest, so not very far from London, which was convenient, but they had the house in Westminster. Although Sir John was no longer an active member of the House, his life had been politics and he spent a great deal of time in London. He said he liked to be under the shadow of Big Ben.

There was another son—Gerald—who was in the army. I saw him from time to time; he was amusing and charming, but it was Joel whom I loved.

Lady Greenham was one of those women who manage their families with skill and are inclined to hold anything outside family affairs as of no real importance. I fancied she thought that masculine pursuits which aroused such fierce interest in her menfolk were some game, such as they had played in their childhoods, and she would watch them with pursed lips and a mildly contemptuous indulgence that implied she was perfectly agreeable that they should play their little games, as long as they remembered that she was the custodian of the family laws laid down for them.

I looked forward to a little conversation with Joel. Celeste always put me beside him at table and my father clearly thought that was a good idea.

In fact, I think there was between him and Celeste—and perhaps Sir John and Lady Greenham shared in this—a belief that it might be a good idea, if in due course Joel and I married and united the two families.

As the daughter of Benedict Lansdon I would be acceptable to the Greenhams and Joel would be so to my family. It was a cozy implication, and in the meantime I continued to enjoy my friendship with Joel.

I think the two families looked forward to being together. Celeste was happy in the company of Lady Greenham. They would talk of matters of which Celeste was very knowledgeable; and she seemed to find confidence in Lady Greenham’s approval.