The Changeling (14 page)

At least we were recovering from the shock and bracing ourselves to accept the fact that my mother was no longer with us.

We were at the breakfast table—myself and my grandparents—when the mail was brought in. Among it was a letter from Benedict. My grandmother looked at it with alarm and I could see that she was afraid to open it.

She said unnecessarily to my grandfather: “It’s from Benedict.”

He nodded gravely.

“Of course … he’ll want the child. Perhaps.”

My grandfather said gently: “Open it, Annora. I am sure he realizes it is best for Belinda and Rebecca to be here.”

Her fingers shook a little and her expression changed to one of relief as she read. I watched her avidly.

“He says the child and Rebecca are his responsibility.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Well, I suppose he would be considered your guardian now that he is your stepfather,” said my grandfather.

“No.
You
are my guardians.”

He smiled at me. Then: “What else does he say?”

“That he will consider making arrangements which he will talk over with us later on. In the meantime, if it is no inconvenience to us, it might be better for the children to stay here.”

My grandmother laughed. “Inconvenience indeed!”

I laughed with her. “He doesn’t want us … any more than we want him.”

“So all is well,” said my grandmother.

“He just doesn’t want us to think he doesn’t realize all we are doing,” said my grandfather.

“He will reimburse us for the expense,” she went on.

“What on Earth is he talking about?”

“I suppose he means the nurse and all that.”

“What nonsense!”

“Well, all’s well. We carry on as before.”

It was a great relief to us all. But it did set me wondering. I did not like to be reminded that he was my guardian and Belinda’s father; and that he would be the one to decide our future.

I ran to my grandmother and clung to her. “We’re going to stay with you,” I said. “I won’t leave you.”

“It’ll be all right,” my grandfather assured me. “It’s his way of saying he cares about you. He’s glad you’re here and we’re looking after you—which we can do better than he could … in a place like this.”

When I mentioned the matter later to my grandmother she said: “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be easy for him to set up a household in London or Manorleigh without a wife. He will be immersed in his career. He just wants us to know that he is aware of his responsibilities, but he must realize that the best place for Belinda is here. But you have to remember that he
is
her father.”

“I wish he were not,” I said.

My grandmother shook her head sadly.

She was wishing as I was that we had all gone on as it had been when we were all happy together.

A year passed and the anniversary of my mother’s death had come. During the last year Benedict had paid two visits to Cornwall. He inspected the baby. I was in the nursery at the time. Belinda regarded him with indifference. Leah picked her up and placed her in his arms. He held her gingerly and Belinda set up a wail of protest until Leah took her back when she chuckled with gratification.

Leah said: “She’s a very bright baby, sir. You will be proud of her.”

He looked at Leah intently. She lowered her eyes and flushed a little, looking more than ever like a painting of the Madonna.

My grandmother talked to him afterwards about Leah.

“She’s exceptionally good with Belinda,” she told him. “And she’s knowledgeable. She’s the daughter of the midwife and I think she has learned a lot about babies from her mother.”

He said: “She seems efficient.”

He talked to me in that restrained way which suggested that he knew of my dislike for him, and possibly felt the same towards me.

“Rebecca, you will have to go to school at some time,” he said. “It simply isn’t good enough to be merely governess-taught.”

“I’m quite happy with Miss Brown.”

“There is more to education than happiness. It is what was planned for you.”

He meant he and my mother had planned it for me. So she had discussed me with him.

“Perhaps next year,” he said.

So I was safe for the time being.

I was glad when he left for London. My grandmother was relieved too. I think she always had it in mind that he was going to take Belinda and me away from her.

I might be sent to school, but I was sure he would not want Belinda. Something in the way he looked at the child convinced me that he blamed her for my mother’s death.

Pedrek came to Cornwall for the summer holidays, bringing a school friend with him. Of course, the friend did not want a girl to join them. So it was different. Pedrek was a very kind person and always careful of other people’s feelings—he took after his mother in that—so he was aware that I was feeling shut out. He was half apologetic but what could he do? He must entertain his guest. We were all growing up and that was another aspect of change.

I used to go down to the pool often and I would think of my mother and when we had sat there and talked. I remembered how she had asked me to care for the child then unborn. It was as though she had had a premonition of what was going to happen, as though she knew she were going to die.

The pool had meant something special to her and while I was there I would have an uncanny feeling that she was there beside me … that she was trying to talk to me.

It was at the pool that I first became aware of Lucie.

I was interested in her because no one had believed her mother was going to have her until almost the time of her birth—and no one knew who her father was.

Mrs. Polhenny mentioned her now and then.

She said: “You couldn’t find a better mother than Jenny Stubbs, which is a strange thing, her being a penny short in the head so to speak. But she’s nothing short when it comes to babies. Little scrap of a thing that Lucie was … now she’s bonny; and I reckon it’s due to Jenny. Her sort’s meant to be mothers. A pity the good Lord saw fit to cut her a bit short.”

It was the nearest criticism I had ever heard her utter against the Lord, so she must have felt rather strongly.

My grandmother marvelled too. Mrs. Granger at the farm where Jenny worked said the change in her was remarkable since Lucie had been born. “Quite sensible she is now,” went on Mrs. Granger, “and that Lucie … Miss Belinda couldn’t be better looked after. Always clean she is … always well cared for. I let her bring her here. It makes no difference to the work and I wouldn’t want to lose Jenny. She’s a good worker … and now she’s got her wits about her, all the better.”

My grandmother said: “The poor girl had a fixation about a child. You see she lost the child she cared for some years ago. She was always simple and now she’s got another of her own she’s satisfied. When she took you away she looked after you just as she’s looking after little Lucie now. I know that Mrs. Polhenny and her kind deplore the fact that the child is illegitimate but if it changes a life like that there can’t be a lot of harm in it.”

In any case I was very interested in Lucie and she obviously took a liking to me. I used to go to the pool on most afternoons and Jenny would bring her out of the cottage and they would talk to me.

She was two years old at the time—a lovely child with blue eyes and dark hair. She would stand close to me regarding me gravely; then she would smile.

“She’s took a big fancy to you, Miss Rebecca,” said Jenny happily.

Sometimes Leah and Belinda would be with me. The two children were of an age and they would play together. I was amused for, young as they were, Belinda was the dominating one.

I should have liked the children to play more often than they did but Leah sometimes made excuses. When the two little ones were together I had noticed her watching them uneasily. I wondered if she harbored some snobbish notion about Belinda’s belonging to the big house and therefore she should not be playing with a cottage child.

I mentioned this to my grandmother who agreed that the humbler classes were far more aware of these distinctions than we were. We only had to consider the rigid protocol of the staff to realize that.

She was glad that I took an interest in Jenny and Lucie. She herself visited the cottage often and made sure there was always plenty of food and comfort there.

The more I saw of Lucie the fonder I became of her and I looked forward to our meetings.

“What will happen to her?” I said to my grandmother. “It’s all right now she is a baby but what when she grows up?”

“I daresay she will do some sort of work in one of the houses … or farms maybe … like her mother.”

“I always feel there is something unusual about her.”

“We shall keep our eyes on her and do what we can.”

“She is very bright, you know. As bright as Belinda, I think, only Belinda is more forceful.”

“Can you tell at such an age?”

“I think it shows. I do hope Lucie will be all right.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep our eyes on her.”

I knew it had to change. Just after Belinda’s second birthday I went away to school. Miss Brown, said Benedict, was no longer adequate to teach me.

“What does he know about it?” I demanded. “He is not the least interested in what I learn.”

“He and your mother must have discussed it together,” soothed my grandmother. “It is probably right for you. You are shut away down here and it will be good for you to meet people.”

So I went away to school and for the first weeks hated it, and then grew accustomed to it and quite liked it. I made friends quite easily; I was fairly good at games, slightly better at lessons—Miss Brown had given me good grounding—and I got along very well.

Time passed quickly. I came home to Cador for holidays and looked forward to that but I found I was quite eager to rejoin my fellow pupils. School events such as who was picked for the school concert or with whom I shared my room and the destination of outings seemed of great importance.

My grandparents were pleased that I had fitted in so well. They eagerly read my reports and sent them on to Benedict. I felt sure he never looked at them.

I came home for that Christmas holiday. Pedrek and his parents were at Pencarron for the festivities and we saw a good deal of them. Pedrek brought no school friend with him on this occasion and it was like it used to be without intrusion.

Belinda would soon be four years old. I was amazed how she grew while I was away. She was quite imperious now and could talk quite fluently. Leah said with pride that she was very bright for her age, and she was greatly looking forward to Christmas.

On the day there was to be a party for her; the twins and several children from the neighborhood had been invited; a conjuror was coming from Plymouth to entertain them.

My grandmother looked happier than she had for a long time. Planning for Belinda had been good for her.

My thoughts went to Lucie. How different her Christmas would be!

I asked my grandmother about her. “Oh, we’ve seen that they don’t want for anything. I’ve had some coal and wood delivered to the cottage and I thought you’d like to take over a basket for them.”

“I’d like that. When?”

“My dear, you’ve only just come home. In good time for Christmas.”

“I shall go down tomorrow. Perhaps I could take something then.”

“You’re very interested in that child, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. Her birth was so unexpected, wasn’t it? We none of us believed that Jenny was really going to have her. And I think she is a very intelligent child. I can’t imagine how Jenny could have one like that.”

“Oh, parents often have the most unlikely children. But I agree she is a nice child.”

“I compare her with Belinda … who has so much.”

“Well, that’s how the world goes. There are always these divisions.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But I would like to take something really good.”

“You shall.”

So the next day I was at the cottage. The pool looked dreary. It was a damp dark day and the willows trailing over the pool and the brownish green water looked sinister in the gloom.

The cottage was welcoming though. It was very neat and clean. Lucie came running out when I knocked. She caught me round the legs and hugged me.

It was a spontaneous and warm welcome.

“I’ve been away to school,” I said.

“I tell her,” said Jenny. “She does not know about school.”

“I’ll explain to her.”

I sat down on one of the chairs and took the child on my knees. I told her about my school, the dormitories we slept in, the big hall where we assembled, the teachers we had, how we worked at our desks, how we went for long walks in the country with two mistresses, one at the head of the crocodile and one at the rear, how we played games, how we learned to dance and sing.

She listened intently. I don’t think she understood half of it, but she watched my mouth the whole time. I was talking and her expression was one of enchantment.

Jenny wanted to know how the little one up at Cador was. I told her Belinda was well and looking forward to Christmas. I started to tell her about the party which was being arranged and the conjuror who was coming from Plymouth … then I stopped short. It was insensitive of me. Poor Lucie would not have such a party.

“What is a conjuror?” asked Lucie.

So I had to explain. “He makes things disappear and finds them again as if by magic.”

“And he be coming all the way from Plymouth,” said Jenny.

Lucie’s eyes were wide with excitement. She kept asking questions about the conjuror. I had to go on explaining.

Could she come to the party? I wondered. My grandparents were by no means sticklers for convention. But if Lucie—the child of crazy Jenny—were invited, all the children from the outlying farms and cottages would be expected to attend.

As soon as I reached home I told my grandmother what had happened.

“It was stupid of me,” I said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the party, but I did and it slipped out about the conjuror … and that was how it came about.”

My grandmother raised the point which had occurred to me. If Lucie came all the local children would feel slighted if they were not asked. Then my grandmother had an idea. She would get Jenny to come and help in the kitchen. She could bring Lucie … and Lucie should join the party.