The Changeling (25 page)

“What sort of a story?” asked Belinda.

“Something that was once said. I’ve forgotten.”

“Ghosts don’t like it if people forget about them,” said Belinda. “They come back and haunt them to remind them.”

“It was nothing,” I said. “Would you two like to go for a ride?”

November had come—misty autumnal with the days drawing in so that it was dark soon after four.

Ever since the gardener’s boy had attempted to lop the branches off the oak tree there seemed to have been a revival of the hauntings. One of the maids swore she saw a shadow at the window of the locked room. She ran screaming into the house. Some of them would not go into the garden after dusk and certainly not in the vicinity of the oak tree.

I began to be affected by it and often at night I would go down to my window and look down on it, in spite of myself, expecting to see Lady Flamstead or her daughter there … and I would have given a great deal to see my mother.

I thought about what Mrs. Emery had said regarding the locked room. How could one stop young people having fancies in a house like this? It seemed to be enveloped in the unhappy atmosphere created by a husband who did not love the wife he had recently, married and continued to mourn the one he had lost. I understood his passionate obsession; I had one of a kind myself for I could not forget her either; but I still blamed Benedict. Perhaps it was due to living in a house of shadows where the past seemed to intrude on the present where neither he nor I could come to terms with life as it was and were both craving to be back in those days when she was with us.

I wondered if I might speak to him about the locked room. But how could I? He would not listen to me. He found his solace there. He communed with her. I had once felt that she came back to me. Surely she would come and try to comfort him if that were possible.

Celeste talked to me about the servants’ obsession with ghosts.

“I suppose in a house like this,” I said, “in which many people have lived over the centuries, there would be a feeling that those who have gone before have left something behind.”

“What is the story of this oak tree?”

“It was about a woman who lived here long ago. She was the young wife of an older man who adored her. She died in childbirth and came back to commune with the child she had never known on Earth. They were supposed to meet under the oak tree.”

“She would be a kind ghost?”

“Oh yes … quite benign.”

“Where is the daughter now?”

“She is dead. All the people in the story are dead. They had to die before they became ghosts.”

“And she died giving birth. It is like …”

“Yes,” I said, “but I am afraid it is not an infrequent happening.”

She nodded. “I see. Why does Lady Flamstead come back now?”

“Because the servants have been reminded of her. When the gardener’s boy tried to prune the tree he is supposed to have disturbed the ghosts. They will tell you they have come back to warn people not to touch their sanctum.”

“I see. That is it.”

“This talk of ghosts adds a spice to their lives. My grandmother used to say that people whose lives are a little dull have to invent things to make them lively. Well, ghosts have provided this little diversion.”

“I see … how it is. And we need not listen for the clanging of chains.”

“There would be no chains attached to Lady Flamstead nor to her daughter. They never acquired them … they lived pleasant, uncomplicated lives.”

It was a few days later when Celeste fainted in the garden. Fortunately Lucie happened to be nearby and called for help. I was in the hall and was the first to get out there.

“It’s Aunt Celeste,” she said. “She’s lying on the ground.”

“Where?”

“Near the pond.”

“Go and call Mrs. Emery or anyone you can find,” I said and ran out.

Celeste was lying on the ground, looking pale. I knelt beside her. I saw that she had fainted.

I lifted her up to a sitting position and held down her head. I was greatly relieved to see the color coming into her face. She turned her head and looked fearfully over her shoulder.

“It’s all right, Celeste,” I said. “I think you just fainted. Perhaps it was the cold …”

She was shaking.

“I saw her,” she whispered. “It’s true … she was there … under the tree.”

I shivered. What did she mean? Was Celeste seeing ghosts now?

I said: “We’ll get you into the house.”

“She was there,” she went on. “I saw her clearly.”

Mrs. Emery had appeared.

“Oh, Mrs. Emery,” I said. “Mrs. Lansdon has fainted. I think she must have left a warm room and the cold was too much for her.” I was battling to find reasons. I did not like this talk of ghosts.

“Let’s get her in … quick,” said Mrs. Emery practically.

“We’ll take her to her room,” I said. “Then I think a little brandy …”

She was on her feet but shaky; she turned and looked over her shoulder at the seat under the tree.

“You’re shivering!” I said. “Come on. Let’s get in.”

We took her to her room.

“Get her to lie down,” said Mrs. Emery. “I’ll go and see about that brandy. I’ll send up one of the girls to see to the fire. It’s nearly out.”

Celeste lay on the bed. She took my hand and held it tightly. “Don’t go,” she said.

“Of course I won’t. I’ll stay here. Don’t talk now, Celeste. Wait till Mrs. Emery brings the brandy. You’ll feel so much better after that.”

She lay back; she was still shivering.

Mrs. Emery came in with Ann.

“Make up the fire, Ann,” she said. “Mrs. Lansdon is not feeling very well. And here’s the brandy, Miss Rebecca.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Emery.”

“Shall I pour out, Miss?”

“Yes, please.”

She did so and handed it to me. Celeste sat up and sipped it. The fire was now blazing brightly.

“I think Mrs. Lansdon would like to be quiet for a while,” I said.

Celeste looked appealingly at me and I knew she wanted me to stay. I nodded reassuringly and the door closed quietly on Mrs. Emery and Ann.

“Rebecca,” she said. “I saw her. She was there … looking for me. She was telling me that this is her place and there is no room for me here.”

“This … er … ghost spoke to you?”

“No, no … there were no words … but that was what it meant.”

“Celeste, there was no one there. You imagined it.”

“But I see clearly … she was there.”

“She?”

“She has come out of the locked room. She has come to where the ghosts are.”

“Celeste, this doesn’t make sense. You didn’t see anyone there. Lucie was near. She saw you fall. She did not say she saw anyone else.”

“She has come for me … I saw her clearly. Her head was turned away at first … but I knew who she was. She was in a pale blue coat with a cape edged with white fur … and a blue hat with white fur round it … a little old-fashioned in style.”

A blue coat with a fur-edged cape. I had seen my mother in such an outfit—and yes, there had been a hat to match. She had worn it in the house, I remembered. I could visualize her walking under the trees, laughing and talking about the brother or sister I was to have.

I gripped my hands together because they were shaking slightly.

“You imagined it, Celeste,” I said without conviction.

“I did not. I did not. I was not thinking of her. My thoughts were far away and then … I saw the movement under the trees … I saw the figure in the blue coat. She was sitting on the seat … and I know who it was … I have felt her in the house many times. There are those rooms in which she lived … that locked room … and now she has come to the garden to join the other ghosts.”

“This is all fancy, Celeste.”

“I do not think so.”

“It is all in your mind.”

She stared at me. “In my mind
…”
she stammered.

“Yes, you are thinking of her and you fancy you see her.”

“I saw her,” she said firmly.

“Celeste, it has to stop, you know. Perhaps you ought to leave here for a while.”

“I cannot go.”

“Why not? You could come to Cornwall with me. Come for Christmas. My grandparents would love it. We’ll take the children.”

“Benedict … he could not go.”

“Then we could go without Benedict.”

“I could not, Rebecca.”

“It might be good.”

“No. He needs me … here. I have to be at the dinner parties. It is the duty of the Member’s wife.”

“There is too much emphasis on duties and not enough on … on …” She waited and I added lamely: “On … er … home life. You should go away. Then perhaps he would miss you and realize how much you do for him.”

She was silent. Then suddenly she turned to me and I knew by the heaving of her shoulders that she was weeping.

“What am I to do?” she asked. “He does not love me.”

“He must do. He married you.”

“He married me because he wanted a wife. All Members of Parliament should have wives. If they want big office they need a wife … the right wife. But, alas, Rebecca, I am not the right one for him. Your mother was.”

“You must forget that. You are good. You are wonderful at parties. You always look so elegant. They all admire you.”

“And when he look at me … he think of another.”

I was silent.

“Was she very beautiful?” she asked.

“I don’t know. She was my mother. I never thought whether she was beautiful or not. To me she was perfect because she was my mother.”

“And to him … she was perfect and there could never be another to take her place. Do you believe that when people are so deeply needed they can be lured from the tomb and come back to those who cannot live without them?”

“No,” I said.

“Your mother … she must have been a wonderful person.”

“She was to me.”

“And to him.”

“Yes, to him. But they both married someone else in the first place.”

“I know he married the girl in Australia. She brought him the goldmine.”

“My mother married my father first. He was very handsome and charming … like Hercules or Apollo … only better because he was so good. He gave his life for his friend.”

“I know. I have heard.”

“And my mother loved him … dearly,” I said fiercely. “But it is all over, Celeste. That is in the past. It’s now that matters.”

“He doesn’t care for me, Rebecca.”

“He must. He married you.”

“Did he care for the first one, I wonder?”

“This is different.”

“How is it different?”

“I am sure of it.”

“I love him so much. When I first saw him I thought he was the most wonderful man I had ever seen. When he asked me to marry him I could not believe it. I think I am dreaming. But we marry … and now he does not want me. All he wants is her. He dream of her. I have heard him say her name in his sleep. He has drawn her back from the grave because he cannot live without her. She is here. She is in this house. And now she is tired of being in that locked room. She has come out to join those other ghosts in the garden.”

“Oh, Celeste. You must not think like that. He needs time … time to recover.”

“It is years since she died. It was when Belinda was born.”

“She would not wish you to suffer like this. She was the kindest person in the world. If she came back it would be to help you … not to harm you.”

I wished that I knew how to comfort her. I hated him then. He was responsible for her unhappiness. He was selfish and cruel. He had married her because he needed a wife to enhance his career, just as he had married Lizzie Morley because he needed her money for the same reason. My mother he had truly loved; there was no doubt of that, and God … or Fate … was repaying him. He had lost the one he loved and would not try to make a happy life for the woman he had taken up to serve his own ends.

He was a monster, I thought, and whipped up my hatred and contempt of him.

I said: “It will come all right one day, Celeste.”

She shook her head. “But I pray that he will turn to me,” she said. “I lie here sometimes waiting … waiting … You cannot understand, Rebecca.”

“I think I do,” I replied. “And you must rest now. Do you think you could sleep?”

“I am very tired,” she said.

“Shall I get Mrs. Emery to send up a little supper on a tray? I could have mine with you if you liked. Then you could rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’ve never fainted before,” she told me. “It’s strange to feel the Earth slipping away.”

“People often faint for various reasons. There are no after effects. Perhaps you were not feeling well and the change of air…”

“But I saw …”

“It really could have been the mist in the air.”

“It wasn’t mist. I saw her clearly.”

“How did you know who it was?”

“I knew.”

“People see a sort of mirage sometimes. There are shadows and they don’t recognize them as such and the brain starts to work out what it is … and imagination comes in. It’s all this talk about ghosts. Just suppose it was a ghost. It might have been Lady Flamstead or Miss Martha.”

“I know who it was. Instinct told me.”

“Will you have something to eat?”

“I couldn’t manage it … not tonight.”

“Do you think you could sleep?”

“Perhaps.”

I stood up and kissed her.

“I am so glad you are here, Rebecca,” she said. “I wondered a lot … how would you like me … the one who took your mother’s place.”

“I never felt like that for a moment. It is so long since she died.” I smiled at her. “If you want me … later on … if you can’t sleep and would like to talk … ring the bell and tell one of the servants. I’ll come along and talk.”

“Thank you. You would comfort me much … if I could be comforted.”

“You will be, and I am going to see that you are.”

She smiled faintly. She looked a little better and very young with the traces of tears on her eyelashes and a faint flush in her cheeks.

I was glad to be alone. I wanted to think. She had shaken me. Although I had told her that I did not accept the theory that she had seen a ghost, I was impressed by her description of the clothes. Being so interested in the subject she would see them more clearly than most people and she had been so emphatic in her description of them.