The Changeling (4 page)

The servants did not speak to me about their fears but I used to listen shamelessly to their conversations because it was imperative that I should know what was in their minds. It was possible in a smallish house like ours to listen to talk and I made the most of it.

I heard Mr. and Mrs. Emery once. She was putting things in the linen cupboard and he was handing them to her. It was just outside my room and if the door were a little open—which I had contrived that it should be—it was possible for me to hear quite a bit.

She was saying: “It don’t do to worry. We’ll know in good time.”

“There is this new house they’re getting. But if I know Mrs. Mandeville, she’s not the sort to forget them as has been good servants to her.”

“Oh, it’ll be all right if it’s left to her … but …”

“Why shouldn’t it be? She’ll be the mistress, won’t she?”

“Well, yes … I reckon he’ll leave all that sort of thing to her.”

“I doubt he’ll buy that house unless he gets in.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s been close before, hasn’t he? That means if he loses first time round he could win next. There’ll be a general election before long … bound to be. Yes, I reckon he’ll want that house now he’s been selected.”

“Do you think he’ll get into Parliament?”

“He seems the sort to get what he wants.”

“Don’t forget last time … a regular scandal that was.”

I crept near to the door. I must not miss this. What scandal? I asked myself. Did my mother know of it?

“Well, it was all cleared up, wasn’t it?”

“Sort of. He didn’t kill her. That’s what they thought at first.”

“But it turned out she took the stuff herself instead.”

“All nice and convenient, wasn’t it?”

“Convenient! Why, it lost him the seat, they said. He was all set to take it.”

“Who knows? It
was
a Tory stronghold and he’s a Liberal.”

“But, but the Tories was getting really rattled. It looked like he was going to take it … make a record. The first time the Tories had been ousted for a hundred years or something.”

“But it didn’t happen.”

“No, his poor unwanted wife died in mysterious circumstances.”

“But I told you it was all right. He didn’t kill her.”

“I reckon it all worked out for the best. It kept the seat for the Tories.”

“Oh, you and your Tories. I’m a bit of a Liberal myself.”

“What do you know about it?”

“About as much as you do. There! That’ll be the lot. Come on. I’ve got the dinner to see to.”

I crept away from the door.

I felt excited, and the same time full of misgiving.

He had been married before. His wife had died … mysteriously. His
first
wife! And my mother was proposing to become his second.

I wondered what I could do. Warn her? But she must know about that long-ago scandal. She ignored it. She was bemused. She was bewitched by him.

I wished people would talk to me. I knew it was no use asking the Emerys or either of the maids. They would not tell me.

There was only one thing I could do and that was call on Pedrek’s help. Together we might discover what it was all about.

He was eager to help and asked their butler with whom he was on very friendly terms; he was told that some time ago Benedict Lansdon had stood for election in Manorleigh and just before it took place his wife had died; she had been a quiet, rather nervous woman and he had been very friendly with Mrs. Grace Hume. It had been hinted that Benedict murdered his wife to get her out of the way. It was all rumor and nothing was proved at the time of the election, and if this had not all come out, Benedict Lansdon would almost certainly have won the seat. But he was defeated at the polls because of the scandal and lost his chance of becoming a Member of Parliament. A note was discovered later … which had been written by the wife before she died. In it she said she was taking her life because she was suffering from some uncurable disease and was beginning to be in great pain.

So he was exonerated, but it was too late for him to win the election and in any case he had gone out of politics.

So there was some secret in his past. And this was the man who was to marry my mother and take her away from me!

From then on it grew worse. I saw less of my mother. They were making plans for the wedding. Uncle Peter wanted a grand one.

“There is nothing people like better than romance,” he said. “And if you are going to stand for Parliament, it is a good idea to get into the public eye … in the right way, of course.”

“That is just like Uncle Peter,” my mother said, laughing. She was always laughing at that time. “Personally I don’t care what sort of wedding it is.”

Aunt Amaryllis sided with Uncle Peter. She always did.

Benedict Lansdon was in the process of buying the house at Manorleigh. My mother had taken me down to see it. “It will be our home for much of the time, I imagine,” she said. “We shall have to nurse the constituency.”

“What of our house?” I asked.

“Well, I think I shall sell it. We shall have your … stepfather’s house in London.”

I felt my face grow red. My stepfather! I thought. What am I going to call him? I can’t call him Mr. Lansdon. Uncle Benedict? He is not my uncle. But there were a lot of people in our family called uncle although they had no right to the title. Uncle was just a nebulous form of address. It made a mockery of the title, I told Pedrek, who agreed with me. It seemed to be a major problem and I marvelled that so small a thing should matter so much. But what was I going to call him? Father? Never! It would have to be Uncle, I supposed. It was both confusing and embarrassing.

My mother went on trying to pretend she had not noticed my embarrassment and understanding it perfectly.

“We shall have
that
house in London and goodness knows, that is spacious enough—and the place at Manorleigh. Oh, it will be fun, Becca.” She reverted to my old childhood name when she wished to be especially tender. “You will love it. The Manorleigh house is just outside the little town and it will be in the country. You’ll love that. There will be plenty of scope for riding. You’ll have a lovely schoolroom. Miss Brown … and all of us … will be expecting great things from you.”

“What about Mr. and Mrs. Emery …?”

“Oh, I have spoken …
we
have spoken … about that. I am going to ask them if they would like to come with us to Manorleigh.”

That made me feel a good deal better. There would be those familiar faces near me. Moreover I knew they had been worried about their jobs.

I cried: “Oh, they will be so pleased. I heard them talking …”

“Oh? What did they say?”

“They didn’t know what would happen to them, but they reckoned you would see they were all right.”

“Of course. I’ll tell them at once. Then they can decide whether they want to come. What else did they say?”

I was silent. I could hear the clock ticking and the seconds passing. I was on the point of telling her what they had said about
his
wife. I could warn her perhaps. The moment passed. She did not seem to notice the hiatus.

“Oh, nothing … I can’t remember …” I said.

It was the first lie I remembered telling her.

He had indeed come between us.

My grandparents arrived in London.

I was disappointed that they seemed to be overcome by their admiration for Benedict Lansdon and delighted by the prospect of the marriage.

There was a great deal of excited talk about the constituency and the possibility of a general election.

“Not much chance yet,” said my grandfather. “Gladstone is well in … unless he comes a cropper over Ireland again.”

“It will come in time,” said my mother. “And we don’t want it too soon. Benedict has to make his presence felt before that.”

“He will do that,” added my grandmother with conviction.

She soon noticed that all was not well with me.

We went for a walk in the Park together and I quickly realized that she had arranged it so that we could talk in peace.

It was one of those late autumnal days—the mist only faintly disturbed by the softest of winds which blew from the southwest—dampish, leaving the skin glowing. There was a smell of autumn in the air and a few bronze leaves remaining on the trees.

As we walked by the Serpentine, she said to me: “I believe you are feeling a little … left out. Are you, my dear?”

I was silent for a moment. She put her arm through mine.

“You mustn’t think that. Everything is the same between you and your mother.”

“How can it be?” I demanded. “He will be there.”

“You will enjoy his company. He will be like your father.”

“I can only have one father.”

“My dearest child, your father died before you were born. You never knew him.”

“I know that he died saving Pedrek’s father’s life—and I don’t want any other father.”

She pressed my arm. “It has been a surprise to you. People often feel like that. You think there will be a change. Yes, there will be. But had you thought it might be a change for the better?”

“I liked it as it was.”

“Your mother is very happy,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed bitterly. “Because of him.”

“You and she have been together so much. The fact that your father died made that inevitable. I know there is a very special relationship between you—and there always will be. But she and Benedict … they have been such good friends … always.”

“Then why did she marry my father?
He
must have been a closer friend to her.”

“Benedict went to Australia. He was out of her life. They both married different people … at first.”

“Yes, and my father died saving another man’s life.
His
wife … she died too.”

“Why do you say it like that, Rebecca?”

“Like what?”

“As though there was something odd about it.”

“There was something odd about it.”

“Who said so?”

I closed my lips firmly. I was not going to betray the servants.

“Tell me what you heard,” she urged.

I remained silent.

“Please, Rebecca, tell me,” she begged.

“She died and they thought he had killed her because he didn’t want to be married to her any more … and he did not win the election because of it. And afterwards they found that she had killed herself.

“It’s true,” said my grandmother. “People will always blacken the case against others, particularly if they are in a prominent position. It’s a form of envy.”

“But she did die.”

“Yes.”

“I wish my mother was not going to marry him.”

“Rebecca, you must not judge him before you know him.”

“I do know him.”

“No, you don’t. We don’t even fully know those who are closest to us. He loves your mother. I am sure of that, and she loves him. She has been so long alone. Don’t spoil it.”

“I? Spoil it?”

“Yes. You can. If she thinks you’re not happy, she won’t be.”

“I don’t think she is aware of anyone or anything … except him.”

“Just at the moment she can think of little but her new life … her state of happiness. Don’t show hostility to him. Let her enjoy this. You
will
… in time. But you are building up prejudices against him … and that won’t do. You’ll find everything is more or less as it was. You’ll live in a different house, true. But what are houses? Just places to live in. And you will come down to Cornwall and be with your grandfather and me. Pedrek will be there …”

“Pedrek’s going away to school.”

“Well, there’ll be holidays. You don’t think he won’t be coming to see his grandparents just because he’s going to school, do you?”

“He’s very rich, this er …”

“Benedict. Yes, he is now. You are not going to hold that against him, are you? This is not an uncommon situation, you know. Lots of young people get uneasy when their parents remarry. You mustn’t make up your mind that he is some sort of villain. Stepparents often acquire an unhealthy reputation since Cinderella. But you are too sensible to be influenced by such things.”

I began to feel a slight relief. I always felt cosy with my grandparents. I kept saying to myself: “And they’ll be there. All I have to do is go to them.”

She pressed my arm. “Come on,” she said. “Tell me what’s worrying you.”

“I … I don’t know what to call him.”

She stopped short and looked at me; and then she started to laugh. To my surprise I found myself joining in.

She composed her features and looked very serious.

“Oh, what a weighty matter!” she said. “What are you going to call him? Step-papa? That won’t do. Stepfather? Step-pa … or simply Father.”

“I can’t call him that,” I said firmly. “I have a father and he is dead.”

She must have noticed the stubborn line of my mouth.

“Well, Uncle Benedict.”

“He’s not my uncle.”

“There is a family connection somewhere … a long way back … so you could do that with a fair conscience. Uncle Benedict. Uncle Lansdon. So that was what was worrying you!”

She knew it was more than that; but we had become lighthearted.

I had known that a talk with my grandmother would do me a lot of good.

I continued to feel better. I assured myself that, whatever happened, I had my grandparents. Moreover the atmosphere in the house had lightened considerably, for the servants were no longer anxious about their future. They were going to Manorleigh—all of them; and as the new house would be much bigger than our present one, there would probably be more servants. This would mean a rise in the status of the Emerys. Mrs. Emery would become a sort of housekeeper and he a full-time butler. Their anxieties had turned to pleasure and I could not spoil the happiness of those about me.

Then I heard more conversation. I must have been adept at keeping my ears open, partly because I was frustrated. On account of my youth, facts were often kept from me. There was nothing new about that, but in the past it had seemed less important.

This time it was Jane and Mrs. Emery and they were talking about the forthcoming wedding which was not surprising because it was everybody’s favorite topic.