The Changeling (17 page)

“You make it all sound very simple.”

“It
is
simple. As for you … you must have a London season.”

“I wouldn’t want that.”

“You must have it. It would be …”

“Suitable?”

“Necessary … in your position. You are my stepdaughter, you must remember. It would be expected. Moreover, you would find it very enjoyable … exciting even.”

“I am not sure about that.”

“I am. You have lived too long out of touch down here.”

“I have been as happy … as I could be in the circumstances.”

“I know. Your grandparents have been wonderful.”

“I suppose you can take Belinda, but I won’t come. I can’t. There is a reason.”

“What reason?”

“The child Lucie.”

“Oh,” he said. “That little girl in the nursery. I thought she was the nurse’s child.”

“She is not the nurse’s child. I have adopted her. I would not go anywhere without her. I don’t expect you to understand. I am sure you would consider it most … unsuitable.”

“Why not try and explain?”

“I have told you. I have adopted her.”

“You … a young girl … adopt a child! It sounds absurd.”

“My grandparents understand.”

“I hope you will give me a chance to.”

I told him what had happened at the party. He listened with horror.

“Belinda … my daughter … did that!”

“She didn’t realize what she was doing. However, the mother died from burns and shock. She died saving her child whom I felt to be our responsibility. Belinda is my half-sister. I had to do something. I know it is what my mother would have expected me to do.”

He nodded. “What of Belinda? What was her reaction?”

“She was contrite. She did her best to make Lucie welcome in the nursery. She was somewhat antagonistic towards her before. It was that, I think, which caused her to set the dress alight. But we knew she did not understand the danger of fire. But she knew she had done a terrible thing. Leah, the nurse, is wonderful with her. She understands her and manages her as well as anyone can. But I have vowed always to look after Lucie because she lost her mother due to the action of a member of my family. I shall look after her and shall never do anything which prevents my being able to do so.”

He was looking at me intently; I fancied—but I may have been wrong—that I saw something like admiration in his eyes.

Then he said: “There was nothing else you could have done, but it would have been better if your grandparents had taken full responsibility for the child.”

“
I
did it. I wanted to. And she is
my
responsibility.”

“Well, you have left her while you went away to school.”

“With my grandparents … yes.”

“She can stay with your grandparents.”

“But you are going to take Belinda and the nursery with you.”

“There is only one answer then. The child must come with us.”

“You mean you will take her into your household?”

“What else? You are coming to London. So is Belinda. So the child must come, too.”

He was smiling at me triumphantly because he had removed the obstacle I had tried to set up.

He went on: “As soon as we are settled in, you, with the young children, will come to London. I will make all the arrangements with your grandparents. They see the point of your coming. They liked you to be here, of course, but then you will be coming back and forth for holidays and so on … just as you used to before … before …”

I nodded.

“And, believe me, Rebecca, it is the best thing for you. It is what your mother would have wished. I think you can finish school. I had, thought of your going for a year or so to some establishment on the Continent where they are supposed to do wonders for girls.”

“I would not leave Lucie for a year … or even six or seven months.”

“I gathered that, so we will dispense with the finishing school. As soon as you are settled in we will set about your presentation. I think it takes place at Easter so there is plenty of time for next year. You’ll be eighteen then. That’s about the age, I believe.”

“When do you propose to marry?”

“In about six weeks’ time. Would you come up for the ceremony?”

I shook my head. He understood. He touched my arm lightly.

“I think you will find it all for the best, Rebecca,” he said gently.

I knew, of course, that protests were useless. My grandmother had said that as I was his stepdaughter he was my natural guardian. He would take Belinda. She was his natural daughter and Leah and Miss Springer would go with her. It would be best for Lucie and I must accept that.

“I am sure,” he said, “that you will get along well with my future wife.”

“I hope the children will.”

“I do not think she will want to interfere in the nursery. She is considerably younger than I. As a matter of fact, I believe you have met her. Some time ago she was living here in Cornwall … at a house called High Tor.”

“High Tor!” I cried. “But that was taken over by some French people.”

“That’s right. I believe the family still own the place and the present tenants rent it from them. They have a place in Chislehurst and also in London.”

“Then it must be the Bourdons.”

He smiled. “Mademoiselle Celeste Bourdon will be my wife.”

I was astounded. I tried to remember Monsieur and Madame Bourdon and found I could not recall their faces, but I did have faint memories of the younger ones. Celeste and Jean Pascal. Celeste must have been six or seven years older than I. That would make her twenty-three or -four years old now, so she was truly considerably younger than Benedict. And Jean Pascal, the rather dashing young man, must be about two years older than his sister.

“I met them in London,” went on Benedict, “and of course we were immediately interested in the Cornish connection.”

“I see,” I said.

But I could not help feeling a twinge of uneasiness. Why was it that I should feel so about people of whom I had a slight acquaintance rather than complete strangers?

There were several weeks respite. There would be the wedding and then I suppose a honeymoon and after that the new wife might need a little time to put her house in order before we were required to descend upon her.

But as I said to my grandmother, we should prepare the children; she agreed with me and suggested that I should be the best one to do this.

I went to the nursery. It was not lesson time so Miss Stringer was absent. I did not feel she was so important. She could teach anywhere, but to the others Cornwall had been home all their lives and I wondered how they would feel about being uprooted.

Leah was there with the two girls. Belinda was stretched out on the floor doing a jigsaw puzzle. Lucie knelt beside her handing pieces to her. Leah was sitting in the armchair sewing.

Lucie leaped up and ran to me as I entered. Belinda went on with the puzzle.

“Do come and sit down,” said Leah.

Lucie took my hand and led me to a chair. She stood leaning against me.

“I have something to tell you,” I said.

Belinda glanced up from the jigsaw. “What?” she demanded.

“I’ll tell you when you come and sit down.”

Belinda looked at the puzzle as though she were going to refuse.

“All right. If you don’t want to hear, I’ll just tell Leah and Lucie.”

“If it’s important …” she began.

“Belinda doesn’t want to know,” I said, “so come over here and I’ll tell you two.”

Belinda jumped up. “
Of course I
want to hear and
of course
I’m going to listen.”

She had a habit at the moment of using “of course” rather superciliously in almost every sentence where it could be worked in and it was a little irritating.

“All right. Come and sit down and you shall hear. We are going away.”

“All of us?” asked Lucie looking fearfully at me.

“You, Belinda, Leah, Miss Stringer and I.”

“Where?” demanded Belinda.

“To London part of the time and partly to Manorleigh. We are going to your father, Belinda.”

For once she was taken aback.

“You are going too, Lucie,” I went on reassuringly. “It will be just the same only it won’t be this house. It won’t be Cornwall.” I pressed Lucie’s hand. “I shall be there, too. It will be our home. Of course, we shall come down here often. It is just that for most of the time we shall be somewhere else.”

“Is that all?” said Belinda.

“Isn’t it enough?”

“Of course, if I don’t like it I won’t stay.”

“We shall see.”

“I don’t like my father,” went on Belinda. “He’s not a very nice man. He doesn’t like me.”

“You have to make him like you … if you can.”

“Of course I can.”

“Well then, we shall look forward to seeing you do it.”

“Of course I shan’t if I don’t want to.”

I turned to Leah. “There’ll be a certain amount of packing to do,” I said.

“Yes,” said Leah. “When do we go?”

“I’m not quite sure yet. We have to wait until he is ready for us.”

Belinda went back to her puzzle.

“Do you want me to help?” Lucie asked her.

Belinda shrugged her shoulders and Lucie settled down beside her.

Leah and I left them and went into the adjoining room.

“Mr. Lansdon is going to marry,” I told her.

“Oh? Is that why …?”

“Yes. When he has a wife he wants to get the family together, I believe.” I could not help adding maliciously: “It is good for his image as an M.P.”

“I see.”

“You’ll be surprised to hear whom he is marrying. You remember the Bourdons? Of course you do. You went up to High Tor to do repairs to their priceless tapestries, didn’t you?”

She looked faintly bewildered.

“Yes,” I went on. “It’s quite a coincidence. Mr. Lansdon met the family in London. They are living mainly at Chislehurst now, I gather. Do you remember Mademoiselle Celeste?”

She had turned away slightly. She seemed a little disconcerted. I supposed the thought of our departure from Cornwall, which was after all her home, had upset her a little. She said quietly: “Yes, I remember.”

“She is going to be his wife.”

“I see.”

“You will know the family better than I do. You were there for some little time working on those tapestries, weren’t you?”

“Oh yes … several weeks.”

“Well, she won’t be exactly a stranger to you.”

“Er … no.”

“Do you think we shall get on all right with her? Mr. Lansdon seems to think she won’t want to interfere in the nursery.”

“No. I am sure she would not.”

“Well, we shall see. I am afraid it’s certain, Leah. Mr. Lansdon insists. After all Belinda is his daughter.”

“Yes,” she murmured. Her thoughts seemed far away. I wished I knew what she was thinking but she had always struck me as being rather withdrawn … mysterious in fact.

The time arrived when we were to leave Cornwall.

My grandmother said: “It’s the best thing for you really. But we shall miss you terribly. It makes it harder for us because all of you are going. But we both agree it is for the best and it is only right that Benedict should have his daughter with him.”

“He only wants us so that he can have a family to show his constituents.”

“I don’t think that is entirely true. Try to be fair to him, Rebecca. He’s had a hard time and one thing I do know: he really loved your mother. He has lost her, don’t forget, just as you have.”

“But he is putting someone else in her place now.”

“I do not believe he will ever do that.”

I was not sure.

Leah was growing more and more uneasy as time passed. It must have been a great upheaval for her. I believed she had never been out of Cornwall before. Belinda was excited though. She kept talking of the grand house she was going to live in the big city. She was going to live with her rich and important father whom she did not like much but she would forget about him and enjoy the house.

Lucie watched me and would take her cue from me, I knew. So I tried to pretend that I found it all exciting and not give her an inkling of my feelings of disquiet.

I thought at least I should enjoy Manorleigh where I should find the Emerys, Ann and Jane who had been with us before my mother’s marriage. Moreover I had felt a certain attachment to the house … particularly the haunted garden.

In a way, although I did not want to share Benedict’s house, it was an exciting project—particularly as I was to be presented at Court.

A carriage was waiting for us at the station. Miss Springer, who had come from London, was in good spirits. She had no regrets about the move and it was obvious that she believed we were going to lead lives of much greater interest in the big city than we could in some remote country place.

Benedict and Celeste were waiting to receive us when we arrived at the house. He was quite gracious and seemed very pleased to see us. Celeste hovered in the background until he signed for her to come forward.

She had changed from the girl I had seen all those years ago. She was a young woman now. Attractive, I thought, though not exactly beautiful or even pretty; but she was dressed with elegance in a pale grey gown of what I imagined was a Parisian cut. There were pearls at her neck and in her ears. Her dark hair was beautifully dressed and she moved with becoming grace.

She came forward and took my hands.

“I am so pleased you are here,” she said with a very pronounced French accent. “I am touched that you come. You must be happy here. It is what we want … the two …” She smiled ingratiatingly at Benedict.

“Yes,” he said, returning her smile. “It is what we want. And the children …” He looked towards them. “Belinda …” She gave him a rather defiant look. “And … er … Lucie.”

I took Lucie’s hand and brought her forward.

“I hope you will like your new home,” said Celeste very carefully as though she had learned the words by heart.

I could see the children were a little fascinated by her.

She smiled at Leah. “But … we have met. You came … I remember it well.”

Leah flushed and the look of uneasiness returned. She did not seem to want to recall her stay at High Tor although, from what we have heard from Mrs. Polhenny, the Bourdons had been delighted by her work.