The Changeling (3 page)

“The Lord will take His vengeance one day … mark my words.”

“I can hardly see East and West Poldorey as Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“It’s coming, you’ll see.”

“I hope not. But what I do see is that we are holding up your work. We’ll say goodbye, Mrs. Polhenny.”

We stood outside the church and my grandmother breathed deeply, as though she needed fresh air after the atmosphere iii the church.

Then she turned to me and laughed. “What a self-righteous woman. I’d rather have a sinner any day. Oh well … she’s an excellent midwife. There isn’t a better in the whole width and breadth of Cornwall. My dear, we must look after that poor girl. I’ll go along to the cottages tomorrow and see what I can find out.”

She seemed suddenly to remember my age, and possibly it occurred to her that I was being introduced to the facts of life before I was ready to absorb them.

She went on: “We’ll go over to Pencarron this afternoon. Isn’t it wonderful that you have Pedrek here with you?”

I thought a lot about Mrs. Polhenny and always scrutinized her cottage closely when I passed by. It was just outside East Poldorey and often I would see clothes drying on the bushes. There were lace curtains at the windows, spotlessly clean, and the stone steps leading to the front door were regularly scrubbed. She obviously believed that cleanliness was next to godliness; and saw herself as an upholder of both virtues.

Once or twice I glimpsed Leah at a window. She would be there with her embroidery frame, stitching away. Sometimes she looked up from her work and saw me. I would smile, wave my hand, and she would acknowledge my greeting.

I should have liked to talk to her. I wanted to know what it was like living with a mother such as Mrs. Polhenny. But she always gave me the impression, if ever I hesitated, that she must get on quickly with her work.

Poor Leah! I thought. It must be hard to be the daughter of a saintly woman who, as she felt it her duty to uphold the morals of the countryside, must be much more strict in her own home.

I thanked God for my mother, my grandparents and the Pencarrons. They might not be so concerned with the laws of God but they were much more comfortable to live with.

So that summer passed as others had. My grandmother visited Bays Cottages and took clothes and food for the young girl; Mrs. Polhenny delivered a healthy boy in due course and my grandmother affirmed that, however irritating she was in other ways, she knew her job and mothers were safe in her hands.

I seemed to see Jenny Stubbs more frequently that year. Perhaps it was because I noticed her more. I would see her in the lanes. She worked for one of the farmers’ wives and I heard she was a good worker. They all humored her, it was said, and Mrs. Bullet, the farmer’s wife, made sure none of the other workers teased her or disillusioned her as to her state. “It does no harm to none,” said Mrs. Bullet, “so let the poor soul have her fancies.”

So Jenny, singing in her reedy off-key tone and Mrs. Polhenny preaching righteousness wherever she went … that was what I remembered most from that Last Summer.

And now, looking back, that seems somehow significant.

It is all so clear to me; waving goodbye to the grandparents, which was rather sad in a way. I tried to hide from them the excitement I felt at the thought of seeing London again.

“I wish,” I said to Pedrek, “that we could all live close together.”

He had the same problem. His grandmother was almost in tears at his departure. Like myself, he wanted to show how sad he was and yet he could not hide his eagerness to be reunited with his parents. The similarity of our positions had always drawn Pedrek and me closer together.

Then we were speeding back to London.

Pedrek’s parents were at the station to meet us. It was the usual ritual. If I had been travelling with his parents, my mother would have been there. There is something very comforting about normality which I did not appreciate until it ceased to be there.

We drove back to our house first where we would have tea before the Cartwrights went off to their place only a few streets away, taking Pedrek with them.

Innumerable questions were asked and Pedrek and I talked happily about what we had done in Cornwall.

We were all sitting at the table—Miss Brown and Pedrek’s tutor with us—when a visitor arrived.

“Mr. Benedict Lansdon!” announced Jane with more dignity than was customary with her. And there he was—very tall and with what I can only describe as a commanding presence.

“Benedict,” said my mother, rising.

She went to him and he took both her hands and they stood there smiling at each other.

Then she turned to us. “Isn’t this a nice surprise?”

“I discovered what train you were catching,” explained Benedict Lansdon.

“Come and sit down and have a cup of tea,” said my mother warmly.

He smiled at us all and pleasantries were exchanged.

I felt deflated. We had departed from the normal. We should have gone on chattering about Cornwall, encouraged by our parents, and then Pedrek should have departed with his mother and father after we had made arrangements when next to meet. That was how it usually went.

“How are things in the mining world?” asked Benedict, smiling at Pedrek’s father.

“Oh … ups and downs,” said Justin Cartwright. “I am sure you know as much about the mining world as I do … only I suppose tin isn’t gold.”

“There must be a difference,” said Benedict Lansdon. “But my close connection with all that ended long ago.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” replied Justin Cartwright.

“I’m going into politics again,” said Benedict Lansdon, looking at my mother.

Her eyes widened with pleasure. “Oh really, Benedict, that’s wonderful. I always said …”

He looked at her, nodding and understanding passed between them. I felt shut out. It was as though I had just discovered that she had a life which did not include me.

“I know you did,” he went on. “Well, that is what is happening.”

“Do tell us the news, Benedict,” begged Morwenna, Pedrek’s mother.

“It’s no secret,” he replied. “I am up for selection as candidate for Manorleigh.”

“Your old constituency,” cried Justin.

Benedict nodded. He was looking straight at my mother. I, who knew her so well, felt a twinge of alarm.

“All very fortuitous,” said Benedict. “Tom Dollis died suddenly. Poor chap, he was quite young. A heart attack. He had only been in the House a short while. It will mean a by-election soon.”

“Isn’t it a Conservative stronghold?” asked Justin.

Benedict nodded. “Has been for years … but it was almost broken … once.”

Again that glance at my mother. “If I’m selected,” he went on, “we shall have to make sure the seat doesn’t change hands again.”

We? It was as though he included her.

She lifted her teacup. “Having nothing stronger at hand,” she said, “I’ll drink to your success in tea.”

“What does the beverage matter?” he said. “It’s the wish that counts.”

“Well, it’s most exciting, I must say.”

Again that smile between them. “I think so,” he said. “I knew you would.”

Morwenna said: “I do know you are an ardent supporter of Mr. Gladstone.”

“My dear Morwenna, he’s the greatest politician of the century.”

“What of Peel … Palmerston …?” began Justin Cartwright.

Benedict dismissed them with a flick of the hand.

“And they do say that Mr. Disraeli is quite brilliant,” added Morwenna.

“That upstart! He owes his rise to his oily flattery of the Queen.”

“Oh come,” said Justin. “Surely there is more to it than that? The man’s a genius.”

“With a flair for self-advertisement.”

“He did become Prime Minister.”

“Oh, for a month or so …”

My mother burst out laughing. “I can see that we are going to be deeply involved in the politics of the day. When is the by-election, Benedict?”

“In December.”

“They’ll have to make a decision quickly.”

“It’s not much time to prepare. I should manage though.”

Neither Pedrek nor I had spoken during this discourse and I was wondering whether he was thinking the same as I was which was, that they had completely forgotten that we were there. Usually after long separations, they wanted to hear all that had been going on, how our riding had improved, how high we could jump, how the grandparents were, what the weather had been like and such things.

Then they were talking about Mr. Gladstone’s plans for reform in Ireland. Benedict Lansdon, of course, knew all about that. He took control and the others were his audience. We heard how Mr. Gladstone was concerned about the distressed state of the Irish and the growing discontent in that country and he was convinced that the remedy lay with the government.

And that was our homecoming—spoilt, I commented to Pedrek, by Benedict Lansdon.

Our lives from then on were dominated by the man. He was a constant caller. When I walked in the Park with my mother he often joined us. They would talk together and seem to forget that I was there, though sometimes he addressed a remark to me. He asked me how I was getting on with my riding and said we must all go riding together.

He had been selected—as my mother had known he would be—and was thinking of buying a house in Manorleigh; he wanted my mother to go down there and give her opinion.

I was longing for him to go. He had rented a furnished house there while he looked round. But he was frequently in London.

November was almost with us. They were sweeping up the leaves in the parks and there was a lovely smell of burning in the air. It was misty and a blue haze hung over the trees which made them look mysterious. Pedrek and I had always loved this time of year; we would shuffle through the leaves and conjure up all sorts of fantastic adventures in which we triumphed and astonished everyone with our bravery, ingenuity and skill.

But the dreams would not come that year. A faint uneasiness was creeping into my mind.

And then … I learned the worst.

I had gone to bed and was sitting up reading as I often did and which was allowed by Miss Brown before she came to put out the light.

My mother entered the room. Her eyes were brilliant. I had heard talk about people being radiant and that was how she was. She glowed with an inner light. I had never seen such unadulterated happiness.

She lay down on the bed and put her arms round me.

“Rebecca,” she said, “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

I turned to her and buried my face against her shoulder.

She stroked my hair. “There has always been just us … hasn’t there? You and I together. Oh, there was the family, of course, and we loved them all dearly … but for us … you and me … there was always something very close and dear … and it is always going to be like that for as long as we both shall live.”

I nodded. I was beginning to be rather frightened for some instinct told me what she was going to say.

Then it came: “I’m going to be married again, Rebecca.”

“No … no,” I murmured.

She held me tightly. “You will grow to love him, as I do. He is a wonderful man. I knew him when I was young … not much older than you are now. There has always been a very special friendship between us.”

“You married my father,” I reminded her.

“Yes … yes … but I have been a widow for a long time … a very long time.”

“It’s ten years,” I said. “He died just before I was born.”

She nodded. “You don’t ask …” she began.

I did not have to. I knew. In any case, before I could speak, she said: “It’s Mr. Benedict Lansdon.”

Even though I had known it must be he, a shock ran through me.

She said: “You will be very fond of him, Rebecca. He is a most unusual man.”

I did not speak. The answer to the first sentence was: Never. And the second: Yes, I know he is unusual. But I did not like unusual people. I liked them to be ordinary, understanding nice people.

“Everything will be just as it was,” she went on.

“It can’t be,” I said.

“Well, there will be a little change … for the better, though. Oh, Rebecca, I’m so happy. I have loved him for a long time. He’s different from anyone I have ever known. When we were children we shared adventures and then he went away … and I met your father.”

“My father was a great man … a hero …”

“Yes, I know. We were happy together, but he is dead … and he would not want me to go on mourning him for ever. Rebecca, you are going to be happy. Everyone should have a father.”

“I have a father.”

“I mean one who is here with you … to help you … to advise you and love you.”

“But I am not
his
daughter.”

“You will be his stepdaughter. Rebecca, don’t spoil this. I am so happy tonight. I never thought to be so happy in my life. You’ll get used to the idea. What are you reading?”

“Robinson Crusoe.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it? I noticed Pedrek was reading it the other day.”

I nodded.

She kissed me. “I just wanted you to be the first to know. Goodnight, my darling.”

She was faintly uneasy because I had cast a cloud over her happiness—but only a little one. I knew that she was thinking I was only a child and I was perhaps a little jealous and afraid of Benedict Lansdon coming between us.

It was natural, she was telling herself.

Perhaps I should have pretended to be pleased, but I could not be as deceitful as that.

The family were delighted. There was a dinner party at Uncle Peter’s to celebrate the engagement. The wedding was to be soon.

My grandparents would come up to London for the ceremony. They had written sending congratulations and expressing their pleasure in the forthcoming marriage. Uncle Peter was clearly delighted. He was fond of my mother and very proud of Benedict who had become so rich without any help from him. I think he cared more for him than his son Peterkin who had devoted his life to good works at the Mission, and Helena who had been such a perfect wife to Martin Hume.

It was rather different in our house where I was conscious of an atmosphere of brooding apprehension.