The Changeling (31 page)

She stood there expectantly, her lively eyes surveying my baggage.

“This is Madge,” said my grandmother. “She’s been with us a month now and works in the kitchen.”

“I was sent, Ma’am, to see if I could help Miss Rebecca with her unpacking.”

“Thank you,” I said with a little laugh, “but I can manage myself. I don’t really need any help.”

Still she hesitated, seeming reluctant to go.

“That’s all right then, Madge,” said my grandmother. “Just go and tell them Miss Rebecca can manage by herself.”

She bobbed a little curtsy and, looking disappointed, went out.

“What a striking looking girl,” I said to my grandmother.

“Yes, she’s very willing, I believe. I think she is very grateful to be here.”

“You say she has only been here a month or so.”

“Yes. She comes from Land’s End way. Mrs. Fellows heard of her and said she could do with a girl in the kitchen. She’s a bit shorthanded since Ada left to get married. So she came here.”

“Where had she been before? She seems quite young.”

“She’s from a family of eight … the eldest, I think. The father is one of those fanatical Bible thumpers. All hell fire and the wrath of the Lord type.”

“Oh, there are a lot of those in Cornwall.”

“They interpret the Bible their way and being by nature sadistic they want vengeance on all sinners which means, of course, people who don’t agree with them. If their sort had their way we should have stakes set up on Bodmin Moor and people being burned to death as they were in the days of Bloody Mary.”

“What happened to the girl then?”

“He threw her out.”

“What had she done?”

“Exchanged pleasantries with one of the cowmen. She must have been heard laughing on a Sunday. Then she was caught, talking with him, we heard, but it might have been something more. In any case she was turned out. Poor child. A sister of Mrs. Fellows took her in and then asked Mrs. Fellows if she could find a place for the girl. Hence she is here.”

“What a lot of trouble these people cause. By the way, this reminds me of Mrs. Polhenny. How is she?”

“Still fighting the good fight with all her might. You’ll see her on that bicycle of hers. It shakes her up quite a bit but it helps her to get round and, as she tells me every time I see her, she’s doing the Lord’s work.”

“Well, I’m glad this girl Madge found somewhere to go.”

“You’ll see her around. She’s the sort of girl who makes herself seen and heard. Well, we’ll talk later on. Just now I think I ought to go down and see what’s happening. We’re going to eat soon and then you can have an early night.”

When she had left me I unpacked, washed and changed my travelling clothes. I went downstairs where the children, freshly washed and combed, were already assembled with the rest of the family for the meal.

Pedrek was at my side. We talked eagerly. He told me how he was progressing at the college and how fortunate it was that it was so near. Being at St. Austell enabled him to get to Pencarron for week-ends, and we should be seeing each other frequently while I was at Cador.

It was a very happy evening and I reminded myself it was a prelude. It was wonderful to be at Cador.

I had not been in my room for more than five minutes when there was a knock on the door and my grandmother came in. This was the usual ritual. Whenever we met after a long absence she would come to my room on the first night and we would have what she called a “Catching-up chat.”

“Well,” I said as she sat in one of the armchairs. “What is the news?”

“I’ll tell you the worst first,” she said. “There’s been an accident at Pencarron Mine. It upset Josiah very much. He’s always had such a record for safety, which is due to meticulous and continual checks. So … although it wasn’t so bad as it might have been, it has upset him.”

“That’s terrible. Pedrek did not mention it.”

“We agreed not to … on your first night, and there wasn’t an opportunity really. It happened six weeks ago. Something caved in. It was possible to get most of the men out, but one was badly hurt, Jack Kellaway. It was … tragic.”

“How dreadful! Was he married?”

“Yes, with one child. A girl of eight or nine. Mary … Mary Kellaway … the poor wife, was distracted. Josiah was in a terrible state. I remember the day the news came through. It was the night shift. It was what happened afterwards which was really so dreadful. Jack Kellaway was so badly hurt that he would never work again. He could just crawl about the cottage. There was no hope for him really. He had always been a good husband and father and it was terrible for him. He could not bear to be a burden. One day when he was in the house alone he set fire to the place and cut his throat. He wanted it to seem as if he had been burned to death. It was something to do with insurance and he thought his wife and child would be better off without him. Some farm laborers happened to be passing and saw the fire and poor Jack’s body was found. It was very sad. The cottage was uninhabitable. His plan had gone wrong.”

“What a terrible story!”

“Josiah is going to see that Mary Kellaway and the girl are all right. The child is Mary too. He’s going to build a cottage for them. In the meantime we had to find somewhere for them to live. There wasn’t anything available except Jenny Stubbs’ old cottage near the pool.”

“So she is there?”

My grandmother nodded.

It was the cottage where Lucie had been born and spent her first years. Once I had been held captive there. I had always felt there was something mysterious about it. It was hardly the place to revive the poor widow’s spirits. I said so to my grandmother.

“I think she was glad to be quiet with a roof over her head and it was the only place. She seems to have settled in there. Oh, I know, it’s rather eerie. It’s that pool really … nothing to do with the cottage. It’s quite ordinary … just like all the others around here. It’s all that talk about the monastery being at the bottom of the water.”

“A lot of people still believe that.”

“Well, the Cornish are notoriously superstitious.”

“My mother always had a strong feeling about the pool.”

“I know.”

We were silent, thinking of her, then I said: “Are they still talking about the bells at the bottom of the pool which are supposed to ring to herald disaster?”

“Of course. They always did. The point is that people remember they heard them after the event.”

“What else has been happening?”

“One of the boats was lost in a gale. The gales were worse than usual this year.”

“A string of disasters.”

“Well, there are always the gales. Mrs. Jones had twins and Flora Grey is expecting a baby.”

“Good work for Mrs. Polhenny. How is she?”

“Doing her duty. Now tell me about yourself. The season went well, didn’t it? And you emerged engaged to be married.”

“That is what all girls are expected to do. But ours is a secret so I don’t get the glory.”

My grandmother laughed. “It is … wonderful. Our dearest hopes realized.”

“I did not know you were so dedicated to the idea.”

“We didn’t feel we could interfere. A marriage should be arranged between the two chief parties concerned.”

“But it is nice to find approval all round.”

“You haven’t told your stepfather?”

“Why should I?”

“He’s your guardian, I suppose. He’ll have to know.”

“You don’t think he’ll raise objections.”

She was silent and I flushed with indignation. Then I was laughing. “He won’t care,” I said. “He’s not interested. All he thinks about is getting on with his political career.”

“He did give you that expensive season.”

“He probably expected me to marry some great nobleman … someone who would bring kudos to him. ‘Rebecca Mandeville, stepdaughter of rising politician Benedict Lansdon, is to marry the Duke of …”

“Uncle Peter was like that. He always wanted such things to be noticed. Well, Benedict is his grandson. He might have the same thing in mind.”

I faced my grandmother. “If ever he tried to stop us …”

She smiled at me. “Don’t worry. We would talk him round.”

I stamped my foot in sudden rage. “It’s not his affair.”

“He might think differently.”

“I would not have it, Granny.”

“Well, don’t let’s imagine something which has not happened yet.”

“I think we were right in not telling people. We should wait until Pedrek and I are married.”

She did not answer. I knew it was something she would discuss with my grandfather later.

She changed the subject and said: “The children look well.”

“Leah turned out to be good for them.”

“She does a lot of sewing and they have beautifully embroidered dresses. She is always stitching. I think she is happy. But one can never be sure with Leah.”

“She must enjoy coming back here … after all it was her home.”

“I think she had a bad time before she escaped.”

“There was a change in her after she went up to High Tor. It must have been strange to her to find she was more or less working for the same people. Who would have thought Benedict would have married Celeste Bourdon?”

“It was rather surprising. I think it was their connections with Cornwall which made them interested in each other in the first place.”

“I’m glad he married again. We all know how it was between him and Angelet. They were made for each other. I think he suffered terribly. I like to think of him … settling down.”

“He hasn’t settled down.”

I told her about the locked room, the sadness of Celeste and the uneasy situation between him and Belinda.

“Belinda is very much aware of it,” I said. “It is quite wrong. But she is much better now. Miss Stringer is very good for her and Leah, of course, dotes on her. She probably lets her have too much of her own way. But what is rather nice is that she seems to be getting fond of me. Lucie is a help.”

“Dear Lucie! One would think she might be the one to develop complexes.”

“She knows of her birth. I thought it best that she should learn of it through me and not discover some other way. Belinda has a knack of finding out things and I did not want her taunting Lucie with it. Oh, they are good enough friends, but you know what children are. Lucie knows that I brought her into the household because her mother died. She does not know of course that her mother was strange and her father unknown. I said her father was dead … as he may well be … and that her mother lived near Cador and we had known her for a long time. She seemed content to leave it at that.”

“I am sure you will never regret insisting that we take her.”

“I had to do it, Granny. It was some compulsion.”

“You are a good sweet girl, Rebecca. You know what a comfort you have been to us.”

“Granny, we are getting morbid again.”

“All right … I won’t. Tell me about Belinda.”

“Christmas was good. There is a friend of my stepfather … well, a business associate really. He came down. He’s one of those suave men … very charming to everyone. Men of the world, I think you call them. He was particularly nice to Belinda and that made her very happy.”

“What that child needs is tenderness … special tenderness.”

“If only her father would notice her. I think that is what she wants. After all he
is
her father. But I notice that he avoids looking at her … and she knows it, too. It makes her truculent, always calling attention to herself … always wanting to be better than anyone.”

“How does Lucie react?”

“Lucie has a sunny temperament. She takes it without concern. I think she is aware Belinda is the daughter of the house and that she is the one who is privileged to be brought into it.”

“She is a dear child.”

I agreed. “And a wonderful companion for Belinda.”

“All was for the best then. But what are we going to do about Belinda and her father? How could we show him what he is doing to the child?”

“I don’t think he can help it. It’s a sad household, Granny. I liked it better at Manorleigh … when he was in London. Then Celeste had to be with him and we had the house to ourselves.”

“How’s Mrs. Emery?”

“Very grand and so is Mr. E. He’s developed great dignity. They both have. I get on well with Mrs. Emery who invites me to drink a cup of her best tea … Darjeeling … which comes from the Strand in London, she tells me. It’s only used on special occasions and when I take tea with her that is one of them.”

“She’s a good woman and I am glad she is with you. Now, my dear, it is getting late and time for bed. I’ll see you tomorrow … and the next day … and the next… and the next. Sleep well in your old bed and in the morning we’ll talk and talk. Goodnight, my darling.”

“Goodnight, Granny dear.”

It was a wonderful feeling to have come home.

In a few days I had settled in and it seemed as if I had never been away. I had done all the familiar things. I had walked into the town and been greeted by Gerry Fish wheeling his barrow through the streets and beyond as his father old Tom Fish had before him. He shouted a greeting. “Good day to ’ee, Miss Rebecca. How be to, then? You back with us now for a spell, me ’andsome?” Old Mrs. Grant, who had kept the wool shop when my mother was a girl and still did, although her hands were too crippled with rheumatism to allow her to do her crochet work now, came to the door of the shop to welcome me. There were the young Trenarths who had taken over the Fishermen’s Arms from old Pennyleg and were, to the dismay of some, introducing new ways.

They all had a welcome for me.

I paused to chat with the fishermen who were mending their nets and received a detailed description of the gale in which one of the boats had been lost.

It was comforting to realize that life did not change very much here.

The Pencarrons came over the day after our arrival and there was a happy reunion. Both of them had adopted a rather proprietorial attitude towards me. I was now to be their grand-daughter-in-law, and they wanted me to know how happy that made them.

My grandmother had warned me not to mention the mine disaster to them.

“It upset Josiah so much,” she explained. “No doubt he’ll tell you about it later on … or I expect Pedrek will. Just don’t bring it up. Let him enjoy the reunion.”