The Changeling (34 page)

“Nor do I. But Mr. Pencarron is a business man. He does not go out and say, ‘This is a pretty house. I will buy it for my grandson and his wife-to-be.’ That I admire. He is a realist.”

“And that is a quality you admire very much.”

“It is wisdom. Romance, oh, that is beautiful, but the wise man, the realist, he says it is beautiful while it lasts … whereas a house must endure … it must not be blown away by the first strong wind.”

“I’m glad you don’t mind Mr. Pencarron taking advice. I thought you might be offended.”

“Certainly not. I understand. There is much I understand.”

“I am sure you are very wise.”

I spurred up my horse and we cantered across a field. We looked down at the sea.

“Do you ever feel nostalgic for France?” I asked.

He lifted his shoulders. “I visit now and then. It is enough. If we could go back to the Old France … perhaps I would be there. But not this time … the communards … Gambetta with his Republicans … they have destroyed the old France. But you do not want to hear of our politics … our mismanagements. I have made this my home now … and so have others. That is France for us. These matters are a bore. I will not speak of them.”

“I find them interesting … as I do our own politics. When I am in London …”

“Oh yes, you are at the heart of politics. In the house of your stepfather and my sister. But you will have to renounce all that. You are going to live the life of a lady of the manor. It is what you have chosen. I want to talk to you. Let us find a cosy inn. We can give the horses a rest and talk over a tankard of cider. How is that?”

“Yes, please let us do that. I am sure you have a lot to tell me about High Tor.”

The inn he chose was the one where, not so long ago, Pedrek and I had been. There was the King’s head with the dark sensuous face of the Merry Monarch depicted on the sign over the door.

“I believe the cider in here is of a particularly good vintage.”

We seated ourselves in the inn parlor with the horse brasses and the leaded windows and cider was brought to us by a buxom girl who claimed Jean Pascal’s attention for a few fleeting moments.

“Ha!” he said. “The old English inn … a feature of the countryside.”

“And a very pleasant one.”

“I agree!” He lifted his tankard. “Like so much in this country … its women for one thing and chief among them Miss Rebecca Mandeville.”

“Thank you,” I said coolly. “The Stennings are going at the end of the week, are they not?”

He smiled at me. “High Tor occupies your mind to the exclusion of everything else.”

“I admit it.”

“You see life at the moment in the glow of romance.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what it is like to be young … and in love. And you are both young and in love with the fortunate Pedrek.”

“I think we are both fortunate.”

“
I
think he is.”

There was a warm glow in his eyes. I thought: He cannot resist flirting with any woman … even one who, he knows, is on the point of marriage. It is all part of the way in which he looks at women. I supposed I should be amused and I was, to a certain extent, because we were in an inn parlor with mine host and hostess bustling about in the next room. It would have been different had I been alone with him. I felt safe.

He put his tankard on the table and leaned towards me.

“Tell me,” he said. “Have you ever had a lover before the worthy Pedrek?”

I flushed hotly. “What do you mean?”

He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders. Like most of his countrymen and women—I had noticed it in his sister Celeste—he used his hands a great deal in conversation.

“I mean … is this Pedrek the first?” He laughed suddenly. “And now you are going to say I am impertinent.”

“You read my thoughts,” I said. I had risen from my chair and he put out a hand and detained me.

“Do please sit down. You are very young, Mademoiselle Rebecca, and for that reason you close your eyes to much which goes on in the world. It is not a good thing to close one’s eyes. If one is going to live well and wisely … to have a good marriage and understand what it is all about … one must be wise in the ways of the world.”

“I thought we were going to talk about the house. Really, I don’t want to …”

“I know. You don’t want to look at reality. You want to make your pretty pictures and paste them over the truth … deluding yourself as you do so. There are people who delude themselves all through their lives. Are you going to be one of them?”

“Perhaps they are happy doing it.”

“Happiness? Can there be true happiness through shutting one’s eyes to reality?”

“I don’t know what you are trying to say but I don’t think it necessary to continue this conversation.”

“You are being a little … childish … is it?”

“Then you must be bored with my company and I will say goodbye. There is no need for you to leave. I may be childish but I am capable of riding back alone. I ride by myself frequently.”

“You are very pretty when you are angry.”

I turned away impatiently.

“You are afraid to listen to me,” he accused.

“Why should I be afraid?”

“Because you fear to listen to the truth.”

“I am not afraid, I assure you, but I find your questions offensive.”

“About a lover? I apologize. I know you are a virgin and propose to remain so until your wedding night. That is charming, I know. I was merely hinting that a little premarital experience can sometimes be an advantage.”

“I cannot understand why you are talking to me like this.”

His attitude changed and he became almost humble. “I am foolish,” he said. “That is why. Perhaps I am a little envious of Monsieur Pedrek.”

I said with what I hoped was a touch of sarcasm: “Now we have returned to the familiar methods. You complain about my veiling the truth with my romanticism so now I will tell you that I do not believe a word you say. You would use the same words, express the same sentiments, to any woman to whom you happened to be talking at the time. It signifies nothing. It is just idle conversation with you.”

“You are right. But in this case it happens to be true.”

“So you admit that you, who so admire the truth and think it should be revealed to all, are frequently false?”

Again the lifting of the shoulders, the spreading of the hands. “In France,” he said, “a young man’s father will arrange for him to take a mistress … usually an older charming worldly woman. It is to teach him the ways of the world so that when he marries he will not be
gauche.
You understand?”

“I have heard of this, but we are not French and it would seem we have a different code of morals here.”

“I doubt that the English are persistently moral while the French are universally corrupt.”

“Is this going to become a nationalistic battle between us?”

“By no means. There is so much here that I love, but there are times when your countrymen can be a little hypocritical, posing as the so-virtuous when they might be slightly less so than they proclaim. I think a little experience before marriage is good for us all, so that when we come to the greatest adventure, which is marriage, we know how to deal with those little crises which arise in the best-regulated unions. In all endeavors, experience is something to be cherished.”

“Are you suggesting that I … should be trying to gain this … experience?”

“I would not dare suggest such a thing. In fact I apologize most sincerely for having raised the subject.”

“I accept your apology and now we can drop the matter.”

“May I refill your tankard?”

“No thanks. I am ready to leave now. I think I should. There are things I have to do at home.”

He bowed his head. “First,” he said, “I want you to tell me that I am really forgiven.”

“You have apologized and I have accepted it.”

“I was very foolish.”

“I thought you were so wise on account of all your experience which I am sure has been great.”

He looked at me in such a forlorn manner that I could not help laughing.

“That is better,” he cried. “I believe I am truly forgiven. You see, I have always admired you so much. Your freshness, your beauty, your approach to life. Do not think I do not admire that innocence of yours, that air of chastity …”

“Oh please, you are going too far. I may be innocent and ignorant of those matters in which you are so well versed, but I do know flattery when I hear it. And you have laid it on with a trowel, as I have heard it described.”

“So I am foolish, am I not?”

“Listen. You think you understand me. Well, I understand you, too. You are very interested in women. You cannot keep your eyes from them. You are looking for a quick seduction with servant girls and in fact everyone you meet. There are some who say this is natural in young men. It is no concern of mine except that I insist they keep their speculative eyes off me.”

He smiled in a rather appealing way.

“I am duly chastened,” he said. “I see I have been quite foolish.”

“Well, I suppose we all are at times.”

“Then we are good friends again?”

“Of course. But please don’t talk to me in this fashion ever again.”

He shook his head emphatically. “And now another tankard to seal our reconciliation?”

“I have had enough, thank you.”

“Just a sip … or I shall think I am not well and truly forgiven.”

The cider was brought and we lifted our tankards.

“Now we are the best of friends,” he said. “And we shall talk about High Tor and as soon as the Stennings have gone you and Monsieur Pedrek will come over and I will show you everything you want to see.”

“Thank you. That is what we want.”

We talked of High Tor and then he began to tell me about the miniature court at Chislehurst and the members of the French aristocracy who visited the Empress from time to time.

He was very amusing and he had a gift for mimicry which could be very funny, particularly when he was imitating his own formal countrymen and -women.

I laughed a great deal and he was delighted. I could not understand what had made him talk to me as he had in the beginning. However, I believed I had made him realize his mistake.

So after all it was quite a pleasant afternoon.

The Stennings had delayed their departure for a week but at length they left; and it was a Tuesday morning when Jean Pascal sent a message to me at Cador.

He was asking Mr. Pencarron to come over that afternoon at three o’clock so that they could clear up a few points which Mr. Pencarron wished to raise. Would I care to come and join them? I sent the messenger back saying that I should be pleased to.

The girls were there when the messenger came and wanted to know what it was all about.

“It’s from Monsieur Bourdon,” I said.

“From High Tor?” asked Belinda.

“Yes.”

“Are you going over there this afternoon?”

“Yes, this afternoon.”

“I’d like to come, too,” said Lucie.

“Not today. Perhaps some other time. If we have the house you will be there often. It will be great fun getting the furniture and all that.”

“Lovely,” said Lucie.

I could scarcely wait and immediately after the midday meal I set out for High Tor.

When I arrived there were no grooms about so I took my horse to the stables and went to the house. I rang the bell and heard the clanging ringing through the emptiness. Jean Pascal opened the door.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m glad you have come.”

“Is Mr. Pencarron here?”

“Not yet … but come in.”

We went into the hall.

“It looks bigger without the furniture,” I said.

“It is easier for you to see where you want to put your own.”

“That table?” I asked. “Will you be taking that away or selling it … or does it go with the house?”

“We’ll see about that. There are one or two other pieces. You might like to see them and decide whether you want them. Shall we look now?”

“What time did Mr. Pencarron say he would come?”

“He was a little uncertain. He said it would depend on some business at the mine.” Noticing my anxious look, he went to the door and opened it. “If I leave it ajar he’ll be able to come in. Come up to the first floor and look at this vase.”

He paused on the landing while we studied it.

“It’s rather fine, is it not?” he said.

“Yes, it is lovely and something would be needed at that spot.”

We went through to the gallery. “You will have to start a picture gallery,” he said.

“I daresay my grandparents will have some of the family portraits to pass on. They have plenty, I think.”

“You will start a dynasty.”

I laughed as he led the way up some stairs and threw open a door of a room. The curtains were still at the windows and in the center of the room was a large four poster bed.

“Bourdon family heirloom,” he said.

“It’s very grand.”

“The velvet of the curtains is a little worn. The pile has rubbed away over the years.”

“You will be taking that away, I suppose.”

“I daresay my mother will not want to let it go.”

He sat down on it and took my hand so suddenly and firmly that before I realized what was happening I was sitting beside him.

I must have looked alarmed for he said: “Are you just a little uneasy?”

“No,” I lied. “Should I be?”

“Well … perhaps. Here you are in a house alone with a man whom you know to be a bit of a sinner. After all, he has not really made a secret of the fact, has he?”

I attempted to rise, but he held me back.

“You are a little idiot in some ways, Rebecca,” he said. “But I adore you.”

“Mr. Pencarron will be here at any moment. Don’t you think this is a strange way to behave? You apologized for your impertinence before and I accepted your apology.”

“I do not like apologizing very much.”

“No one does but there are times when it is necessary. So please do stop behaving in this foolish manner.”

His reply was to grip me hard and hold me against him. He bent his head and kissed me on the lips.

I was really frightened then. I tried to free myself but he was stronger than I.