Philippa Carr - The Changeling

She came and sat beside me. She took my hand. “My dear child,” she said. “I know what you feel.”

“It’s the child,” I said. “There is something I must do.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to take her. I want her to come here … not as the child of a servant. I want her to be here with us … I just feel that is what must be.”

My grandmother nodded.

“You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes. And she is all alone now. What will become of her … some workhouse … an orphanage? Oh no, I couldn’t bear it. Something happened, Granny. Upstairs just now … it was as though my mother came to me.”

“Oh, my dear …”

“Was I dreaming? I don’t know. I thought she was in the room. I thought she was telling me what to do.”

“It was your heart telling you, Rebecca.”

“I don’t know. But I have to do it. I don’t care if no one will help me. I am going to look after Lucie.”

“What do you mean … if no one will help you? You know we’ll help you.”

I turned to her and she took me into her arms.

“Rebecca, you are a dear child and I’m proud of you. We will take her in. She shall share the nursery with Belinda. Belinda owes her that, doesn’t she?”

“What of Belinda, Granny?”

“She is a normal highspirited child. She meant no harm. Leah says she has been crying bitterly. It was just a game to her. She did not understand what fire could do.”

“Then she has learned a lesson tonight … a bitter one. And at what cost to poor Jenny and Lucie!”

My grandmother said: “Rebecca, it is the least we can do … if only for the sake of Jenny who, without a moment’s hesitation, gave her own life to save the child’s.”

“You always understood me.”

She stood up suddenly as though afraid of her emotion.

“It’s chilly,” she said. “We should get back to bed. Besides … what if Lucie should wake.”

“I should be there to comfort her. I always will be, Granny. I always will.”

I went to my room. Lucie was sleeping peacefully. I had a feeling that there was a presence there … my mother … and that she was pleased.

I HAD JUST PASSED my seventeenth birthday. It was six years since my mother had died. I had never forgotten that Christmas night when she had seemed to come to me. I often felt that she was close and that gave me great comfort.

My grandmother had often said we must get on with our lives. We must stop looking back and we were succeeding to a certain extent. I had done something for Lucie and she certainly had for me. I had cared for her—and she needed great care during the weeks which followed Jenny’s death—and she had given me a new interest in life. She had been bewildered; she had cried for Jenny. I had to be a substitute for her. It was fortunate that I had already found my way into her affections. I cannot think what would have happened to the child but for that. I was the one she now relied on; she looked to me for everything, and I was deeply touched and gratified that she had this trust in me. During those first weeks she followed me around. Her little face would pucker with fear if I went away. My grandmother tried to help and to stand in for me on those occasions when I had to part from her; but she said Lucie was always uneasy until I reappeared.

Everyone was so sorry for the child that they were eager to help in whatever way was possible. Leah was good with children and she took her into the nursery and made it her home. All the servants did their best and there was no resentment—as we had feared there might be—because a child from the cottages was being treated as a member of the family.

Belinda—rather to my surprise—was helpful and shared her toys, showing no rancor at the intrusion into her undisputed domain. I think she must have realized what a terrible thing had happened and that she had helped to bring it about. She was quieter than she had been for some time. Leah stressed that she should not be told that she was responsible for the death of Jenny Stubbs while at the same time she should be made to realize the danger of playing with fire. Leah seemed to have great understanding of children and was proving to be a wonderful nanny which surprised me when I considered the life she had led as the captive of a self-righteous mother, stitching the hours away at her embroidery.

When I had to go back to school I explained to Lucie that I should be home soon and in the meantime there was my grandmother as well as Leah and Belinda to look after her.

She accepted this with a look of sad resignation and the memory of her pensive little face was with me as I made my journey back to school.

When they had reached the age of five a governess had been engaged for them. Miss Stringer was energetic and efficient, brisk but kindly and she had a gift for enforcing discipline in a rather genial way which was very necessary in the case of Belinda.

Leah, of course, remained in charge of the nursery. My grandmother said she made herself more indispensable every day.

Benedict paid periodic visits which I always thought to him were a matter of duty. I wished he would stay away, for I could never see him without remembering how happy I had been before the fatal marriage which had resulted in my mother’s death. I believed I never would forget that or forgive him for spoiling my life.

On those occasions Belinda would be presented to him and I could see by his expression that he was remembering that her arrival had caused the departure of my mother. He bore the same resentment towards her which I did towards him; so I understood his feelings well.

Belinda was aware of it, I felt sure. She was a very sharp child. I had seen her regarding him with a hint of hostility in her eyes. Once as he turned away after a rather perfunctory talk about her riding and how she was getting on with her lessons, I saw the tip of a pink tongue protruding very slightly from her lips, and I could not help smiling. So she had retained the habit then. She was really a rather naughty little girl.

Well, there I was, my schooldays coming to an end. I might have guessed there would be speculation among the adult members of the family as to what was to happen to me.

Benedict wrote to my grandparents now and then and I knew something serious was about to happen when they said they wanted to talk to me.

I went to the small sitting room just off the hall where they were waiting for me. They both looked apprehensive.

“Rebecca,” began my grandfather, “you are growing up fast.”

I raised my eyebrows. Surely they had not asked me to come here to tell me such an obvious fact.

“Schooldays are over,” went on my grandmother, “and, of course, there is your future.”

I smiled at them. “Well, I shall be at home, I suppose. There is plenty for me to do here.”

“We have to think of what is best for you, of course,” said my grandfather and my grandmother went on: “Perhaps it is not the place for a young girl. At least your stepfather thinks something should be done.”

“My stepfather! What is it to do with him?”

“Well, he is your natural guardian, you know.”

“He’s not. You are. I’ve always been with you.” I was beginning to be alarmed.

My grandmother saw this and tried to soothe me. “We have to look at this clearly, Rebecca,” she said. “Your stepfather is going to be married.”

“Married!”

“It is six years since your mother died. A man in his position needs a wife.”

“And that is why he is getting married?”

My grandmother shrugged her shoulders. “I daresay he is very fond of the lady. It is very natural, Rebecca. I think it is what your mother would have wanted for him. She loved him very dearly, you know, as he did her.”

“So he is going to marry again!”

“He is probably lonely. He needs a wife … a family. He is a rising politician. A wife is an asset to a man in his position. I know he has been unhappy for a long time. I hope it is a success and he finds some happiness again.”

“But what of me?”

“He wants you to go and live in his house … you and Belinda.”

“And what of Lucie?”

“She would stay here perhaps. Don’t worry about her. We’d always care for her.”

“But I have promised …” I hesitated and went on: “I have sworn to look after her … always.”

“We know how you feel. But I think we should wait and see what happens. He is coming down soon.”

“I shall never leave Lucie.”

“It will be best to wait and see.”

“Who is he going to marry?”

“He did not say. It must be someone he met in London or Manorleigh. He would meet all sorts of suitable people in the course of his career, I daresay.”

“We can be sure she will be suitable.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Rebecca. I hope he will find some happiness.”

There was a certain amount of apprehension because Benedict was coming.

My grandfather said: “I imagine he is a little disappointed that Disraeli stayed in power so long. It must be five years. But Gladstone’s popularity is rising. There’ll probably be a new government in a year or two … and it won’t be Disraeli’s.”

“That’s the worst of politics,” replied my grandmother. “There’s so much luck in it. So much depends on who’s in and who’s out. There are all those years of waiting while a man gets older. It can mean that the most promising career never gets a chance to blossom. But I daresay if the Liberals get in Benedict will get a post if it is only an under secretaryship to start with. There is a forcefulness about him and it should be obvious that he is an outstanding man. Surely the sort who would add to his party’s stature.”

“H’m,” said my grandfather.

“I know what you are thinking … that matter of his first wife’s death.”

They talked freely before me now. It was an indication that I was adult. There was no secret in the family that, before Benedict had married my mother, he had married Lizzie Morley and through her had acquired the goldmine which had provided the foundation for his wealth, and that Lizzie had died suddenly and at first mysteriously, until it was discovered that she was suffering from a painful illness which must mean eventual death and she had taken her own life. However before that had been known foul play had been suspected. It had all been satisfactorily cleared up but such events have a way of creating something vaguely unpleasant which clings. People forget the true facts and remember that there was an unpleasant aura about something that happened in the past.

“Well,” said my grandfather, “it could be a reason.”

“To have a respectable family would do him a great deal of good,” added my grandmother.

“I am afraid he will never forget Angelet. Right from the time he came down here as a young man … I knew there was some special rapport between them.” His voice faltered and my grandmother changed the subject.

“We must wait and see,” she said briskly. “I am sure it will all turn out for the best.”

Would it? I wondered. He was going to marry again, because a wife was good for his political career. Belinda and I were to be his family for the same reason. There would always be a motive with him. Lizzie had brought him a goldmine; my mother had brought him love; and this new woman and Belinda and I were to provide the happy family which the voters liked their member to have.

One thing I was certain of was that no one was going to part me from Lucie.

On those occasions when I knew that he was coming I always built up a picture of him in my mind. Arrogant, overbearing, knowing I did not like him and therefore despising me because he was so wonderful that anyone who did not recognize this obvious fact must be a fool.

When he came he was always different from my mental picture which was a little disconcerting.

He arrived in midafternoon and one of the first things he did was have a talk with my grandparents.

After that my grandmother came to my room. “He wants to talk to you,” she said. “I think he really wants to do everything for the best.”

“The best for him,” I retorted.

“The best for all concerned,” she corrected. “It is better that he explains to you himself.”

I went down to him in the little sitting room. He rose and took my hands.

“Why, Rebecca, how you have grown!”

What did he expect, I wondered. That I was going to remain a child all my life?

“Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, so I was told. I believe I have to congratulate you on your coming marriage.”