He frowned and looked at me intently. “Yes,” he said. “I am to be married next month.” He turned to me suddenly and I felt sorry for him as I had never done before. His mouth twisted a little and he said in a voice unlike his normal one: “It is six years, Rebecca. I think of her all the time. But … one cannot go on living in the past. You know what she meant to me … and I believe she would want me to do what I propose to now. We have to get on with our lives … you, too. I know your feelings. I know how it was with you two. She often told me. I was there when you were born. I could be fond of you as my own child … if you would allow me. But you never have, have you? You have resented me. I don’t reproach you. I understand … absolutely. In fact, I believe I should have felt the same had I been you. You see, we both loved her … infinitely.”

I could not believe that this was the great Benedict speaking. I was deeply moved but, even as I listened, so great was my resentment against him that I was telling myself that he was not completely sincere. He had loved her … but in his selfish way. There was only one person he loved wholeheartedly and that was Benedict Lansdon.

He seemed to regret his lapse into sentimentality.

“We have to be practical, Rebecca,” he went on. “It is not good for me to go on in this way … and not good for you either. You are now a young lady. You cannot be shut away in the country.”

“I don’t feel shut away. I am very happy with my grandparents.”

“I know. They are wonderful people, but you have to come out into the world. It is what your mother would have wanted for you. You have to make a life for yourself. You have to meet people of your own age. You have to mix into a society where you belong … where you can meet suitable people.”

“Suitable? Everything has to be suitable.”

He looked at me in amazement. “What is wrong with that? Of course everything should be suitable. You don’t want things to be unsuitable, do you? What I propose is that after the wedding, when we get settled in, you and Belinda come up to London. You will live mainly at Manorleigh. That is most … suitable.” He looked at me and smiled. “It is a most … er … satisfactory residence. We shall take the governess and the nurse with us. The nursery will just be transported from Cador.”

“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.”