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.

The servants did not speak to me about their fears but I used to listen shamelessly to their conversations because it was imperative that I should know what was in their minds. It was possible in a smallish house like ours to listen to talk and I made the most of it.

I heard Mr. and Mrs. Emery once. She was putting things in the linen cupboard and he was handing them to her. It was just outside my room and if the door were a little open—which I had contrived that it should be—it was possible for me to hear quite a bit.

She was saying: “It don’t do to worry. We’ll know in good time.”

“There is this new house they’re getting. But if I know Mrs. Mandeville, she’s not the sort to forget them as has been good servants to her.”

“Oh, it’ll be all right if it’s left to her … but …”

“Why shouldn’t it be? She’ll be the mistress, won’t she?”

“Well, yes … I reckon he’ll leave all that sort of thing to her.”

“I doubt he’ll buy that house unless he gets in.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s been close before, hasn’t he? That means if he loses first time round he could win next. There’ll be a general election before long … bound to be. Yes, I reckon he’ll want that house now he’s been selected.”

“Do you think he’ll get into Parliament?”

“He seems the sort to get what he wants.”

“Don’t forget last time … a regular scandal that was.”

I crept near to the door. I must not miss this. What scandal? I asked myself. Did my mother know of it?

“Well, it was all cleared up, wasn’t it?”

“Sort of. He didn’t kill her. That’s what they thought at first.”

“But it turned out she took the stuff herself instead.”

“All nice and convenient, wasn’t it?”

“Convenient! Why, it lost him the seat, they said. He was all set to take it.”

“Who knows? It was a Tory stronghold and he’s a Liberal.”

“But, but the Tories was getting really rattled. It looked like he was going to take it … make a record. The first time the Tories had been ousted for a hundred years or something.”

“But it didn’t happen.”

“No, his poor unwanted wife died in mysterious circumstances.”

“But I told you it was all right. He didn’t kill her.”

“I reckon it all worked out for the best. It kept the seat for the Tories.”

“Oh, you and your Tories. I’m a bit of a Liberal myself.”

“What do you know about it?”

“About as much as you do. There! That’ll be the lot. Come on. I’ve got the dinner to see to.”

I crept away from the door.

I felt excited, and the same time full of misgiving.

He had been married before. His wife had died … mysteriously. His first wife! And my mother was proposing to become his second.

I wondered what I could do. Warn her? But she must know about that long-ago scandal. She ignored it. She was bemused. She was bewitched by him.

I wished people would talk to me. I knew it was no use asking the Emerys or either of the maids. They would not tell me.

There was only one thing I could do and that was call on Pedrek’s help. Together we might discover what it was all about.

He was eager to help and asked their butler with whom he was on very friendly terms; he was told that some time ago Benedict Lansdon had stood for election in Manorleigh and just before it took place his wife had died; she had been a quiet, rather nervous woman and he had been very friendly with Mrs. Grace Hume. It had been hinted that Benedict murdered his wife to get her out of the way. It was all rumor and nothing was proved at the time of the election, and if this had not all come out, Benedict Lansdon would almost certainly have won the seat. But he was defeated at the polls because of the scandal and lost his chance of becoming a Member of Parliament. A note was discovered later … which had been written by the wife before she died. In it she said she was taking her life because she was suffering from some uncurable disease and was beginning to be in great pain.

So he was exonerated, but it was too late for him to win the election and in any case he had gone out of politics.

So there was some secret in his past. And this was the man who was to marry my mother and take her away from me!

From then on it grew worse. I saw less of my mother. They were making plans for the wedding. Uncle Peter wanted a grand one.

“There is nothing people like better than romance,” he said. “And if you are going to stand for Parliament, it is a good idea to get into the public eye … in the right way, of course.”

“That is just like Uncle Peter,” my mother said, laughing. She was always laughing at that time. “Personally I don’t care what sort of wedding it is.”

Aunt Amaryllis sided with Uncle Peter. She always did.

Benedict Lansdon was in the process of buying the house at Manorleigh. My mother had taken me down to see it. “It will be our home for much of the time, I imagine,” she said. “We shall have to nurse the constituency.”

“What of our house?” I asked.

“Well, I think I shall sell it. We shall have your … stepfather’s house in London.”

I felt my face grow red. My stepfather! I thought. What am I going to call him? I can’t call him Mr. Lansdon. Uncle Benedict? He is not my uncle. But there were a lot of people in our family called uncle although they had no right to the title. Uncle was just a nebulous form of address. It made a mockery of the title, I told Pedrek, who agreed with me. It seemed to be a major problem and I marvelled that so small a thing should matter so much. But what was I going to call him? Father? Never! It would have to be Uncle, I supposed. It was both confusing and embarrassing.

My mother went on trying to pretend she had not noticed my embarrassment and understanding it perfectly.

“We shall have that house in London and goodness knows, that is spacious enough—and the place at Manorleigh. Oh, it will be fun, Becca.” She reverted to my old childhood name when she wished to be especially tender. “You will love it. The Manorleigh house is just outside the little town and it will be in the country. You’ll love that. There will be plenty of scope for riding. You’ll have a lovely schoolroom. Miss Brown … and all of us … will be expecting great things from you.”

“What about Mr. and Mrs. Emery …?”

“Oh, I have spoken … we have spoken … about that. I am going to ask them if they would like to come with us to Manorleigh.”

That made me feel a good deal better. There would be those familiar faces near me. Moreover I knew they had been worried about their jobs.

I cried: “Oh, they will be so pleased. I heard them talking …”

“Oh? What did they say?”

“They didn’t know what would happen to them, but they reckoned you would see they were all right.”

“Of course. I’ll tell them at once. Then they can decide whether they want to come. What else did they say?”

I was silent. I could hear the clock ticking and the seconds passing. I was on the point of telling her what they had said about his wife. I could warn her perhaps. The moment passed. She did not seem to notice the hiatus.

“Oh, nothing … I can’t remember …” I said.

It was the first lie I remembered telling her.

He had indeed come between us.

My grandparents arrived in London.

I was disappointed that they seemed to be overcome by their admiration for Benedict Lansdon and delighted by the prospect of the marriage.

There was a great deal of excited talk about the constituency and the possibility of a general election.

“Not much chance yet,” said my grandfather. “Gladstone is well in … unless he comes a cropper over Ireland again.”

“It will come in time,” said my mother. “And we don’t want it too soon. Benedict has to make his presence felt before that.”

“He will do that,” added my grandmother with conviction.

She soon noticed that all was not well with me.

We went for a walk in the Park together and I quickly realized that she had arranged it so that we could talk in peace.

It was one of those late autumnal days—the mist only faintly disturbed by the softest of winds which blew from the southwest—dampish, leaving the skin glowing. There was a smell of autumn in the air and a few bronze leaves remaining on the trees.

As we walked by the Serpentine, she said to me: “I believe you are feeling a little … left out. Are you, my dear?”

I was silent for a moment. She put her arm through mine.

“You mustn’t think that. Everything is the same between you and your mother.”

“How can it be?” I demanded. “He will be there.”

“You will enjoy his company. He will be like your father.”

“I can only have one father.”

“My dearest child, your father died before you were born. You never knew him.”

“I know that he died saving Pedrek’s father’s life—and I don’t want any other father.”

She pressed my arm. “It has been a surprise to you. People often feel like that. You think there will be a change. Yes, there will be. But had you thought it might be a change for the better?”

“I liked it as it was.”

“Your mother is very happy,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed bitterly. “Because of him.”