“You and she have been together so much. The fact that your father died made that inevitable. I know there is a very special relationship between you—and there always will be. But she and Benedict … they have been such good friends … always.”

“Then why did she marry my father? He must have been a closer friend to her.”

“Benedict went to Australia. He was out of her life. They both married different people … at first.”

“Yes, and my father died saving another man’s life. His wife … she died too.”

“Why do you say it like that, Rebecca?”

“Like what?”

“As though there was something odd about it.”

“There was something odd about it.”

“Who said so?”

I closed my lips firmly. I was not going to betray the servants.

“Tell me what you heard,” she urged.

I remained silent.

“Please, Rebecca, tell me,” she begged.

“She died and they thought he had killed her because he didn’t want to be married to her any more … and he did not win the election because of it. And afterwards they found that she had killed herself.

“It’s true,” said my grandmother. “People will always blacken the case against others, particularly if they are in a prominent position. It’s a form of envy.”

“But she did die.”

“Yes.”

“I wish my mother was not going to marry him.”

“Rebecca, you must not judge him before you know him.”

“I do know him.”

“No, you don’t. We don’t even fully know those who are closest to us. He loves your mother. I am sure of that, and she loves him. She has been so long alone. Don’t spoil it.”

“I? Spoil it?”

“Yes. You can. If she thinks you’re not happy, she won’t be.”

“I don’t think she is aware of anyone or anything … except him.”

“Just at the moment she can think of little but her new life … her state of happiness. Don’t show hostility to him. Let her enjoy this. You will … in time. But you are building up prejudices against him … and that won’t do. You’ll find everything is more or less as it was. You’ll live in a different house, true. But what are houses? Just places to live in. And you will come down to Cornwall and be with your grandfather and me. Pedrek will be there …”

“Pedrek’s going away to school.”

“Well, there’ll be holidays. You don’t think he won’t be coming to see his grandparents just because he’s going to school, do you?”

“He’s very rich, this er …”

“Benedict. Yes, he is now. You are not going to hold that against him, are you? This is not an uncommon situation, you know. Lots of young people get uneasy when their parents remarry. You mustn’t make up your mind that he is some sort of villain. Stepparents often acquire an unhealthy reputation since Cinderella. But you are too sensible to be influenced by such things.”

I began to feel a slight relief. I always felt cosy with my grandparents. I kept saying to myself: “And they’ll be there. All I have to do is go to them.”

She pressed my arm. “Come on,” she said. “Tell me what’s worrying you.”

“I … I don’t know what to call him.”

She stopped short and looked at me; and then she started to laugh. To my surprise I found myself joining in.

She composed her features and looked very serious.

“Oh, what a weighty matter!” she said. “What are you going to call him? Step-papa? That won’t do. Stepfather? Step-pa … or simply Father.”

“I can’t call him that,” I said firmly. “I have a father and he is dead.”

She must have noticed the stubborn line of my mouth.

“Well, Uncle Benedict.”

“He’s not my uncle.”

“There is a family connection somewhere … a long way back … so you could do that with a fair conscience. Uncle Benedict. Uncle Lansdon. So that was what was worrying you!”

She knew it was more than that; but we had become lighthearted.

I had known that a talk with my grandmother would do me a lot of good.

I continued to feel better. I assured myself that, whatever happened, I had my grandparents. Moreover the atmosphere in the house had lightened considerably, for the servants were no longer anxious about their future. They were going to Manorleigh—all of them; and as the new house would be much bigger than our present one, there would probably be more servants. This would mean a rise in the status of the Emerys. Mrs. Emery would become a sort of housekeeper and he a full-time butler. Their anxieties had turned to pleasure and I could not spoil the happiness of those about me.

Then I heard more conversation. I must have been adept at keeping my ears open, partly because I was frustrated. On account of my youth, facts were often kept from me. There was nothing new about that, but in the past it had seemed less important.

This time it was Jane and Mrs. Emery and they were talking about the forthcoming wedding which was not surprising because it was everybody’s favorite topic.

I was coming up the thickly carpeted stairs so my footsteps would not be heard, and the door to Mrs. Emery’s sitting room was half open. She and Jane were turning out a cupboard, preparing for a move to Manorleigh, which we were all doing in some form or other at this time.

It was wrong to eavesdrop normally, I knew; but there must be occasions when it would be foolish not to do so.

I must find out all I could about this man my mother was going to marry. It was of the utmost importance to me … as well as to her. Thus I made excuses for myself and shamelessly, I paused and listened, awaiting revelations.

“I’m not surprised,” Jane was saying. “I mean, the way she is … Goodness me, you can see she’s in love with him. She’s like a young girl. Well, you’ve got to admit, Mrs. Emery, there’s something about him.”

“He’s got something about him all right,” agreed Mrs. Emery.

“What I mean is,” went on Jane, “he’s a real man.”

“You and your real men.”

“I reckon he’ll be Prime Minister one day.”

“Here. Hold on. He’s not in Parliament yet. We’ve got to wait and see. People remember things … and even if they don’t there’s them to remind them.”

“You mean that first wife of his. Oh, that’s all settled now. She did it herself.”

“Yes, but he married her for her money. She wasn’t what you’d call ‘all there’… if you know what I mean. A bit simple like. What would a man like him be doing marrying a girl like that? Well, you see, there was this here goldmine.”

“Goldmine?” whispered Jane.

“Well, that’s where his money come from, didn’t it? See, there was gold on her father’s land and Mr. Clever found out. So what did he do? There wasn’t a son and the daughter got it all. So … he married her, then got his hands on the gold … and it was this goldmine that made him the rich man he is today.”

“Perhaps he fell in love with her.”

“Fell in love with the gold, more like.”

“Well, it’s not Mrs. M’s money he’s after, ’cos he’s got a lot more himself.”

“Oh, I reckon that’s different, but it goes to show you …”

“Show you what?”

“The sort he is. He’ll get what he wants. He’ll be in that House of Commons before you can say Jack Robinson … and when he gets there, there’ll be no holding him.”

“You’re pleased about all this, Mrs. Emery, I do believe.”

“I’ve always wanted to be in one of them houses where things go on … above stairs. Mr. Emery feels the same. I’ll tell you something. Things is going to be a bit lively in this place, mark my words. Here! What are we doing gossiping? That’s enough, Miss. We’ll never get these things sorted out at this rate.”

Silence. I made my way quietly up the stairs.

I did not like it. He had married a woman because of the gold found on her father’s land; and then … she died mysteriously.

He might possess all the assets to make him Jane’s Real Man. But I did not like it.

There was great activity. The by-election was soon to take place. My mother went to Manorleigh and Grace Hume left the Mission to give a hand. She was very efficient and had helped Benedict before.

I heard a certain amount of speculation about that, for Grace had been a close friend of Benedict’s first wife. Nothing was said about this in the press however. I only heard it from scraps of whispering from the servants.

My mother, as the prospective member’s fiancée, was a great success.

Uncle Peter said: “There is nothing like the romantic touch for getting people’s votes.”

I felt alone—apart; it seemed as though my mother had already gone. They were all so busy. No one could talk of anything but elections; and Miss Brown had started a series of lessons on the Prime Ministers of England. I was heartily tired of Sir Robert Peel and his Peelers and Lord Palmerston and his gun-boat policies.

“If you are going to be a member of a political family, you must know something of the country’s leaders,” said Miss Brown archly.

Everyone was certain that Benedict Lansdon was going to win the seat although it had been in the hands of the Tories for over a hundred years. He was working indefatigably in Manorleigh, they said, speaking every night. My mother was often with him.

“She’s a natural,” commented Uncle Peter, who had travelled to Manorleigh to attend some of the meetings. “She’s the politician’s ideal wife … another Helena. Wives are a very important part of a member’s ménage.”

Nothing else seemed to exist for them. I was surprised by my attitude. I was wishing he would not win and reproaching myself for it. It would be such a great disappointment to all the people I loved best—most of all my mother. A little failure would be good for him, I told myself virtuously; but I knew in my heart that I hated him because he had spoilt my contented and peaceful existence when he came to play such a prominent part in my mother’s life.

To the great delight of all the family, he won. I had always known that he would. He had taken the first step. He was now the Member of Parliament for Manorleigh. There was a great deal of publicity about it, because he had snatched the seat from the Tories who had held it for over a hundred years.

I was able to read about him in the papers. Writers tried to assess the reasons for his victory. He was knowledgeable; he had a ready wit; he was good-tempered with hecklers. They admitted he had fought a good campaign and he appeared to have the qualities necessary to make a good Member of Parliament. He was connected with Martin Hume who held cabinet rank in the Tory administration—albeit on the other side of the fence. It was a triumph for the Liberals. Mr. Gladstone expressed his satisfaction.

Benedict had been fortunate in having a newcomer to the neighborhood in his opponent, whereas he had fought the seat some time earlier; he had been set for victory then but the scandal attaching to his wife’s death happening at such a critical moment had let in his opponent.

Well, here he was and Manorleigh could be congratulated on electing its new member, one who promised to show energy and enthusiasm if his campaign was anything to go by.

Uncle Peter was delighted. He was tremendously proud of his grandson. There was great rejoicing throughout the family and my mother was particularly excited.

“Now,” she said, “we have to settle into that house in Manorleigh. Oh, Becca, won’t that be fun?”

Would it? I wondered.

Christmas had passed and spring was approaching. The wedding day grew near.

I had tried to shake off my foreboding. I had on one or two occasions tried to talk to my mother about Benedict. She was eager enough to talk but did not tell me what I wanted to hear.

Often in the past she had told me about those days she had spent with my father and Pedrek’s parents in the mining township. I had heard so much that I could see it clearly; the mine shaft, the shop where everything was sold, the shacks in which they lived, the celebrations when someone found gold. I could see the eager faces in the light of the fires on which they cooked their steaks; I could almost feel the hungry greed for gold.

I always saw my father as different from the others—the debonair adventurer who had come half way round the world to make his fortune. He was always merry, lighthearted, my mother told me; he always believed that luck would come to him. I could picture him so clearly I glowed with pride; I was desperately sad because I had never had the privilege of knowing him; and there followed his heroic end which fitted into the picture of my ideal. Why hadn’t he lived? Then there would have been no possibility of my mother’s marrying Benedict Lansdon.