Филиппа Карр - The changeling

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, would a man like him be doing marrying a girl like h t? Well, you see, there was this here goldmine.”

“Goldmine?” whispered Jane.

“Well, that’s where his money come from, didn’t it? See, here 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 new 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 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 the qualities necessary to make a good Member of Parliament. He was connected with Martin Hume who held cabinet , the Tory administration - albeit on the other side of the T ce. 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 hard 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 town-ship. 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 make his fortune. He was always merry, lighthearted, my mother told me; he always believed that luck would come to lm- 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. Desperately I hoped that something would happen to prevent this marriage, but the days passed and the wedding day was fast approaching.

Benedict Lansdon had been fortunate in finding an old manor house on the market. It needed a good deal of restoration but my mother had said she would love to help in doing that. It had been built sometime in the early 1400s and restored in the days of Henry VIII-at least the two lower stories had; the upper one was pure medieval. I should have been greatly interested in it if it had not been his house, for it was quite impressive if one did not compare it with Cador. It was shut in by red brick walls and there was an overgrown garden. I did like the garden. It was a place to lose oneself in. My mother was very excited. She was in a mood to find everything connected with her life wonderful. I wanted to remain aloof, but I could not. I was completely fascinated by Manor Grange, which was the name of the house, and I was drawn into discussions on medieval tiles and linen fold panelling, for the roof was faulty and we had to find the right tiles for repair, which was not easy, as they had to be both ancient and in good condition.