Philippa Carr: The Changeling

My mother smiled at Uncle Peter. “You are always saying that the people love romance. I think they might have been disappointed in us if we had cut it short.”

“Good reasoning perhaps,” conceded Uncle Peter.

When we went to our rooms that night, my grandmother followed me up.

“I wanted to have a little talk,” she said. “Where shall you be while you are waiting for them to come back?”

I said: “I can stay here.”

“Is that what you want?”

I hesitated. The tenderness in her voice touched me deeply, and I was horrified to discover that I was near to tears.

“I … I don’t know,” I said.

“I thought you didn’t.” She smiled brightly. “Why don’t you come back with us? Your grandfather and I were talking about it coming up in the train and said how nice it would be if you decided to come and stay with us for a while. Miss Brown could come and … well, you might as well be at Cador as here.”

“Oh … I’d like that.”

“Then it’s settled. Aunt Amaryllis won’t mind. She’d understand that you might feel a little lonely here, whereas a complete change of scene … we all know you love Cador … to say nothing of how we should love to have you.”

“Oh, Granny,” I cried, and flung myself into her arms.

I did weep a little but she pretended not to notice.

“It’s the best time of the year for Cornwall,” she said.

So they were married. My mother looked beautiful in a dress of pale lavender and a hat of the same color with an ostrich feather to shade her face. Benedict looked very distinguished; everyone said what a handsome pair they made.

There were many important people there and they all came back to the house where Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis played their accustomed role of host and hostess.

Uncle Peter was obviously pleased by the way in which everything had gone. As for myself, my depression had deepened. All my hopes for the miracle which was going to stop the marriage had come to nothing. Heaven had turned from me and my prayers had fallen on deaf ears. My mother, Mrs. Angelet Mandeville, was now Mrs. Benedict Lansdon.

And he was my stepfather.

Everyone was assembled in the drawing room; the cake had been cut, the champagne drunk, the speeches made. It was time for the departure on the honeymoon.

My mother had gone to her room to change. As she passed me she said: “Rebecca, come with me. I want to talk.”

Willingly I followed her.

When we were in her bedroom she turned to me, concern showing on her face.

“Oh Becca,” she said, “I wish I hadn’t got to leave you.”

I felt a rush of happiness and, fearing to show my true feelings, I said: “I could hardly expect to go with you on your honeymoon.”

“I’ll miss you.”

I nodded.

“I hope you’ll be all right. I am so glad you are going to Cornwall. It’s where you’d rather be, I know. You do love them so much, don’t you … and Cador …?”

I nodded again.

She held me tightly in her arms.

“When I come back … it’s going to be wonderful. You’ll share things with us …”

I just smiled and pretended that I was content. I had to. I could not spoil the happiness which I knew was hers.

I stood with the others waving goodbye.

My grandmother was beside me. She took my hand and pressed it.

The next day I was with them on our way to Cornwall.

MY GRANDMOTHER WAS RIGHT. Spring is undoubtedly the best time in Cornwall. I felt better when I smelt the sea. I stood at the carriage window as we chuffed through red-soiled Devon where the train ran close to the sea for a few miles … then leaving lush Devon behind and crossing the Tamar into Cornwall which had its own special fey quality to be found nowhere else.

And in time we had arrived. The station master greeted us and one of the grooms was waiting with the carriage to take us to Cador. I felt more emotional than usual when I saw the grey stone walls and those towers facing the sea; and I knew I had been right to come.

My familiar room was ready for me and soon I was at the window watching the gulls swooping and screeching and the white frothy waves slightly ruffled by the breeze blowing in from the southwest.

My grandmother looked in and said: “I’m glad you came. Your grandfather was afraid you might not.”

I turned and smiled at her. “Of course I came,” I said, and we laughed together.

Miss Brown was pleased to be in Cornwall although I think she was looking forward to being in her new grand quarters at Manorleigh and in London.

“The change will be good,” she said. “A bridge between the old and new way of life.”

I slept more deeply that night than I had for some time and was undisturbed by the vague dreams which had haunted my sleep lately. Benedict Lansdon was usually somewhere in those dreams … a rather sinister figure. I told no one of them. I knew people would say I was building up feelings against him for no other reason than that I resented a stepfather. And perhaps they would be right.

The next day at breakfast, my grandmother said: “What shall you do today?”

“Well, Miss Brown thinks we should waste no more time. Lessons have been a little interrupted lately and she thinks we should get down to normal work without delay.”

My grandmother grimaced. “What does that mean … lessons in the morning?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Is that the law?” asked my grandfather.

“As unalterable as that of the Medes and the Persians,” replied my grandmother.

“I was hoping we’d have a ride together today,” he went on. “Perhaps this afternoon, as this morning seems to be devoted to work.”

“You ought to go and see Jack and Marian,” said my grandmother. “They’ll be put out if you don’t take Rebecca along.”

Jack was my mother’s brother. One day he would inherit Cador and he had been brought up to manage the estate. This he did with the same single-mindedness which his father had always shown. He did not live at Cador now although I supposed in due course he would come back to the ancestral home. He, with his wife and five-year-old twins, lived at Dorey Manor—a lovely Elizabethan manor-house. They were often at Cador. On his marriage he had expressed a desire for a separate household, which I think was due to his wife who, although she was very fond of my grandmother, was the sort of woman who would want to be absolute mistress in her own household. It seemed an excellent arrangement.

Dorey Manor had been the home of my grandfather before his marriage, so it was all part of the Cador estate.

“We’ll look in on them this afternoon,” said my grandfather. “Agreed, Rebecca?”

“Of course. I am longing to see them.”

“Then that’s settled.”

“I’ll tell them to get Dandy ready for you.”

“Oh yes, please.”

It felt like coming home. This was my own family. My likes and dislikes were remembered. My dear Dandy, whom I always rode in Cornwall, was waiting for me. He was so called because there was an elegance about him. He was beautiful and seemed fully aware of the fact. He was graceful in all his movements and seemed fond of me in a certain rather disdainful way. “He’s a regular dandy,” one of the grooms had said of him, and that was the name he became to be known by.

Galloping along the beach, cantering across the meadows, I would forget for a while that Benedict Lansdon had taken my mother from me.

My grandmother said suddenly: “Do you remember High Tor?”

“That lovely old house?” I asked. “Weren’t there new people there?”

“The Westcotts, yes. But they were only renting. When Sir John Persing died there was no family left. The trustees of the estate wanted to sell … and they let it in the meantime. That was how the Westcotts came. Well, there are some new people there now … French.”