Philippa Carr: The Changeling

“He will want to see you, I expect, when he arrives. But in the meantime I thought you should visit Mrs. Lansdon. She is in a weak state and questions seem to upset her.”

“I understand. Let me see her. I’ll give her something to soothe her. I expect she wants rest … and when she has had it … we’ll go on from there.”

“Let me take you to her.”

I went into the bedroom. Celeste looked scared. I said: “It’s only the doctor, Celeste. He’s going to give you something soothing to make you sleep. There is nothing to worry about now. You’re home and safe.”

I remained in the room with the doctor. I was terrified that he might ask her some question and at the moment she seemed in no state to deal with a complicated situation.

However he was both soothing and tactful. He gave her a dose which he said would make her sleep. We left together. He shut the door and said to me: “She’s very muddled, isn’t she? What a mercy she saw the house and recognized it. It’s clearly a case of loss of memory.”

“It will come back, I hope.”

“Gradually. But it may take some time.”

“I am so absolutely delighted that she has returned.”

“It has been a trying time for the whole family. But this is the best thing that could have happened in the circumstances. She doesn’t seem to be ill physically. It is just this mental block. It happens now and then.”

“You’ve had experience of it, I daresay?”

“I did have another case … once.”

“And the person in question recovered … completely?”

“Yes … in time.”

“I am so relieved. Mr. Lansdon will be here soon, I hope.”

“That would be a considerable help, I should imagine. The more people she knows about her, the better. Familiar surroundings will be a great help.”

When he left I was deeply relieved. We had passed the first hurdle.

I went back into the bedroom. Celeste looked at me sleepily.

I sat down by the bed. She reached for my hand and clung to it. In a few moments she was in a deep sleep.

I sat there for what seemed like an eternity … waiting for Benedict.

At last he came. I heard the cab draw up at the door and saw him alight. I sped down to the hall and when he came in I ran to him,

“Rebecca!” he said.

“Benedict, something has happened. Come to my room.”

He followed me there. I shut the door and faced him.

“Celeste is here,” I said.

“Here!” He stared at me unbelievingly.

“I found her …”

“What? Where? How is she?”

“She’s in her bed … fast asleep. I sent for the doctor. He’s been and has given her a sedative. He said she needs a great deal of rest. She’s been through an ordeal.”

“What …?” he repeated. “How …?”

“I’ll tell you from the beginning,” I said, and I told him. He listened incredulously but I could see the tremendous relief he felt.

“I must see her,” he said at length.

“She’s sleeping now. But come. I can see you find it hard to believe she is here.”

I took him into the bedroom. She lay on her bed looking very pale, her lovely dark hair spread out on the pillow.

“How young she looks,” he said.

“I must talk to you, Benedict. When she wakes I want you to be thoroughly prepared. Please come back to my room.”

I had never seen him as he was then. He was like a man in a dream. He must be finding it hard to believe that this was actually happening to him.

“I’ve thought so much about this,” I said. “And so has Oliver Gerson. I know you hate him, but he is clever. He has done what he intended to do—stopped your getting into the Cabinet. He is satisfied.”

“He could be prosecuted for his part in this … helping to hide her, aiding and abetting her … keeping information from the police.”

“That all has to be forgotten. It will be worse for you if you allow bitterness to prevail. No one is guiltless … you would be blamed as much as any. You neglected her … made her so unhappy that she could contemplate such a thing. You’ve kept that locked room. How could you … in a house where she is living? She loved you far too much … more than you deserved. So please forget bitterness and thoughts of revenge. You are as much to blame as Oliver Gerson who has repented apparently. Through him I found her. And he has helped us. It was his idea that she should feign loss of memory. It’s the best way, Benedict. So … forget resentments. Oliver Gerson has gone out of your life. You apparently said things to him which he could not forgive and he has had his revenge. We have to think about the press. They will be on your heels. I suggest that you tell them she has returned and that she was suffering from a loss of memory. At the moment she is not certain what exactly happened and the doctor has given orders that she must not be disturbed and bothered with questions. She needs medical attention and care.”

He nodded and smiled at me in a quizzical way. “I see,” he said, “that you have worked it out in a logical way.”

“We must, Benedict. We have to think of her. Life has to be made worth living for her. This should never have happened. You would have had the Cabinet post for which you craved if it had not. There would never have been this scandal and all the terrible suspense and horror we have endured during these weeks.”

“I know. You are right. It is my fault. I have behaved badly …”

“That will change, won’t it?”

He said in a low and husky voice: “I can try, Rebecca.”

“And you will. Promise me.”

He took my hands in his and drew me to him. I put my arms about him.

“It has changed for us. It must change for her,” I said.

He did not speak. I think his emotion prevented him.

“I think, Benedict,” I went on, “that you may have brought happiness back to me. If I can do anything to repay you …”

“Why, Rebecca,” he said, “you have become my guardian angel.” Then he laughed—uncertain laughter it was true. He held me at arms’ length. “Thank God for you … stepdaughter.”

“Let us thank God we have each other,” I added.

I took him to the bedroom they shared together. She was lying in her bed, drowsy but awake.

“Celeste,” I said softly. “Benedict is here.”

She was fully awake at once. She sat up in bed looking fearful. He went to her and took her in his arms.

“I am so glad that you have come home,” he said.

She clung to him.

I said: “Don’t be afraid, Celeste. Benedict is so happy because you have come back. He knows everything now. He understands … and there is nothing to fear.”

I closed the door on them.

I wanted to sing for joy. I knew in time all would be well.

SO MUCH HAPPENED DURING the next few days. It was wonderful to see Celeste looking happy. She now knew that Benedict was fully aware of all that had happened and there were no reproaches. He accepted his own guilt and gave the impression that he wanted to take care of her. As for her, she seemed to be living in a blissful dream.

The doctor was delighted with her progress and said it would be better not to mention the incident unless she did herself. Benedict dealt with the press and of course there were the expected headlines in the papers.

He was now represented as the joyous husband emerging from his terrible ordeal with courage and dignity. I was reminded of Uncle Peter who would have said this would be good for his image after all. There was nothing people liked better than a happy ending to a love story.

Of course, it was a pity it had come too late for the Cabinet reshuffle, but as Uncle Peter would have philosophically pointed out, there would be another time and with the enhanced presentation of a grieving husband now rejoicing in the return of his wife who had been suffering all the time from amnesia, he would give him a better chance than ever.