Changeling

But in my heart I knew it could never be as we had planned. Always there would be the memory. I think my encounter with Jean Pascal—who mercifully had not visited his sister since—had made me more conscious of the horror of a victim in that situation. I would never forget the terror on Belinda’s face, her bewilderment, her horror.

The children’s preoccupation with Tom Marner gave me the opportunity I needed for a little solitude and I often rode out alone. I found a certain solace in the quiet of the country lanes, though Pedrek was always in my thoughts and I believed that our parting would cast a gloom over my life for ever more.

One afternoon I was on my way back to the house when I passed The Hanging Judge. I paused to look at it and remembered that occasion when Oliver Gerson had taken the children there, and how thrilled they had been to drink watered-down cider out of tankards.

As I approached two people emerged and made their way to the stables.

I stared after them. I could scarcely believe my eyes for one of them was Oliver Gerson, the other Celeste. I felt apprehensive. Celeste … meeting Oliver Gerson … secretly! It must be secret for he was not allowed into the house. What could it mean? I knew she was the sad and neglected wife … but Oliver Gerson!

I guessed it would be embarrassing to us all if they saw me so I turned abruptly and rode off in the opposite direction. For the rest of the day I wondered about what it meant.

I could see terrible trouble ahead if what I feared might be the case. Was she seeking consolation? And if she were to whom would she be more likely to turn but to a man who had great charm at his fingertips and a great deal of sympathy to offer to his enemy’s wife. They would have much in common for they would share resentment towards Benedict. Both would have considered themselves to have been badly treated by him and it was very likely that they would want their revenge.

Was it any concern of mine? I asked. My stepfather’s affairs were for him to sort out.

Yet something had happened to our relationship in the past weeks. I had a strong feeling that my mother was close to me … that she was urging me not to quarrel with him … to do all I could to help him.

Why did I get these fanciful ideas? It was due to living in a house in which it was said there was a ghost whose story had some resemblance to my mother’s.

Benedict and I were the two whom she had loved dearly and I could not get out of my mind that there must be ties which even death could not break.

It had been one of her dearest wishes that Benedict and I should be friends.

I thought a good deal about Celeste and Oliver Gerson. I had heard him attempt blackmail and I was aware that he was an unscrupulous adventurer. Would Celeste know this or would she be only aware of that overwhelming charm, which I imagined would bring some balm to a woman who thought herself to be unwanted?

I decided to talk to her.

I asked her if she would come to my room because I wanted to show her something, but when she arrived, unsuspectingly, I thought it best to come straight to the point.

“Celeste,” I said. “I know it is none of my business, but I was passing The Hanging Judge the other day …”

She was startled. She turned pale and then the color rushed into her face.

“You saw …”

“Yes. I saw you come out with Oliver Gerson.”

She did not answer.

“You know of course that Benedict has forbidden him to come to the house?”

She nodded.

I said: “Celeste, please forgive me … but …”

“I know what you are thinking. You are quite wrong. I went to see him because … well, you know he left the house in a hurry.”

I nodded.

“He had found some lace mats in his luggage … only small things. He said he had swept them up at some time when he was getting his things together. He thought they might be valuable … special lace and so on … and he wanted to return them.”

“And he did? And are they valuable?”

“I don’t know. I’d never seen them before. I did not know they were missing. I just put them back in the room which had been his. Surely you didn’t think …”

“Not really. But, you see, Benedict having quarrelled with him …”

“Benedict never talks to me of that sort of thing. Mr. Gerson said there had been some misunderstanding. He didn’t want Benedict to know that he had seen me … and he thought our meeting like that was the best way of returning the mats.”

“He could be rather dangerous, you know,” I said.

“Dangerous?”

“Well, there was this quarrel. I thought he would not be coming to the house again.”

“He did tell me that he had been badly treated.”

“And you believed his side of the story.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

I did not know how far I could go and it occurred to me that I was getting into dangerous waters. Benedict had spoken to me on the spur of the moment, in the heat of his anger against Oliver Gerson and because he knew that I had overheard enough to piece some story together. He would trust my discretion. Perhaps I was going too far now.