Changeling

He had risen from his chair. He came towards me and I stood up to face him. There was an earnest look in his eyes.

“Believe me. I am right,” he said. “I know how much you care for him. There will never be anyone else for you. Don’t lose this, Rebecca. Some of us make big mistakes which ruin our lives. Tell him how much you love him. Do not say whatever he has done you will love him. Tell him you do not have any shadow of a doubt now about the crime of which he was accused. Tell him you believe him … completely. Put your trust in him. Tell him you know he is innocent and beg him to come home.”

“But … I am not sure …”

“You will be. I know you will be. I think I am going to prove to you that I am right, but first of all you must send that letter … send it to him … without delay. I can see now how I can help you. That is why you should not wait. This is what your mother would want. Think of her. If she is looking down on you she will have mourned for the loss of your happiness. She wanted you to be happy so much. She cared so much for you. Rebecca, we have to live without her. Let’s see if we can help each other to do that. You look a little happier already.”

“It is the thought of writing to Pedrek.”

“Go then … go now and do it.”

Benedict is one of the most forceful men I ever knew. I could understand how it was that, among all those men who went to Australia to look for gold, he found it. He was a man who would always succeed at whatever he set himself to do. He may have been ruthless, but that was necessary if he were to reach his goal; he had a way of enforcing his beliefs until one accepted them as one’s own.

In spite of the turmoil in the house and the terrible shadow which hung over it—and in particular over Benedict—he could give his mind to my problem and I felt happier than I had ever since the day when Belinda had run in from St. Branok’s Pool.

Benedict had convinced me. I could not believe that Pedrek was guilty and there must be some other explanation.

I sat down and wrote:

Dearest Pedrek,

I love you. I am so miserable without you. It was all so quick. I could not face it then, but now I believe in you. I have always believed in you. I know that it was all a mistake and will be proved to be so in time. I want you back. Please believe me. We will face whatever has to be faced together. I know we can just as I know you are innocent of what you were accused. We will prove it in time, but now … I believe in you and we have each other.

So please, please, come back to me.

Your ever faithful Rebecca.

Perhaps it was a little hysterical. Perhaps it did not convey all I felt. But it was sincere. Benedict had had that effect on me. He had made me see my true feelings. He had made me believe in Pedrek.

The letter was posted.

Would he come? Would he forgive me for doubting him?

Just as I knew he could never be guilty, I knew he would come.

Benedict said to me: “Have you written to Pedrek?”

“Yes.”

“Telling him you believe in him.”

“I have.”

He smiled. “I want you to come to my study.” I went with him. He sent for one of the servants and when she came, he said: “Will you go to the nursery and bring Miss Belinda to me here, please?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll tell Leah to bring her.”

“There is no need for Leah to bring her. She knows the way.”

In due course Belinda came. She looked a little uneasy and suspicious and not without that certain bellicosity which I had noticed she assumed in Benedict’s presence.

“Shut the door and come in,” said Benedict.

She obeyed somewhat unwillingly.

“Now,” he said, “I want to talk to you. Cast your mind back to that time when you were at St. Branok’s Pool.”

She flushed scarlet. “I … I don’t have to talk about it. It’s, it’s bad for me. I have to forget it.”

“Perhaps you can forget it later. Just at the moment I want you to remember it. I want you to tell me exactly what happened … I mean the truth.”

“It’s bad for me, I don’t have to remember.”

“But I want to know.”

She was afraid of him, I could see, and I felt sorry for her. He was remembering that she was the child whose coming had brought about her mother’s death, and for that he could not forgive her.

“Come along,” he said. “Let’s talk, shall we? Let’s get it over.”

“It was Pedrek,” she said.

“We’ll start at the beginning. Why did you go to the pool? You weren’t supposed to go out at that time alone, were you?”

“I went to take a book to Mary Kellaway at the cottage.”

“Did you see Mary Kellaway?”

“No … he was there first.”

“What happened to the book?”