Changeling

“Why shouldn’t Mrs. Polhenny want her to stay there?”

“Mrs. Polhenny sees evil all around her … even where it doesn’t exist … and she expects the worst. She wants Leah to live in the shelter of her own home where a watchful eye can be kept on her.”

We reached the cottage. The windows gleamed, the pebbles on the path looked as though they had been freshly polished, the porch steps had been recently scrubbed. We knocked at the door.

There was a long pause. We listened and thought we could hear a movement within. My grandmother called out: “It’s Mrs. Hanson and Rebecca. Is that you, Leah?”

The door opened and there was Leah. She looked flushed, uncertain and very pretty.

“My mother is not in,” she said. “She was called up to Egham Farm. Mrs. Masters has started.”

“Oh,” said my grandmother, and then: “May we come in for a moment?”

“Oh, yes … of course. Please do,” replied Leah.

We were taken into the parlor. I noticed that the brass ornaments had been polished to a dazzling brilliance. There was a sofa with two cushions placed at symmetrical angles; the antimacassars on the backs of the chairs were spotless and there were arm covers on the chairs to prevent contamination from those who sat in them.

We scarcely dared sit.

“Shall I ask Mother to come and see you when she returns? I don’t know when it will be. You can never be sure with babies.”

“Well, this actually concerns you, Leah,” said my grandmother. Leah must be about eighteen years old after all. It was an age to make one’s own decisions. But she was clearly a meek girl and Mrs. Polhenny was a formidable parent. “You know the French people?”

“Those at High Tor,” said Leah.

My grandmother nodded. “They took luncheon with us yesterday and while they were there they saw the work you had done on the tapestries.”

“Oh, I loved doing that, Mrs. Hanson.”

“I know you did. It was a change, wasn’t it? Well, apparently they have some fine tapestries up there. They mentioned Gobelins. You know of them, Leah? Of course you do. They are some of the finest in the world. They are very ancient and in need of repair. Having seen what you did to ours …”

Leah looked excited.

“In fact, they would like to talk to you about repairing theirs.”

“Oh, I should love to do that. I get a little tired of working rosebuds and butterflies on ladies’ petticoats.”

“This would be different, wouldn’t it? And fancy … they have been worked by people hundreds of years ago.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You would be expected to stay up there while you did the work. You would need the best of light and the journey to and fro would be a little too long … there and back.”

She nodded. Then she said: “My mother did not like my being away from home … even with you.”

“Well, that is what I came to discuss. I promised Monsieur and Madame Bourdon that I would ask you. They would pay you very well. I imagine you could name your price.”

I studied her. She was very pretty; and now that she was excited, this was more obvious.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

“That would be very acceptable,” replied my grandmother.

She left us. We looked round the little room and I knew what my grandmother was thinking. It had an unlived-in look. I could not imagine that this was a very happy home. There would be too much striving after what was right and proper in the eyes of that martinet Mrs. Polhenny—and little thought of pleasure.

While we were drinking tea and nibbling homemade biscuits that lady herself came in.

She came straight into the parlor. She was surprised. Her eyes rested momentarily on me and I wondered if I was doing something I should not and perhaps spoiling the perfection of her brown velvet-covered armchair.

“Mrs. Hanson …” she began.

“You must forgive the intrusion, Mrs. Polhenny,” said my grandmother. “Leah has given us tea and your oatmeal biscuits are delicious.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Polhenny, smiling, “I’m glad she made tea for you.”

“How was it at the farm?”

“Another boy.” Her face softened. “A lovely healthy boy. They’re pleased. Rather a long labor but everything going well. I shall be keeping my eyes on them. I’ll be getting back later today.”

“I’m glad all went well. We came to talk of a rather interesting proposition. We have mentioned it to Leah.”

“Oh, what was that?”

“You know we have those French refugees up at High Tor?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And Leah made such a good job of our tapestries. When they came to luncheon with us they saw what she had done. The fact is they would like her to do the same for them. Apparently they have some valuable pieces up there and they want someone to repair them. They would like Leah to do it.”

Mrs. Polhenny was frowning. “Leah has plenty of work here.”

“This would be different and more highly paid, I imagine.”

That did bring a glimmer of interest into Mrs. Polhenny’s eyes.

“It would mean her staying up there for a week or two … perhaps even more.”

Mrs. Polhenny’s face hardened. “Why couldn’t she go every day?”