Changeling

“There’s my Leah,” she said. “I don’t know, but ever since she went up to High Tor to do that there needlework, she’s been unsettled like. I thought that a spell down at St. Ives with my sister would have made her want to stay at home for a bit …”

My grandmother and I exchanged meaningful glances. We could not imagine Leah’s wanting to return to that cottage where cleanliness ranked almost as high as godliness.

“Leah gets on well with little ones,” went on Mrs. Polhenny. “I’ve taught her a few things … and I’d be on hand. What I think might be an answer is for Leah to take on this job of nurse to the little ’un.”

“Leah!” cried my grandmother. “But Leah is a skilled needlewoman.”

“That means she’ll be able to make for the baby. She’d like that.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“Oh yes, I have that. And, believe me, she wants to do it. She’s tired of sitting over a piece of needlework. It’s bad for the eyes, too. She’s already feeling the need to rest them a bit. She’s been getting headaches. She wants to come here as the baby’s nurse. What she wouldn’t know, I’d tell her … and she’d have a real fondness for the little one.”

“Well,” said my grandmother, “if Leah would really like that, I think it would be an excellent idea.”

“I’ll send her along. She can have a talk with you.”

“It would solve the problem … and we’d have someone we know. I should like that.”

So Leah came and very soon was installed in the nursery. The baby seemed to take to her at once and it appeared to be an excellent arrangement.

We liked Leah. We always had, although, of course, we had not previously seen very much of her. She had always been shut away in the cottage and hardly ever emerged unless in the company of her mother.

Now she seemed like a different person … happier, I thought, and that did not surprise me. She was gentle and quiet. My grandmother said we were very lucky to have her.

Leah was blossoming into a beauty—a rather mysterious one with long dark hair and rather soulful brown eyes. Her care for the child was obvious. My grandmother said that when they were together she looked like a Renaissance portrait of the Madonna; and as soon as the baby began to show awareness it was to Leah she looked.

Our interest in the nursery helped us through those melancholy months. My grandparents and I talked constantly of Belinda. The first smile, the first tooth became a matter of great importance and interest to us.

At least we were recovering from the shock and bracing ourselves to accept the fact that my mother was no longer with us.

We were at the breakfast table—myself and my grandparents—when the mail was brought in. Among it was a letter from Benedict. My grandmother looked at it with alarm and I could see that she was afraid to open it.

She said unnecessarily to my grandfather: “It’s from Benedict.”

He nodded gravely.

“Of course … he’ll want the child. Perhaps.”

My grandfather said gently: “Open it, Annora. I am sure he realizes it is best for Belinda and Rebecca to be here.”

Her fingers shook a little and her expression changed to one of relief as she read. I watched her avidly.

“He says the child and Rebecca are his responsibility.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Well, I suppose he would be considered your guardian now that he is your stepfather,” said my grandfather.

“No. You are my guardians.”

He smiled at me. Then: “What else does he say?”

“That he will consider making arrangements which he will talk over with us later on. In the meantime, if it is no inconvenience to us, it might be better for the children to stay here.”

My grandmother laughed. “Inconvenience indeed!”

I laughed with her. “He doesn’t want us … any more than we want him.”

“So all is well,” said my grandmother.

“He just doesn’t want us to think he doesn’t realize all we are doing,” said my grandfather.

“He will reimburse us for the expense,” she went on.

“What on Earth is he talking about?”

“I suppose he means the nurse and all that.”

“What nonsense!”

“Well, all’s well. We carry on as before.”

It was a great relief to us all. But it did set me wondering. I did not like to be reminded that he was my guardian and Belinda’s father; and that he would be the one to decide our future.

I ran to my grandmother and clung to her. “We’re going to stay with you,” I said. “I won’t leave you.”

“It’ll be all right,” my grandfather assured me. “It’s his way of saying he cares about you. He’s glad you’re here and we’re looking after you—which we can do better than he could … in a place like this.”

When I mentioned the matter later to my grandmother she said: “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be easy for him to set up a household in London or Manorleigh without a wife. He will be immersed in his career. He just wants us to know that he is aware of his responsibilities, but he must realize that the best place for Belinda is here. But you have to remember that he is her father.”

“I wish he were not,” I said.

My grandmother shook her head sadly.