Changeling

“You will be, and I am going to see that you are.”

She smiled faintly. She looked a little better and very young with the traces of tears on her eyelashes and a faint flush in her cheeks.

I was glad to be alone. I wanted to think. She had shaken me. Although I had told her that I did not accept the theory that she had seen a ghost, I was impressed by her description of the clothes. Being so interested in the subject she would see them more clearly than most people and she had been so emphatic in her description of them.

I kept seeing my mother walking across the garden with her hair escaping from under that becoming hat and mingling with the white fur on the edge of it.

Celeste had described it accurately.

It was not possible. If my mother returned, it would not be to show herself to poor little Celeste, but to me … or to him … and she would not do it in a frightening way.

I recalled that occasion when I had thought she was in my bedroom. I had not seen her. I had not heard her voice. It was just a conviction that she was close. I had been overwrought at the time, worried about Lucie and what would become of her.

At such times one could have hallucinations. But I had never seen her and Celeste would have it that she had seen her so closely that she could describe the clothes she was wearing.

She did not send for me that night but before I retired I went to her room to see how she was and found her sleeping peacefully.

I tossed and turned all night and it must have been about five in the morning when I found myself wide awake.

I sat up in bed and said in a whisper: “I don’t believe it.” The clothes were real though. My mother did possess them at some time. Was it possible that someone could have found those clothes and worn them and come to the spot to play the ghost?

I could not get the idea out of my mind.

I was up early. I had thought a great deal about what I could do. I would enlist the help of Mrs. Emery. I could take her into my confidence and I knew that she would respect it.

The first thing I did was to go along to Celeste.

She looked exhausted and drawn and I was relieved when she suggested staying in bed, for the morning at least.

She was very tired, she said.

I told her I would have a light breakfast sent up to her room and after she had partaken of it she should try to sleep. I would look in later to see how she felt.

Mrs. Emery was a woman of routine. She was a great believer in the beneficial effects of a good cup of tea and she took it at eleven in the morning as well as in the afternoon.

It was safe to go along to her room at eleven o’clock.

She was always pleased to see me. Celeste was, of course, the mistress of the house, but now that I was no longer a child, Mrs. Emery regarded me as such. She could not give foreigners the same respect she applied to her own countryfolk, therefore, I was as important—perhaps more so—in her eyes than Celeste.

“I do want to talk to you, Mrs. Emery,” I said.

She preened herself. “Well, it is always a pleasure, Miss Rebecca.”

“Thank you.”

“And you’re just in time for a cup of tea. I’ll have it ready in a jiffy.”

“Oh thank you. That would be nice.”

I did not speak until the ritual of teamaking was completed. I watched her. I had heard her tell the servants many times. Warm the pot with very hot water, dry thoroughly before putting in the tea … one teaspoonful for each person and one for the pot. Infuse, stir, and allow to stand for five minutes … not a second more … not a second less.

The tea was poured into the cups which she kept specially for honored visitors. I was flattered that I was one.

“Mrs. Emery,” I began, “I am concerned about what happened yesterday.”

“Oh … Mrs. Lansdon, yes … she was really shook up.”

“Do you know what caused it?”

“I didn’t. I just wondered. Well, it seems hardly possible. I wondered if she was expecting.”

“Oh no … nothing like that, I think. She thought she saw … something … under the oak tree.”

“Mercy on us, Miss Rebecca. Not the ghost!”

“Mrs. Lansdon believed she saw one … on the haunted seat.”

“My goodness gracious me! What next?”

“She described the clothes. I recognized them as my mother’s.”

Mrs. Emery stared at me open-mouthed.

“Yes,” I said. “She thinks it was the ghost of my mother.”

“But …”

“You see …”

“Yes, I see all right. You can’t help knowing how things are. Oh, how different it was when you dear mother was here. Then we were a happy household.”

“We should try to make it happy now, Mrs. Emery.”

“Well … what with him and that locked room … and her … well, it’s not easy, is it?”

“She must have imagined something. She is not very well.”

Mrs. Emery nodded. “She’s a sad lady. There are times when I feel sorry for her.”

“Yes, but I don’t think she imagined this. I think she really did see something under the trees and whoever it was was wearing my mother’s clothes.”

“Lord a’ mercy!”

“I may be wrong but the fact that she described the clothes so accurately makes me believe that someone in this house was playing a trick.”

Mrs. Emery nodded thoughtfully.