Changeling

We became obsessed by the house. We talked of nothing else.

A few days after we had been shown over it, we had a note from the Stennings saying that if at any time we wished to look at High Tor, or ask them questions about it, they would be delighted to show or tell us if they knew the answer.

We took the first opportunity of calling.

They told us there was a change of plans and they intended to leave a few weeks earlier than they had originally arranged to. In ten days they would be gone.

They could give us the Chislehurst address of the Bourdons or perhaps we would prefer to approach them through Mrs. Lansdon.

The Pencarrons came over to Cador to dine and there was a consultation between the two lots of grandparents. Mine were more romantically minded than Mr. Pencarron. “We didn’t want to find we had a ruin on our hands,” he said.

Pedrek reminded him that houses which had stood up to the weather for a few hundred years could surely do so for a few hundred more. But Mr. Pencarron thought that a good, solid modern place might be better.

“It’s due to being brought up at Cador,” said my grandmother. “There is something romantic about living in houses where lots of people have lived before.”

“Nevertheless,” insisted Mr. Pencarron, “we want to have a good look at the place.”

“That can be easily done,” said my grandfather.

Pedrek and I knew that we wanted it. We did go round it once more and our rides always took us past it. We would sit in a field where we could look up at the grey gables and dream of the days when it would be ours.

Pedrek had written to the Bourdons and received a reply.

They were not entirely certain what they intended to do but would decide quickly. We sighed with impatience and continued to regard it as our house.

We had just had luncheon. It was one of those week days which I lived through, longing for the week-end to come. The children had gone for a ride, one of the grooms accompanying them. I was with my grandmother who wanted to show me something in the garden. As we came out of the house one of the maids announced a visitor.

I was amazed and excited to see Jean Pascal Bourdon. He took my grandmother’s hand and kissed it; then did the same to me.

“What a pleasure!” he said. “I have descended on you charming ladies to pay my respects. I am to be in Cornwall for a little while. How good it is to see you! And Mademoiselle Rebecca is looking so well …”

“Have you had luncheon?” asked my grandmother.

“I have indeed.”

“Then come in. Would you like some wine … or a little coffee?”

“Some coffee please. That would be nice.”

When we were in the drawing room I went to the bell pull and very soon Madge appeared. I noticed Jean Pascal’s eyes on her, assessing her; and I remembered that old habit of his. Girls like Madge were always aware of masculine attention. She bridled a little and said demurely: “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Will you bring some coffee please, Madge?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” With a little bob she disappeared.

Jean Pascal said: “I expect you have guessed why I am here? It concerns High Tor, of course.”

“You know we are interested.”

“Yes. May I say that I was most … interested to hear that you were interested.”

“It’s no secret. Rebecca and Pedrek Cartwright are thinking of buying a house.”

He raised his eyebrows and my grandmother went on: “They will be married in a year or so.”

“May I offer my congratulations?” He looked at me as though the prospect of my marriage was a mild source of amusement.

“You may,” I said, “and thank you for them.”

“It is unexpected news.”

“It was not all that unexpected to us,” said my grandmother. “Pedrek and Rebecca have been good friends for years.”

He nodded. “The Stennings will be leaving shortly,” he said.

“Are you staying there … at High Tor?”

He smiled. “Yes. There is plenty of room. It is not a small house, you know. And we have business to discuss. Some furniture belongs to my family … but most of it in the house is theirs.”

The coffee had come. I noticed his renewed interest in Madge and I thought to myself: It is a habit with him. He assesses all females. How different he was from Pedrek. When Jean Pascal married, his wife would be wondering all the time if he was unfaithful.

Over coffee we discussed the house.

He said: “My family are a little uncertain at the moment. They are leaving Chislehurst.”

“Oh,” I said blankly. “Did they plan to come back to Cornwall?”

He paused. I had betrayed my eagerness to possess the house. Mr. Pencarron would say that was a foolish thing to do before a prospective seller.

He smiled at me and went on: “No. They will not come back here. The Empress kept a little court at Chislehurst of which my family were a part as they were of the Imperial Court before the débâcle. She has suffered much in exile … the loss of her husband and now after the death of her son in the Zulu war she finds it difficult to be happy there and wants to move. She is to go to Farnborough and my parents will give up their place in Chislehurst and go with her.”

“So … not to Cornwall,” I murmured.