The Black Swan

It was typical of Belinda. I wanted to tell her that others had their lives to lead and they were just as important to them as hers was to her. She seemed to think that, now we had found a possible solution, all we had to do was manipulate the actors in the drama, as a playwright might-writing their lines for them so that they could meekly act out the play according to direction.

She was excited now. She sparkled. Her beautiful face was alight with purpose. I found myself smiling with her. I could understand her power to attract. She could be irresistible.

“I know what we have to do now,” she said.

I looked at her questioningly, and she went on, “You will go and see Henry Farrell.

You will tell him exactly what he must do.”

“Belinda! He isn’t going to listen to me.”

“You can tell him how happy I am ... that I am going to have Bobby’s baby... how necessary it is for him to agree to a divorce... quietly ... so that I can marry Bobby... because there is to be a child... and children must always be considered.”

“I think you should see him and explain all this.”

She shook her head dolefully. “He wouldn’t listen to me, Lucie. He gets mad with rage at me. Lucie, please, do this for me. Please go to see him. Explain in your lovely calm way... make him see it. You can. You explain so well... and you’re so logical. You would make him see reason, I’m sure.”

“It sounds ridiculous to me. I don’t know the man.”

“You know what I’ve told you.” She pleaded, “Will you do it ... for me, Lucie? Please... please ... so much depends on it.”

“I ... I’d have to think about it.”

A slow smile crossed her face. “All right then... think about it ... but please... oh, please... think quickly.”

She was almost complacent, having a firm belief in her powers to persuade. During the rest of that day I thought about Belinda and her problem. I could picture it all so clearly: the mining town, the dullness of the days, the failing mine, the desire for excitement. And there was Henry Farrell. I imagined him, tall, masterful, and completely fascinated by the wayward Belinda. Then the suggestion of marriage, a secret marriage. She had been only sixteen; but Belinda had matured early. She would have been physically a young woman, though sadly lacking in a woman’s judgement.

I could imagine her dashing into marriage without a thought beyond the excitement of the moment. The passionate Henry Farrell, the meetings which had to be held in secret, would appeal to her sense of adventure; and then the death of Tom Marner, the illness of Leah; the talk then of what Leah wanted for her cherished daughter; the rich life in the wealthy Old Country which she remembered from her childhood; the dinner parties in the London house, the charm of Manor Grange, the grandeur of Cador... and then, the sudden realization of what she had done-in fact, ruined her chances of a cozy life in rich surroundings. She had married a man who had acquired a mine which was no longer prosperous. I could imagine her dismay and her plans to extricate herself from what had become distasteful and an impediment to those plans.

She and her husband had quarreled violently. She might well have provoked those quarrels; they had no doubt declared their regrets and vowed they never wanted to see each other again.

So ... she had come to England and-Belinda-fashion had dismissed the past as though it had never happened. Bobby came along... admiring her and so suitable, with his wealth, adoration and title. So, without a qualm-or perhaps just a few-Belinda saw no reason why she could not write off the disagreeable past and start afresh. It was all typical Belinda.

And here I was, half-promising to help her out of her trouble which she had created by her own actions.

During the day Belinda endeavored to be alone with me and was impatient when others were present.

Phillida whispered to me, “I can see she wants to talk to you. I’ll leave you to yourselves.”

Dinner seemed to go on endlessly and I was glad when it was over. I was deeply disturbed.

I had half-promised to see Henry Farrell and I wondered whether I had been wise. I could not believe that I could bring about the miracle, but Belinda was sure I could.

I was rather relieved when we said good night and I could escape and be alone.

But I had undressed and was about to get into bed when there was a knock on my door.

I thought it was Phillida with her nightcap, but it was not. It was Kitty.

“Oh, thank you, Kitty,” I said. “Put it on the table.”

She did so in silence.

“Good night, Kitty.”

“Good night, ma’am.” The door shut.

I got into bed, still thinking of Belinda. Could I do it? Was it possible that I could persuade the man? I guessed I would have to try. Hadn’t I always allowed Belinda to lead me?