The changeling

Moreover the atmosphere in the house had lightened considerably, for the servants were no longer anxious about their future. They were going to Manorleigh, all of them; and as the new house would be much bigger than our present one, there would probably be more servants. This would mean a rise in the status of the Emerys. Mrs. Emery would become a sort of housekeeper and he a full-time butler. Their anxieties had turned to pleasure and I could not spoil the happiness of those about me.

Then I heard more conversation. I must have been adept at keeping my ears open, partly because I was frustrated. On account of my youth, facts were often kept from me. There was nothing new about that, but in the past it had seemed less important. This time it was Jane and Mrs. Emery and they were talking about the forthcoming wedding which was not surprising because it was everybody’s favorite topic. I was coming up the thickly carpeted stairs so my footsteps would not be heard, and the door to Mrs. Emery’s sitting room was half open. She and Jane were turning out a cupboard, preparing for a move to Manorleigh, which we were all doing in some form or other at this time.

It was wrong to eavesdrop normally, I knew; but there must be occasions when it would be foolish not to do so.

I must find out all I could about this man my mother was going to marry. It was of the utmost importance to me ... as well as to her. Thus I made excuses for myself and shamelessly, I paused and listened, awaiting revelations. “I’m not surprised,” Jane was saying. “I mean, the way she is ... Goodness me, you can see she’s in love with him. She’s like a young girl. Well, you’ve got to admit, Mrs. Emery, there’s something about him.”

“He’s got something about him all right,” agreed Mrs. Emery.

“What I mean is,” went on Jane, “he’s a real man.”

“You and your real men.”

“I reckon he’ll be Prime Minister one day.”

“Here. Hold on. He’s not in Parliament yet. We’ve got to wait and see. People remember things... and even if they don’t there’s them to remind them.”

“You mean that first wife of his. Oh, that’s all settled now. She did it herself.”

“Yes, but he married her for her money. She wasn’t what you’d call ‘all there’ ... if you know what I mean. A bit simple, would a man like him be doing marrying a girl like h t? Well, you see, there was this here goldmine.”

“Goldmine?” whispered Jane.

“Well, that’s where his money come from, didn’t it? See, here was gold on her father’s land and Mr. Clever found out. So what did he do? There wasn’t a son and the daughter got it all- So … he married her, then got his hands on the gold and it was this goldmine that made him the rich man he is today.”

“Perhaps he fell in love with her.”

“Fell in love with the gold, more like.”

“Well, it’s not Mrs. M’s money he’s after, ‘cos he’s got a lot more himself.”

“Oh, I reckon that’s different, but it goes to show you ...”

“Show you what?”

“The sort he is. He’ll get what he wants. He’ll be in that House of Commons before you can say Jack Robinson ... and when he gets there, there’ll be no holding him.”

“You’re pleased about all this, Mrs. Emery, I do believe.”

“I’ve always wanted to be in one of them houses where things go on ... above stairs. Mr. Emery feels the same. I’ll tell you something. Things is going to be a bit lively in this new place, mark my words. Here! What are we doing gossiping? That’s enough, Miss. We’ll never get these things sorted out at this rate.” Silence. I made my way quietly up the stairs.

I did not like it. He had married a woman because of the gold found on her father’s land; and then ... she died mysteriously.

He might possess all the assets to make him Jane’s Real Man. But I did not like it. There was great activity. The by-election was soon to take place. My mother went to Manorleigh and Grace Hume left the Mission to give a hand. She was very efficient and had helped Benedict before. I heard a certain amount of speculation about that, for Grace had been a close friend of Benedict’s first wife. Nothing was said about this in the press however. I only heard it from scraps whispering from the servants.

My mother, as the prospective member’s fiancée, was a great success. Uncle Peter said: “There is nothing like the romantic touch for getting people’s votes.”

I felt alone-apart; it seemed as though my mother had already gone. They were all so busy. No one could talk of anything but elections; and Miss Brown had started a series of lessons on the Prime Ministers of England. I was heartily tired of Sir Robert Peel and his Peelers and Lord Palmerston and his gun-boat policies. “If you are going to be a member of a political family, you must know something of the country’s leaders,” said Miss Brown archly.