The changeling

“You see why I wanted you to get this letter off to Pedrek? I did not want you to write to him later and say you had discovered the truth. I wanted that letter to go first. I wanted you to show your faith in him ... the depth of your feelings ...”

“I don’t know what to say to you. I can’t help feeling happy although ...”

“Well, at least there is a little brightness now. I feel happier too. Believe me, it grieved me to see you so sad.”

He took my hands and gripped them hard.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” I began.

”Then say nothing. We’ll talk ... we’ll talk a lot... later.”

Feelings of elation mingled oddly with a terrible apprehension. This was a house of shadows with a menacing cloud hanging over it. And so it would remain until Celeste was found. But there was something miraculous in my new relationship with my stepfather, and the manner in which he had dealt with my unhappiness filled me with tender admiration for him.

It seemed that he, who had always before been on the fringe of my life, had now walked into it and swept aside all obstacles to my happiness. He had always given an impression of power, and how astute he was for as soon as he was aware of what had happened, he had guessed at the truth and exposed it in a masterly fashion. I wished that I could do something for him.

I wrote to Pedrek telling him what had happened, making sure, as Benedict would have advised me, that he knew I had written my previous letter before the revelations. Then I wrote to my grandparents, the Pencarrons and Morwenna and Justin. I told them all that I had already written to Pedrek some days before the truth was known, that I believed in him and hoped he would forgive me for doubting him even for a short time; and I was waiting to hear from him that his feelings towards me had not changed. I knew what joy that would bring them all. We could now be together in harmony just as we had been in the past.

I asked them all not to think too hardly of Belinda. She was only a child and it had been a great tragedy for her that she had lost her mother before she could know her. We must all try to understand that.

“I have talked to Benedict,” I wrote. “And he wants to do everything he can to make a harmonious family life for us all. At the moment, of course, he is terribly worried and unhappy with this fearful mystery hanging over us. But I am convinced that the truth will come out soon.”

I wondered how long it would take for my letter to reach Pedrek and for him to reply.

It was a long way for a letter to go-to the other side of the world. Meanwhile it was the waiting period. I could not believe that Pedrek would not come back to me. But then he would not have believed I could think him guilty of such a monstrous crime. He must have been bitterly and deeply wounded. Did that sort of thing leave a scar forever?

My grandparents wrote of their delight. How understanding they were! The spared a little sympathy for Belinda in spite of the havoc she had wrought in our lives. “We must remember that she is only a child,” wrote my grandmother, “and I suppose she did it for your happiness as well as her own. She, in her simple innocence, thought she could play God and direct your lives. At what a cost to poor Pedrek! Let us hope that he will soon come home and that you will be happy together.” And it was Benedict who had done this. But for him I should not have written that letter. Only he could have made Belinda confess the truth. How I wished that I could help him!

For some time I had felt a twinge of guilt because I had never said anything about that occasion when I had seen Celeste and Oliver Gerson together at The Hanging Judge. Was it of any significance?

How could I know? But in a case like this any small detail could be of importance.

Who knew which were the key pieces to fit into the puzzle to complete the picture?

I could not bring myself to speak to him of Oliver Gerson. He hated the man and would not have him in the house. Understandably since he had tried to blackmail him. As for Oliver Gerson, the thought had occurred to me that he might be responsible for some of the pieces which had appeared in the press. I could well imagine his revelling in supplying damning information. I was sure he was delighted to see Benedict in trouble. I could not believe that Celeste was dead. I awoke one morning. I had been dreaming, but it was as though a revelation had come to me. In my dream I had seen Oliver Gerson, with a malicious expression on his face. I heard his voice: “Don’t think I shall let this pass.”

I had the firm conviction that Oliver Gerson could tell us something. He would never help Benedict, but what of me? He had been courteous and charming to me always. Of course, he had thought I was a good proposition. He had planned to marry the stepdaughter and so acquire a share in the business. That had been his motive. Most girls would have been impressed by him and very likely delighted that he had planned to marry them.