The changeling

“Well, there is always prejudice against foreigners,” said my grandfather. “The girl is rather sweet,” said my grandmother. “She’s Celeste. I’d say she was about sixteen, wouldn’t you, Rolf?”

“I imagine so,” replied my grandfather.

“And the young man ... he’s very dashing ... what would you say ... twenty ... twenty-one ... ?”

“Very likely. We might ask them over some time. Would you like that, Rebecca?”

“Oh yes ... of course. I suppose most things are just the same here as they always were.”

“Oh, we have our changes. As we’ve told you, we’ve had the French invasion. Apart from that, much remains the same. The October gales were a little more fierce last year and there was even more rain than usual, which did not please the farmers. Mrs. Polhenny is still sorting out the sheep from the goats, preaching the gospel of eternal damnation awaiting the sinners, which include most of us, herself being the only exception. And Jenny Stubbs is as bemused as ever.”

“Does she still go about singing to herself?”

My grandmother nodded. “Poor soul,” she said softly.

“And thinks she is going to have a baby?”

“Just the same, I’m afraid. But she is happy enough ... so I suppose it is not as tragic to her as it seems to us.”

“It’s going to be a fine day,” said my grandfather. “I’ll look forward to our ride this afternoon.”

I left them at the breakfast table and went up to my room.

In the schoolroom Miss Brown would be waiting for me.

Dandy was saddled and ready for me in the stables.

‘Nice to have ‘ee back, Miss Rebecca,” Jim Isaacs, the groom, told me.

I told him it was nice to be back and as we were talking my grandfather arrived.

“Hello,” he said. “Are we all ready? Well then, we might as well go, Rebecca.” It was good to be riding through those lanes. Everywhere was a profusion of wild flowers and the air was damp with the balmy smells of spring. In the fields the dandelions and daisies, the lady smocks and cuckoo flowers were blooming; and the birds were singing rapturously because spring was here. I told myself I had been right to come. “Where would you like to go after Dorey Manor? Down to the sea, back over the moors or just a ride in the country lanes?”

“I don’t mind. I’m just glad to be here.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said.

We made our way to Dorey Manor. Aunt Marian came out to greet us, holding a twin by each hand.

She embraced me warmly.

“Jack,” she called. “Come and see who’s here.”

Uncle Jack came running down the stairs.

“Rebecca.” He hugged me. “Lovely to see you. How are you, eh?”

“Very well, Uncle, and you?”

“Better than ever now I’ve seen you. How did the wedding go?”

I told them that all had gone according to plan.

The twins were tugging at my skirts. I looked down at them. They were adorable-Jacco and Anne-Mary. Jacco after that young man who had drowned in Australia with his parents, and Anne-Mary taking part of my grandmother’s name Annora and part from her mother Marian.

They leaped round me, expressing their pleasure. Anne-Mary asked with great gravity if I knew that she was four and three-quarters and would be five in June. She added, as though it were a matter for great surprise: “Jacco will be too.” I expressed great interest in the fact and then listened to Jacco telling me how well he could ride.

We went into the house in which my grandfather took great pride. It had been almost beyond repair when he and his parents had restored it. They had been lawyers and my grandfather trained in his profession but he had abandoned all that most willingly to devote himself to Cador. Jack proudly showed us the recent restoration of the linen panelling while Marian brought out a decanter of her omernade wine. There was talk about the estate and of course the wedding. Marian wanted to hear all about that. “What a different life it will be for Angelet,” said Jack.

“Most exciting, I am sure,” added Marian.

And I felt one of those twinges of sadness and resentment which I knew would be with me for a long time.

We left them in due course and continued our ride. We went inland for a mile or so.

I looked ahead to the grey stone house built on a slight hillock.

“High Tor,” commented my grandfather. “Hardly a tor. Just a little high ground.”

“All the same, it must be draughty when the winds blow,” I said. “But compensated by the superb views of the countryside. The walls are thick and they have stood up to the storms for at least a couple of hundred years. I daresay the Bourdons manage to keep snug enough inside.”

“It must be rather sad to be driven out of one’s country.”

“There is an alternative. Stay and take the consequences.”

“It must be a difficult decision. I could not see you ever leaving Cador.”

“I hope such an eventuality would never occur.”

“Cador would be quite different without you, Grandfather.”