The changeling

When the meal was over I left with my mother and her husband for his house. My grandparents were staying with Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis and going back to Cornwall in a few days.

As we walked to the house, my mother linked her arm through mine. He was on the other side of her; they were arm in arm. Anyone seeing us would have thought what a happy family we were and none would have guessed at the turmoil within me. I felt lost in the big house and a desolate sense of not belonging. It was such a grand house. As soon as I entered it I felt as though every part of it was looking down its nose, demanding to know what I was doing there. Everything looked as though it had cost a great deal of money. There were heavy red curtains, their rich folds held in place by thick bands which in any other house one I’d have dismissed as brass. The walls were white and ^ked as though they had been freshly painted. The furniture elegant-of an earlier period-Georgian, I think, to fit the T use. Above the wide staircase hung an enormous chandelier, was at the top of that staircase that my mother and her new husband would receive their guests. Beyond, on the first floor, were the enormous dining and drawing rooms. I could never feel at home in such a house. My room was large and lofty with a tall window which looked down on the street. It was heavily curtained in deep blue velvet and there were lace curtains to shut out the street. My bed had a blue headpiece to match the curtains and there were hints of blue in the carpet. It was a beautiful room but not one to feel at home in.

I was glad when we left for Manorleigh.

There was a house which I could really love if it had not been his. I felt I could escape a little more in the country. There were the stables, so it was possible to ride often. Manorleigh itself was a small town but as Manor Grange was a short carriage drive outside it, it seemed to be in the country.

This was the constituency so there was a good deal to do here. Benedict was determined to show all the people who had elected him what an excellent M.P. he was and they were encouraged to call and discuss their problems.

Eager to be the perfect wife, my mother threw herself wholeheartedly into his life. It was a busy one. They would travel round the constituency which extended several miles into the surrounding countryside and it included many villages and several small towns. “Your stepfather does not wish anyone to feel neglected,” said my mother.

It was an embarrassment to mention him. She would have liked me to call him Father but even for her I could not do that. As for him, I was not sure what he wanted.

He was too clever not to know how I felt about him, even though my mother tried to pretend that my hostility did not exist. He would not let it be of any great concern to him. It was my mother who was unhappy about it although she showed nothing. I was glad of that because if she had told me how unhappy my attitude made ^er I should have had to do something about it and I did not want to. I realize now that I had a certain satisfaction in harbor, ing my resentment.

Still, I did like Manorleigh. So did Miss Brown.

We were still working on the Prime Ministers and were no\v concerned with Mr. Disraeli and Mr. Gladstone.

“Of course,” said Miss Brown, “it is not easy to discover little facts about our contemporaries. It is only when people are dead that their little secrets come out.” We used to ride together and sometimes I went out with my mother and her husband. He liked that. It gave a good impression. I imagine he liked people to think that we were a happy family and in spite of his insouciance he must have realized he had something to live down on that score.

I grew to like my room. It had leaded windows, a great beam across the ceiling and the floor sloped a little. But what I liked best was that it looked down on the garden to an ancient oak tree under which was a sundial and a wooden seat. It was very picturesque and I felt a sense of peace when I looked out on it, past the pond on which floated water lilies and over which the figure of Hermes-winged sandals, staff wreathed with serpents, broad hat, sporting wings and all-was poised.

I found a great pleasure in making my way through the overgrown rose trees and sitting for a while on that seat. It seemed so peaceful there.

As soon as we were settled in, the round of visits began. There were dinner parties and what were called soirees when perhaps some well-known musician would come and play the piano or violin. There were always important people to entertain. Fortunately I did not have to be present on these occasions. My mother seemed to enjoy them. She said to me one day: “Do you know, Rebecca, I think I am turning into a good politician’s wife.”

“You mean, Mama,” I replied, “the good wife of a politician. The way you say it makes it sound as if it is the politician who is good.”

“Well, he is, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think that was what you meant to say.”