The changeling

I knew it had to change. Just after Belinda’s second birthday I went away to school.

Miss Brown, said Benedict, was no longer adequate to teach me. “What does he know about it?” I demanded. “He is not the least interested in what I learn.”

“He and your mother must have discussed it together,” soothed my grandmother. “It is probably right for you. You are shut away down here and it will be good for you to meet people.”

So I went away to school and for the first weeks hated it, and then grew accustomed to it and quite liked it. I made friends quite easily; I was fairly good at games, slightly better at lessons - Miss Brown had given me good grounding - and I got along very well.

Time passed quickly. I came home to Cador for holidays and looked forward to that but I found I was quite eager to rejoin my fellow pupils. School events such as who was picked for the school concert or with whom I shared my room and the destination of outings seemed of great importance.

My grandparents were pleased that I had fitted in so well. They eagerly read my reports and sent them on to Benedict. I felt sure he never looked at them.

I came home for that Christmas holiday. Pedrek and his parents were at Pencarron for the festivities and we saw a good deal of them. Pedrek brought no school friend with him on this occasion and it was like it used to be without intrusion.

Belinda would soon be four years old. I was amazed how she grew while I was away. She was quite imperious now and could talk quite fluently. Leah said with pride that she was very bright for her age, and she was greatly looking forward to Christmas. On the day there was to be a party for her; the twins and several children from the neighborhood had been invited; a conjuror was coming from Plymouth to entertain them. My grandmother looked happier than she had for a long time. Planning for Belinda had been good for her.

My thoughts went to Lucie. How different her Christmas would be!

I asked my grandmother about her. “Oh, we’ve seen that they don’t want for anything. I’ve had some coal and wood delivered to the cottage and I thought you’d like to take over a basket for them.”

“I’d like that. When?”

“My dear, you’ve only just come home. In good time for Christmas.”

“I shall go down tomorrow. Perhaps I could take something then.”

“You’re very interested in that child, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. Her birth was so unexpected, wasn’t it? We none of us believed that Jenny was really going to have her. And I think she is a very intelligent child. I can’t imagine how Jenny could have one like that.”

“Oh, parents often have the most unlikely children. But I agree she is a nice child.”

“I compare her with Belinda ... who has so much.”

“Well, that’s how the world goes. There are always these divisions.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But I would like to take something really good.”

“You shall.”

So the next day I was at the cottage. The pool looked dreary. It was a damp dark day and the willows trailing over the pool and the brownish green water looked sinister in the gloom.

The cottage was welcoming though. It was very neat and clean. Lucie came running out when I knocked. She caught me round the legs and hugged me.

It was a spontaneous and warm welcome.

“I’ve been away to school,” I said.

“I tell her,” said Jenny. “She does not know about school.”

“I’ll explain to her.”

I sat down on one of the chairs and took the child on my knees. I told her about my school, the dormitories we slept in, the big hall where we assembled, the teachers we had, how we worked at our desks, how we went for long walks in the country with two mistresses, one at the head of the crocodile and one at the rear, how we played games, how we learned to dance and sing.

She listened intently. I don’t think she understood half of it, but she watched my mouth the whole time I was talking and her expression was one of enchantment. Jenny wanted to know how the little one up at Cador was. I told her Belinda was well and looking forward to Christmas. I started to tell her about the party which was being arranged and the conjuror who was coming from Plymouth ... then I stopped short. It was insensitive of me. Poor Lucie would not have such a party. “What is a conjuror?” asked Lucie.

So I had to explain. “He makes things disappear and finds them again as if by magic.”

“And he be coming all the way from Plymouth,” said Jenny.

Lucie’s eyes were wide with excitement. She kept asking questions about the conjuror.

I had to go on explaining.

Could she come to the party? I wondered. My grandparents were by no means sticklers for convention. But if Lucie-the child of crazy Jenny-were invited, all the children from the outlying farms and cottages would be expected to attend. As soon as I reached home I told my grandmother what had happened. “It was stupid of me,” I said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the party, but I did and it slipped out about the conjuror ... and that was how it came about.”