The changeling

“She didn’t realize what she was doing. However, the mother died from burns and shock.

She died saving her child whom I felt to be our responsibility. Belinda is my half-sister.

I had to do something. I know it is what my mother would have expected me to do.”

He nodded. “What of Belinda? What was her reaction?”

“She was contrite. She did her best to make Lucie welcome in the nursery. She was somewhat antagonistic towards her before. It was that, I think, which caused her to set the dress alight. But we knew she did not understand the danger of fire. But she knew she had done a terrible thing. Leah, the nurse, is wonderful with her. She understands her and manages her as well as anyone can. But I have vowed always to look after Lucie because she lost her mother due to the action of a member of my family. I shall look after her and shall never do anything which prevents my being able to do so.”

He was looking at me intently; I fancied-but I may have been wrong-that I saw something like admiration in his eyes.

Then he said: “There was nothing else you could have done, but it would have been better if your grandparents had taken full responsibility for the child.”

“I did it. I wanted to. And she is my responsibility.”

“Well, you have left her while you went away to school.”

“With my grandparents ... yes.”

“She can stay with your grandparents.”

“But you are going to take Belinda and the nursery with you.”

“ There is only one answer then. The child must come with us.”

“You mean you will take her into your household?”

“What else? You are coming to London. So is Belinda. So the child must come, too.” He was smiling at me triumphantly because he had removed the obstacle I had tried to set up.

He went on: “As soon as we are settled in, you, with the young children, will come to London. I will make all the arrangements with your grandparents. They see the point of your coming. They liked you to be here, of course, but then you will be coming back and forth for holidays and so on ... just as you used to before ... before ...”

I nodded.

“And, believe me, Rebecca, it is the best thing for you. It is what your mother would have wished. I think you can finish school. I had thought of your going for a year or so to some establishment on the Continent where they are supposed to do wonders for girls.”

“I would not leave Lucie for a year ... or even six or seven months.”

“I gathered that, so we will dispense with the finishing school. As soon as you are settled in we will set about your presentation. I think it takes place at Easter so there is plenty of time for next year. You’ll be eighteen then. That’s about the age, I believe.”

“When do you propose to marry?”

“In about six weeks’ time. Would you come up for the ceremony?”

I shook my head. He understood. He touched my arm lightly.

“I think you will find it all for the best, Rebecca,” he said gently. I knew, of course, that protests were useless. My grandmother had said that as I was his stepdaughter he was my natural guardian. He would take Belinda. She was his natural daughter and Leah and Miss Springer would go with her. It would be best for Lucie and I must accept that.

“I am sure,” he said, “that you will get along well with my future wife.”

“I hope the children will.”

“I do not think she will want to interfere in the nursery. She is considerably younger than I. As a matter of fact, I believe you have met her. Some time ago she was living here in Cornwall ... at a house called High Tor.”

“High Tor!” I cried. “But that was taken over by some French people.”

“That’s right. I believe the family still own the place and the present tenants rent it from them. They have a place in Chislehurst and also in London. “Then it must be the Bourdons.”

He smiled. “Mademoiselle Celeste Bourdon will be my wife.” I was astounded. I tried to remember Monsieur and Madame Bourdon and found I could not recall their faces, but I did have faint memories of the younger ones. Celeste and Jean Pascal. Celeste must have been six or seven years older than I. That would make her twenty- three or -four years old now, so she was truly considerably younger than Benedict. And Jean Pascal, the rather dashing young man, must be about two years older than his sister.

“I met them in London,” went on Benedict, “and of course we were immediately interested in the Cornish connection.”

“I see,” I said.

But I could not help feeling a twinge of uneasiness. Why was it that I should feel so about people of whom I had a slight acquaintance rather than complete strangers? There were several weeks’ respite. There would be the wedding and then I suppose a honeymoon and after that the new wife might need a little time to put her house in order before we were required to descend upon her.