The changeling

Celeste talked to me about the servants’ obsession with ghosts. “I suppose in a house like this,” I said, “in which many people have lived over the centuries, there would be a feeling that those who have gone before have left something behind.”

“What is the story of this oak tree?”

“It was about a woman who lived here long ago. She was the young wife of an older man who adored her. She died in childbirth and she came back to commune with the child she had never known on Earth. They were supposed to meet under the oak tree.”

“She would be a kind ghost?”

“Oh yes ... quite benign.”

“Where is the daughter now?”

“She is dead. All the people in the story are dead. They had to die before they became ghosts.”

“And she died giving birth. It is like ...”

“Yes,” I said, “but I am afraid it is not an infrequent happening.”

She nodded. “I see. Why does Lady Flamstead come back now?”

“Because the servants have been reminded of her. When the gardener’s boy tried to prune the tree he is supposed to have disturbed the ghosts.

They will tell you they have come back to warn people not to touch their sanctum.”

“I see. That is it.”

“This talk of ghosts adds a spice to their lives. My grandmother used to say that people whose lives are a little dull have to invent things to make them lively. Well, ghosts have provided this little diversion.”

“I see ... how it is. And we need not listen for the clanging of chains.”

“There would be no chains attached to Lady Flamstead nor to her daughter. They never acquired them ... they lived pleasant, uncomplicated lives.” It was a few days later when Celeste fainted in the garden. Fortunately Lucie happened to be nearby and called for help. I was in the hall and was the first to get out there.

“It’s Aunt Celeste,” she said. “She’s lying on the ground.”

“Where?”

“Near the pond.”

“Go and call Mrs. Emery or anyone you can find,” I said and ran out. Celeste was lying on the ground, looking pale. I knelt beside her. I saw that she had fainted.

I lifted her up to a sitting position and held down her head. I was greatly relieved to see the color coming into her face. She turned her head and looked fearfully over her shoulder.

“It’s all right, Celeste,” I said. “I think you just fainted. Perhaps it was the cold ...”

She was shaking.

“I saw her,” she whispered. “It’s true ... she was there ... under the tree.”

I shivered. What did she mean? Was Celeste seeing ghosts now?

I said: “We’ll get you into the house.”

“She was there,” she went on. “I saw her clearly.”

Mrs. Emery had appeared.

“Oh, Mrs. Emery,” I said. “Mrs. Lansdon has fainted. I think she must have left a warm room and the cold was too much for her.” I was battling to find reasons. I did not like this talk of ghosts.

“Let’s get her in ... quick,” said Mrs. Emery practically.

“We’ll take her to her room,” I said. “Then I think a little brandy ...” She was on her feet but shaky; she turned and looked over her shoulder at the seat under the tree.

“You’re shivering!” I said. “Come on. Let’s get in.”

We took her to her room.

“Get her to lie down,” said Mrs. Emery. “I’ll go and see about that brandy. I’ll send up one of the girls to see to the fire. It’s nearly out.” Celeste lay on the bed. She took my hand and held it tightly. “Don’t go,” she said. “Of course I won’t. I’ll stay here. Don’t talk now, Celeste. Wait till Mrs. Emery brings the brandy. You’ll feel so much better after that.”

She lay back; she was still shivering.

Mrs. Emery came in with Ann.

“Make up the fire, Ann,” she said. “Mrs. Lansdon is not feeling very well. And here’s the brandy, Miss Rebecca.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Emery.”

“Shall I pour out, Miss?”

“Yes, please.”

She did so and handed it to me. Celeste sat up and sipped it. The fire was now blazing brightly.

“I think Mrs. Lansdon would like to be quiet for a while,” I said. Celeste looked appealingly at me and I knew she wanted me to stay. I nodded reassuringly and the door closed quietly on Mrs. Emery and Ann.

“Rebecca,” she said. “I saw her. She was there ... looking for me. She was telling me that this is her place and there is no room for me here.”

“This ... er ... ghost spoke to you?”

“No, no ... there were no words ... but that was what it meant.”

“Celeste, there was no one there. You imagined it.”

“But I see clearly ... she was there.”

“She?”

“She has come out of the locked room. She has come to where the ghosts are.”

“Celeste, this doesn’t make sense. You didn’t see anyone there. Lucie was near. She saw you fall. She did not say she saw anyone else.”

“She has come for me ... I saw her clearly. Her head was turned away at first ... but I knew who she was. She was in a pale blue coat with a cape edged with white fur ... and a blue hat with white fur round it ... a little old-fashioned in style.” A blue coat with a fur-edged cape. I had seen my mother in such an outfit-and yes, there had been a hat to match. She had worn it in the house, I remembered. I could visualize her walking under the trees, laughing and talking about the brother or sister I was to have.