The changeling

“What of Peel... Palmerston ... ?” began Justin Cartwright. Benedict dismissed them with a flick of the hand. “And they do say that Mr. Disraeli is quite brilliant,” added Morwenna.

“That upstart! He owes his rise to his oily flattery of the Queen.”

‘Oh come,” said Justin. “Surely there is more to it than that? The man’s a genius.” With a flair for self-advertisement.” He did become Prime Minister.” Oh, for a month or so ...”

My mother burst out laughing. “I can see that we are going to be deeply involved in the politics of the day. When is the by-election, Benedict?” In December.”

“They’ll have to make a decision quickly.”

“It’s not much time to prepare. I should manage though.” Neither Pedrek nor I had spoken during this discourse and I was wondering whether he was thinking the same as I was which was, that they had completely forgotten that we were there. Usually after long separations, they wanted to hear all that had been going on, how our riding had improved, how high we could jump, how the grandparents were, what the weather had been like and such things.

Then they were talking about Mr. Gladstone’s plans for reform in Ireland. Benedict Lansdon, of course, knew all about that. He took control and the others were his audience. We heard how Mr. Gladstone was concerned about the distressed state of the Irish and the growing discontent in that country and he was convinced that the remedy lay with the government.

And that was our homecoming - spoilt, I commented to Pedrek, by Benedict Lansdon. Our lives from then on were dominated by the man. He was a constant caller. When I walked in the Park with my mother he often joined us. They would talk together and seem to forget that I was there, though sometimes he addressed a remark to me. He asked me how I was getting on with my riding and said we must all go riding together. He had been selected - as my mother had known he would be - and was thinking of buying a house in Manorleigh; he wanted my mother to go down there and give her opinion. I was longing for him to go. He had rented a furnished house there while he looked round. But he was frequently in London.

November was almost with us. They were sweeping up the leaves in the parks and there was a lovely smell of burning in the air. It was misty and a blue haze hung over the trees which made them look mysterious. Pedrek and I had always loved this time of year; we would shuffle through the leaves and conjure up all sorts of fantastic adventures in which we triumphed and astonished everyone with our bravery, ingenuity and skill.

But the dreams would not come that year. A faint uneasiness was creeping into my mind.

And then ... I learned the worst.

I had gone to bed and was sitting up reading as I often did which was allowed by Miss Brown before she came to put out the light.

My mother entered the room. Her eyes were brilliant. I had heard talk about people being radiant and that was how she was. She glowed with an inner light. I had never seen such unadulterated happiness.

She lay down on the bed and put her arms round me.

“Rebecca,” she said, “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

I turned to her and buried my face against her shoulder.

She stroked my hair. “There has always been just us ... hasn’t there? You and I together. Oh, there was the family, of course, and we loved them all dearly ... but for us ... you and me there was always something very close and dear ... and it is always going to be like that for as long as we both shall live.” I nodded. I was beginning to be rather frightened for some instinct told me what she was going to say.

Then it came: “I’m going to be married again, Rebecca.”

“No ... no,” I murmured.

She held me tightly. “You will grow to love him, as I do. He is a wonderful man. I knew him when I was young ... not much older than you are now. There has always been a very special friendship between us.”

“You married my father,” I reminded her.

“Yes ... yes ... but I have been a widow for a long time ... a very long time.”

“It’s ten years,” I said. “He died just before I was born.”

She nodded. “You don’t ask ...” she began.

I did not have to. I knew. In any case, before I could speak, she said: “It’s Mr.

Benedict Lansdon.”

Even though I had known it must be he, a shock ran through me. She said: “You will be very fond of him, Rebecca. He is a most unusual man.” I did not speak. The answer to the first sentence was: Never. And to the second: Yes, I know he is unusual. But I did not like usual people. I liked them to be ordinary, understanding nice Everything will be just as it was,” she went on. it can’t be,” I said.

“Well, there will be a little change ... for the better, though. Oh, Rebecca, I’m so happy. I have loved him for a long time. He’s different from anyone I have ever known. When we were children we shared adventures and then he went away ... and I met your father.”

“My father was a great man ... a hero ...”