The changeling

We assured her we had had a wonderful day.

Pedrek stayed to dine which was served a little earlier on Saturdays so that he would not be too late getting back to Pencarron.

We talked to my grandparents about our search for a suitable site on which to build our future home.

“Well, did you decide?”

“Not really. We’ll look further next week, won’t we, Pedrek?”

“Talking of houses,” said my grandfather, “I saw the people at High Tor this afternoon.

They’re leaving.”

“Are they? After all this time?”

“Yes. The son is coming home from Germany. He’s been living there for some years. He says he fancies getting a place in Dorset and ...I’ve forgotten what their name is.”

“Stenning,” supplied my grandmother.

“That’s right. Stenning. Well, he said they will be getting a lace there to be near the son. They rented High Tor because they didn’t want to commit themselves to buying before their son came home.”

“That means High Tor will either be to let or for sale,” said ^ grandmother looking at me.

I glanced at Pedrek.

“High Tor,” I murmured. “It’s a nice place.”

“And ancient,” added Pedrek.

“Well,” added my grandmother. “It’s an idea. I daresay it will be some time before the Stennings are ready to leave, but ... as I said ... it’s an idea.” High Tor had taken possession of my thoughts and the next Saturday Pedrek and I rode out there. It looked different from what it had before. I suppose that was because there was a possibility that it might one day be our house. “Do you think,” said Pedrek, “that we might call on the Stennings?”

“Why not? They may not know us well but they know who we are.”

“Let’s go then,” said Pedrek.

So we rode in through the cobbled courtyard under the archway to the oak iron-studded door.

A servant came out, and Pedrek asked if Mr. or Mrs. Stenning were at home. Mrs. Stenning came down. She was a little surprised but extremely hospitable and soon we were seated in the drawing room. We told her that we had heard that she and her husband were contemplating leaving High Tor to settle in Dorset and as we planned to marry in a year’s time we were interested in the house. She opened her eyes wide and said: “What a good idea! I don’t know whether the owners want to sell or rent it ... but I could find out. You probably know them.”

“Very well,” I said. “My stepfather is married to the lady who was Miss Celeste Bourdon.”

“Of course. Well, that is interesting. We shall be leaving fairly soon. We are taking a house in Dorchester and there we shall stay until we find a suitable property.

This is a very interesting house, this. We shall be sorry to leave it. Most of the furniture is ours though the Bourdons did leave one or two pieces. But in any case you would want your own. Would you like to see over it?”

We spent an interesting hour being taken round. The house had been built in the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century. I liked the gables with their pediments and the casements and leaded lights.

Mr. Stenning joined us and he was quite knowledgeable about architecture. He said he thought the house was in the style of the Inigo Jones period and the architects had learned a great deal from him.

“He went to Italy and studied the buildings there. You can detect the influence of that.”

I was not interested so much in the architecture. I was just seeing it as our future home.

The Stennings insisted that we take tea with them and this we did in the drawing room with its gracious proportions and casement windows. It was indeed a beautiful house.

We talked of it incessantly and could hardly wait to get back to Cador and tell my grandparents about it.

They were as thrilled as we were.

“It would be ideal for you,” said my grandfather. “I daresay we shall soon hear what the Bourdons intend to do.”

We became obsessed by the house. We talked of nothing else. A few days after we had been shown over it, we had a note from the Stennings saying that if at any time we wished to look at High Tor, or ask them questions about it, they would be delighted to show or tell us if they knew the answer. We took the first opportunity of calling.

They told us there was a change of plans and they intended to leave a few weeks earlier than they had originally arranged to. In ten days they would be gone. They could give us the Chislehurst address of the Bourdons or perhaps we would prefer to approach them through Mrs. Lansdon.

The Pencarrons came over to Cador to dine and there was a consultation between the two lots of grandparents. Mine were more romantically minded than Mr. Pencarron. “We didn’t want to find we had a ruin on our hands,” he said.

Pedrek reminded him that houses which had stood up to the weather for a few hundred years could surely do so for a few hundred more. But Mr. Pencarron thought that a good solid modern place might be better.

“It’s due to being brought up at Cador,” said my grandmother. “There is something romantic about living in houses where lots of people have lived before.”