The changeling

He lifted his shoulders. “I visit now and then. It is enough. If we could go back to the Old France ... perhaps I would be there. But not this time ... the communards... Gambetta with his Republicans ... they have destroyed the old France. But you do not want to hear of our politics ... our mismanagements. I have made this my home now ... and so have others. That is France for us. These matters are a bore. I will not speak of them.”

“I find them interesting ... as I do our own politics. When I am in London ...”

“Oh yes, you are at the heart of politics. In the house of your stepfather and my sister. But you will have to renounce all that. You are going to live the life of a lady of the manor. It is what you have chosen. I want to talk to you. Let us find a cosy inn. We can give the horses a rest and talk over a tankard of cider. How is that?”

“Yes, please let us do that. I am sure you have a lot to tell me about High Tor.” The inn he chose was that one where, not so long ago, Pedrek and I had been. There was the King’s head with the dark sensuous face of the Merry Monarch depicted on the sign over the door.

“I believe the cider in here is of a particularly good vintage.” We seated ourselves in the inn parlor with the horse brasses and the leaded windows and cider was brought to us by a buxom girl who claimed Jean Pascal’s attention for a few fleeting moments.

“Ha!” he said. “The old English inn ... a feature of the countryside.”

“And a very pleasant one.”

“I agree!” He lifted his tankard. “Like so much in this country ... its women for one thing and chief among them Miss Rebecca Mandeville.”

“Thank you,” I said coolly. “The Stennings are going at the end of the week, are they not?”

He smiled at me. “High Tor occupies your mind to the exclusion of everything else.”

“I admit it.”

“You see life at the moment in the glow of romance.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what it is like to be young ... and in love. And you are both young and in love with the fortunate Pedrek.”

“I think we are both fortunate.”

“I think he is.”

There was a warm glow in his eyes. I thought: He cannot resist flirting with any woman ... even one who, he knows, is on the point of marriage. It is all part of the way in which he looks at women. I supposed I should be amused and I was, to a certain extent, because we were in an inn parlor with mine host and hostess bustling about in the next room. It would have been different had I been alone with him. I felt safe.

He put his tankard on the table and leaned towards me.

“Tell me,” he said. “Have you ever had a lover before the worthy Pedrek?”

I flushed hotly. “What do you mean?”

He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders. Like most of his countrymen and -women-I had noticed it in his sister Celeste-he used his hands a great deal in conversation. “I mean ... is this Pedrek the first?” He laughed suddenly. ‘And now you are going to say I am impertinent.”

“You read my thoughts,” I said. I had risen from my chair and he put out a hand and detained me.

“Do please sit down. You are very young, Mademoiselle Rebecca, and for that reason you close your eyes to much which goes on in the world. It is not a good thing to close one’s eyes. If one is going to live well and wisely ... to have a good marriage and understand what it is all about ... one must be wise in the ways of the world.”

“I thought we were going to talk about the house. Really, I don’t want to ...”

“I know. You don’t want to look at reality. You want to make your pretty pictures and paste them over the truth ... deluding yourself as you do so. There are people who delude themselves all through their lives. Are you going to be one of them?”

“Perhaps they are happy doing it.”

“Happiness? Can there be true happiness through shutting one’s eyes to reality?”

“I don’t know what you are trying to say but I don’t think it necessary to continue this conversation.”

“You are being a little ... childish ... is it?”

“Then you must be bored with my company and I will say goodbye. There is no need for you to leave. I may be childish but I am capable of riding back alone. I ride by myself frequently.”

“You are very pretty when you are angry.”

I turned away impatiently.

“You are afraid to listen to me,” he accused.

“Why should I be afraid?”

“Because you fear to listen to the truth.”

“I am not afraid, I assure you, but I find your questions offensive.”

“About a lover? I apologize. I know you are a virgin and propose to remain so until your wedding night. That is charming, I know. I was merely hinting that a little premarital experience can sometimes be an advantage.”

“I cannot understand why you are talking to me like this.” His attitude changed and he became almost humble. “I am foolish,” he said. “That is why. Perhaps I am a little envious of Monsieur Pedrek.”