The Changeling

A Christmas Tragedy

I REMEMBER IN FLASHES—flashes of sheer desperation and the most absolute wretchedness I have ever known. I can see us standing round her bed. How different she had been in life! She looked beautiful; there was a serenity in her face; she looked so white, so young—and so apart from us. I could not grasp the fact that I had lost her forever.

We hardly looked at the baby. I don’t think we could bear to do so. But for it, this would not have happened.

My grandparents were heartbroken. They had loved her so dearly. They were as stunned as I was. As for Benedict, I had rarely seen such misery as I saw in his face. In it there was a baffled anger against the world. I knew in that moment how deeply he had loved her. I think we all felt the need to get away, to be alone with our grief.

The doctor and Mrs. Polhenny concerned themselves with the child. I sensed, however, that they did not expect her to live. Feeding was a problem, but Mrs. Polhenny understood all about that. We were too stunned by our grief to be able to tear ourselves away from it and I do not know what we should have done without Mrs. Polhenny.

My grandmother said afterwards that we should always be grateful to her. She made little fuss but just continued caring for the child while we nursed our sorrow.

Later, arrangements would have to be made. I supposed the child would stay at Cador. I knew that when my grandmother recovered a little from this terrible blow it was what she would want … as I should. But just at first I could not bear to think of her and, miraculously it seemed to us afterwards, Mrs. Polhenny seemed to understand. She ceased to be the Lord’s avenging angel and became a practical nurse, giving herself to the care of the living while the rest of us mourned the dead.

We struggled through the remainder of that day and night, and in the morning, after I rose from my bed in which I had slept little, I realized that I had to go on with my life. My mother was dead and I had to accept that fact. This time I had really lost her.

We all seemed to be walking round in a state of shock—Benedict more than any of us. My grandfather tried to be calm and reasonable; he was trying to look ahead—anything to shut out the misery of the moment. The day for the funeral was decided on. She lay there in her coffin … she, who had been so alive, so merry, the most important person in my life.

I had my grandparents, of course, and I thanked God for them. And there was the child. She was weak, said Mrs. Polhenny, and she did not want us fussing over her. “Leave her be … just at first. Leave her to me.”

So we left her to Mrs. Polhenny and I think we were rather glad to do so.

The day of the funeral arrived. I shall never forget it … the coaches, the hearses, the undertakers in their morning dress, the scent of lilies. I was never able to smell them after without recalling that scene.

We stood round the grave; Benedict, my grandparents and I, holding my grandmother’s hand. I watched him as the clods fell on the coffin and I had never seen more abject despair in any face.

And then back to Cador which had become a house of mourning.

It had to change. Nothing lasted forever, I consoled myself.

The next day Benedict left. It was as though he could no longer bear to see any of us.

The carriage was at the door to take him to the station and we went down to say goodbye to him. My grandmother tried to console him. She was deeply conscious of his grief.

She said to him: “Leave everything for now, Benedict. We’ll work out something later on … when we are more settled. Rebecca and the child will stay here with us for the time being.”

I saw the look on his face when she mentioned the child. It was a bitter resentment, bordering on hatred. I knew that he had to blame someone to assuage his unbearable grief. He had to replace it with a stronger emotion. I could see he already resented the child and would always say to himself; But for her Angelet would be here.

I understood his feelings, for I too had experienced that bitter resentment and knew how it could take possession of one and warp one’s feelings—for just as he resented the child I had resented him. He was telling himself: But for this child she would be here today, and I was saying: But for you, Benedict Lansdon, I should have my mother as I always had before you came.

It was a relief when he had gone.

Pedrek’s grandparents, the Pencarrons, now showed more than ever what true and loyal friends they were. Their daughter Morwenna and my mother had had a London season together; Morwenna and her husband had gone to Australia with my parents; Pedrek and I had been born out there. There was a lasting bond between us and we were as one family.

After Benedict left, Mrs. Pencarron said to my grandmother: “I am going to take you, your husband and Rebecca back with me to Pencarron. I want you to stay, if only for a couple of nights.”

“There is the child …” said my grandmother.

Mrs. Pencarron looked sad for a moment. Then she said: “Mrs. Polhenny will look after the child. You need to get away … just for a little spell.”

My grandmother was finally persuaded and we left.

The Pencarrons did all they could to help us. It was no good though. My grandmother was very restive. She and I went for long walks together. She talked to me about my mother.

“I feel she is still with us, Rebecca. Don’t let’s try to shut her out. Let’s talk as though she is still with us.”

I told her how she had talked to me only a few weeks before.

“She asked me to care for the baby. ‘Always look after the child,’ she said. It would be my little brother or sister. It was strange the way she talked to me down by the pool.”

“That place meant something special to her.”

“Yes, I know. And now I look back I remember so well what she said. It was as though she knew she might not be here.”

My grandmother slipped her arm through mine. “We have the child, Rebecca.”

“At first none of us seemed to want her.”

“It was because …”

“Because her coming caused my mother’s death.”

“Poor little thing. What did she know about that? We must love the child, Rebecca. We shall, of course. She is your sister … my grandchild. It is what your mother would want … it is what she would expect.”

“And we have left her … already.”

“Yes. But we shall go back and it will be different. We shall find our consolation in the child. We’ll tell them at Pencarron that we’ll go back tomorrow. They’re darlings, they’ll understand.”

They did and the very next day we returned to Cador.

We were greeted by a satisfied Mrs. Polhenny.

“The child is getting on well now,” she said. “She’s turned the corner. I’ve been with her night and day. I could see it was special care she wanted … though I didn’t think at one time I was going to pull her through. You’ll see the change in her. Screaming her head off now she is … that’s if something don’t please her ladyship.”

We were proudly taken to the nursery.

She was right. The baby had changed. She looked plumper … much more healthy … like a different child.

“She’ll get on like a house afire now,” said Mrs. Polhenny. “I can tell you it was touch and go with that one.”

I think from that moment we felt better. We had the baby to think of, to plan for.

We had been wise to take those few days at Pencarron.

They put a divide between us and the terrible shock of my mother’s death.

On our return it was as though we were brought face to face with the fact that we had our lives to lead. We realized that at the back of our minds had been the thought that the child was not going to survive, that there would be no living reminder of the beloved one’s death. Both Dr. Wilmingham and Mrs. Polhenny clearly thought the child would follow her mother, but by a miracle she was not only alive but a healthy baby. And she was here for us to love and cherish as my mother would have wished and expected us to do.

Now the child was all important to us and we began to move, in a small measure it was true, away from our grief.

There must be a christening. She was to be called Belinda Mary. My grandmother chose the name. “It just came to me,” she said; and from then on Belinda became a very definite person. We immediately noticed that there was something special about her; she was brighter than other children; we fancied—absurdly—that she knew us.

Mrs. Polhenny, fortunately, was free from other duties and she took on the role of nurse for a time. I was sure the child owed a great deal to her skill.

We needed a nurse, said my grandmother, and Mrs. Polhenny agreed.

It was about a week after we had returned from Pencarron that she came up with the suggestion.

“There’s my Leah,” she said. “I don’t know, but ever since she went up to High Tor to do that there needlework, she’s been unsettled like. I thought that a spell down at St. Ives with my sister would have made her want to stay at home for a bit …”

My grandmother and I exchanged meaningful glances. We could not imagine Leah’s wanting to return to that cottage where cleanliness ranked almost as high as godliness.

“Leah gets on well with little ones,” went on Mrs. Polhenny. “I’ve taught her a few things … and I’d be on hand. What I think might be an answer is for Leah to take on this job of nurse to the little ’un.”

“Leah!” cried my grandmother. “But Leah is a skilled needlewoman.”

“That means she’ll be able to make for the baby. She’d like that.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“Oh yes, I have that. And, believe me, she wants to do it. She’s tired of sitting over a piece of needlework. It’s bad for the eyes, too. She’s already feeling the need to rest them a bit. She’s been getting headaches. She wants to come here as the baby’s nurse. What she wouldn’t know, I’d tell her … and she’d have a real fondness for the little one.”

“Well,” said my grandmother, “if Leah would really like that, I think it would be an excellent idea.”

“I’ll send her along. She can have a talk with you.”

“It would solve the problem … and we’d have someone we know. I should like that.”

So Leah came and very soon was installed in the nursery. The baby seemed to take to her at once and it appeared to be an excellent arrangement.

We liked Leah. We always had, although, of course, we had not previously seen very much of her. She had always been shut away in the cottage and hardly ever emerged unless in the company of her mother.

Now she seemed like a different person … happier, I thought, and that did not surprise me. She was gentle and quiet. My grandmother said we were very lucky to have her.

Leah was blossoming into a beauty—a rather mysterious one with long dark hair and rather soulful brown eyes. Her care for the child was obvious. My grandmother said that when they were together she looked like a Renaissance portrait of the Madonna; and as soon as the baby began to show awareness it was to Leah she looked.

Our interest in the nursery helped us through those melancholy months. My grandparents and I talked constantly of Belinda. The first smile, the first tooth became a matter of great importance and interest to us.

At least we were recovering from the shock and bracing ourselves to accept the fact that my mother was no longer with us.

We were at the breakfast table—myself and my grandparents—when the mail was brought in. Among it was a letter from Benedict. My grandmother looked at it with alarm and I could see that she was afraid to open it.

She said unnecessarily to my grandfather: “It’s from Benedict.”

He nodded gravely.

“Of course … he’ll want the child. Perhaps.”

My grandfather said gently: “Open it, Annora. I am sure he realizes it is best for Belinda and Rebecca to be here.”

Her fingers shook a little and her expression changed to one of relief as she read. I watched her avidly.

“He says the child and Rebecca are his responsibility.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Well, I suppose he would be considered your guardian now that he is your stepfather,” said my grandfather.

“No. You are my guardians.”

He smiled at me. Then: “What else does he say?”

“That he will consider making arrangements which he will talk over with us later on. In the meantime, if it is no inconvenience to us, it might be better for the children to stay here.”

My grandmother laughed. “Inconvenience indeed!”

I laughed with her. “He doesn’t want us … any more than we want him.”

“So all is well,” said my grandmother.

“He just doesn’t want us to think he doesn’t realize all we are doing,” said my grandfather.

“He will reimburse us for the expense,” she went on.

“What on Earth is he talking about?”

“I suppose he means the nurse and all that.”

“What nonsense!”

“Well, all’s well. We carry on as before.”

It was a great relief to us all. But it did set me wondering. I did not like to be reminded that he was my guardian and Belinda’s father; and that he would be the one to decide our future.

I ran to my grandmother and clung to her. “We’re going to stay with you,” I said. “I won’t leave you.”

“It’ll be all right,” my grandfather assured me. “It’s his way of saying he cares about you. He’s glad you’re here and we’re looking after you—which we can do better than he could … in a place like this.”

When I mentioned the matter later to my grandmother she said: “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be easy for him to set up a household in London or Manorleigh without a wife. He will be immersed in his career. He just wants us to know that he is aware of his responsibilities, but he must realize that the best place for Belinda is here. But you have to remember that he is her father.”

“I wish he were not,” I said.

My grandmother shook her head sadly.

She was wishing as I was that we had all gone on as it had been when we were all happy together.

A year passed and the anniversary of my mother’s death had come. During the last year Benedict had paid two visits to Cornwall. He inspected the baby. I was in the nursery at the time. Belinda regarded him with indifference. Leah picked her up and placed her in his arms. He held her gingerly and Belinda set up a wail of protest until Leah took her back when she chuckled with gratification.

Leah said: “She’s a very bright baby, sir. You will be proud of her.”

He looked at Leah intently. She lowered her eyes and flushed a little, looking more than ever like a painting of the Madonna.

My grandmother talked to him afterwards about Leah.

“She’s exceptionally good with Belinda,” she told him. “And she’s knowledgeable. She’s the daughter of the midwife and I think she has learned a lot about babies from her mother.”

He said: “She seems efficient.”

He talked to me in that restrained way which suggested that he knew of my dislike for him, and possibly felt the same towards me.

“Rebecca, you will have to go to school at some time,” he said. “It simply isn’t good enough to be merely governess-taught.”

“I’m quite happy with Miss Brown.”

“There is more to education than happiness. It is what was planned for you.”

He meant he and my mother had planned it for me. So she had discussed me with him.

“Perhaps next year,” he said.

So I was safe for the time being.

I was glad when he left for London. My grandmother was relieved too. I think she always had it in mind that he was going to take Belinda and me away from her.

I might be sent to school, but I was sure he would not want Belinda. Something in the way he looked at the child convinced me that he blamed her for my mother’s death.

Pedrek came to Cornwall for the summer holidays, bringing a school friend with him. Of course, the friend did not want a girl to join them. So it was different. Pedrek was a very kind person and always careful of other people’s feelings—he took after his mother in that—so he was aware that I was feeling shut out. He was half apologetic but what could he do? He must entertain his guest. We were all growing up and that was another aspect of change.

I used to go down to the pool often and I would think of my mother and when we had sat there and talked. I remembered how she had asked me to care for the child then unborn. It was as though she had had a premonition of what was going to happen, as though she knew she were going to die.

The pool had meant something special to her and while I was there I would have an uncanny feeling that she was there beside me … that she was trying to talk to me.

It was at the pool that I first became aware of Lucie.

I was interested in her because no one had believed her mother was going to have her until almost the time of her birth—and no one knew who her father was.

Mrs. Polhenny mentioned her now and then.

She said: “You couldn’t find a better mother than Jenny Stubbs, which is a strange thing, her being a penny short in the head so to speak. But she’s nothing short when it comes to babies. Little scrap of a thing that Lucie was … now she’s bonny; and I reckon it’s due to Jenny. Her sort’s meant to be mothers. A pity the good Lord saw fit to cut her a bit short.”

It was the nearest criticism I had ever heard her utter against the Lord, so she must have felt rather strongly.

My grandmother marvelled too. Mrs. Granger at the farm where Jenny worked said the change in her was remarkable since Lucie had been born. “Quite sensible she is now,” went on Mrs. Granger, “and that Lucie … Miss Belinda couldn’t be better looked after. Always clean she is … always well cared for. I let her bring her here. It makes no difference to the work and I wouldn’t want to lose Jenny. She’s a good worker … and now she’s got her wits about her, all the better.”

My grandmother said: “The poor girl had a fixation about a child. You see she lost the child she cared for some years ago. She was always simple and now she’s got another of her own she’s satisfied. When she took you away she looked after you just as she’s looking after little Lucie now. I know that Mrs. Polhenny and her kind deplore the fact that the child is illegitimate but if it changes a life like that there can’t be a lot of harm in it.”

In any case I was very interested in Lucie and she obviously took a liking to me. I used to go to the pool on most afternoons and Jenny would bring her out of the cottage and they would talk to me.

She was two years old at the time—a lovely child with blue eyes and dark hair. She would stand close to me regarding me gravely; then she would smile.

“She’s took a big fancy to you, Miss Rebecca,” said Jenny happily.

Sometimes Leah and Belinda would be with me. The two children were of an age and they would play together. I was amused for, young as they were, Belinda was the dominating one.

I should have liked the children to play more often than they did but Leah sometimes made excuses. When the two little ones were together I had noticed her watching them uneasily. I wondered if she harbored some snobbish notion about Belinda’s belonging to the big house and therefore she should not be playing with a cottage child.

I mentioned this to my grandmother who agreed that the humbler classes were far more aware of these distinctions than we were. We only had to consider the rigid protocol of the staff to realize that.

She was glad that I took an interest in Jenny and Lucie. She herself visited the cottage often and made sure there was always plenty of food and comfort there.

The more I saw of Lucie the fonder I became of her and I looked forward to our meetings.

“What will happen to her?” I said to my grandmother. “It’s all right now she is a baby but what when she grows up?”

“I daresay she will do some sort of work in one of the houses … or farms maybe … like her mother.”

“I always feel there is something unusual about her.”

“We shall keep our eyes on her and do what we can.”

“She is very bright, you know. As bright as Belinda, I think, only Belinda is more forceful.”

“Can you tell at such an age?”

“I think it shows. I do hope Lucie will be all right.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep our eyes on her.”

I knew it had to change. Just after Belinda’s second birthday I went away to school. Miss Brown, said Benedict, was no longer adequate to teach me.

“What does he know about it?” I demanded. “He is not the least interested in what I learn.”

“He and your mother must have discussed it together,” soothed my grandmother. “It is probably right for you. You are shut away down here and it will be good for you to meet people.”

So I went away to school and for the first weeks hated it, and then grew accustomed to it and quite liked it. I made friends quite easily; I was fairly good at games, slightly better at lessons—Miss Brown had given me good grounding—and I got along very well.

Time passed quickly. I came home to Cador for holidays and looked forward to that but I found I was quite eager to rejoin my fellow pupils. School events such as who was picked for the school concert or with whom I shared my room and the destination of outings seemed of great importance.

My grandparents were pleased that I had fitted in so well. They eagerly read my reports and sent them on to Benedict. I felt sure he never looked at them.

I came home for that Christmas holiday. Pedrek and his parents were at Pencarron for the festivities and we saw a good deal of them. Pedrek brought no school friend with him on this occasion and it was like it used to be without intrusion.

Belinda would soon be four years old. I was amazed how she grew while I was away. She was quite imperious now and could talk quite fluently. Leah said with pride that she was very bright for her age, and she was greatly looking forward to Christmas.

On the day there was to be a party for her; the twins and several children from the neighborhood had been invited; a conjuror was coming from Plymouth to entertain them.

My grandmother looked happier than she had for a long time. Planning for Belinda had been good for her.

My thoughts went to Lucie. How different her Christmas would be!

I asked my grandmother about her. “Oh, we’ve seen that they don’t want for anything. I’ve had some coal and wood delivered to the cottage and I thought you’d like to take over a basket for them.”

“I’d like that. When?”

“My dear, you’ve only just come home. In good time for Christmas.”

“I shall go down tomorrow. Perhaps I could take something then.”

“You’re very interested in that child, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. Her birth was so unexpected, wasn’t it? We none of us believed that Jenny was really going to have her. And I think she is a very intelligent child. I can’t imagine how Jenny could have one like that.”

“Oh, parents often have the most unlikely children. But I agree she is a nice child.”

“I compare her with Belinda … who has so much.”

“Well, that’s how the world goes. There are always these divisions.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But I would like to take something really good.”

“You shall.”

So the next day I was at the cottage. The pool looked dreary. It was a damp dark day and the willows trailing over the pool and the brownish green water looked sinister in the gloom.

The cottage was welcoming though. It was very neat and clean. Lucie came running out when I knocked. She caught me round the legs and hugged me.

It was a spontaneous and warm welcome.

“I’ve been away to school,” I said.

“I tell her,” said Jenny. “She does not know about school.”

“I’ll explain to her.”

I sat down on one of the chairs and took the child on my knees. I told her about my school, the dormitories we slept in, the big hall where we assembled, the teachers we had, how we worked at our desks, how we went for long walks in the country with two mistresses, one at the head of the crocodile and one at the rear, how we played games, how we learned to dance and sing.

She listened intently. I don’t think she understood half of it, but she watched my mouth the whole time. I was talking and her expression was one of enchantment.

Jenny wanted to know how the little one up at Cador was. I told her Belinda was well and looking forward to Christmas. I started to tell her about the party which was being arranged and the conjuror who was coming from Plymouth … then I stopped short. It was insensitive of me. Poor Lucie would not have such a party.

“What is a conjuror?” asked Lucie.

So I had to explain. “He makes things disappear and finds them again as if by magic.”

“And he be coming all the way from Plymouth,” said Jenny.

Lucie’s eyes were wide with excitement. She kept asking questions about the conjuror. I had to go on explaining.

Could she come to the party? I wondered. My grandparents were by no means sticklers for convention. But if Lucie—the child of crazy Jenny—were invited, all the children from the outlying farms and cottages would be expected to attend.

As soon as I reached home I told my grandmother what had happened.

“It was stupid of me,” I said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the party, but I did and it slipped out about the conjuror … and that was how it came about.”

My grandmother raised the point which had occurred to me. If Lucie came all the local children would feel slighted if they were not asked. Then my grandmother had an idea. She would get Jenny to come and help in the kitchen. She could bring Lucie … and Lucie should join the party.

And so it was arranged.

When I put the proposition to Jenny her eyes shone with delight. I said: “And Lucie shall come to see the conjuror with the other children.”

She clasped her hands together. “She’s been talking of nothing but that there conjuror ever since yesterday.”

Lucie jumped up and down with glee when I told her she was to come to the party. I knelt down and put my arms around her. I felt a tremendous tenderness towards the child and a need to protect her.

It occurred to me a little later that all the children would be in their party dresses, and what had Lucie but her little smock? True, it would be clean and neat but there would be a marked difference between her and the others.

Belinda had numerous dresses which she did not need. Why should not Lucie have one of these? I broached the matter to my grandmother and she thought it an excellent idea.

I consulted Leah who found a very pretty dress which she had made for Belinda and which she had not worn for some time. It was pale blue with a frill at the neck and a flounced skirt; and there was a bow of blue ribbon at the waist.

“That is just the thing,” I said.

“I don’t think it was ever one of Belinda’s favorites,” said Leah. “I made a mistake with all those flounces.”

“I think it is charming and I am sure Lucie will be delighted. She will never have had such a dress before.”

When I took it along to the cottage I was immensely gratified. I had never seen such joy in a child’s face before. Jenny watched with her hands clasped together.

“Oh, Miss Rebecca,” she said, “you be very good to we.”

I was touched as I had rarely been. Jenny’s love for that child was beautiful to see. The child’s happiness meant everything to her. I thought Lucie deprived when compared with Belinda, but how could she be with love like that?

It was a joyous occasion. Now I could talk about the exploits of conjurors with the utmost freedom.

We laughed and chatted. I could not believe that Jenny was the same person whom I had seen singing in the lanes.

Belinda with Leah helped to dress the Christmas tree. She was a little imperious giving orders. “This is where I want this …” and so on.

There were to be presents for all the children and these would be distributed before the conjuror arrived. I had chosen a doll for Lucie. It had long flaxen hair and eyes which shut when the doll was held backwards.

There were candles on the tree which would be lighted at dusk.

Belinda shrieked with delight when she saw the candles. She said it ought to be Christmas every day.

And at last it came.

All the family from Pencarron were with us. They were going to stay the night because it was a fair way to Pencarron Manor and we did not know what the weather would be like.

Then there were Jack and Marian with the twins, Jacco and Anne-Mary; and the Wilminghams with their son and daughter and three grandchildren were to come for Christmas Day. There would also be another little girl and boy from about a mile away.

My grandparents had said that Christmas Day was for the children and that it should be devoted to their pleasure.

Jenny arrived with Lucie who looked very pretty in her blue flounces. Her eyes lit up with pleasure when she saw me and she ran to me and hugged me round the knees as she usually did. I found this very endearing. I sensed that she was a little overawed and rather eager to keep at my side.

My grandmother kissed her and, taking her by the hand, led her into the hall. I was thrilled to see the wonder in her eyes as she contemplated the tree.

The other children were all gathered there. Belinda came over and I was amused to see with what dignity she greeted Lucie. I had already spoken to her and told her that Lucie was coming and that as she was the hostess she must make sure that all her guests were comfortable.

She had liked the idea of that.

“This is my house,” she told Lucie immediately. “I am the hostess.”

Lucie nodded but she could not take her eyes from the Christmas tree.

My grandmother and I gave out the presents and when I saw Lucie’s joy in her flaxen haired doll I felt a wave of happiness. Then I felt rather guilty to be so contented without my mother. I uttered a little prayer to her. “I have not forgotten you. I never shall. But I am so happy to be able to do this for the child.”

In that moment I almost felt that she was beside me, sharing in my happiness and that gave me immense comfort.

The conjuror had arrived. As we arranged the chairs for the children I heard Belinda say: “Lucie, you’ve got my dress.”

Lucie looked down with dismay at the flounces of which she was so proud.

“I didn’t say you could have it. It’s mine.”

I took Belinda’s arm and whispered: “Don’t be silly. I told you you have to be polite to your guests.”

“But she’s got my dress. It’s mine.”

“It’s her dress.”

“It’s just like mine.”

“Be quiet or you won’t see the conjuror.”

Belinda put out the tip of her tongue. It was a gesture of defiance and disrespect. She had done it before and been admonished; she had then sworn that she did not know her tongue was there. Sometimes I had uneasy qualms about her. Even Leah, who doted on her, admitted that she was “a bit of a handful.”

There was silence in the hall as the conjuror took his place and began to perform his tricks. He folded paper; he tore it; and when it unfurled it had become a ship. He threw little balls in the air … many of them and caught them all. He brought eggs out of his ears and a rabbit out of a hat.

The children were entranced. It had been a brilliant idea to get a conjuror.

Sometimes he wanted help from one of the children—someone to hold his hat and assure the company that there was nothing in it, someone to make sure that the handkerchief was a blue one before it disappeared into his pocket and came out red.

“Now, one of your children …”

It was always Belinda. She was the one. If any of the others attempted to get up he or she would be pushed aside. It was as though she could not help reminding them that this was her house and if anyone was going to take part in the show, she was that one.

She was quick and intelligent, of course, but I wished she would sometimes allow one of the others to share the glory.

The last trick had been played; the conjuror was getting his props together and Belinda was dancing round him asking questions.

Jacco boasted that he could do a trick, tried and failed and there was general derision.

It was time that the candles were lighted. The children watched with wonder while this was done. The tree looked very pretty.

Pedrek was at my side.

“He was good, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, and I should like to know how he does some of those tricks.”

“That’s the last thing he’d want you to know.”

Belinda was looking round for something to-do. She saw Lucie standing there.

She said: “You have got my dress.”

“It’s mine,” replied Lucie fiercely. “Miss Rebecca gave it tome.”

“It’s not hers to give.”

I was about to protest when Pedrek said: “Let’s go for a ride tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, I’d like that,” I replied.

Jenny came in with a tray of lemonade for the children. She set it down by the tree. Lucie noticed her and ran to her, possibly to escape from Belinda’s taunts. Belinda snatched one of the candles from the tree and brandishing it ran after Lucie.

“It’s my dress. It’s my dress. I’m a witch. I’m waving my wand. I’m going to turn you into a toad. It’s magic.”

It all happened so quickly. She touched the flounce of the dress with the candle. I felt stunned as I saw the flames creep round the skirt and up … Lucie was a ball of flame.

I heard the screams and shouts, but before any of us could reach the child Jenny was there. She flung herself on top of Lucie, beating out the flames with her hands. She pushed the child away from her … Lucie lay on the floor, her dress no longer alight, but Jenny’s clothing was a mass of flames.

It had all happened in a few seconds. Pedrek was the first to move. He picked up a rug and wrapped it round Jenny. He battled for a few moments before the fire was extinguished.

Jenny lay there, her hair burned from her head … her skin horribly discolored … moaning faintly.

My grandmother shouted for Dr. Wilmingham but he was already there, kneeling beside Jenny.

There was pandemonium.

Lucie was in a state of shock and it was to her that Dr. Wilmingham gave his care. There was no saving Jenny.

She had given her life for the child’s.

What a terrible ending to that never-to-be-forgotten Christmas.

I was relieved to discover that Lucie was not as badly hurt as I had feared. Jenny had been so quick to beat out the fire with her own body that all the child had suffered from were a few superficial burns which Dr. Wilmingham was able to deal with.

Pedrek too had burns on his hands but fortunately nothing serious.

Leah had taken Belinda away. I was wondering what effect this would have on her. Did she realize that she was responsible for one death and might have been for another?

We should have to talk very seriously to Belinda; but at the moment Lucie was our concern. I asked that she should be put in my bed that I might be with her throughout the night. I wondered what we were going to tell her. There was the even more pressing problem of what would become of her.

At the moment she was deeply shocked and in some pain from the burns. I knew my presence comforted her to a great extent and I was glad that I had had the foresight to insist that she was put into my bed.

What a strangely long day that was. Lucie was given a sedative and I was glad she slept.

Gathered downstairs were my grandparents with Pedrek and his family with the Wilminghams. Jack and Marian had thought it best to take the children home and all the other young people had left also.

“What a terrible thing to happen,” said my grandmother. “It is that child I’m thinking of most.”

“Miraculously she is not badly hurt … physically,” said Dr. Wilmingham. “That heroic woman saw to that. But naturally this sort of thing is a great shock to the system. We shall have to watch that. The poor child has lost her mother. I don’t know what will come out of this.”

“The question will be what will become of her?” said my grandmother.

“We shall see that she is all right, won’t we, Granny?” I said.

She nodded reassuringly. “Poor, poor little thing. She was so happy watching the conjuror.”

“And Belinda …” I began.

There was silence.

My grandmother said at length: “Leah was so anxious about her.”

“Anxious about her!” I cried. “She was the one who caused it all. What is she going to think? Jenny Stubbs … dead … because of her.”

“I know,” said my grandmother. “It’s a terrible thing to happen to a child.”

“She deliberately took the candle and set fire to Lucie’s dress.”

“Children don’t understand the dangers of fire. She’s very young … and seeing all those tricks … she probably thought she was going to transform Lucie into a dragon or something.”

“We mustn’t be too hard on her,” said my grandfather. “Something like this could scar a child’s mind for ever.”

“I know,” agreed my grandmother. “It’s a terrible situation. It was my fault for giving Lucie Belinda’s dress.”

My grandfather said: “Oh come. Don’t let’s start blaming ourselves. We would all have done anything to avert such a tragedy.”

“I am glad Lucie is with you, Rebecca,” said my grandmother.

“If she awakened in the night, she wouldn’t know where she was … so I thought it best …”

“Yes, you are right.”

Silence fell upon us. We were all thoughtful—every one of us preoccupied with Lucie and the terrible tragedy which had come upon us.

I lay beside the child, thankful that she was still sleeping. She looked very young and vulnerable. I wanted to weep for the cruelty of life which had taken my mother from me … as Lucie’s had been taken from her. That made me feel doubly close to the child.

I would be there when she awoke. I would hold her tightly and comfort her.

On that Christmas night I had a strange experience. I was not sure whether I was awake or sleeping. I thought I was awake but afterwards I supposed I could not have been, for it seemed to me that my mother was in the room. Remembering back I did not see her but I almost felt that I did. It was just that I knew she was there. I did not hear her voice but the words were in my mind. She was calling to me … telling me what I must do.

I lay there, my heart pounding. I was exultant suddenly because she was with me … because she had come back. I tried to call out to her but I did not hear my voice.

I just know that she was with me … urging me to act.

I was wide awake. The room was silent. The child was still sleeping beside me. I could see the shapes of the furniture in the pale moonlight.

I got out of bed and put on my dressing gown and slippers.

“Where are you, Mama … dearest Mama, where are you?” I whispered.

There was no answer.

I went to the window and looked out. There was moonlight on the sea; I listened to the silence all around me, broken only by the gentle swishing of the waves.

I could not stay in my room. Some impulse made me go to the door. I looked out. All was quiet. I went down the great staircase to the hall.

There was the Christmas tree … an object of tragedy now. The burned-down candles… the symbol of tragedy. I sat down beside it and covered my face with my hands.

“Come back,” I murmured. “Come back, Mama. You did come back … for a while.”

And as I sat there, I heard a soft footfall on the stairs. I looked up eagerly. It was my grandmother coming into the hall.

“Rebecca,” she said. “I thought I heard someone moving about. What are you doing down here?”

“I … I couldn’t sleep.”

She came and sat beside me. She took my hand. “My dear child,” she said. “I know what you feel.”

“It’s the child,” I said. “There is something I must do.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to take her. I want her to come here … not as the child of a servant. I want her to be here with us … I just feel that is what must be.”

My grandmother nodded.

“You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes. And she is all alone now. What will become of her … some workhouse … an orphanage? Oh no, I couldn’t bear it. Something happened, Granny. Upstairs just now … it was as though my mother came to me.”

“Oh, my dear …”

“Was I dreaming? I don’t know. I thought she was in the room. I thought she was telling me what to do.”

“It was your heart telling you, Rebecca.”

“I don’t know. But I have to do it. I don’t care if no one will help me. I am going to look after Lucie.”

“What do you mean … if no one will help you? You know we’ll help you.”

I turned to her and she took me into her arms.

“Rebecca, you are a dear child and I’m proud of you. We will take her in. She shall share the nursery with Belinda. Belinda owes her that, doesn’t she?”

“What of Belinda, Granny?”

“She is a normal highspirited child. She meant no harm. Leah says she has been crying bitterly. It was just a game to her. She did not understand what fire could do.”

“Then she has learned a lesson tonight … a bitter one. And at what cost to poor Jenny and Lucie!”

My grandmother said: “Rebecca, it is the least we can do … if only for the sake of Jenny who, without a moment’s hesitation, gave her own life to save the child’s.”

“You always understood me.”

She stood up suddenly as though afraid of her emotion.

“It’s chilly,” she said. “We should get back to bed. Besides … what if Lucie should wake.”

“I should be there to comfort her. I always will be, Granny. I always will.”

I went to my room. Lucie was sleeping peacefully. I had a feeling that there was a presence there … my mother … and that she was pleased.