The Changeling

The Engagement

I HAD JUST PASSED my seventeenth birthday. It was six years since my mother had died. I had never forgotten that Christmas night when she had seemed to come to me. I often felt that she was close and that gave me great comfort.

My grandmother had often said we must get on with our lives. We must stop looking back and we were succeeding to a certain extent. I had done something for Lucie and she certainly had for me. I had cared for her—and she needed great care during the weeks which followed Jenny’s death—and she had given me a new interest in life. She had been bewildered; she had cried for Jenny. I had to be a substitute for her. It was fortunate that I had already found my way into her affections. I cannot think what would have happened to the child but for that. I was the one she now relied on; she looked to me for everything, and I was deeply touched and gratified that she had this trust in me. During those first weeks she followed me around. Her little face would pucker with fear if I went away. My grandmother tried to help and to stand in for me on those occasions when I had to part from her; but she said Lucie was always uneasy until I reappeared.

Everyone was so sorry for the child that they were eager to help in whatever way was possible. Leah was good with children and she took her into the nursery and made it her home. All the servants did their best and there was no resentment—as we had feared there might be—because a child from the cottages was being treated as a member of the family.

Belinda—rather to my surprise—was helpful and shared her toys, showing no rancor at the intrusion into her undisputed domain. I think she must have realized what a terrible thing had happened and that she had helped to bring it about. She was quieter than she had been for some time. Leah stressed that she should not be told that she was responsible for the death of Jenny Stubbs while at the same time she should be made to realize the danger of playing with fire. Leah seemed to have great understanding of children and was proving to be a wonderful nanny which surprised me when I considered the life she had led as the captive of a self-righteous mother, stitching the hours away at her embroidery.

When I had to go back to school I explained to Lucie that I should be home soon and in the meantime there was my grandmother as well as Leah and Belinda to look after her.

She accepted this with a look of sad resignation and the memory of her pensive little face was with me as I made my journey back to school.

When they had reached the age of five a governess had been engaged for them. Miss Stringer was energetic and efficient, brisk but kindly and she had a gift for enforcing discipline in a rather genial way which was very necessary in the case of Belinda.

Leah, of course, remained in charge of the nursery. My grandmother said she made herself more indispensable every day.

Benedict paid periodic visits which I always thought to him were a matter of duty. I wished he would stay away, for I could never see him without remembering how happy I had been before the fatal marriage which had resulted in my mother’s death. I believed I never would forget that or forgive him for spoiling my life.

On those occasions Belinda would be presented to him and I could see by his expression that he was remembering that her arrival had caused the departure of my mother. He bore the same resentment towards her which I did towards him; so I understood his feelings well.

Belinda was aware of it, I felt sure. She was a very sharp child. I had seen her regarding him with a hint of hostility in her eyes. Once as he turned away after a rather perfunctory talk about her riding and how she was getting on with her lessons, I saw the tip of a pink tongue protruding very slightly from her lips, and I could not help smiling. So she had retained the habit then. She was really a rather naughty little girl.

Well, there I was, my schooldays coming to an end. I might have guessed there would be speculation among the adult members of the family as to what was to happen to me.

Benedict wrote to my grandparents now and then and I knew something serious was about to happen when they said they wanted to talk to me.

I went to the small sitting room just off the hall where they were waiting for me. They both looked apprehensive.

“Rebecca,” began my grandfather, “you are growing up fast.”

I raised my eyebrows. Surely they had not asked me to come here to tell me such an obvious fact.

“Schooldays are over,” went on my grandmother, “and, of course, there is your future.”

I smiled at them. “Well, I shall be at home, I suppose. There is plenty for me to do here.”

“We have to think of what is best for you, of course,” said my grandfather and my grandmother went on: “Perhaps it is not the place for a young girl. At least your stepfather thinks something should be done.”

“My stepfather! What is it to do with him?”

“Well, he is your natural guardian, you know.”

“He’s not. You are. I’ve always been with you.” I was beginning to be alarmed.

My grandmother saw this and tried to soothe me. “We have to look at this clearly, Rebecca,” she said. “Your stepfather is going to be married.”

“Married!”

“It is six years since your mother died. A man in his position needs a wife.”

“And that is why he is getting married?”

My grandmother shrugged her shoulders. “I daresay he is very fond of the lady. It is very natural, Rebecca. I think it is what your mother would have wanted for him. She loved him very dearly, you know, as he did her.”

“So he is going to marry again!”

“He is probably lonely. He needs a wife … a family. He is a rising politician. A wife is an asset to a man in his position. I know he has been unhappy for a long time. I hope it is a success and he finds some happiness again.”

“But what of me?”

“He wants you to go and live in his house … you and Belinda.”

“And what of Lucie?”

“She would stay here perhaps. Don’t worry about her. We’d always care for her.”

“But I have promised …” I hesitated and went on: “I have sworn to look after her … always.”

“We know how you feel. But I think we should wait and see what happens. He is coming down soon.”

“I shall never leave Lucie.”

“It will be best to wait and see.”

“Who is he going to marry?”

“He did not say. It must be someone he met in London or Manorleigh. He would meet all sorts of suitable people in the course of his career, I daresay.”

“We can be sure she will be suitable.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Rebecca. I hope he will find some happiness.”

There was a certain amount of apprehension because Benedict was coming.

My grandfather said: “I imagine he is a little disappointed that Disraeli stayed in power so long. It must be five years. But Gladstone’s popularity is rising. There’ll probably be a new government in a year or two … and it won’t be Disraeli’s.”

“That’s the worst of politics,” replied my grandmother. “There’s so much luck in it. So much depends on who’s in and who’s out. There are all those years of waiting while a man gets older. It can mean that the most promising career never gets a chance to blossom. But I daresay if the Liberals get in Benedict will get a post if it is only an under secretaryship to start with. There is a forcefulness about him and it should be obvious that he is an outstanding man. Surely the sort who would add to his party’s stature.”

“H’m,” said my grandfather.

“I know what you are thinking … that matter of his first wife’s death.”

They talked freely before me now. It was an indication that I was adult. There was no secret in the family that, before Benedict had married my mother, he had married Lizzie Morley and through her had acquired the goldmine which had provided the foundation for his wealth, and that Lizzie had died suddenly and at first mysteriously, until it was discovered that she was suffering from a painful illness which must mean eventual death and she had taken her own life. However before that had been known foul play had been suspected. It had all been satisfactorily cleared up but such events have a way of creating something vaguely unpleasant which clings. People forget the true facts and remember that there was an unpleasant aura about something that happened in the past.

“Well,” said my grandfather, “it could be a reason.”

“To have a respectable family would do him a great deal of good,” added my grandmother.

“I am afraid he will never forget Angelet. Right from the time he came down here as a young man … I knew there was some special rapport between them.” His voice faltered and my grandmother changed the subject.

“We must wait and see,” she said briskly. “I am sure it will all turn out for the best.”

Would it? I wondered. He was going to marry again, because a wife was good for his political career. Belinda and I were to be his family for the same reason. There would always be a motive with him. Lizzie had brought him a goldmine; my mother had brought him love; and this new woman and Belinda and I were to provide the happy family which the voters liked their member to have.

One thing I was certain of was that no one was going to part me from Lucie.

On those occasions when I knew that he was coming I always built up a picture of him in my mind. Arrogant, overbearing, knowing I did not like him and therefore despising me because he was so wonderful that anyone who did not recognize this obvious fact must be a fool.

When he came he was always different from my mental picture which was a little disconcerting.

He arrived in midafternoon and one of the first things he did was have a talk with my grandparents.

After that my grandmother came to my room. “He wants to talk to you,” she said. “I think he really wants to do everything for the best.”

“The best for him,” I retorted.

“The best for all concerned,” she corrected. “It is better that he explains to you himself.”

I went down to him in the little sitting room. He rose and took my hands.

“Why, Rebecca, how you have grown!”

What did he expect, I wondered. That I was going to remain a child all my life?

“Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, so I was told. I believe I have to congratulate you on your coming marriage.”

He frowned and looked at me intently. “Yes,” he said. “I am to be married next month.” He turned to me suddenly and I felt sorry for him as I had never done before. His mouth twisted a little and he said in a voice unlike his normal one: “It is six years, Rebecca. I think of her all the time. But … one cannot go on living in the past. You know what she meant to me … and I believe she would want me to do what I propose to now. We have to get on with our lives … you, too. I know your feelings. I know how it was with you two. She often told me. I was there when you were born. I could be fond of you as my own child … if you would allow me. But you never have, have you? You have resented me. I don’t reproach you. I understand … absolutely. In fact, I believe I should have felt the same had I been you. You see, we both loved her … infinitely.”

I could not believe that this was the great Benedict speaking. I was deeply moved but, even as I listened, so great was my resentment against him that I was telling myself that he was not completely sincere. He had loved her … but in his selfish way. There was only one person he loved wholeheartedly and that was Benedict Lansdon.

He seemed to regret his lapse into sentimentality.

“We have to be practical, Rebecca,” he went on. “It is not good for me to go on in this way … and not good for you either. You are now a young lady. You cannot be shut away in the country.”

“I don’t feel shut away. I am very happy with my grandparents.”

“I know. They are wonderful people, but you have to come out into the world. It is what your mother would have wanted for you. You have to make a life for yourself. You have to meet people of your own age. You have to mix into a society where you belong … where you can meet suitable people.”

“Suitable? Everything has to be suitable.”

He looked at me in amazement. “What is wrong with that? Of course everything should be suitable. You don’t want things to be unsuitable, do you? What I propose is that after the wedding, when we get settled in, you and Belinda come up to London. You will live mainly at Manorleigh. That is most … suitable.” He looked at me and smiled. “It is a most … er … satisfactory residence. We shall take the governess and the nurse with us. The nursery will just be transported from Cador.”

“You make it all sound very simple.”

“It is simple. As for you … you must have a London season.”

“I wouldn’t want that.”

“You must have it. It would be …”

“Suitable?”

“Necessary … in your position. You are my stepdaughter, you must remember. It would be expected. Moreover, you would find it very enjoyable … exciting even.”

“I am not sure about that.”

“I am. You have lived too long out of touch down here.”

“I have been as happy … as I could be in the circumstances.”

“I know. Your grandparents have been wonderful.”

“I suppose you can take Belinda, but I won’t come. I can’t. There is a reason.”

“What reason?”

“The child Lucie.”

“Oh,” he said. “That little girl in the nursery. I thought she was the nurse’s child.”

“She is not the nurse’s child. I have adopted her. I would not go anywhere without her. I don’t expect you to understand. I am sure you would consider it most … unsuitable.”

“Why not try and explain?”

“I have told you. I have adopted her.”

“You … a young girl … adopt a child! It sounds absurd.”

“My grandparents understand.”

“I hope you will give me a chance to.”

I told him what had happened at the party. He listened with horror.

“Belinda … my daughter … did that!”

“She didn’t realize what she was doing. However, the mother died from burns and shock. She died saving her child whom I felt to be our responsibility. Belinda is my half-sister. I had to do something. I know it is what my mother would have expected me to do.”

He nodded. “What of Belinda? What was her reaction?”

“She was contrite. She did her best to make Lucie welcome in the nursery. She was somewhat antagonistic towards her before. It was that, I think, which caused her to set the dress alight. But we knew she did not understand the danger of fire. But she knew she had done a terrible thing. Leah, the nurse, is wonderful with her. She understands her and manages her as well as anyone can. But I have vowed always to look after Lucie because she lost her mother due to the action of a member of my family. I shall look after her and shall never do anything which prevents my being able to do so.”

He was looking at me intently; I fancied—but I may have been wrong—that I saw something like admiration in his eyes.

Then he said: “There was nothing else you could have done, but it would have been better if your grandparents had taken full responsibility for the child.”

“I did it. I wanted to. And she is my responsibility.”

“Well, you have left her while you went away to school.”

“With my grandparents … yes.”

“She can stay with your grandparents.”

“But you are going to take Belinda and the nursery with you.”

“There is only one answer then. The child must come with us.”

“You mean you will take her into your household?”

“What else? You are coming to London. So is Belinda. So the child must come, too.”

He was smiling at me triumphantly because he had removed the obstacle I had tried to set up.

He went on: “As soon as we are settled in, you, with the young children, will come to London. I will make all the arrangements with your grandparents. They see the point of your coming. They liked you to be here, of course, but then you will be coming back and forth for holidays and so on … just as you used to before … before …”

I nodded.

“And, believe me, Rebecca, it is the best thing for you. It is what your mother would have wished. I think you can finish school. I had, thought of your going for a year or so to some establishment on the Continent where they are supposed to do wonders for girls.”

“I would not leave Lucie for a year … or even six or seven months.”

“I gathered that, so we will dispense with the finishing school. As soon as you are settled in we will set about your presentation. I think it takes place at Easter so there is plenty of time for next year. You’ll be eighteen then. That’s about the age, I believe.”

“When do you propose to marry?”

“In about six weeks’ time. Would you come up for the ceremony?”

I shook my head. He understood. He touched my arm lightly.

“I think you will find it all for the best, Rebecca,” he said gently.

I knew, of course, that protests were useless. My grandmother had said that as I was his stepdaughter he was my natural guardian. He would take Belinda. She was his natural daughter and Leah and Miss Springer would go with her. It would be best for Lucie and I must accept that.

“I am sure,” he said, “that you will get along well with my future wife.”

“I hope the children will.”

“I do not think she will want to interfere in the nursery. She is considerably younger than I. As a matter of fact, I believe you have met her. Some time ago she was living here in Cornwall … at a house called High Tor.”

“High Tor!” I cried. “But that was taken over by some French people.”

“That’s right. I believe the family still own the place and the present tenants rent it from them. They have a place in Chislehurst and also in London.”

“Then it must be the Bourdons.”

He smiled. “Mademoiselle Celeste Bourdon will be my wife.”

I was astounded. I tried to remember Monsieur and Madame Bourdon and found I could not recall their faces, but I did have faint memories of the younger ones. Celeste and Jean Pascal. Celeste must have been six or seven years older than I. That would make her twenty-three or -four years old now, so she was truly considerably younger than Benedict. And Jean Pascal, the rather dashing young man, must be about two years older than his sister.

“I met them in London,” went on Benedict, “and of course we were immediately interested in the Cornish connection.”

“I see,” I said.

But I could not help feeling a twinge of uneasiness. Why was it that I should feel so about people of whom I had a slight acquaintance rather than complete strangers?

There were several weeks respite. There would be the wedding and then I suppose a honeymoon and after that the new wife might need a little time to put her house in order before we were required to descend upon her.

But as I said to my grandmother, we should prepare the children; she agreed with me and suggested that I should be the best one to do this.

I went to the nursery. It was not lesson time so Miss Stringer was absent. I did not feel she was so important. She could teach anywhere, but to the others Cornwall had been home all their lives and I wondered how they would feel about being uprooted.

Leah was there with the two girls. Belinda was stretched out on the floor doing a jigsaw puzzle. Lucie knelt beside her handing pieces to her. Leah was sitting in the armchair sewing.

Lucie leaped up and ran to me as I entered. Belinda went on with the puzzle.

“Do come and sit down,” said Leah.

Lucie took my hand and led me to a chair. She stood leaning against me.

“I have something to tell you,” I said.

Belinda glanced up from the jigsaw. “What?” she demanded.

“I’ll tell you when you come and sit down.”

Belinda looked at the puzzle as though she were going to refuse.

“All right. If you don’t want to hear, I’ll just tell Leah and Lucie.”

“If it’s important …” she began.

“Belinda doesn’t want to know,” I said, “so come over here and I’ll tell you two.”

Belinda jumped up. “Of course I want to hear and of course I’m going to listen.”

She had a habit at the moment of using “of course” rather superciliously in almost every sentence where it could be worked in and it was a little irritating.

“All right. Come and sit down and you shall hear. We are going away.”

“All of us?” asked Lucie looking fearfully at me.

“You, Belinda, Leah, Miss Stringer and I.”

“Where?” demanded Belinda.

“To London part of the time and partly to Manorleigh. We are going to your father, Belinda.”

For once she was taken aback.

“You are going too, Lucie,” I went on reassuringly. “It will be just the same only it won’t be this house. It won’t be Cornwall.” I pressed Lucie’s hand. “I shall be there, too. It will be our home. Of course, we shall come down here often. It is just that for most of the time we shall be somewhere else.”

“Is that all?” said Belinda.

“Isn’t it enough?”

“Of course, if I don’t like it I won’t stay.”

“We shall see.”

“I don’t like my father,” went on Belinda. “He’s not a very nice man. He doesn’t like me.”

“You have to make him like you … if you can.”

“Of course I can.”

“Well then, we shall look forward to seeing you do it.”

“Of course I shan’t if I don’t want to.”

I turned to Leah. “There’ll be a certain amount of packing to do,” I said.

“Yes,” said Leah. “When do we go?”

“I’m not quite sure yet. We have to wait until he is ready for us.”

Belinda went back to her puzzle.

“Do you want me to help?” Lucie asked her.

Belinda shrugged her shoulders and Lucie settled down beside her.

Leah and I left them and went into the adjoining room.

“Mr. Lansdon is going to marry,” I told her.

“Oh? Is that why …?”

“Yes. When he has a wife he wants to get the family together, I believe.” I could not help adding maliciously: “It is good for his image as an M.P.”

“I see.”

“You’ll be surprised to hear whom he is marrying. You remember the Bourdons? Of course you do. You went up to High Tor to do repairs to their priceless tapestries, didn’t you?”

She looked faintly bewildered.

“Yes,” I went on. “It’s quite a coincidence. Mr. Lansdon met the family in London. They are living mainly at Chislehurst now, I gather. Do you remember Mademoiselle Celeste?”

She had turned away slightly. She seemed a little disconcerted. I supposed the thought of our departure from Cornwall, which was after all her home, had upset her a little. She said quietly: “Yes, I remember.”

“She is going to be his wife.”

“I see.”

“You will know the family better than I do. You were there for some little time working on those tapestries, weren’t you?”

“Oh yes … several weeks.”

“Well, she won’t be exactly a stranger to you.”

“Er … no.”

“Do you think we shall get on all right with her? Mr. Lansdon seems to think she won’t want to interfere in the nursery.”

“No. I am sure she would not.”

“Well, we shall see. I am afraid it’s certain, Leah. Mr. Lansdon insists. After all Belinda is his daughter.”

“Yes,” she murmured. Her thoughts seemed far away. I wished I knew what she was thinking but she had always struck me as being rather withdrawn … mysterious in fact.

The time arrived when we were to leave Cornwall.

My grandmother said: “It’s the best thing for you really. But we shall miss you terribly. It makes it harder for us because all of you are going. But we both agree it is for the best and it is only right that Benedict should have his daughter with him.”

“He only wants us so that he can have a family to show his constituents.”

“I don’t think that is entirely true. Try to be fair to him, Rebecca. He’s had a hard time and one thing I do know: he really loved your mother. He has lost her, don’t forget, just as you have.”

“But he is putting someone else in her place now.”

“I do not believe he will ever do that.”

I was not sure.

Leah was growing more and more uneasy as time passed. It must have been a great upheaval for her. I believed she had never been out of Cornwall before. Belinda was excited though. She kept talking of the grand house she was going to live in the big city. She was going to live with her rich and important father whom she did not like much but she would forget about him and enjoy the house.

Lucie watched me and would take her cue from me, I knew. So I tried to pretend that I found it all exciting and not give her an inkling of my feelings of disquiet.

I thought at least I should enjoy Manorleigh where I should find the Emerys, Ann and Jane who had been with us before my mother’s marriage. Moreover I had felt a certain attachment to the house … particularly the haunted garden.

In a way, although I did not want to share Benedict’s house, it was an exciting project—particularly as I was to be presented at Court.

A carriage was waiting for us at the station. Miss Springer, who had come from London, was in good spirits. She had no regrets about the move and it was obvious that she believed we were going to lead lives of much greater interest in the big city than we could in some remote country place.

Benedict and Celeste were waiting to receive us when we arrived at the house. He was quite gracious and seemed very pleased to see us. Celeste hovered in the background until he signed for her to come forward.

She had changed from the girl I had seen all those years ago. She was a young woman now. Attractive, I thought, though not exactly beautiful or even pretty; but she was dressed with elegance in a pale grey gown of what I imagined was a Parisian cut. There were pearls at her neck and in her ears. Her dark hair was beautifully dressed and she moved with becoming grace.

She came forward and took my hands.

“I am so pleased you are here,” she said with a very pronounced French accent. “I am touched that you come. You must be happy here. It is what we want … the two …” She smiled ingratiatingly at Benedict.

“Yes,” he said, returning her smile. “It is what we want. And the children …” He looked towards them. “Belinda …” She gave him a rather defiant look. “And … er … Lucie.”

I took Lucie’s hand and brought her forward.

“I hope you will like your new home,” said Celeste very carefully as though she had learned the words by heart.

I could see the children were a little fascinated by her.

She smiled at Leah. “But … we have met. You came … I remember it well.”

Leah flushed and the look of uneasiness returned. She did not seem to want to recall her stay at High Tor although, from what we have heard from Mrs. Polhenny, the Bourdons had been delighted by her work.

Miss Stringer was introduced and seemed to make a good impression on Benedict and his wife as they did on her.

We were shown the nursery which was on the top floor of the house. It was simple but elegant with high-ceilinged rooms and long windows looking out on the square with the enclosed garden in the center. Miss Stringer had a room on the top floor as did Leah and the night nursery was there, too.

We left them up there and Celeste took me down to my room which was on the second floor.

“I think you first want to see the little ones … how is it?”

“Settled,” I suggested.

She nodded smiling. “This is your room.”

It was spacious and furnished with the elegance I found everywhere in the house. The colors were blue and cream; it had the long high windows and the view on the square was just as below the nursery.

She slid her hand through my arm. “I want so much that you be happy here,” she said.

“That is so kind of you.”

“Your beau-pére …”

“My stepfather.”

“Yes, your stepfather … he very much wish. He wants you happy here in his house.” She lifted her hands and added charmingly: “And because he want … I want.”

“That is most kind of you. I am sure everything is going to work out very well.”

She nodded. “Now I leave.” She rubbed her hands together as though washing them. “And when you … préte … you come down, eh? We have tea … and talk … I think that is what your stepfather want.”

“Thank you. By the way … what do I call you?”

“Celeste is my name … I will not be stepmother … oh no. I must be too young to be your maman … do you not think?”

“Much too young,” I assured her. “Then I shall call you Celeste.”

“That will be nice.” She went to the door and looked back at me. “I see you very soon … eh?”

“Very soon.”

She was gone and I thought: She certainly seems welcoming. I think I am going to like her.

I dined that evening with Benedict and his wife. There were just the three of us. The children were already in bed, sharing the night nursery. When I went in to say goodnight Lucie put her arms round my neck and clung to me fiercely.

“You are going to like it here,” I whispered. “And I am right below you.”

She continued to cling.

“It will be almost the same here and later on we’ll go back to Cador to stay for a while,” I assured her.

I went over to Belinda’s bed. She opened one eye and looked at me.

“Goodnight, Belinda. Sleep well.” I bent down and kissed her lightly.

“You’re going to like it here,” I repeated.

She nodded and closed her eyes.

I guessed both children were exhausted after the day’s journey and the excitement of arriving.

Leah had glided into the room.

“They will be asleep in no time,” she whispered.

The meal was served in a small room leading from the large and imposing dining room, presumably where Benedict entertained his political friends. The small room was intended to be more intimate, but I was deeply conscious of the restraint I always felt in his company.

While the fish was being served, he said: “I thought the children should stay in London for a little while, although of course Manorleigh will be so much better for them.”

“Yes,” I said. “I think Manorleigh would suit them very-well. They will have more freedom in the country.”

“Exactly.”

“There are parks here, of course, I remember …”

I stopped. He knew I would be thinking of my mother and the memory would be as painful to him as it was to me.

To my dismay I realized that Celeste had guessed the gist of the conversation. She was hurt.

I went on quickly: “They can walk in the park and feed the ducks … but the country is, of course, better. They can ride there and there is the garden. The garden at Manorleigh is a delight.”

“You must be here,” said Celeste. “There is this … how you say it? …”

“Coming out,” supplied Benedict. “The London season. Yes, Rebecca will have to be here and …” He turned to me. “… I … we … thought the children would be unhappy at first if they were deprived of your company. They have just said goodbye to your grandparents which must have been something of a wrench. Well, the fact is I thought that if you remained in London for a few weeks … then perhaps you could all go to Manorleigh for a while for you to settle them in and then you would come back to London.”

“I should think that would work out very well. They would have Leah who is very important to them.”

“She is very good,” said Celeste.

“Well you know something of her,” I said. “She was with you when she repaired the tapestries at High Tor.”

“They will soon get used to the change,” Benedict said.

I thought: Yes, they will have to. It is necessary that you have your happy family to present to your constituents.

After that, conversation was of a light nature and of so little interest to me that I have forgotten it; but I was aware of a certain tension between them, and it occurred to me that all was not well with this marriage. His relationship with her had been entirely different, but with Celeste there was a complete absence of that obsessive love. In fact I thought I detected a faintly critical attitude in his manner towards her. As for her, it was easy to see that she was besottedly in love with the man.

I tried to assess him as a man. I had been so hedged in with my own prejudices and resentment that I had not really seen him clearly. My mother had loved him. Something told me that he had been more important to her than even my noble father … though of course I had seen nothing of that relationship.

He was distinguished looking though not handsome in the manner of Adonis or Apollo. He was tall and of a commanding appearance; his features were not clearcut but they emanated strength. He was a very rich man and he exuded power and I had come to believe that power is an essential part of masculine attraction. He certainly had that.

I sensed that neither he nor Celeste was happy. There was something between them.

I daresay, I told myself, he married her because she would grace his dinner table. She was to be an asset to his political career and, just as he had acquired a family in Belinda and myself and even Lucie, he had taken a wife.

It would be interesting to watch them and discover what exactly was wrong. I despised myself for taking this attitude, but I could not help gloating a little. After all, he had spoiled my life. Why should his go smoothly?

Morwenna asked me over to the Cartwrights’ house which was not very far from Benedict’s residence.

She greeted me warmly.

I had always liked Pedrek’s mother. There was something very sweet and gentle about her; moreover she and my mother had been close friends and had shared many an adventure together.

“It is lovely to see you, Rebecca,” she said. “I am glad you have come to London. Though I must say I am a little scared about this coming out business. I’m to do it.”

“I’m glad you are.”

She laughed self-deprecatingly. “Helena would have been much better. Wife of a prominent member of the House. She brought us out, you know.”

“Yes, I did know.” I could talk about my mother more easily with Morwenna than I could with my grandmother. Morwenna and I did not mind showing our emotion when we spoke of her whereas with my grandmother we both tried to hide the intensity of our grief. “My mother often talked about it.”

“How awful I was! I was terrified … not so much of a presentation … that was over in a few seconds … just a curtsy and taking care that your train did not trip you up so that you stumbled at Her Majesty’s feet. One can imagine what consternation that would cause but there was very little danger of it. It was the parties and the balls … and the terrible fear that one was not going to get a partner. I was in agonies. Your mother did not care. But then she didn’t have to …”

I had heard it all before, but somehow with Morwenna it did not upset me. It was almost as though my mother were there with us in the Cartwright sitting room and that gave me a warm and comfortable feeling of peace.

“Helena is getting a little old now, though she is sprightly enough and Matthew is still high up in politics and a name to be reckoned with. She will help, of course, but she doesn’t feel like undertaking the whole thing.”

“What shall I have to do?”

“Well, first of all you’ll have to have some dancing lessons, singing too. Her Majesty is very interested in singing and dancing.”

“I thought she had gone into seclusion.”

“She has been for years … ever since the Prince died … but the conventions go on.”

Yes. Mama often told me about Madame Dupré who was really Miss Dappry and how she used to dragoon you both.”

“And how I was the clumsiest creature she was ever doomed to teach.”

“My mother did not say that. She said that all that was wrong was in your mind.”

“She was very wise.”

We were silent for a little while. Then Morwenna said: “You’ll get through easily. The thing is not to worry. I always felt that Mother and Pa wanted a great marriage for me … which is, after all, the purpose of the operation … and that I was going to fail them. Your mother didn’t care because her parents only wanted her to enjoy herself. Mine did too … but they just had this idea.”

I was suddenly appalled. “Of course, that is what my stepfather will expect of me!”

“But your grandparents …”

“I wasn’t thinking of them. They would want me to be happy as they did my mother, but he … that will be why he wants it. ‘The stepdaughter of Benedict Lansdon, the Member for Manorleigh, has become engaged to the Duke of … , the Earl of … , the Viscount …’ I don’t think a simple Sir would be good enough for him.”

“You mustn’t think like that. Just go in and see what happens. If you meet someone and he happens to be a duke or an earl or a viscount … well, as long as you’re in love with him … his title is of no account.”

I burst out laughing. “It will be to him.”

“This is your future happiness. That’s what is important.”

“You don’t know him, Morwenna.”

“I think I do.” She was silent for a moment, then she said: “He loved your mother dearly … and she him. She was never so close to any other man.”

“She loved my father,” I insisted. “He was a wonderful man.”

She nodded. “Justin and I have every reason to be grateful to him. It is something we shall never forget. But for him … well, you know he gave his life to save Justin’s.”

“He was a good man … a heroic man … a father to be proud of.”

She nodded. “But one does not always love people for their heroic qualities. You see, something happened between your mother and Benedict … years before. They met in Cornwall and the spark struck then. I felt theirs was the perfect marriage. And to think it ended in what should have been an additional joy for them.”

And there we were, weeping quietly, but giving comfort to each other.

Morwenna stretched for my hand and said: “We have to go on living, Rebecca. He is your stepfather. He wants to care for you.”

“He doesn’t. He wants a family because it is good for his image with the voters.”

“No … no. He wants you here. You are her daughter and that would endear you to him.”

“I am another man’s daughter. Perhaps he does not like that.”

“No … no. You must try to understand him … try to be fond of him.”

“How can you make yourself fond of people?”

“By not building up resentment against them … by not looking for their faults but by trying to see the good in them.”

I shook my head. “Where?” I asked.

“He wants to love you and Belinda. Help him.”

“I wonder what he would say if he thought we were helping him. He would laugh. He doesn’t need help. He thinks himself omnipotent.”

“He is not a happy man.”

I looked at her steadily. “You mean his marriage …”

“Celeste is a nice girl. I think she loves him very much.”

“He married her because he believed she would be suitable to entertain his guests.”

“I think that he mourns for your mother still. I think she is there … between those two. It is the last thing your mother would want. She loved him. She would want to see him happy. He has his demons to face, Rebecca, as you do. You should help each other. Oh dear, what am I saying? I am talking about something of which I know nothing which is a silly thing to do. Pedrek will be home from school soon. He’ll be glad to know you are in London.”

“That’s wonderful news. I missed him in Cornwall.”

“Well, school makes a difference, you know.”

“What is he going to do?”

“We’re not sure. He might go to the university. On the other hand he would like to go into business. His grandfather wants him in Cornwall naturally to take over the mine in due course, but his father thinks he needs a spell in the London office with him. We shall have to wait and see.”

“It will be wonderful to have him here.”

“You’ll see him … often, I imagine. And now, of course, we shall have to get busy. Court dress … deportment lessons … dancing. My dear Rebecca, your days from now on will be fully occupied Until we get you into that drawing room where you will have to make your curtsy … without a wobble, mind … and have become acceptable to London society.”

Then the preparations began. This was what my mother had done some twenty years before. Morwenna told me that the presentation ceremony was less formal than it had been. In the days of the Prince Consort it had been quite a different matter, with debutantes and sponsors being severely censored to make sure that their families were worthy to come into contact with the Queen.

Time was passing and it would soon be Easter. Pedrek came home for half term which was pleasant. Madame Dupré was past giving deportment and dancing lessons. Her successor was Madame Perrotte, middle-aged, black-haired and sallow skinned, who spoke in mincing tones, over-refined and very precise. I danced with her which was not very inspiring, but I did enjoy the lessons. I sang, too. My voice could naturally not compare with that of Jenny Lind but, according to Madame Perrotte, it was just passable.

The lessons took place in the Cartwright home as Morwenna was sponsoring me.

When Pedrek arrived there was great rejoicing. Both his parents thought him wonderful—and so did I! There was something so dependable about Pedrek. He always seemed to me in command of his own life. He was practical and not given to flights of fancy; he was kind and considerate to everyone.

Dancing lessons became great fun because he was called in to partner me. Madame Perrotte would sit at (he pianoforte and rattle out the tunes to which we danced round and round the drawing room, most of the furniture having been pushed to the sides of the room. Madame Perrotte, one eye on the keyboard and the other on us, would cry out: “Non … non, more esprit … s’il vous plaît. This is good, good … ah, too slow … too quick … oh … oh, ma foi.” Pedrek and I would be overcome with mirth and the excitement of the dance, feeling almost hysterical with suppressed laughter.

There was my court dress to be tried on; there was department and the correct manner to curtsy. It was hard to believe so much had to go into one small gesture. But it had to be right, Madame Perrotte insisted, one false step, one little slip and a girl could be disgraced for ever.

Pedrek and I used to laugh about it and I would go into the nursery and show the children how one had to curtsy before the Queen, and how we danced and sang; they listened intently and used to clap their hands when I showed them how I danced in the Cartwright drawing room with Pedrek. They were both practicing curtsies and playing at presentation. Belinda always wanted to be the Queen and she amused us all by her regal manner.

As for my stepfather, if he were looking for a duke or earl to enhance his political career, I did not feel in duty bound to provide it … even if I could. I had not asked to be presented and if I failed, I simply did not care.

There were three weeks to the great day and Benedict thought it was time for the children to go to Manorleigh. He said that I should go down with them to stay for a week or so, then return. I should feel fresh for my ordeal after the respite and I should have a week or so to prepare myself.

Both Morwenna and Helena agreed that it was a good idea. And so it was arranged.

The children were excited. They were going to a big house in the country.

“But it’s not as big as Cador,” Belinda announced.

“No, perhaps not,” I replied. “But it is a big house, and you will be able to ride in the paddock and enjoy it very much.”

“You are coming,” stated Lucie.

“Yes … just at first. Then I shall come back to London. But I shall not be far away and I shall be coming to see you. It is going to be great fun.”

Arriving at the house was an emotional experience. I was prepared for that. Mr. and Mrs. Emery greeted us in the dignified manner of butler and housekeeper in the establishment of a very important gentleman. Here at least were two who did not resent Benedict.

After the first encounter Mrs. Emery unbent a little. A sentimental heart beat under the black bombazine and jet ornaments.

“It’s nice to see you here, Miss Rebecca,” she told me, after everyone was settled in and we had a few words alone. “I hope we see you often. Mr. Emery and I often talk of you.”

“You are happy here, Mrs. Emery?”

“Oh yes, Miss Rebecca. The master … he’s very kind. Not one of the interfering sort. Them sort I can’t abide. He knows we can manage best on our own … and he gives us a free hand. It’s a fine old house, as you know.”

She was pleased the children had come.

“There’s one thing an old house like this wants and that’s children,” she went on. “All them nurseries going to waste up there. That Leah is a quiet one. She’ll be in the nursery most of the time. Miss Stringer … well, governesses are always a problem.”

“I think she would like her meals in her room.”

“That’s how it should be.”

Mrs. Emery was well versed in the protocol of houses like this and she was one who would like everything to be as it should be.

I heard the children laughing in the nursery and I went in. Leah was with them. She seemed less tense than she had in London.

I said: “You like it here, Leah?”

“Yes, Miss Rebecca,” she answered. “I be one for the country. ’Tis better for the children. It’s put some color in their cheeks.”

“They didn’t look exactly wan when they arrived.”

“Oh, you know what I mean, Miss.”

Yes, I thought. It means you will be happier here. Well, I was pleased for her.

Miss Stringer was slightly less delighted. She was sorry to leave London but at least Manorleigh was not so far from the metropolis as Cornwall and I imagined she would be making little trips to town every now and then.

So everyone seemed satisfied.

Mrs. Emery informed me that she had given me my old room and she looked at me a little questioningly. “I thought that was what you’d want, Miss Rebecca. If not, I can have another made ready on the other side of the house.”

I knew what she meant. This was the room I had occupied when my mother was here. Would there be too many memories?

It was natural, of course, that I should remember, but as it was six years since my mother had died, I should have thought that, for people like Mrs. Emery, she had now become a figure of the past. But that was not so, I could see.

I told her I preferred to stay in my old room.

That first night at Manorleigh was an emotional one for me. Perhaps, I thought coward-like, I should have had another room. I sat at the window for a long time, looking down on the pond where Hermes was still poised for flight, now touched by moonlight. And there was the seat under the tree where I had sat with my mother; I remembered how at the pool she had asked me to care for the unborn child … almost as though she had known what was going to happen to her.

I spent a restless night. I was haunted by dreams of my mother. I thought I was seated there in the garden and that she came to me.

I should expect this, coming back to the house, but as my grandmother had wisely told me, I had to put the past behind me and live for the present.

So much had happened since her death. I kept saying to myself, it is six years.

But there was a great deal to remind me of her in this house that at times it almost seemed as though she were there.

There was no doubt that the children loved Manorleigh. They quickly settled in which was a great relief. Leah was happier. The place suited her.

There was great excitement about the children’s ponies and each day one of the grooms took them riding in the paddock … a treat they had missed in London.

They were both doing well, Thomas, the groom, reported. I was glad. Lucie had changed. She had ceased to cling quite so much to me although I knew I was more important to her than anyone else. But she was more self-reliant now and able to stand up to Belinda. They were quite fond of each other in a way and although they quarrelled occasionally when Belinda exerted her superiority as the daughter of the great man, they were happy in each other’s company.

One thing that worried me a little was Belinda’s resentment against her father. I understood how he felt towards the child. He was not the sort of man who would understand children in any way, but he could not forget that it was Belinda’s coming which had resulted in her mother’s departure; and the more I saw of him the more I realized what a deep void her death had made in his life.

I should have been sorry for him. It was a shared emotion. But I could not forget how happy I had been before he came to change everything.

My mother and he had shared a suite of rooms on the second floor. I had not gone there very much in the past for they were his rooms as well as hers. They were two of the best rooms in the house really—a bedroom with a dressing room adjoining and a sitting room. They had been furnished in blue and white, I remembered.

I felt an urge to see them and on the day after my arrival I went along to them, but when I turned the handle of the door which led to the suite, I found it was locked.

I went straight to Mrs. Emery’s sitting room. I knew this was the time when she would be making herself a cup of tea and she would be sitting by the fire reading either Lorna Doone or East Lynne—that was unless she had changed an old habit. In the past she read only those two books and when she had finished one she would start on the other. It was enough for her, she said. There was nothing that could touch them for interest and she liked to know what was coming next.

I knocked at her door and was immediately greeted by an imperious “Come in.” Clearly she thought it was one of the servants about to intrude on the exploits of Jan Rodd or Lady Isabel.

Her expression changed when she saw me.

“Well, come in, Miss Rebecca. I was just waiting for the kettle to boil.”

She put Lorna Doone aside and looked at me through her spectacles.

“I am interrupting your rest time, Mrs. Emery,” I began.

“Oh no … think nothing of it. Is it something you wanted, Miss Rebecca?”

“Well, those rooms on the second floor … I tried the door and they were locked.”

“Oh yes, Miss Rebecca. Did you want to go in?”

“Yes … I did rather.”

She rose and, going to a drawer, took out a bunch of keys.

“I’ll take you along,” she said.

“Is there any reason why they’re locked?”

“Oh, yes, there’s a reason. I wouldn’t take it on myself, you know.”

I thought it was rather mysterious and by that time we had reached the door of the suite. She unlocked it and I stepped into the room.

It was a shock because it looked exactly the same as it had when my mother was alive. Her things were spread around … the enameled mirror on the dressing table with her initials embossed on the back … the brushes to match. I looked at the big double bed which she had shared with him, the big white wardrobe with the gilt handles. I went to it and opened it, knowing that I should find her clothes there … just as she had left them.

I turned to look at Mrs. Emery, who stood beside me, her eyes misty, nodding her head.

“It’s his orders,” she said. “No one’s to come here except me … to keep the place dusted like. I do the cleaning myself. He doesn’t want anyone else here. When he’s at Manorleigh he comes in here and sits for hours. I tell you I don’t like it, Miss Rebecca. There’s something not right about it.”

I sensed that she wanted to get out of the room.

“He wouldn’t like anyone in here,” she said. “He don’t like me in here … but someone’s got to clean the rooms and he’d rather me than any of the others.”

We went out and she locked the door. I returned with her to her sitting room where she carefully put the key into the drawer from which she had taken it. “I’ll make a cup of tea and I’d be honored if you’d take one with me, Miss Rebecca.”

I said I should be pleased to.

She waited for the kettle to boil, then took it from the hob and infused the tea.

“Let it stand a bit,” she said.

She sat down.

“It’s been like that ever since …” she began. “You see, she meant so much to him.”

“She did to me, too,” I reminded her.

“I know that. She was a lovely lady, your mother. She had so much love in her … and she was so missed … that it seems people can’t let her go. For a long time it was her he wanted. That was clear enough. It was a tragedy that when they got together it was for such a short time.”

“She was happily married to my father.”

Mrs. Emery nodded. “I reckon he’d do better to change that room. Send her clothes away. It don’t do no good to keep mourning. It’s not as though he can bring her back, although …”

“Although what, Mrs. Emery?”

“Well, in a house of this sort that’s been here for hundreds of years, people get fanciful about bygone days. There’s dark shadows in these big rooms and the boards creak something shocking at times. Empty-headed servant girls … well, they get thinking things, if you know what I mean.”

“Hauntings?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. You see, there was this story about Lady Flamstead and that Miss Martha who lived here all them years ago … and this Lady Flamstead was said to do a bit of haunting.”

“I did hear the story. She died … having a baby.”

Mrs. Emery looked at me mournfully. “You see, it’s the same story. Your mother died having that Belinda.”

“My mother could not have been in the least like Lady Flamstead and Belinda is not like what I have heard of Miss Martha. She was devoted to her mother. So far it seems that Belinda is devoted only to herself.”

“It’s the way of children … but as I’m telling you, I’d like to see them rooms cleared out. Her clothes could be sent away. But he won’t have it. Maybe he gets some comfort from going in there. Who’s to say? It’s as though he can’t face his loss and he’s trying to pretend she’s not gone after all.”

“Oh, Mrs. Emery, it’s so sad.”

“It’s life, Miss Rebecca. It’s what the good Lord has ordained for us … and we needs must accept it.”

I nodded.

“But it’s not right … particularly now he’s wed again.”

“If he cared so much for her … why …?”

“Well, a man needs a woman, I reckon. His sort as much as any. And if you can’t have the one you want you’ll sometimes take second best. I’m sorry for the new Mrs. Lansdon. She’s a strange lady. I never did take to foreigners. All that funny talk and throwing their hands about. It’s not natural. But she thinks a lot of him. There’s no doubt of that. Well, he married her, didn’t he? What does he want to marry her for if he’s going to spend all his time in that room moping over what’s past and done with?”

“Does she … know?”

“Poor young lady, I reckon she does. When he’s here, as he is some of every week, she’ll come with him. Well, he’s in that room. She must know. I think she gets rather cut up about it.”

“But he must care for her …”

“He’s not an easy man to know. There was no question of how he felt about your mother … and she about him. But the present Mrs. Lansdon … well, she’s young—a lot younger than he is—and she’s good looking if you like that foreign sort of way which I don’t much. And the time she spends on her clothes and her hair and all that … and it wouldn’t surprise me if some of that nice complexion of hers didn’t come out of a box. Then she’s got this French maid. Yvette or some such outlandish name … well, some of the servants say she must have thrown herself at him … helping him with the constituency … and of course, as Jim Fedder down in the stables says … forgive the expression, Miss Rebecca, but you know what he means … he said she was a tasty piece … the sort a man would find it hard to say no to if you know what I mean.”

“I do, Mrs. Emery.”

“Well, I must say you found out about that room pretty quick and I had to take you in there … you being mistress of the house so to speak in the absence of him or her. But I think it’s what I call unhealthy. I’ve said it to Mr. Emery and I’d say it to Mr. Lansdon himself if I had half a chance. In a house like this you don’t want people to get imagining things … servants being what they are. There’s some of them already saying she can’t rest because of him being so cut up. They’ll soon be seeing her under that oak tree … and they’ll say it’s like Lady Flam-stead all over again.”

“Yes, I do see what you mean, Mrs. Emery,” I said. “It is unhealthy.”

She sat there nodding her head sagely. Then she said: “Another cup, Miss Rebecca?”

“No thanks. I’d better go. I have things to do. It’s been pleasant having a chat.”

I left her then. I wanted to be alone to think.

I was sure that by the time I had to leave Manorleigh the children would have settled in. They had the familiar figures of Leah and Miss Stringer; and Mrs. Emery had already become a favorite with them as had Ann and Jane.

But while I was there I spent as much of my time as I could with them.

I was in the nursery one day when Jane brought in the milk and biscuits which they had midmorning. She was very fond of them and they of her, and she waited while they drank their milk, which was natural as she did not want to make another journey to the top of the house to collect mugs and plates.

Leah was there and we all talked together for a while … of the weather, I believe. I said they all seemed very comfortable and I asked if Jane regretted leaving London.

“Well, it was ever so nice working for Mrs. Mandeville,” she said. “But it was rather a little house … and not convenient like … but she was such a lovely lady. It’s different here but there is something about working in a big house.”

“Owned by a Member of Parliament?” I asked.

“Well, a gentlemen like Mr. Lansdon … that’d be working for somebody, I reckon.”

“It’s quiet here, Jane.”

“Only when the master’s not in residence. When he is … well, there’s entertaining all the time. It’s very exciting … all those people coming and going, some of them you’ve seen in the papers. It’s not often we’re as quiet as we’ve been since you’ve been here, Miss. There hasn’t been any guests …”

“Do you get many people actually staying at the house?”

“Oh yes … friends of the master, they come. And then there’s her people.”

“You mean Monsieur and Madame Bourdon?”

“Mind you, they haven’t come. It’s different with that Monsieur Jean Pascal.”

“Oh … Mrs. Lansdon’s brother. He’s been?”

“That’s him. He comes down now and then.” She flushed a little and giggled. I remembered when I had met him long ago and, young as I was, how I had noticed that his eyes rested on the young girls.

“Well, ’tis natural like, Miss … he being brother to the mistress.”

“Quite natural,” I said.

Leah had not been well for the last few days and I suggested that she see a doctor.

“Oh no, Miss. I be all right.” She was emphatic. “ ’Tis just the change of air, maybe.”

“There is a difference between here and London, Leah,” I reminded her. “But this is more like Cornwall.”

“Oh no, Miss, nothing be quite like Cornwall.”

I thought she looked a little tired. She told me she had had a bad night. “Go to bed for an hour or so now,” I told her. “It will do you a lot of good.”

At length she agreed and I took the children into the garden.

I was near the Hermes pool, lazily watching the gnats dancing above the water and the girls bouncing a red ball between them, when suddenly I was aware that we were not alone.

I looked up sharply. A man was standing nearby watching us.

He smiled. He had one of the most charming smiles I had ever seen. It was warm and friendly and there was a hint of mischief in it. He took off his hat and bowed low. The children stopped playing and stood still watching him.

“What a charming group,” he said. “I must apologize for disturbing it. I believe I am in the presence of Miss Rebecca Mandeville.”

“You are right.”

“And one of these charming young ladies is Miss Belinda Lansdon.”

“It’s me,” shrieked Belinda.

“If Miss Stringer were here what would she say?” I asked.

“Don’t shout,” said Lucie. “That’s what she’d say. You’re always shouting, Belinda.”

“People want to hear what I say,” Belinda pointed out.

“You are forgetting your manners,” I said. “And what Miss Stringer would say is ‘Watch your grammar.’ It should be ‘It is I’ not ‘me.’ ”

“Well, it is me all the same however you say it.” She went to the newcomer and held out her hand. “I am Belinda,” she said.

“I guessed,” he told her.

“Are you looking for Mr. Lansdon?” I asked. “He’s in London.”

“Is that so? Well, I must content myself with meeting his charming family.”

“You know who we are,” I said. “Could you introduce yourself?”

“You must forgive the omission. I have been so overcome with pleasure to meet you in this somewhat unconventional manner. I am Oliver Gerson. I might say an associate of your stepfather.”

“I presume you want to talk business with him.”

“Not as much as I want to chat in the sunshine with his family.”

I thought he was a little too suave—the typical man about town with a talent for paying flattering compliments which were obviously false, although I had to admit that he did so with a certain grace and charm which inclined one to forget the insincerity.

He asked if he might sit with us. Lucie came and stood close to me. Belinda was stretched on the grass; she stared with unconcealed interest at the newcomer.

He surveyed her benignly: “You are putting me under close scrutiny, Miss Belinda,” he said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“You are studying me intently, wondering whether I fit into your scheme of things.”

She was a little taken aback but pleased to have his attention focused on her.

“Tell us about you,” she said.

“I am an associate of your father. We are in business together. I, however, never did aspire to the Houses of Parliament. Now tell me, Miss Rebecca, is it true that you are shortly to be presented to the Queen?”

“I can do the curtsy,” cried Belinda, and leaping up proceeded to show him.

“Bravo!” he shouted. “What a pity you are not going to be presented too.”

“They don’t present little girls.”

“But fortunately little girls become bigger in due course.”

“But they have to wait until then. I’ve got ages to wait.”

“Time will soon pass, will it not, Miss Rebecca?”

I said yes it would and before long it would be Belinda’s and Lucie’s turns.

“We know how to do it already,” Lucie observed.

“You have recently come from Cornwall?” he asked.

“What a lot you know about us!”

“I am very interested in Benedict’s family. Are you going to help him hold his seat?”

“I shall help him if I want to,” announced Belinda.

“You are a young lady of whims, I see.”

Belinda had sidled up to him and placed her hands on his knees. “What’s whims?” she asked.

“Passing fancies … impulsive acts … Is that how you would describe it, Miss Rebecca?”

“I should think that is an accurate description.”

He looked at me earnestly. “I shall look forward to seeing you after your initiation.”

“Oh, shall you be in town?”

“Indeed I shall. I have wanted to meet you ever since I heard you were leaving the remote land of Cornwall.”

“You heard of that?”

“Your stepfather is very proud of his stepdaughter and very eager to see her entry into society.”

“Oh, do you know him well?”

“Indeed. We work together.”

“Yes, I believe you did tell us this.”

“Can you ride?” asked Belinda.

“I came here on horseback. My steed is now in the stables being looked after by your very capable groom.”

“We have ponies, don’t we, Lucie?” said Belinda.

Lucie nodded.

“Would you like to see us jump?” went on Belinda. “We go very high now.”

“Oh really, Belinda,” I said with a laugh. “Mr. Gerson won’t have time for that.”

“I have time.” He smiled at Belinda. “And my greatest desire at this moment is to see Miss Belinda take the jump with her pony.”

“Will you wait until we get into our riding things?” asked Belinda excitedly.

“Until the end of time,” he told her.

“You say such funny things. Come on, Lucie.” She turned back to him. “Stay there till we come. Don’t go away.”

“Wild horses could not drag me away.”

They ran off and I looked at him in astonishment. He smiled at me half apologetically. “They were so charmingly eager,” he said. “What a bright creature Miss Belinda is.”

“Sometimes we feel a little too bright.”

“The other one is charming, too. She is the foundling … is she not?”

“We don’t mention it.”

“Forgive me. I am a close friend of Benedict’s and I know the circumstances. I have so long wanted to meet his family and this is a great occasion for me.”

“I am surprised that you did not know he is in London.”

He had a way of lifting one eyebrow when he smiled.

“Will you forgive me? I did know. I wanted an opportunity to meet his stepdaughter in private, so that when we meet at those functions which you as a young lady who has passed the royal test will be attending, I should already have had the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“Why should you bother?”

“I thought it would be more amusing. At those dances and such like functions conversation is not always easy. I wanted to get to know you away from them. You must pardon my forwardness.”

“Well, at least you have been frank and there is really nothing to pardon.”

“May I say that I have rarely spent such an agreeable afternoon?”

He had such a convincing manner that I almost believed him. His presence in any case had given an interest to the afternoon.

The girls appeared, flushed and excited.

“Do we have to have a groom?” asked Lucie.

“I think you should. Let’s go and see who is in the stables.”

“We don’t need a groom,” said Belinda impatiently. “We can do without him. We can ride now. Grooms are for little children.”

“I know you are fast leaving childhood behind and are vastly experienced but the rule is that a groom must be present and we must keep to it.”

“It’s nonsense,” said Belinda.

“Don’t flout authority, Belinda,” I said, “or Mr. Gerson will think you are a rebel.”

“Will you?” she asked. “And am I?”

“The answers are Yes and Yes again. Do you believe I am right?”

She skipped round him. “You’re a rebel. You’re a rebel,” she chanted.

“Do I so betray myself to those clear young eyes?”

It was obvious that Belinda was enchanted by Mr. Gerson. I was afraid she would try to do something rash to impress him.

We stood side by side in the paddock, watching them taking their jumps, under the guidance of Jim Taylor.

“What a charming domestic scene,” said Oliver Gerson. “I cannot remember when I enjoyed an afternoon so much.”

Afterwards I took the children back to the house.

“Leah will be wondering what has become of you.” I told them.

“Oh, she’s got one of her silly old headaches,” said Belinda.

“You will see that Miss Belinda Lansdon is not of a very sympathetic nature,” I said to Oliver Gerson.

“Miss Belinda Lansdon is a young lady of strong opinions,” he replied, “nor does she hesitate to express them.”

He did not come into the house. He said he had to get back to London; he had business to deal with.

After he had gone Lucie said to me: “I think Belinda liked him a lot … and I think he liked you.”

I replied: “He is the sort of person who appears to like people … that is on the surface. In fact, he might have entirely different feelings about them.”

“That’s called deceit,” said Lucie.

“Often,” I answered, “it is called charm.”

It was time for me to return to London. The children said a regretful goodbye to me, but I felt that they were happy enough at Manor Grange. In the short time we had been there it had become home to them and it was true that a house in the country was more suitable to their needs than the splendid London residence could be.

Morwenna was waiting for me. There was a great deal to press into a short time, she said. We must go to the dressmaker to make sure everything fitted; moreover Madame Perrotte would be coming until the very last day. She was a little worried about my curtsy.

There followed a week of intensive action and then the great day dawned.

I set out in the carriage with Morwenna and Helena and as was the custom we were inspected by the curious eyes of passers by. It was quite an ordeal. At last we were in the royal drawing room and there was the Queen, a diminutive figure, with an expression of gloom and an air of aloofness which was rather disconcerting.

However, the procedure was short lived. One approached, curtsied, kissed the plump bejeweled little hand, and for a fraction of a second looked into that sad old face, than cautiously walked backwards, balancing the three plumes on one’s head and taking the utmost care not to trip over one’s three and a half yards of train. I was inwardly amused by all the preparations which had been necessary to make me ready for those few seconds of confrontation with royalty. However, the purpose was served. I had survived the ordeal and was now an accepted member of London society.

I was relived to take off my feathers—as great a hazard as the train of my dress—and to sit back and say Thank Heaven, that’s over.

Morwenna was as relieved as I was.

“I remember it so well,” she said.

“I too,” added Helena.

“I was in a state of perpetual anxiety throughout the whole business,” admitted Morwenna. “I knew I’d be a failure.”

“So did I,” added Helena.

“Yet,” I pointed out, “you are both happily married which is the whole purpose of the affair.”

“The whole purpose of the affair,” said Helena, “is to parade the girls so that they can aspire to a grand marriage. Our marriages were grand for us but not to the world. Martin wasn’t known at all when I married him.”

I knew the story of how they had met on the way to Australia with my great-grandparents. Martin had been going out to write a book about convicts. Uncle Peter had helped him when he returned to England and had molded him so that he had become the successful politician he was today.

Morwenna said: “And Justin was not considered a good match. He is just a good husband.”

“To get a good husband is a more successful way of going about it, I should think,” I said.

“You see what a wise woman our little Rebecca has become,” said Helena. “I am going to pray that yew find the most successful way.”

We all were pleased that the great ordeal was over but we all knew there could be more to come. There would be the invitations, the gaiety, the splendor and the misgivings of the London season.

My stepfather would be watching me. He after all had borne the cost of the expensive arrangements of getting me launched. There had always been a great deal of entertaining at his London house—and at Manorleigh, of course; but that was political entertaining. Now the parties would be for his stepdaughter. There would doubtless be a strong political flavor about them, I supposed, because that was the circle in which he moved. But on the face of it the balls would be given for me. What return did he expect? He wanted to see little notices in the paper. “Miss Rebecca Mandeville, stepdaughter of Mr. Benedict Lansdon … the debutante of the season …” “Miss Rebecca Mandeville announces her engagement to the Duke of … the Marquis of … It will be remembered that she is the stepdaughter of Mr. Benedict Lansdon …” Uncle Peter had been like that. His grandson had inherited his talent for advertising himself. My mother used to laugh at Uncle Peter. What had they said of Benedict? “He’s a chip off the old block.” Well, if he expected me to shine in society and walk off with the big matrimonial prize, I feared he might be in for a big disappointment.

There was to be a ball for me at the London house. It was the first of the season. Great preparations ensued. Celeste was eager to help in any way she could. She was certainly trying hard to be friendly. She came to my room to help me dress for the ball, bringing her maid, Yvette, with her.

My gown was of lavender chiffon. Celeste had chosen it. She had said: “I wish everyone to say … Who is that beautiful one? Is her gown not charmante? I wanted Benedict to be proud of you.”

“He’ll hardly notice me.”

She lifted her shoulders in a resigned gesture. I thought she was expressing her own disappointment in being unable to please him.

She and Yvette twittered round me while Yvette dressed my hair.

I must admit that the final effect was surprising. I looked different. More attractive … yes … but older … more sophisticated. The person who looked back at me in the mirror hardly seemed myself.

And there I was at the top of the grand staircase under the grand chandelier with Benedict on one side of me and Celeste on the other, greeting the guests. There were many compliments on my appearance and I was aware of Celeste’s gratified smile.

I was beginning to like her and somewhere in my feelings was a certain pity. She was not happy and that unhappiness was due to him. All was not well with their marriage. He did not really love her. He had loved my mother and no one else could take her place. I understood that but I felt he had had no right to marry this young woman and then make her miserable by his devotion to someone else … even though that someone was dead. It was, as Mrs. Emery had said, an unhealthy situation.

My dance program was full that night. There was none of the agonizing which Morwenna and Helena had told me they had suffered, sitting out just hoping that someone … anyone … the oldest, clumsiest man in the ballroom, would ask them to dance for even he would be better than no one at all.

I was lucky because there were three men whom I already knew and as it was the very beginning of the season quite a number of young people were unknown to each other.

I danced first with a young politician to whom my stepfather had introduced me. I was glad of Madame Perrotte’s tuition which enabled me to concentrate on the conversation as well as on my feet.

The young man told me how delighted he was to meet me and what a wonderful person my stepfather was. This conversation was peppered with comments on the House and comparisons were drawn between Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli, the former being clearly the favorite which was natural because the young man belonged to the same party as Benedict. I answered as intelligently as I could; and I was rather pleased when the music released me. And no sooner was I returned to my seat between Morwenna and Helena than someone appeared to claim the next dance.

I recognized him at once as the man who had called at Manorleigh. Oliver Gerson.

“I crave the pleasure of the next dance,” he said, bowing agreeably to us all. “I have the honor of Miss Mandeville’s acquaintance. We met at Manorleigh.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Morwenna. “I believe we have met. Mr. Gerson, is it not?”

“How gratifying that you remember. And you are Mrs. Cartwright, and Mrs. Hume, of course, the wife of the great Martin Hume.”

“On the other side of the political fence from you, I imagine,” said Helena.

He lifted his shoulders. “Although a great friend of Mr. Benedict Lansdon and having an immense interest in all he does, I do not have political inclinations. My vote goes to the side which at the time of the election, seems most desirable to me.”

“Which is probably the wisest way,” said Helena laughing. “And now you are asking Miss Mandeville to dance.”

He smiled at me. “Am I to have that pleasure?”

“But of course.”

We went onto the floor together.

“How delightful you look!”

“I owe a great deal to Mrs. Lansdon and her French maid.”

“I am sure you owe a great deal more to Nature who made you as you are.”

I burst out laughing.

“I have said something amusing?” he asked.

“It amused me. How do you think of these things? They trip off your tongue as though you really mean them.”

“That is because they come from the heart and I do mean them.”

“Then it would be ungracious of me not to say Thank you.”

He laughed with me. “I did enjoy our encounter in the gardens at Manorleigh.”

“Yes … it was amusing.”

“How is the sprightly Belinda, and the somewhat demure Lucie?”

“They are well and still at Manorleigh. Mr. Lansdon thinks it is best for them to be there.”

“Miss Belinda made quite an impression on me.”

“You made quite an impression on her.”

“Did I indeed?”

“Don’t congratulate yourself. She is impressed by all who show an interest in her.”

“I shall make an excuse to visit Manor Grange again. But I shall be sure that I come when you are there. I suppose you will be from time to time?”

“I shall be in London till the end of the season, I suppose.”

“During which time I hope to see more and more of you.”

“Have you the time to spend in frivolous pursuits such as balls and functions for debutantes?”

“I do not find enjoying the company of interesting people a frivolous occupation.”

“But occasions like this …”

“When there are moments such as the present there is nothing more I would ask for.”

“You know a great deal about me. Tell me about yourself.”

“Benedict Lansdon’s grandfather was a benefactor of mine. I suppose I was a sort of protégé of his. My father knew him well and Peter was always interested in me. He said I had vitality … I reminded him of himself. It is always a point in one’s favor if one reminds people of themselves. It gives them high hopes of you.”

“Do I detect a note of cynicism?” I asked.

“You may. The truth can sometimes appear so. But we all have the utmost admiration for ourselves and if people are made in our image we must admire them too.”

“I expect you are right. So Uncle Peter regarded you favorably?”

“Most favorably. You were fond of him, I see.”

“It was impossible not to be fond of him. There was something about him. He was very worldly wise but at the root of it was great kindness … and understanding.”

“It is often easier for the not-so-virtuous to be more lenient towards sinners. Have you not found that in life?”

“Yes, I think so. So you were a friend of his and he took you under his wing.”

“He never struck me as a bird or a celestial being who, I believe, are the only creatures who possess wings. You could say that he showed an interest in me, guided me, taught me a good deal of what I know and made a business man of me.”

“I don’t suppose it was such a difficult task.”

“Now who is paying the compliments?”

“I meant it. There is something …” I paused and he asked:

“Yes? What were you going to say?”

“There is something astute about you.”

“Astute? Perceptive. Shrewd. Having insight. It sounds very commendable. But are astute people sometimes a little sly … self-seeking … having an eye open for the main chance?”

“Perhaps that covers it, too. But everyone would like to be astute surely. Who would wish to be otherwise?”

“Then I thank you.”

The music had stopped.

“Alas,” he said. “I must return you to your guardians. But the night is just beginning. There will be other opportunities.”

“I daresay there will.”

“Your dancing program is almost full, is that so?”

“There are quite a number … it is after all given by my stepfather and people feel in duty bound to dance with me … as I am to dance with some of his friends.”

He grimaced. “I shall watch for my opportunity and, being perceptive, shrewd and having insight, trust me to leap in and seize my chance.”

I laughed. It had been a stimulating encounter.

Morwenna said to me: “Did you enjoy that? You looked as though you did.”

“He is very amusing.”

“And exceptionally good looking,” commented Helena. “Oh, there is Sir Toby Dorien coming over. You’re to dance with him, I believe. He’s an important colleague of Benedict. Martin knows him well.”

How different it was dancing with Sir Toby! He was far from being an expert dancer and there was a certain amount of stumbling and one or two painful jabs at my toes. Madame Perrotte had given me a few hints on how to react on such occasions and I did not emerge from the ordeal as battered as I might have been. His conversation was almost completely political with references to all the well-known politicians of the day. I was very glad when that duty was over.

I had only just returned to my seat when a young man came towards us. He was vaguely familiar—very dark and of medium stature, good looking in a certain way.

I was momentarily puzzled until Helena said: “Oh, good evening, Monsieur Bourdon. I expected to see you here tonight.”

He bowed to us all.

“It is an occasion which I was determined not to miss.”

“Do you know Miss Mandeville? You must …”

“Oh yes. We met long ago. In Cornwall. I remember it well.”

“I remember, too,” I said.

He took my hand and kissed it.

“This gives me great pleasure,” he said. “Then you were a little girl. I knew you would grow into a beautiful young woman.”

“I daresay you are longing to dance,” said Helena. “I advised Rebecca that she must leave certain gaps in the program. That was absolutely essential.”

“And this is one of those gaps? What luck for me. Miss Mandeville, will you allow me the pleasure?”

“But, of course,” I said.

He was a polished dancer—by far the most practiced I had had that evening. To dance with him meant an absence of tension. He led the way, guiding me so that all I had to do was follow. I could give myself up to the joy of the dance. Madame Perrotte had said: “With some partners you can forget all the do’s and don’ts. You merely dance. Your feet are free from violation. Let yourself rejoice and enjoy. It rarely happens.”

Well, it was happening now, for here was the perfect dancer.

“I heard you were home—from Celeste,” he said.

“Are you often at the house?”

“It depends. If I am in London, I call. We have a house in London … a pied à terre. But mostly I am in Chislehurst or France.”

“So never in the same place long?”

“I have been at Chislehurst with my family. It is a very sad time. You have heard of the son of the Emperor and Empress … the Prince Imperial …”

I was puzzled.

He went on: “He was killed in the war. You know of the trouble between the British and the Zulus?”

“There has been a good deal of talk about it but it is over now, is it not?”

“Yes. The Zulus were defeated and now they are asking for the protection of the British. They want to be taken over. They need the protection of a great power … but so far that has not come about. The rulers are reluctant to take on new responsibility. There is indecision at the moment and still strife in Zululand. During the trouble the Prince Imperial was killed while in the service of the British army. You can imagine the mourning there has been at Chislehurst.”

I nodded.

“The Empress … turned from her throne … losing her husband … and then her son. She has had a hard life. Those of us who were in exile with her have done our best to comfort her. It has kept us in Chislehurst. There. That is the long explanation of why I have not seen you before. But now … I hope to see you much.”

“I suppose you will be visiting your sister often?”

“I shall with double pleasure now … because you and she are under the same roof.”

“So you do have your residence in London?”

“Yes, as I said … a small place … a pied à terre merely.”

“What of High Tor?”

“It belongs to my parents. They bought it when they thought they would stay there. But later they decided to go to Chislehurst and have bought a house there. High Tor has been kept ever since.”

“And the priceless tapestries, are they still there?”

“They were taken to Chislehurst. What do you know of them?”

“I heard of them because Leah Polhenny went to High Tor to repair them, and made a very good job of the intricate work, I believe. She is now in our nursery.”

He was silent for a few seconds, wrinkling his brows as though trying to remember.

“Oh yes, she did come to repair the tapestries … I remember now how pleased my mother was with her work. So you know her well.”

“Nobody knows Leah very well. Even now I am not sure that I do. Everyone knew her mother because she was the midwife and had assisted at the birth of quite a number of the inhabitants of the Poldoreys.”

“Well … so now the young lady is here and the tapestries are safe in my parents’ house in Chislehurst and I am sure I cannot fully express what great pleasure it is for me to meet you. I hope you too are pleased to renew our acquaintance.”

“So far,” I said, “it has been a pleasure.”

“Why do you say … so far? Do you expect it will not continue to be a pleasure?”

“I meant nothing of the sort. I am sure it will continue to be as it is now.”

“We are relations how, eh … in a way. My sister married to your stepfather.”

“Well, a connection, shall we say.”

“We shall meet often. That I look forward to with great pleasure.”

I was sorry when the dance came to an end. It had been so comfortably easy to dance with him. And when he returned me to my seat I was delighted to see Pedrek there.

Jean Pascal stayed and chatted with us and Pedrek remarked that he was late in arriving because his train had been delayed.

“Better late than never,” commented Morwenna, “and I believe Rebecca has left the supper dance free. I advised her to because I knew you would want it.”

“How is it going?” Pedrek asked me.

“As well as can be expected.”

“That sounds like a sick patient.”

“Well, I always felt it would be touch and go … According to these gruesome accounts I had from your mother and Aunt Helena, these occasions can be fraught with anxieties. Will this man or that man ask me to dance? Will anybody ask me? I am going to be a failure. The wallflower of the season.”

“That could never happen to you.”

“Perhaps not in my stepfather’s house where it would be a breach of good manners for no one to ask me. So far I have got through with slightly mutilated toes but my pride intact.”

One could be easy and frank with Pedrek. But then we had been friends from babyhood; and the most enjoyable dance of all was the supper dance which I shared with him.

Not that he could dance well. He was no Jean Pascal, but he was Pedrek, my dear friend with whom I felt fully at ease.

“It is long since I have seen you,” he said. “It’s not always going to be like that.”

“What are your plans, Pedrek?”

“I’m starting next month at a Mining Engineering College near St. Austell. Pencarron Mine will belong to me one day. My grandfather thinks I should take the course. The college is one of the finest in the South West.”

“Well, that’s good. I am sure your grandparents are delighted. You won’t be far away from them.”

“And I shall be there for two years. It will be extensive study, but when I emerge I should be ready to take over the mine and, as my grandfather says, with a full knowledge of modern improvements. I’ll tell you more about it over supper. And, Rebecca, let’s find a table for two. I don’t want anyone joining us.”

“It sounds intriguing.”

“I hope you’ll find it so. I’m sorry … I think I went the wrong way then.”

“You did. Madame Perrotte would despair of you.”

“I noticed the graceful movements of the Frenchman.”

“He’s the perfect dancer.”

“Few possess his talents.”

“You sound envious. Surely you know there is more to life than being able to dance well?”

“I breathe again.”

“Oh, Pedrek, what’s come over you? You’re unlike yourself tonight.”

“A change for the better or worse?”

I hesitated, then I said: “I’ll tell you over supper. Look. They are going in now. Do you think we ought to look after your mother and Aunt Helena?”

“They can look after themselves. Besides, I suppose they will be with other chaperones.”

“I see they have joined my stepfather and his wife.”

“Come on. We’ll find a table for two.”

We found it—slightly shaded by a pot of ferns.

“This looks inviting,” said Pedrek. “You sit down and I will go and get the food.”

He returned with the salmon I had seen being delivered that morning. On each of the tables was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. We sat down opposite each other.

“I must say your stepfather knows how to manage these affairs in style.”

“It is all part of the business of being an ambitious member of Parliament.”

“I thought that was done by distinguishing oneself in Parliament.”

“And keeping up appearances outside … knowing the right people … pulling the right strings and keeping in the public eye.”

“That can sometimes be disastrous.”

“I mean keeping in a favorable light.”

“That’s different. But enough of politics. I don’t ever intend to take part in them. Does that please you?”

“Do you mean does it please me that you don’t intend to?”

“I mean exactly that.”

“I don’t think you’d make a politician, Pedrek. You’re too honest …”

He raised his eyebrows and I went on: “I mean that you are too straightforward. Politicians always have to think of what is going to please or displease the voters. Uncle Peter was always saying that. He would have made a good politician. We were all fond of him but he was a manipulator … not only of things but of people. Look how he made Martin Hume. I don’t think a man should have to be made. He should do it by his own efforts.”

“You are looking for perfection in a less than perfect world. But enough of politicians. I want to talk about myself … and you.”

“Well, go ahead.”

“We’ve always been friends,” he said slowly. “Isn’t it wonderful that we were both born in extraordinary circumstances … both of us seeing the light of day in the Australian goldfields? Don’t you think that makes us special friends?”

“Yes, but we know that, Pedrek. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

“I shall not be able to marry for two years … not until I finish with the college really. How do you feel about that?”

“What should I feel about your marriage?”

“The utmost interest because I want it to be yours as well.”

I laughed with pleasure. “For the moment, Pedrek, I thought you were going to tell me that you had fallen victim to some alluring siren.”

“I have been in the coils of an irresistible siren ever since I was born.”

“Oh Pedrek, you are talking of me. This is so sudden.”

“Don’t joke about it, Rebecca. I am very serious. For me there is only one siren. I always knew you would be the one. To me it was a foregone conclusion that one day we should be together … always.”

“You have never consulted me on this important matter before.”

“I didn’t think it was the time; and I thought it was something between us … something you knew as well as I did. That it was … inevitable.”

“I don’t think I thought of it as inevitable.”

“Well, it is.”

“So this is a proposal?”

“Of a sort.”

“What do you mean, ‘of a sort’? Is it or isn’t it?”

“I’m asking you to become engaged to me.”

I smiled at him and touched his hand across the table. “I’m so proud of myself,” I said. “It is not many girls who get a proposal the instant they are launched into society.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I haven’t finished yet. I was going to say get a proposal from Pedrek Cartwright. That’s what makes it so wonderful … because it’s you, Pedrek.”

“This is the happiest night of my life,” he said.

“Of mine, too. Won’t they be pleased?”

“My mother will. I am not so sure of your stepfather.” He was frowning.

“What is it, Pedrek?” I asked.

“He has planned all this for you because he wants you to make a grand marriage.”

“I am going to make a grand marriage in exactly two years from now.”

“Let’s be sensible, Rebecca. It’s not what he would call a grand marriage. A mining engineer with a mine in remote Cornwall.”

“It’s a very successful mine. In any case I wouldn’t care if it was an old scat bal, as they call a useless old mine down there, if you went with it.”

“Oh, Rebecca, it’s going to be wonderful … the two of us … I can’t wait. You make me want to abandon the idea of going to college. I could go into my father’s office and we’d be married right away.”

“You have to be sensible, Pedrek. This is marvelous. Two years … they will pass and all the time we’ll be thinking of what’s to come. They would say we are too young anyway. It doesn’t matter so much for women … eighteen is all right … but for a man it should be older. Let’s do it the right way, Pedrek.”

“Yes. I’m afraid we’ll have to.”

“We want to do it all absolutely right. You’ll go to your college knowing I’m waiting … longing for the day … and that will help you to come through with flying colors. Then there will be a riotous feast at Cador. My grandparents will be pleased and I shall be rid of my stepfather forever.”

“You’ve never liked him.”

“Well, I suppose I blame him for spoiling our lives. If he had never been there my mother would be alive today. I can’t get that out of my mind.”

“I don’t think you should blame him for that. But I do think he is very ambitious. He married his first wife for a goldmine. Money is important to him … money and fame.”

“He sees himself as a Disraeli or Gladstone. He wants to be Prime Minister one day.”

“He probably will.”

“At the same time he happens to be my stepfather and my grandparents say he is my guardian because of it. I don’t want a guardian. If I have to be guarded my grandparents can do it.”

“Let’s try to look at this logically. He is your guardian until you are twenty-one or married, I suppose. I have a feeling that he might not give his consent to our marriage. At best he would insist that we wait until you were twenty-one.”

“Do you think he could … if I wanted to and my grandparents approved? I do feel absolutely sure that they will be pleased.”

“He could stop it, I suppose.”

“It’s three years before I’m twenty-one.”

“When I’m through with college we shall be twenty. Then we’ll get married and say nothing about it until after the deed is done.”

I laughed. “How exciting!”

“In the meantime,” he went on. “Let’s not announce it … just yet. We can leave it until later.”

“All right. For the time being it is our secret.”

He gripped my hand and held it tightly. Then we lifted our glasses and drank to the glorious years ahead of us.

That was my first grand ball and I had enjoyed almost every minute of it. I was ecstatically happy. Pedrek and I were engaged—secretly for the moment, it was true, but that added to the excitement.

I looked beyond the next two years. They would pass quickly, lightened by the knowledge that when they were over I should be Pedrek’s wife. We should have a house on the moor possibly. I loved the moor, and I should not be far from Cador. Pedrek’s grandparents would be close by. We should have ten children and they would be loving and as devoted to me as Lucie was. That was another problem which had been solved. Some husbands would not have wanted Lucie in their households and I would never be parted from the child. I regarded her as my own and my husband must do the same. Pedrek had understood at once.

This was the happy ending which all romances should have and mine with Pedrek had lasted for years already. We had been destined for each other from the moment we had been born on that dusty goldfield in Australia.

Life was now a round of gaiety. This was the Season. Eager mothers, and those who were bringing out young ladies, gave balls, dinners and parties to the newly emerged young people. The fact that Benedict was my stepfather meant that I was invited to many of them.

I saw a great deal of Pedrek during the next three or four weeks. He would be at the functions as the good-looking son of one of the sponsors. He might not have been in the highest echelons of society, lacking the necessary blue blood, but his grandfather was well known in mining circles and a man of great wealth, and money and blood were often weighed equally in the social scales.

We used to meet in the park where I often walked with Morwenna, for it was permissible for her son to join us.

Long happy days they were but at last the time came for him to go off to his college. He would write every week he told me and I must do the same. I swore I would.

I was lonely after he had gone, but there was always a great deal for me to do. There were the constant social engagements and during these I often met Oliver Gerson and Jean Pascal Bourdon. The latter, having connections with exiled royalty at Chislehurst, was acceptable; and Oliver Gerson’s links with my stepfather gave him the entry, if not to all, to a great number of occasions.

I was rather glad of their company. I found them both interesting and in a way amusing. Moreover they expressed admiration for me and I was vain enough to enjoy this.

Jean Pascal was an excellent dancing partner. I loved dancing and, thanks to Madame Perrotte, when I danced with him I thought I did really well. People actually commented on how well our styles matched.

I learned a little about both men. Jean Pascal had become a wine importer and paid periodic visits to France.

“I must do something, you understand,” he said. “I cannot dance all day.”

There was something completely sophisticated about him. He was a cynic and a realist at heart, I believed. It was his great hope that one day the monarchy would be restored in France and then he would return to his own country and live in the old chateau in the style to which he had become accustomed under the rule of his good friends the Emperor Napoleon III and the Empress Eugenie.

“Will that ever be?” I asked him.

He lifted his shoulders. “There have been movements. There is trouble with the government. It sways this way and that. Our great tragedy came with that accursed revolution. If we had kept our monarchy then all would be well today.”

“But that happened a hundred years ago.”

“And nothing has been right since. We had Napoleon. Then we began to be great again … but now … these communards … I always hope … So I go to France. I bring in the wine. I do England a great favor. There is no wine in the world like French wine.”

“The Germans wouldn’t agree with you.”

“The Germans!” He snapped his fingers with contempt.

“They beat you, you know,” I reminded him maliciously.

“We were foolish. We did not believe in their strength. They ruined everything when they came.”

“And now we have a big power in Germany in Europe.”

“A tragedy. But one day perhaps we shall come back.”

“You mean the French aristocrats?”

“And then you will see.”

“Well, now you have connections in England. Your sister is married to one of our members of Parliament.”

He nodded. “Yes, that is good.”

“For your sister?”

“Yes, for my sister.”

I wondered if he knew of his sister’s sadness. But he would not consider that, I imagined. It would be a good marriage because Benedict Lansdon was a wealthy and rising politician with very likely a brilliant future before him.

It came out that Jean Pascal had plans to marry in France. The lady in question was a member of the deposed royal family. At the moment she was of little importance but if the monarchy returned, well then Jean Pascal could find himself in a very exalted position. He was not marrying her yet though. The situation was too uncertain. He did not actually tell me this, but he did not attempt to disguise it either.

Although I found him amusing, there were some aspects of his character which filled me with distrust and a certain apprehension. It was the manner in which he looked at me and some other women. It was almost with speculation and what I had begun to think of as lust. That he was a man of deep sensuality, I was sure. I had gathered that long ago, for I had seen him glance at the more attractive of the maids; but in his conversation there would be certain innuendoes which I pretended not to understand; but I fancied he was so knowledgeable about the feminine mind that he was aware that I understood very well.

He seemed to have a contempt for my innocence, for my lack of sophistication, for my youthful inexperience and I fancied he was hinting that he could initiate me into a world of pleasure and understanding.

I hoped I had shown him that I was not interested in acquiring experience through him; but he was so sure of his infinite wisdom in such matters that he believed he knew what was good for me far better than I did myself.

It was an intriguing situation and I was missing Pedrek. I had only his weekly letters to compensate for his absence and I found the time passed quickly in the company of Jean Pascal.

There was always Oliver Gerson. He was amusing, witty and charming. He was not at all the functions. I think some of the more aristocratic mammas thought he was not quite worthy. However, I did see him fairly frequently and he did make it clear that he enjoyed my company.

So with my secret engagement to Pedrek, I was able to enjoy the functions without that feeling of apprehension that I was failing to become a success, which had dogged poor Morwenna and Helena during their seasons. I was able to give myself up to the enjoyment of those occasions, as much as I could without Pedrek’s company.

So the months passed and the season was drawing to an end.

It was time that Benedict and his wife went to Manorleigh for a spell—and of course I went with them.