The Changeling (56 page)

“I should have told you before only we didn’t intend to announce it until he came back.”

“It will help so much. You’ll be able to start afresh. I can see that you don’t want to make too many plans until he is with you.”

Her mood had changed. She was clearly thinking what a help Joel would be to me.

She was right, of course.

“So,” she went on, “we’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Celeste was coming with us. We had insisted that she did; and I think she was relieved to do so, although she was a little diffident, as was her way; she confided in me that she was not sure whether Rebecca really wanted her, but was asking her out of kindness.

Poor Celeste! Her life with Benedict had nurtured this feeling of being unwanted; although in the last years he had tried hard to make things different between them.

So we prepared to leave. I was telling myself that, in the peace of Cornwall, I should see everything more clearly. I would be able to convince myself that I was foolish to harbor these uneasy feelings about a man who had deliberately set out to kill my father, shattering his life in a matter of seconds and bringing misery to his family.

I had packed and we were ready to leave.

“We should get a good night’s sleep,” advised Rebecca.

She herself brought a glass of milk to my bedroom. She stayed by my bed and talked to me.

“Everything will be different in Cornwall,” she said soothingly. “The children will love to see you. They are rather adorable. And the grandparents … ours and Pedrek’s. You know how they love it when you come. Ours will be trying to snatch you away from us and get you to Cador. But I shan’t allow it.”

“It all sounds so cozy.”

“It will be best, Lucie. And soon we shall be hearing from Joel. I am sure he will come straight to Cornwall when he knows you are there.”

“I’m getting rather worried about him. It seems so long since he went.”

“Well, it is a long way off, and I don’t suppose getting letters through is very easy. Soon he’ll be home. Oh, I am so glad you and Celeste are such friends. Poor Celeste!”

“I always feel that I want to look after her,” I said.

Rebecca nodded. “Now drink that milk and get off to sleep. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

She took the glass, set it down and tucked me in as she used to do when I was a child.

I put my arms round her neck.

“I am so glad to have you, Rebecca,” I told her.

“And I to have you, little sister,” she replied.

Then she kissed me and went out.

I think I dozed a little. Then … something wakened me. It sounded like a scratching on the window. I lay staring into the darkness. The light from the street lamp showed me the outline of familiar furniture. It was something I had found comforting when I was very young. I was thankful for that street lamp. It had played a part in my life. And then it had shown me clearly the face of my father’s murderer. I could not have been so sure of him if I had not seen him standing hatless under it on that fateful night.

Again that scratching on the window. I looked and was in time to see that it was a handful of small pebbles which had been thrown at it.

I got out of bed and went to the window. My heart seemed to stop for a second as I caught my breath, for standing there, under the street lamp, was a figure in an opera cloak and hat. It was a man. He looked straight up at me as I stood at the window. For a few seconds we remained motionless, then suddenly he took off his hat and bowed. As he was standing under the street lamp I could see him clearly. I saw the widow’s peak, even the faint outline of the scar.

He was smiling up at me, mockingly.

I could not move. I just stood there, limp with horror.

The man put his hat on his head and slowly sauntered out of sight.

I was shivering; my limbs were shaking. What had I seen? Was it a ghost? That was my first thought. He had come back to haunt me.

For a few moments, I stood there staring down at the deserted street. Then I went back to bed.

I was still trembling. Then another and more terrible thought occurred to me. Was the man I had condemned
not
my father’s murderer? That man was still here. I had seen him this night,
after
the other had been hanged.

Oh, God help me, I thought. I have condemned an innocent man.

But the man I had seen in court
was
the man I had seen in the street on those two occasions. But if that were so, how could he have been down there on this night?

He had meant me to see him. He had thrown pebbles at my window.

Had he been real or was he a phantom come back to haunt me?

P
EDREK WAS WAITING AT
the station with the carriage when we arrived. The journey had seemed long and all through it I had been trying to forget what I had seen on the previous night. There were moments when I almost convinced myself that I had imagined the whole thing.

I was certainly in an unusual state. I had been terribly shocked. It was just possible that I had suffered from some hallucination. That was the happiest conclusion to which I could come, although I hated to think of myself being so mentally disturbed.

I wanted to tell Rebecca. I felt sure she would have some explanation. Indeed, I had had to restrain myself during that night from going along to her bedroom to tell her all about it.

As we sped across the country past green fields and wooded hills, through villages and the outskirts of towns, I began to get a sense of normality, and the more I thought of what I had seen last night, the more reasonable it seemed to believe that I had imagined the whole thing.

Pedrek embraced us all.

He said to Rebecca, “It’s been a long time.”

Rebecca replied, “Yes, I know, but …” and he nodded, understanding, I felt, as he always would.

We got into the carriage and our luggage was put in beside us.

“The children are all agog,” said Pedrek. “Nanny Billings has made a great concession. They are going to be allowed to sit up a little later tonight because you have come home.”

“The darlings!” said Rebecca. “I’ve been away so long. I hope they haven’t forgotten me.”

“They certainly have not!” Pedrek assured her. “Every morning, Nanny Billings tells me she is asked, ‘When is Mummy coming home?’”

“That’s a relief,” said Rebecca. “I should have hated to have my children look on me as a stranger.”

“Well, High Tor waits to welcome you. I can tell you, the entire household has been in the throes of feverish preparation ever since it was known you were coming.”

“What a lovely homecoming,” I said.

“It’s true, Lucie,” said Rebecca. “I know how pleased everyone will be to see you and Celeste.”

We drove through narrow lanes where the hedges brushed against the carriage; we wound round and round and caught glimpses of sea and moorland, until we came into open country and there was the house in all its glory—the happy home of my dearest Rebecca and her family.

Even the horses seemed pleased because they were near home; and in spite of everything I was beginning to feel more at peace and more remote from the scene of sudden death.

Rebecca and Pedrek had chosen this house because it was more or less halfway between Cador and Pencarron, the house of Pedrek’s grandparents. Pedrek now, of course, ran the Pencarron Mine which he had inherited from his grandfather—although I think the old man still had an interest in it. It was about a mile or so from High Tor so within easy distance for Pedrek.

High Tor was a misnomer really as it stood on a slight incline which could hardly be called a tor. It was an interesting house. Celeste had once lived in it, for it had belonged to her family, the Bourdons, before they went to Chislehurst and later to Farnborough.

I remember that at one time Pedrek and Rebecca had decided against it and then afterward had fallen in love with it again.

It was an old house, having been erected in the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century. I had always been told that it was in the Inigo Jones style. It was the first time I had heard his name and I was very impressed because I could see that everyone else was. But I had always been enchanted by the leaded windows, the gables and the pediments; and I loved old houses; they set me thinking of what had happened to all the people who had lived in them over the years.

High Tor was especially interesting to me because it was in one of these rooms that Belinda had been conceived. It was here that Leah Polhenny had come to repair the tapestries which the Bourdons had brought from France, and while she was here had been seduced by Jean Pascal, Celeste’s brother, and the son of the house. So it was really in this house that our story had begun—mine and Belinda’s.

No wonder it had a fascination for me.

We went through the gateway into the courtyard. A groom came running out.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Cartwright.”

“Hell, Jim,” cried Rebecca. “It’s good to be back.”

Rebecca could scarcely wait for the carriage to stop before she leaped out. She was longing fervently to see the children.

And there they were, one on either side of Nanny Billings, and when they saw Rebecca they rushed forward and threw themselves at her.

They were all talking at once. The children were squealing with joy. Alvina wanted to show her mother her new painting book, Jake his toy engine.

Lucky Rebecca, I thought, to have such a family. And, indeed, as she held them to her the sorrow and drama of the last months seemed to pass away from her.

“And what have you to say to your Aunt Lucie and your Aunt Celeste?” she asked the children.

They came and stood before us. I knelt and put my arms about them.

“Now,” said Nanny Billings briskly, “we mustn’t get too excited. We are going to stay up a little longer because this is a special day.”

The children laughed together and we went into the house.

The hall was large, as they usually are in such houses, with a high vaulted ceiling supported by thick oak beams. The butler and housekeeper had appeared to welcome us and tell us that our rooms were ready and we could go to them right away.

“We’ll have a quick wash and then something to eat,” said Rebecca. “It’s been a long journey and we’re a little tired.”

“In the small dining room in half an hour,” said Mrs. Willows, the housekeeper. “Unless that will be too soon.”

“Oh no … that will be just right,” said Rebecca.

The children came with us up the stairs. My room was next to that of Celeste. It was the one I always occupied on my visits to High Tor.

Rebecca was looking at me anxiously. She had been aware of my preoccupation on the train. I was thinking of the number of times I had stayed in this room. Everything will be different now, I reminded myself. We can never go back.

“Come along, children,” said Nanny Billings.

Alvina looked as though she were about to protest. Rebecca knelt down to kiss her and whispered that she would come along to tuck her in … and perhaps tell her a story, and that seemed to satisfy her.

When Rebecca and I were alone in my room, she said, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

I looked at her in surprise and she hurried on, “I mean yesterday … last night. I felt there was something. …”

I nodded.

She said quickly, “Tell me later. I’ll come along tonight for a chat.”

I felt suddenly relieved. I had been wondering whether to share my misgivings with Rebecca, and now I knew that I would.

“I’ll have to leave you now,” she went on. “See you downstairs in half an hour.”

When I had dressed I tapped on Celeste’s door. She was ready and waiting.

“How does it feel to be in your old home?” I asked.

“A little strange,” she replied.

“It must be very different now.”

“Very different.”

“I suppose it was rather grand when your parents had it … all that Gobelin tapestry which Leah came to repair. …”

“There were some fine pieces, but here … there is … love.”

I was silent as I went downstairs with her. Lucky Rebecca! I was wondering whether Joel and I would be able to build ourselves a life like this.

Joel was my hope now. It was a sad quirk of fate that he should happen to be out of the country at the time when I needed him so much. But he would soon be home, and it would be different then. We would start at once to build a new life together.

I fancied the conversation at dinner was a little labored. I guessed that Pedrek had made up his mind not to talk of my father’s murder and, as all that had followed as a result of it must be uppermost in our minds, a restraint was put upon us.

I think we were all relieved when the meal was over.

“It has been a long day,” said Rebecca. “We shall all feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

I had not been in my room more than five minutes when there was a tap on the door. I knew it was Rebecca who had come for our talk.

I was at the dressing table brushing my hair and she came and sat in the armchair facing me.

“What’s happened, Lucie?” she asked.

I told her and she was clearly shocked.

“But … who could it have been?”

“I don’t know, but I have a terrible feeling that they have hanged the wrong man.”

“But you recognized him. You picked him out. He had the sort of appearance which could be easily recognized. The way his hair grew was enough and then there was the scar. All that is not very usual. And he was known to the police as a terrorist. He had been involved in that sort of thing before.”

“I know. It seemed certain. But if he were dead and buried, how could he have been down there in the street?”

“Let’s try and look at this clearly. I think you may have imagined you saw this man.”

“But, Rebecca, he threw pebbles at my window. He was down there. He took off his hat and bowed to me … as though he were mocking me.”

She was silent for a few moments, then she said: “You were … still are … in a highly emotional state, Lucie. Most people would be. That sort of shock has its effect. You were actually there. You saw the whole thing … and you and your father were very close. You were closer to him than anyone else. It’s bound to have a deep effect.”