Changeling

He went on: “I’m here, you know … I just want you to realize that if I can be of any use … well, I’m here.”

For a moment I forgot my misery. What on Earth had happened to the man? Of course, there had been an election in March and Mr. Gladstone, his hero, was now Prime Minister. Perhaps that would mean a post in the Cabinet for him. It must be that which made him feel on good terms with the whole world. He had even noticed me … and Belinda.

A week passed and the tragedy seemed as close as ever. I brooded for hours when I was alone in my bedroom. I should have stayed in Cornwall. But Belinda had had to get away and how could she have gone without Lucie and me, for Lucie was my responsibility. She had no claims on Benedict. I could not have let her go without me. And yet my heart was back in Cornwall with Pedrek. I wanted to write to him to tell him that whatever he had done made no difference. Anything else would not have been the same. If he had been a thief … even if he had killed someone … but to me this was so revolting that I could not bear to think of it.

I had a talk with Celeste who had her own problem to face.

She said: “You are unhappy but you do not want to talk about it.”

I shook my head.

“Is it a love affair?”

I nodded.

“Someone in Cornwall. It must be Pedrek Cartwright. I always thought what a delightful young man he is. Has it gone wrong then?”

“Yes,” I said. “It has gone wrong.”

“My poor Rebecca. And you love him?”

“Yes.”

“It is so sad. Life is cruel, is it not? To love and to be rejected … that is a terrible thing.”

I was silent thinking of Pedrek. It was I who had rejected him. We had said our love would last forever and at the first ill wind it had blown away.

“At least,” she went on, “you find out in time … not like …”

I was drawn away from my own tragedy to hers.

She said: “It hurts too much to talk, I know. But it is too soon. As time passes the hurt does not go away … but it is easier to talk. And you suffer, too …”

I put out my hand and took hers.

She went on: “Sometimes I wonder how I will endure it. It is better when he is away. Then I can deceive myself … a little. But when he is here and shows so clearly … Why did he marry me? I ask myself.”

“He must have loved you or he would never have done that.”

“It was done … how you say? … without thought.”

“On the spur of the moment. Oh, but I do not believe he would act rashly in such matters. He must have thought you would be happy together.”

“Perhaps. At first … I thought we might … but he is obsessed by a dead love. He cannot forget.”

“Does he still go to the locked room?”

She nodded. “And I am sad and lonely waiting for a husband who does not want me.”

“My poor Celeste.”

“I need to be loved. I am not one to live alone.”

“Perhaps in time …”

“In time? It is years since she died … but she is still with him. It is as though she is in this house. I do not know how long I can endure …” She stared into space. “I could take a lover … or take my life … he would not care …”

“Oh, Celeste, please don’t talk like that.”

“You see … I love him. I want him as he … wants his dead wife. We are in a maze … both of us … searching for the impossible.”

“Perhaps it will come right in the end.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “That is a word which does not fill me with hope.”

“It may be it is wrong to care for people too much. One gets hurt.”

She nodded.

“He must have been fond of you to marry you,” I insisted.

“He needed a wife. I could entertain his guests. It is a help in his career. I am like the first wife. He married her for the goldmine.”

“I think he cares for you, but you see … there was this special feeling for my mother … and he just cannot forget her.”

“She is there all the time.”

“Yes, I know … a shadowy third!”

And between Pedrek and me was the memory of a small girl running to me … her eyes wild, her clothes torn … as certainly as Benedict’s obsession with my mother was between him and Celeste.

It might well be that I had been right to get away. We should never have been happy with that shadow between us. It would have flashed into my memory at odd moments throughout my life.

I was glad when we left London for Manorleigh.

Mrs. Emery was shocked at the sight of me. “My goodness me, Miss Rebecca,” she said. “You do look pale … and I believe you’ve lost some weight. Yes, I’m sure of it … and you were like a beanpole before. That’s Cornwall for you. Well, we’ll have to see what we can do. We’ll get some color back into those cheeks and a little more flesh on the bones.”

I would sit at my window and look down at the winged-footed Hermes, at the pond and the haunted seat under the oak tree. If only my mother were here, she would tell me what to do.

Oliver Gerson called. The children and I were pleased to see him. He was one of those people who only have to appear to dispel melancholy. He expressed his great delight in our reunion. He kissed hands all round. Belinda seemed to step right away from her tragedy on his first visit. She jumped about him. Lucie was almost equally delighted.