Changeling

The smell of the boiling puddings permeated the kitchen and we all went down to listen to them bubbling away in the copper in the laundry house. Mrs. Emery said that all the staff should join in the tasting ceremony and the children were allowed to share in it too. This was indeed a ceremonial occasion when Mrs. Grant, like a priestess in some holy temple, served everyone with a mouthful from one of the small basins which contained a specimen of the rich mixture; and which we all declared was perfect.

Then there were the mince pies to be made and the Christmas cake to be iced with the words “Merry Christmas” and “God Bless This House” written on it in blue; and then this was placed in state on the kitchen table where all might inspect and admire it before it was put away.

It was all very simple and exciting; and I was glad to see Belinda looked happier than she had for some time; and what was most gratifying was that she seemed to want to please me. I said to Celeste that this incident, regrettable as it was at the time, might be a turning point.

“I think I am closer to her than I have ever been,” I said. “She has always seemed so overbearing, but, poor child, what she needs is love and tenderness.”

Celeste was inclined to agree with me.

I said: “She admires her father, I know. She is deeply hurt by his neglect. If only he would show a little interest in her it would make a world of difference, I am sure.”

“He seems to like Lucie more than he does her.”

“Lucie is easier to like perhaps.”

“That may be. But Belinda is his daughter.”

“Perhaps one day … one of us will be able to make him see …”

“Perhaps,” sighed Celeste.

I received letters from Cornwall. Pedrek had kept his promise to write once a week and I had kept mine to reply. So I knew exactly what was happening in Cornwall. He was getting on well at the Mining College. Working hard helped him to endure the separation. I tried to write amusingly about life in London and at Manor Grange, telling him of the political world and what it was like to be on the edge of it.

The day before Christmas Eve I received a batch of letters from Cornwall with gifts from everyone. There was a necklace of amethyst from my grandparents and a gold bracelet from Pedrek.

I kept the letter he sent with it.

Dearest Rebecca,

If only we could be together! I kept hoping that you would come for Christmas. So did we all. I have a confession to make. I have told them. I could not keep it to myself. They were talking about you and saying how they wished you were here … and somehow it came out.

We did say we wouldn’t … and I should have waited until we could tell them together … but if you could have seen their joy you would have been glad they knew. My mother and your grandmother hugged each other and I thought my grandparents were going to burst into tears … tears of absolute bliss. They all said it was what they had always hoped for and prayed for. And my grandfather said there was going to be such a wedding as had never been seen in Cornwall.

But they all think it is wise that we should wait until I am through with college. They said we are both very young and need a little time to prepare. I don’t agree. I’m just telling you what they said. I am just wishing the time away.

Oh, Rebecca, it would be wonderful if you were here. It would be such a happy Christmas. Your grandparents said you are certain to come down in the Spring, but that seems far away. But I suppose it will come in time and I must be patient until then. The only way I can do that is by telling myself that we shall be married and then together all the time.