The Black Swan

I looked round it. I could not imagine it as a home. A tall narrow house ... in a street of such houses, it seemed dark after the big airy rooms of the London house which was now Celeste’s and Manor Grange. The latter, with its spacious rooms and inescapable air of mystery, meant a great deal to me.

“You couldn’t sell Manor Grange,” said Roland tentatively. “No, I don’t think I could. Even if I wanted to. I was so shocked when my father died that I am afraid I didn’t take in everything about the will and the practical details. I’ve realized since that, although everything was left to me, it was left in trust. I can’t touch the capital and I suppose the house would come into that category. In any case, the solicitors would have to be consulted before I made any move. I think my father thought I might be prey to fortune hunters.” Roland looked alarmed and I laughed.

“Oh... that couldn’t apply to you, Roland. But there are people.” I thought of Jean Pascal. I had no doubt of his motives. “My father was a very shrewd man,” I went on, “and his great wish was to protect me. Of course, he hadn’t thought of dying for a long time. In any case, he left everything in what is called a trust. It means that I can’t do anything with the capital. It’s for my children and if I don’t have any it’s for Rebecca’s. So I don’t suppose I could sell Manor Grange without a lot of fuss.”

“I see,” said Roland. “Well, this was just an idea of Phillida’s. And she loves Manor Grange. It is just because she feels there is some resentment....”

“That will pass. The Emerys are really a wonderful pair. But they have their set of rules and everyone is expected to keep to them.”

“And Phillida has stepped out of line.”

“It was because she brought Kitty into the house without consulting Mrs. Emery. She is the one who expects to engage the staff and she feels it was an affront to her.”

“I wish we’d known.”

“It’s a small matter. She’ll get over it. Oh, it is good to be here. I’m glad I’ve seen you in your Welling Gardens home.”

“Hardly a home. Just a place to sleep in. That’s how Phillida and I regard it. It seems different now you’re here though.” I smiled happily. The next day, I kept my promise to Belinda. I took a cab and went to the address she had given me. It was, as she said, a small hotel in Bayswater. There was a reception desk and I asked there if Mr. Henry Farrell was in. He was not but was expected shortly. I said I would wait.

I was reproaching myself for not having made an appointment with him; but, of course, if I had attempted to do that, there was a possibility that he might have refused to see me.

For ten minutes I sat rehearsing what I would say to him, and I grew more and more convinced that I had been misguided to give way. What sort of man was he? Forceful, I imagined. He had come over here to assert his rights. He was not going to listen to me. The best thing I could do was get up and leave now. I should have discussed this with Roland, asked his advice. I knew what it would be: don’t interfere. Leave Belinda to sort out her own troubles. Of course, that was what I should have done. But I did care for her ... in an odd sort of way. I had really been delighted to see her, as I had thought, settled at last. While I was ruminating, I heard a voice say: “Mr. Farrell, there’s a lady to see you.”

He came toward me. He was of medium height, his fair hair bleached by the sun, his face clearly showing that he lived in a different climate from ours. He was deeply bronzed which made his eyes look intensely blue. His features were clear cut; and there was an undoubted air of strength about him. He was a pleasant looking young man and I could understand Belinda’s temptation to act recklessly before she realized that there could be a more splendid life ahead of her than one spent in the goldfields. “Mr. Farrell?” I said, rising.

“Yes,” he said, in a marked Australian accent. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. I’m Lucie Fitzgerald. I was Lucie Lansdon. I don’t know whether Belinda spoke of me to you.”

“Aw,” he cried. “You’re Lucie.” He took my hand and shook it heartily. “Glad to meet you.”

I found I was liking him.

“So you’ve come to see me?” He looked surprised but pleased.

“Is there somewhere we could talk?”

“Well, there’s a lounge. Pretty quiet this time of day. That might do.”

“Thank you. I should be so glad if you would allow me to talk to you.” He looked puzzled and led me to the lounge. He was right. It was deserted and I was glad of that.

“Come and sit down,” he said, “and tell me what this is all about.”

We sat in armchairs in a corner of the room and I said, “Belinda came to see me.

She is very distressed.”

“So she ought to be.”

“Yes, I know. She told me all about it. It’s a terrible thing she has done.” He nodded and I was silent, wondering how to go on. He prompted, “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

I hesitated. “You... you see, she was very young.”