The changeling

“Perhaps He feels more kindly towards sinners than some mortals do.”

“They’ll come to judgment, never fear.” Mrs. Polhenny’s eyes glittered as though she were already seeing the girl writhing in the flames of hell. “Well, she was here in church,” said my grandmother. “She must have been repenting, and you know there is great joy over sinners who repent.”

“If I were the Lord,” said Mrs. Polhenny, “I’d do something about them Bay Cottages, that I would.”

“Perhaps some have to be thankful that you are not the Lord,” retorted my grandmother somewhat tartly. “Tell me about the girl. Who is she?”

“Daisy Martin. A bad lot, that family. The girl’s grandmother ailed me in. She’s repented her ways ... getting old and frightened of what’s to come, I shouldn’t wonder. Wanted me to take a look at the girl. I said, ‘She’s six months gone and what bout the man?’ She said it was one of them farm laborers who came on to help with the thatching. The girl’s only sixteen. Disgraceful, I call it.”

“But you’ll deliver the child, of course.”

“I have to do that, don’t I? ‘Tis my work, and if a baby’s been planted, however sinfully, it’s my duty to bring it into the world. God sent me here to do this work and nothing would stop me.”

“I’m glad of that,” replied my grandmother. “We must not visit the sins of the parents upon the children, you know.”

“Well, they’re God’s children, however they’ve been come by. As for that creature ... I hope they cast her out ... once the child’s born. It does the neighborhood no good to have her sort about.”

“She’s only sixteen, you say.”

“Old enough to know better.”

“She’s not the first, by any means.”

“So much for the sinful ways into which we have fallen.”

“There is nothing very new about these things, you know,” said my grandmother. “The Lord will take His vengeance,” Mrs. Polhenny assured us, looking up to the rafters as though to Heaven-giving the Lord a little prod, I thought, to remind him that He was being lax in performing His duty.

I knew my grandmother was torn between the pity she felt tor the wayward young Daisy and the secret pleasure she derived from baiting Mrs. Polhenny who went on: “The goings on at Poldorey ... East and West ... well, it would give you a bit of a shock, I reckon, if you knew all.”

Then I suppose I should be thankful to remain in ignorance.”

The Lord will take His vengeance one day ... mark my words.”

I can hardly see East and West Poldorey as Sodom and

“It’s coming, you’ll see.”

“I hope not. But what I do see is that we are holding up your work. We’ll say goodbye, Mrs. Polhenny.”

We stood outside the church and my grandmother breathed deeply, as though she needed fresh air after the atmosphere in the church.

Then she turned to me and laughed. “What a self-righteous woman. I’d rather have a sinner any day. Oh well ... she’s an excellent midwife. There isn’t a better in the whole width and breadth of Cornwall. My dear, we must look after that poor girl. I’ll go along to the cottages tomorrow and see what I can find out.” She seemed suddenly to remember my age, and possibly it occurred to her that I was being introduced to the facts of life before I was ready to absorb them. She went on: “We’ll go over to Pencarron this afternoon. Isn’t it wonderful that you have Pedrek here with you?”

I thought a lot about Mrs. Polhenny and always scrutinized her cottage closely when I passed by. It was just outside East Poldorey and often I would see clothes drying on the bushes. There were lace curtains at the windows, spotlessly clean, and the stone steps leading to the front door were regularly scrubbed. She obviously believed that cleanliness was next to godliness; and saw herself as an upholder of both virtues. Once or twice I glimpsed Leah at a window. She would be there with her embroidery frame, stitching away. Sometimes she looked up from her work and saw me. I would smile, wave my hand, and she would acknowledge my greeting, I should have liked to talk to her. I wanted to know what it was like living with a mother such as Mrs. Polhenny. But she always gave me the impression, if ever I hesitated, that she must get on quickly with her work.

Poor Leah! I thought. It must be hard to be the daughter of a saintly woman who, as she felt it her duty to uphold the morals of the countryside, must be much more strict in her own home.

I thanked God for my mother, my grandparents and the Pencarrons. They might not be so concerned with the laws of God but they were much more comfortable to live with.