Free The Changeling by Philippa Carr Page B

lanes.
    That was far away and now I had to face the grim reality.
    I thought Uncle Peter was strangely quiet. Usually he dominated the scene. When I asked him how he was he said he was well and busy as usual and very much looking forward to the return of the married couple.
    “Now we shall see something,” he said. “Benedict is not the man to stand still.”
    The pride and admiration in his voice annoyed me. Why must everyone have this immense respect for the man!
    The day came. The cab arrived at the door. We were all waiting to greet them. And there was my mother, looking beautiful and I noticed with a pang—half regret, half pleasure-looked as radiant as she had before she left, or perhaps even more so.
    I flung myself into her arms.
    “Oh Becca, Becca,” she said. “How I’ve missed you! Everything would have been perfect if you had been there.”
    Benedict was smiling at me. He took my hands in his. My mother was watching us … willing me to show my pleasure. So I smiled as brightly as I could.
    She had brought a china plaque for me to hang on my wall. On it had been painted a picture of a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Raphael’s Madonna della Sedia of which I had once seen a copy and had loved it. She had remembered this.
    “It’s lovely,” I said.
    “We chose it together.”
    And again I smiled at him.
    After dinner, I was to go back with them to his London house and I was not looking forward to it. I felt it would indeed be the beginning of a new life.
    There was a great deal of talk at dinner. Aunt Amaryllis wanted to hear about Italy and the honeymoon; Uncle Peter was more interested in what plans Benedict had.
    “We shall go down to Manorleigh as soon as possible,” said Benedict. “I don’t want my constituents to think that I am an absentee Member.”
    “There’ll be lots for you to do, Angelet,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “I know how it is with Helena.”
    “Garden fêtes to open … bazaars … charities for this and that,” said my mother. “I’m prepared.”
    “It will be nice to be at Manorleigh,” went on Aunt Amaryllis, “and you’ll have the town house as well. What could be more convenient?”
    “It’s a blessing that Manorleigh happens to be so near London,” said Benedict. “It’ll make the journey to and fro so much easier.”
    “What on earth would have happened if your constituency had been in Cornwall?”
    “I can only thank Heaven that it was not.”
    I wished it had been. Then I could have been with my grandparents for much of the time. But I would still visit them … frequently. I must remember that. If ever life became too difficult with him … I had my escape.
    When the meal was over I left with my mother and her husband for his house. My grandparents were staying with Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis and going back to Cornwall in a few days.
    As we walked to the house, my mother linked her arm through mine. He was on the other side of her; they were arm in arm. Anyone seeing us would have thought what a happy family we were and none would have guessed at the turmoil within me.
    I felt lost in the big house and a desolate sense of not belonging. It was such a grand house. As soon as I entered it I felt as though every part of it was looking down its nose, demanding to know what I was doing there. Everything looked as though it had cost a great deal of money. There were heavy red curtains, their rich folds held in place by thick bands which in any other house one would have dismissed as brass. The walls were white and looked as though they had been freshly painted. The furniture was elegant—of an earlier period—Georgian, I think, to fit the house. Above the wide staircase hung an enormous chandelier. It was at the top of that staircase that my mother and her new husband would receive their guests. Beyond, on the first floor, were the enormous dining and drawing rooms. I could never feel at home in such a house.
    My room was large and lofty with a