The Changeling by Philippa Carr Read Free Book Online Page A

said that as soon as the children came of a reasonable age they should do so because it was good for them to listen to the conversation of adults which gave them confidence. I have to admit to being a little fascinated by him. He was always so charming to everyone and made me feel that, young as I was, I was of some importance. There was none of that “not for the children” attitude from him. He would often address me and sometimes when he was talking at the table his eyes would meet mine and it was almost as though there was a secret understanding between us. What made him so attractive was that aura of wickedness about him. I knew there was something, but I was not sure what. It set him apart, some scandal from the past which he had overridden and from which he had emerged triumphantly by snapping his fingers at conventions. Mystery was very attractive. I was constantly trying to find out what he had done but no one would tell me.
    It was strange because he reminded me so much of Benedict. I had the feeling that when he was Benedict’s age he must have been rather like his grandson. Scandal had touched them both … and neither of them had allowed it to destroy him. There was something indestructible about him. I hated Benedict. I had admitted it at last. And it was because I was afraid of him. But on the other hand, because I had nothing to fear from Uncle Peter, I was fond of him.
    There was no doubt that Uncle Peter was delighted by the coming marriage; he beamed his approval. He was certain that Benedict was going to succeed and politics had always fascinated him. He himself had planned such a career and whatever that scandalous thing was in his past, it had put an end to it. But he lived politics through his son-in-law Martin Hume. I had heard it said: “Martin is Peter’s puppet.” I wondered if this was so. I could well believe it. And now Benedict was to follow that tradition. But of one thing I was certain: Benedict would never be anyone’s puppet.
    Uncle Peter was very rich. So was Benedict. I had an inkling that they had both come to be wealthy in a rather shady way.
    I wished I knew more. What frustration it is to be young … when people hide things from you and you can only glean little pieces of information. It is like fitting together a jigsaw puzzle with the most important bits missing.
    Conversation at the dinner table was all about the wedding and the honeymoon which was to be in Italy. They would not go to France because that was where my mother had had her first honeymoon with my father. She used to tell me about the little hotel in the mountains overlooking the sea, where they had stayed.
    “I wouldn’t stay away too long,” said Uncle Peter. “You don’t want the people of Manorleigh to think their new M.P. is deserting them.”
    “We shall be away a month,” my mother told him, and, seeing Uncle Peter looked a little shocked, she added: “I insisted.”
    “So you see,” said Benedict, “I had to agree.”
    “I am sure the electorate of Manorleigh would realize that a honeymoon is a rather special occasion,” put in my grandfather.
    My mother smiled at Uncle Peter. “You are always saying that the people love romance. I think they might have been disappointed in us if we had cut it short.”
    “Good reasoning perhaps,” conceded Uncle Peter.
    When we went to our rooms that night, my grandmother followed me up.
    “I wanted to have a little talk,” she said. “Where shall you be while you are waiting for them to come back?”
    I said: “I can stay here.”
    “Is that what you want?”
    I hesitated. The tenderness in her voice touched me deeply, and I was horrified to discover that I was near to tears.
    “I … I don’t know,” I said.
    “I thought you didn’t.” She smiled brightly. “Why don’t you come back with us? Your grandfather and I were talking about it coming up in the train and said how nice it would be if you decided to come and stay with us for a while.