The Changeling (42 page)

“What about her handbag?”

“She have a beautiful crocodile one now. Yes, that is here.”

“It would seem that she went out without anything but what she was wearing.”

“Perhaps she take a walk.”

“Last night? And was she in the habit of taking walks?”

Yvette shook her head vigorously. “Non, non, non,” she said emphatically.

I told Yvette that she could go and when she had left I turned to Mrs. Emery. “This is very mysterious,” I said. “Where can she be?”

Mrs. Emery shook her head.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“Perhaps she went for a walk and has fallen and hurt herself … not able to get back to the house. Yes, that’s the most likely.”

“We’ll get Mr. Emery to organize a search. She has to be here near the house. Yvette says she did not go for a walk. But you never know. The impulse may have taken her. We’ve got to start looking without delay.”

We found Mr. Emery who immediately took charge. Tom Marner joined in. He was very efficient. When the grounds had been explored and yielded nothing the search went on farther afield.

The morning was passing and there was no trace of Celeste. We could not delay telling Benedict any longer.

A message was sent off to London explaining that his wife was missing.

I sat in Mrs. Emery’s room. I could see how worried she was.

“The servants will be talking,” she said. “This will get round. Oh, where is she? If only she’d come walking in! Emery’s worried. The papers will have a field day with this, he said. It could do Mr. Lansdon’s chances a lot of harm. The way things look, Miss Rebecca, I don’t like it at all.”

“I’m not surprised. Nor do I.”

“She’s just gone. She doesn’t seem to have taken anything. It would have been better if she had.”

“Why?”

“Well, then we should have known she had gone of her own freewill. As it is …”

“Mrs. Emery, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that this isn’t going to do him any good. If she’d left him for someone else … well, that’s not very nice … but he can’t be blamed for it … though the papers would try to make something out of it. You can see this is just about the worst time it could happen.”

“Last time …”

“Yes, I know all about that. When he was standing for Manorleigh for the first time. His wife died and there was a bit of a mystery about him. They blamed him and it cost him the seat.”

“I remember hearing about it.”

“If there’s a scandal about this it will all be brought up again. There will be a lot of raking over the past.”

“Mrs. Emery, she must be somewhere near. She wouldn’t have run away from him without anything … only the clothes she was standing up in.”

“I can’t think what it means.”

“Nor can I.”

Mrs. Emery went on: “It looks to me as if she didn’t leave the house of her own free will.”

“How could it be otherwise?”

“If she’d gone at night and taken a case full of some of her things with her … it would make sense. But she’s gone with nothing and we’ve searched the gardens and round about and still … no sign of her.”

“I don’t know what explanation there can be,” I said.

“It frightens me,” added Mrs. Emery.

It frightened me, too.

Benedict returned, and we began to realize how serious the matter was. He questioned every one of us and there was no doubt that Celeste had left the house on the previous night taking nothing with her. The search had been extended and she could not be found.

We knew that it could not be long before the news was out. It came sooner than we expected.

“Wife of prominent M.P. disappears. Tragedy-haunted Benedict Lansdon is the centre of a new mystery. His wife, Mrs. Celeste Lansdon, is missing from her home in her husband’s constituency of Manorleigh. As she appears to have taken nothing but the clothes she was wearing there is alarming speculation as to what has happened to her. It will be remembered that Benedict Lansdon’s first wife died during his original and unsuccessful campaign in Manorleigh and there were suggestions of foul play. It was, however, afterwards proved that she was suffering from an incurable illness and took her own life. Unlucky Mr. Lansdon is now at his home in Manorleigh where extensive enquiries are being made, and there is no doubt that the mystery will soon be solved.”

There was a hush over the house. The servants were talking in whispers. I could imagine the theories which were being circulated. I saw the expressions of excitement … suppressed into concern, of course, but they were there. They were hoping for startling developments. I wondered how many of them knew of the strained relations between the master and mistress of the house.

I also wondered what would be revealed when the press intruded on us and its members talked to the servants … always the most informed of detectives, keeping a close watch on our lives. What would the police get from them? I could imagine the questions … and the answers.

Tom Marner was a boon to us during that time. He took the children off our hands. They went riding with him and he was often in the nursery. I would hear their laughter which sounded odd in a house of fear.

We felt so helpless. What could we do? What had happened to Celeste? If only she would walk into the house and tell us she was well. If only we knew. It was so frustrating. She had just disappeared without a trace.

The first few days had passed and speculation was rife. The police had called. They spent a long time with Benedict. They asked some of us questions, including myself. Had I seen her the night she disappeared? Had I noticed anything unusual?

No, I told them. There had been nothing unusual.

“Had Mrs. Lansdon seemed distressed … afraid? Had she mentioned that someone had been threatening her?”

“Certainly not.”

The questions frightened me. They held a suggestion of foul play.

Did I know any reason why she should suddenly walk out of the house?

I did not. She was not a great walker. We had both said goodnight and gone to our respective rooms.

“What was the time then?”

“About nine o’clock.”

“Did anyone see her after nine?”

I thought no one had.

Yvette was closely interrogated. Everything had seemed as normal, she said.

“Was there any reason why Mrs. Lansdon should leave home?”

There was none that she knew of.

I guessed that they had not ruled out the possibility of murder.

Jean Pascal arrived at Manorleigh. It would have been impossibly embarrassing meeting him had it not been for the terrible tragedy which dwarfed everything else into insignificance.

He looked distracted and grief-stricken. He talked to Benedict in his study and when he emerged he was pale and clearly disturbed. He told us that his parents were worried. They were neither of them well enough to travel and he would have to go straight back to them but would keep in close touch.

He did have a word with me before he left.

“Don’t think too badly of me,” he said. “I’ve repented. I am truly sorry, Rebecca. I misjudged you. I have meant to come here on one or two occasions, but could not imagine how you would receive me.”

“I am afraid it would not have been very graciously.”

“So I guessed. This is a terrible business. We did not see very much of each other recently but she was … is … my sister.”

“If anything comes to light we shall let you know immediately.”

He frowned. “Was everything all right between … them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she seems to have disappeared.”

I said, “Mr. Lansdon was not here when it happened. He was in London. We had to send for him.”

“I see.”

“You can be sure,” I reiterated, “that we shall keep you informed of whatever happens.”

“Thank you.”

I could not help being relieved when he left.

A week had passed. There were paragraphs in the paper.

“Where is Mrs. Lansdon?” The headlines stared out at me. I could imagine how the matter was being discussed all over the country.

My grandmother wrote. “This must be distressing for you right in the midst of it. Would it be possible for you to come to Cornwall for a while?”

I shivered at the thought. There were too many memories in Cornwall. I should be constantly reminded of Pedrek … and here his grandparents would have to be faced. I was glad to be out of London to avoid meeting Morwenna and Justin Cartwright. I believed they blamed me for breaking off the engagement which had sent Pedrek to the other side of the world. I could not bear to think of facing any of them. I could never explain what had happened and to be in Cador would make the bitterness all the more vivid.

Besides, I had to be here. For some strange reason I thought Benedict might need my help.

I could not imagine why I should feel this. He had always been my enemy. I understood the veiled suggestions which were circulating. He was a ruthless and ambitious man, and his wife had disappeared. Why? Had she been an encumbrance? Had he plans which did not include her?

A member of the press had cornered Yvette. They discovered through subtle questioning that the relationship between the husband and wife had not been a happy one.

We read in the papers: “He never had any time for her, said her personal maid. She was very upset about it. She was seen crying. She seemed desperate sometimes …”

Yvette was horrified when she read the papers. I guessed that her sometimes imperfect English had led her into saying more than she meant to reveal.

“I did not say it … I did not,” she cried. “He kept on … he make me say that which I do not mean …”

Poor Yvette. She had not meant to cast suspicion on her mistress’s husband. But of course this was seized on. There were sly hints. One of the less reputable papers printed a piece about him.

“The member for Manorleigh is unlucky in love … or should one say marriage. His first wife, Lizzie, from whom he inherited a goldmine which has made him many times a millionaire, killed herself; his second wife died in childbirth, and now his third, Celeste, has disappeared. But perhaps there will be a happy ending to this one. The police are pursuing their inquiries and are hopeful to solve the mystery soon.”

A week passed and there was still no news of Celeste. The police were searching for her. Emery came in with the news that they had been digging up Three Acre Field by the paddock because it looked as though the earth had been freshly turned over.

That was a terrible time. I was afraid that they would find Celeste buried there.

Nothing was found and there was silence for a few more days.

The news of Celeste’s disappearance was replaced by that of the Cabinet reshuffle as worthy of the headlines. I don’t think anyone was surprised that there was no place in it for Benedict.

The news was in the papers that morning.

“No place in Cabinet for M.P. whose wife has mysteriously disappeared. Mr. Benedict Lansdon, the M.P. for whom all seemed set fair for a high post in the Cabinet, has been passed over. Police intimate they may have an answer to the riddle shortly.”

How subtly cruel they were in linking up his being passed over with his wife’s disappearance. We all knew it was the reason why his hopes had been blighted, but to stress it seemed unnecessary. It was almost like pronouncing Benedict guilty of killing his wife, which was of course what they were suggesting.

Benedict had taken the papers to his study. I was very sad at the thought of his reading those cruel words and a sudden impulse came to me. I knocked at his door.

“Come in,” he said.

I went in. He was sitting at his desk with the newspapers spread out before him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He knew what I meant for he replied: “It was inevitable.”

I advanced into the room and slipped into the chair facing him.

“It can’t go on,” I said. “There has to be news soon.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Benedict … do you mind if I call you Benedict? I can’t call you Mr. Lansdon and …”

He smiled wryly. “It seems a strange matter to worry about at such a time. You can’t bring yourself to call me father or stepfather … I always understood that. Call me Benedict. Why not? It makes us more friendly. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why you wouldn’t accept me. You couldn’t find a name for me.”

He laughed but it was mirthless laughter. I knew he was desperately upset and worried.

“What is going to happen?” I asked.

“That is something I cannot tell. Where can she be, Rebecca? Have you any idea?”

“Where should she go … just as she was? She has taken nothing … her handbag … she is without money.”

“It looks as though something happened to her. The police think she is dead, Rebecca.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You must have heard. They have dug up Three Acre Field. Why should they do that? Because they expected they would find her there.”

“Oh no!”

“I am sure they suspect murder.”

Of course, he had been through something like this before when his first wife had died of an overdose of laudanum. It had made him acutely aware of the hints and innuendoes, just as it had made him doubly open to suspicion.

“But who …?” I began.

“In these cases the husband is the first suspect.”

“Oh no. How could it be? You were not here.”

“What was to stop my coming to the house, letting myself in … going to the room we shared … taking a pillow … pressing it over her face and then … getting rid of the body?”

I stared at him in horror.

“I didn’t do it, Rebecca. I knew nothing of her disappearance until I received your message. Do you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you.”

“I really think you mean that.”

“I can’t understand how you could think for a moment that I could believe anything else.”

“Thank you. It’s a very sorry business. Where will it end?”

“Perhaps she will come back.”

“Do you think she will?”

“Yes … I do. I think she will.”

“But where from … and why? There’s no sense in it … no reason.”

“Mysteries are always like that until they are solved.”