There was a great deal of excited talk about the constituency and the possibility of a general election.

“Not much chance yet,” said my grandfather. “Gladstone is well in … unless he comes a cropper over Ireland again.”

“It will come in time,” said my mother. “And we don’t want it too soon. Benedict has to make his presence felt before that.”

“He will do that,” added my grandmother with conviction.

She soon noticed that all was not well with me.

We went for a walk in the Park together and I quickly realized that she had arranged it so that we could talk in peace.

It was one of those late autumnal days—the mist only faintly disturbed by the softest of winds which blew from the southwest—dampish, leaving the skin glowing. There was a smell of autumn in the air and a few bronze leaves remaining on the trees.

As we walked by the Serpentine, she said to me: “I believe you are feeling a little … left out. Are you, my dear?”

I was silent for a moment. She put her arm through mine.

“You mustn’t think that. Everything is the same between you and your mother.”

“How can it be?” I demanded. “He will be there.”

“You will enjoy his company. He will be like your father.”

“I can only have one father.”

“My dearest child, your father died before you were born. You never knew him.”

“I know that he died saving Pedrek’s father’s life—and I don’t want any other father.”

She pressed my arm. “It has been a surprise to you. People often feel like that. You think there will be a change. Yes, there will be. But had you thought it might be a change for the better?”

“I liked it as it was.”

“Your mother is very happy,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed bitterly. “Because of him.”

“You and she have been together so much. The fact that your father died made that inevitable. I know there is a very special relationship between you—and there always will be. But she and Benedict … they have been such good friends … always.”

“Then why did she marry my father? He must have been a closer friend to her.”

“Benedict went to Australia. He was out of her life. They both married different people … at first.”

“Yes, and my father died saving another man’s life. His wife … she died too.”

“Why do you say it like that, Rebecca?”

“Like what?”

“As though there was something odd about it.”

“There was something odd about it.”

“Who said so?”

I closed my lips firmly. I was not going to betray the servants.

“Tell me what you heard,” she urged.

I remained silent.

“Please, Rebecca, tell me,” she begged.

“She died and they thought he had killed her because he didn’t want to be married to her any more … and he did not win the election because of it. And afterwards they found that she had killed herself.

“It’s true,” said my grandmother. “People will always blacken the case against others, particularly if they are in a prominent position. It’s a form of envy.”

“But she did die.”

“Yes.”

“I wish my mother was not going to marry him.”

“Rebecca, you must not judge him before you know him.”

“I do know him.”

“No, you don’t. We don’t even fully know those who are closest to us. He loves your mother. I am sure of that, and she loves him. She has been so long alone. Don’t spoil it.”

“I? Spoil it?”

“Yes. You can. If she thinks you’re not happy, she won’t be.”

“I don’t think she is aware of anyone or anything … except him.”

“Just at the moment she can think of little but her new life … her state of happiness. Don’t show hostility to him. Let her enjoy this. You will … in time. But you are building up prejudices against him … and that won’t do. You’ll find everything is more or less as it was. You’ll live in a different house, true. But what are houses? Just places to live in. And you will come down to Cornwall and be with your grandfather and me. Pedrek will be there …”

“Pedrek’s going away to school.”

“Well, there’ll be holidays. You don’t think he won’t be coming to see his grandparents just because he’s going to school, do you?”

“He’s very rich, this er …”

“Benedict. Yes, he is now. You are not going to hold that against him, are you? This is not an uncommon situation, you know. Lots of young people get uneasy when their parents remarry. You mustn’t make up your mind that he is some sort of villain. Stepparents often acquire an unhealthy reputation since Cinderella. But you are too sensible to be influenced by such things.”

I began to feel a slight relief. I always felt cosy with my grandparents. I kept saying to myself: “And they’ll be there. All I have to do is go to them.”

She pressed my arm. “Come on,” she said. “Tell me what’s worrying you.”

“I … I don’t know what to call him.”

She stopped short and looked at me; and then she started to laugh. To my surprise I found myself joining in.

She composed her features and looked very serious.

“Oh, what a weighty matter!” she said. “What are you going to call him? Step-papa? That won’t do. Stepfather? Step-pa … or simply Father.”

“I can’t call him that,” I said firmly. “I have a father and he is dead.”

She must have noticed the stubborn line of my mouth.

“Well, Uncle Benedict.”

“He’s not my uncle.”

“There is a family connection somewhere … a long way back … so you could do that with a fair conscience. Uncle Benedict. Uncle Lansdon. So that was what was worrying you!”

She knew it was more than that; but we had become lighthearted.

I had known that a talk with my grandmother would do me a lot of good.

I continued to feel better. I assured myself that, whatever happened, I had my grandparents. Moreover the atmosphere in the house had lightened considerably, for the servants were no longer anxious about their future. They were going to Manorleigh—all of them; and as the new house would be much bigger than our present one, there would probably be more servants. This would mean a rise in the status of the Emerys. Mrs. Emery would become a sort of housekeeper and he a full-time butler. Their anxieties had turned to pleasure and I could not spoil the happiness of those about me.

Then I heard more conversation. I must have been adept at keeping my ears open, partly because I was frustrated. On account of my youth, facts were often kept from me. There was nothing new about that, but in the past it had seemed less important.

This time it was Jane and Mrs. Emery and they were talking about the forthcoming wedding which was not surprising because it was everybody’s favorite topic.

I was coming up the thickly carpeted stairs so my footsteps would not be heard, and the door to Mrs. Emery’s sitting room was half open. She and Jane were turning out a cupboard, preparing for a move to Manorleigh, which we were all doing in some form or other at this time.

It was wrong to eavesdrop normally, I knew; but there must be occasions when it would be foolish not to do so.

I must find out all I could about this man my mother was going to marry. It was of the utmost importance to me … as well as to her. Thus I made excuses for myself and shamelessly, I paused and listened, awaiting revelations.

“I’m not surprised,” Jane was saying. “I mean, the way she is … Goodness me, you can see she’s in love with him. She’s like a young girl. Well, you’ve got to admit, Mrs. Emery, there’s something about him.”

“He’s got something about him all right,” agreed Mrs. Emery.

“What I mean is,” went on Jane, “he’s a real man.”

“You and your real men.”

“I reckon he’ll be Prime Minister one day.”

“Here. Hold on. He’s not in Parliament yet. We’ve got to wait and see. People remember things … and even if they don’t there’s them to remind them.”

“You mean that first wife of his. Oh, that’s all settled now. She did it herself.”

“Yes, but he married her for her money. She wasn’t what you’d call ‘all there’… if you know what I mean. A bit simple like. What would a man like him be doing marrying a girl like that? Well, you see, there was this here goldmine.”

“Goldmine?” whispered Jane.

“Well, that’s where his money come from, didn’t it? See, there was gold on her father’s land and Mr. Clever found out. So what did he do? There wasn’t a son and the daughter got it all. So … he married her, then got his hands on the gold … and it was this goldmine that made him the rich man he is today.”

“Perhaps he fell in love with her.”

“Fell in love with the gold, more like.”

“Well, it’s not Mrs. M’s money he’s after, ’cos he’s got a lot more himself.”

“Oh, I reckon that’s different, but it goes to show you …”

“Show you what?”

“The sort he is. He’ll get what he wants. He’ll be in that House of Commons before you can say Jack Robinson … and when he gets there, there’ll be no holding him.”

“You’re pleased about all this, Mrs. Emery, I do believe.”

“I’ve always wanted to be in one of them houses where things go on … above stairs. Mr. Emery feels the same. I’ll tell you something. Things is going to be a bit lively in this place, mark my words. Here! What are we doing gossiping? That’s enough, Miss. We’ll never get these things sorted out at this rate.”

Silence. I made my way quietly up the stairs.

I did not like it. He had married a woman because of the gold found on her father’s land; and then … she died mysteriously.

He might possess all the assets to make him Jane’s Real Man. But I did not like it.