Changeling

“There is one other thing,” I went on. “We have to go to your stepmother.”

She shrank back.

“It is necessary,” I went on. “She has had a bad fright. She thinks she saw a ghost.”

The old Belinda was back and I saw a look of triumph cross her face.

“She will be looking for that ghost everywhere she goes. It will haunt her.”

Belinda nodded, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of future hauntings and I realized I had been premature in my belief that I had aroused something good in her nature.

“We have to put her mind at rest,” I said firmly. “We have to tell her the truth. So we are going to her now. We are going to tell her exactly what happened and ask her forgiveness. It was a silly childish prank but you are sorry you did it. You just did not think what harm you were doing.”

“I don’t want to.”

“We often have to do things we don’t want to in life. I shall give these clothes to Mrs. Emery and she can put them back where they were. She will be glad to hear that there was no ghost—only a little girl playing tricks.”

She looked stubborn.

“Come along,” I said. “Let’s get it over.”

I put the coat and hat back in the trunk to be dealt with later and took Belinda down to Celeste’s room.

Celeste was sitting by the window in her dressing gown.

I said: “Belinda wants to tell you something.”

She looked surprised and I led Belinda over to her.

Belinda said in a sing-song voice as though she were repeating a lesson: “I took the clothes out of the wardrobe in the locked room. I took them to the garden and when I heard you coming I put them on. It was only a game and I’m sorry I frightened you.”

I could see the relief in Celeste’s face.

I said: “Belinda is really sorry. You must forgive her. She thought she was playing a game. You know how she likes dressing up and acting … ever since the tableaux vivants.”

“Oh …” said Celeste faintly. “I … I see.”

“Belinda is very, very sorry for what happened.”

Celeste smiled at her. “I see it,” she said. “It is just a little joke, eh? It was silly of me.”

Belinda nodded. I put my arm round her and she was not exactly responsive but she did not reject me.

“Are you riding this afternoon?” I asked her.

“Yes.”

“You and Lucie? I’ll come with you. You can go now.”

She was clearly glad to escape.

I said: “She really is contrite.”

“She hates me … I think.”

“No. She is bewildered … lost. I wish her father would give her a little attention. That is what she needs. I think she admired him …” I paused. “But you see …”

“Yes, I see,” said Celeste.

Their problems were similar.

I could not help feeling a certain pleasure because, due to this episode, Belinda and I had come a little closer. I must keep it that way. The child—and she was only a child although we forgot it at times—wanted affection. It was the reason why she was always showing off, as it were, seeking admiration. If only Benedict would cast aside his bitter grief. If only he would give a little thought to the living.

It all came back to him.

The Treasure Hunt

BENEDICT HAD RETURNED AND Christmas was almost upon us. I had hoped I could take the children with me to Cornwall but this was not to be. Christmas was an important time in Manorleigh. There would be a great deal of entertaining at Manor Grange with special dinner parties as well as the usual celebrations. People who worked in the constituency would have to be invited. My stepfather would want his family around him at such a time for Christmas was an occasion when all the family should be together.

It was a great disappointment, for not only would I have loved to be with my grandparents, but Pedrek was there with his parents and grandparents; and I daresay they would be often at Cador.

It was very frustrating and I consoled myself with the fact that time was passing, and next Christmas we should be planning our wedding. So … I must be patient.

Miss Stringer was to join her family in the Cotswolds for three weeks. There would be no lessons during that time. “Hurrah!” said Belinda. Lucie joined in and they danced round the schoolroom singing: “No lessons for three weeks.”

“There will be so much to do for Christmas,” I reminded them, “that you will find yourselves fully occupied.”

It was to be a traditional Christmas. The great hall would be decorated with holly, ivy and bay. Besides the sprays of mistletoe, there were the old Christmas bushes—two hoops fastened at right angles and trimmed with evergreen leaves which were hung on the rafters; they served the same purpose as the mistletoe and were even called Kissing Bushes.

Belinda was very excited. She and Lucie were dashing about helping with the decorations, running into the kitchen to take a stir at the puddings which, decreed Mrs. Grant, the cook, should be stirred by everyone in the household, high and low.

So we all had a stir—apart from Benedict. I could not imagine anyone’s suggesting he should take part in such a procedure.