The changeling

“Then if someone came in to steal it again they wouldn’t be able to find it. I am presuming that whoever took the clothes might want to return them. Or perhaps they are keeping her clothes and intend to be a series of hauntings.”

“You’re giving me the shivers, Miss Rebecca. I’m not sure I wouldn’t it were rather the real thing than all this plotting.”

“I am going to see if I can find the clothes, Mrs. Emery. I feel they are somewhere in this house and if I did find them I should discover who played this wicked trick on Mrs. Lansdon.”

“It could have been really serious ... if she’s been carrying ...”

“Mrs. Emery, will you guard the key ... absolutely? Put it in a different place and make sure that none but yourself knows where. I do not want anyone to be able to get into that room until I have solved this mystery.”

“I’ll do just as you say, Miss Rebecca, and I would like to know who played such a nasty trick ... I would that ... and if it’s any of my maids ... well, they won’t be on my staff much longer, I can tell you.”

As soon as I left her I went to the schoolroom. Belinda and Lucie were seated at the table with Miss Stringer.

“Good morning, Miss Mandeville,” said Miss Stringer. “Did you want me?”

I said: “No ... no. How are the lessons going?”

“Oh!” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “As well as can be expected.”

“We’re doing history,” said Lucie.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“About William the Conqueror who came over here and killed King Harold.”

“That must be very interesting. Belinda is quiet this morning. Are you all right, Belinda?”

She nodded curtly.

“Thank Miss Rebecca for her enquiry and answer graciously,” said Miss Stringer.

“I’m all right, thank you,” mumbled Belinda.

“I thought you might have been anxious about your stepmother,” I said.

She did not look up.

“How is Mrs. Lansdon today?” asked Miss Stringer.

“She’s resting. It was quite a bad turn she had yesterday.”

“I heard she had fainted in the garden. I hope she did not hurt herself when she fell.”

“She could have done so, of course,” I said. “Fortunately she fell on soft earth.

But it was a shock to her.”

I was looking at the cupboards. They would be full of books and schoolroom accessories. No clothes could be hidden there. Miss Stringer would soon discover them if they were.

“Well, I’ll leave you to William the Conqueror,” I said and came out. However, I did not want to confront Belinda without evidence. I did not want to speak to Lucie who might well be in the conspiracy. I hoped she was not but I understood from Miss Stringer and what I had observed that Belinda often required her to join in games in which she took the leading role.

Just above the schoolroom was an attic. The children used it as a playroom. There were trunks up there as it was also a good storeroom. If one wanted to hide something it could be the ideal spot.

It was approached by a short spiral staircase. I went to it.

The roof sloped and at either end it was impossible to stand upright. Old pictures were stacked against the wall and there were certain pieces of furniture there. At one end of the room were three large trunks. I noticed at once that one of them was not properly shut.

I opened it.

It was simpler than I had anticipated. There, on the top of other garments, lay the blue coat and hat. My suspicions had been confirmed.

There was an armchair close by. I sat down on this and thought about what had happened. Belinda, of course, had been in my mind and I wondered what went on in hers. She alarmed me. How would my mother have dealt with such a child? She would have loved her as she loved me; but sometimes I thought there was more than a hint of mischief in Belinda. I thought of the scheme she had made Lucie play with her. It was calculated to hurt. It seemed unnatural that she-my own sister-could behave so. I tried to make excuses for her. That brought me back to him ... to Benedict Lansdon.

He had been an unnatural father to her. He seemed to forget that she was his child. My mother would have wanted him to care for her. The fact that she herself was not there to do so would have made her doubly anxious that he should. Yet he was so aloof. Perhaps he did not try very hard. He was unable to forget the fact that she was the one responsible for my mother’s death-although she knew nothing of this. I had heard of such cases and I had always thought such an attitude was unforgivable in a parent.

And because of being unwanted by her father ... relying on Leah for that love and care which all children need, she was forever trying to show how clever she was, how she could score over other people.

I must try not to be angry with her. I must try to understand. After all, she was a child ... a lost child.