The changeling

I knew that sooner or later she would come up to the attic, for she would have to make sure that the clothes had not been discovered. She may have guessed my suspicions for she was sharp beyond her years. She was shrewd and cunning by nature. I sat for an hour in the attic waiting, for I guessed that as soon as lessons were over she would come up.

I was right.

I braced myself when I heard light footsteps on the spiral staircase.

“Come in, Belinda,” I said. “I want to talk to you.”

She stared at me in amazement. I was glad that I had waited for I had feared that after our encounter in the schoolroom she would have guessed my suspicions and stayed away.

“What are you doing up here?” she demanded.

“That’s not very polite, is it?”

I saw the fear in her face. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I want you to go over to that trunk and take out what you find lying on the top.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to show me and to tell me how they came to be there.”

“How should I know?”

“We’ll see about that.”

I stood up and, taking her hand, led her to the trunk. “Now open it,” I said.

“Why?”

“Open it.”

She did so.

“You put those things there,” I said.

“No.”

I ignored the lie. “How did you get into the locked room?” I asked. She looked sly. She thought she had been rather clever and it was hard to resist boasting of that. But she remained silent.

I went on: “You stole the key from Mrs. Emery’s sitting room. You knew it was there because she went in to clean twice a week. You knew when she would not be in her room and you went there and found it.”

She stared at me in amazement. “Lucie’s been telling tales.”

“Lucie knew ...?”

“A bit,” she said.

“And what did Lucie do?”

“Nothing. Lucie never thinks of anything. She’s too silly.”

“I see. Well, having got the key, you took the clothes. You knew they were there and that they were your mother’s. She would be very sad if she knew you did things like this, Belinda. Don’t you care about hurting people?”

“People hurt me.”

“Who? Who hurts you?”

She was silent.

“Leah is good and kind to you. Miss Stringer is too. Lucie loves you, so does Mrs.

Emery. And have I been unkind to you?”

For a moment her defiance wavered and she looked like a frightened little girl. “He hates me,” she said. “He hates me because ... because ... she died having me.”

“Who tells you these tales?”

She looked at me scornfully. “Everybody knows. You know. You only pretend you don’t.”

“Oh Belinda,” I said. “It’s not like that. It wasn’t your fault. It happens to hundreds of children. Nobody blames them.”

“He does,” she said.

I wanted to put my arms round her and hold her against me. I wanted to say: We are sisters, Belinda. I know we have different fathers, but your mother was my mother. That makes a special bond between us. Why don’t you talk to me ... tell me how you feel?

She said: “You don’t like him either.”

“Belinda ...”

“Only you don’t tell the truth. I do. I hate him.”

I was in despair. I wondered what to say to her. It was true that he avoided her and was cool towards her, that he could not take to her, he could not forget that her coming had meant the departure of his beloved wife. I wished afterwards that I had been older, wiser, more experienced, and could have comforted the child in some way.

But at the time I could only think of what she had done to Celeste.

“Why did you want to frighten her like that?” I asked.

Her defiance had returned. The softness I had glimpsed, the craving for affection, was no longer there. She was Belinda, the clever one, who knew how to take revenge on those who hurt her.

She lifted her shoulders and smiled.

“They were so big,” she said. “I had to be careful.” She laughed almost hysterically. “I nearly tripped over. The hat was all right but it did press down on my ears. I had to keep sitting down.”

“She fainted,” I reminded her. “Fortunately she fell on soft earth, but she could have been badly hurt.”

“Serve her right for marrying him. She’d no right to marry him. I didn’t want a stepmother.”

“There are many things in life you don’t understand. Perhaps you will when you grow up. She is not to blame for anything. She wants to do what is best.”

“She can’t even speak English properly.”

“I should imagine her English compares favorably with your French. Doesn’t it worry you that you may have caused her some injury?”

She looked at me steadily, her eyes almost expressionless.

She shook her head.

“I was very good,” she said complacently. “She thought I was a real ghost.”

“You weren’t clever enough.”

“Lucie told you.”

“Lucie has told me nothing. Tell me what part she played in this.”

“None. She couldn’t. She’s not clever enough. She would have spoilt it. She just knew ... that was all. And she told you. Because ... how else would you have known?”

“I know you, Belinda. I suspected you almost at once.”

“Why?”

“Because of the clothes for one thing. I knew where you found them. Then I checked with Mrs. Emery and discovered they were missing, so I knew someone had taken them. Belinda, I want to talk to you very seriously.”