The changeling

“It’s always a trial,” Mrs. Emery had said, “knowing what to do with them. They’re wide awake and everyone else is half asleep. It’s a fine way of getting them from under our feet. That Mr. Gerson knows what’s what. To see him with those two girls makes you think he should have some of his own.”

At last they were assembled and Oliver gave them the first clue. He told them: “Miss Rebecca and I will be in the summerhouse. The first one who brings us the six clues will be presented with the mystery treasure. Here it is.” He held up the parcel which was tied up with red ribbon.

“We shall need six little pieces of paper like this one. Now ... wait for the signal.

Ready. Steady. Go!”

As we made our way to the summerhouse I said to him: “Don’t you think Belinda and Lucie have an unfair advantage? They know the garden so much better than the others.”

“Life is full of unfair advantages,” he replied. “It is impossible to avoid them.”

“Well, I suppose one or two others might be a little older. I know William Arlott is.”

“There, you see. One has it one way ... one another.”

There were two chairs in the summerhouse and we seated ourselves.

“Do you think we shall wait long?” I asked.

“No. The clues were easy. Someone will triumph before long, never fear.”

“Belinda desperately wants to.”

“I hope she does,” he said. “Poor child.”

“You say that with real feeling.”

“She’s an interesting little girl. Bright too ... oh, very bright. She is not entirely happy, is she?”

“No. She is often very difficult.”

He nodded.

“But,” I went on, “she is better lately. You have done a lot for her.”

“I think she misses her parents.”

“Yes. It is sad when a child is left as she has been. The most important person in the world to a child is its mother and she lost hers before she knew her.”

“What of Leah?”

“There couldn’t be anyone better in the circumstances. She has done everything for the child. I think she may have indulged her too much. Sometimes I’m worried about Lucie because there is a decided preference...”

“Lucie is a friendly child, isn’t she? Does it worry her?”

“I don’t know. Children are so secretive about some things. They don’t always tell you their innermost thoughts. Belinda reminds her now and then that she is the daughter of the house. Lucie’s birth was mysterious. Her mother was half crazy and no one knows who her father was.”

“And strangest of all ... you adopted her.”

“It was my grandparents actually. I was only about fifteen at the time. But I just had this conviction that I couldn’t leave her. I could not have done it, of course, if my grandparents had not been so good. If it had not been possible for me to take Lucie with me they would have looked after her at Cador. But when we came to London my stepfather made no objection to her being with us ... and she has been here ever since.”

“If there had been a reason for a child’s lack of feeling of security, one would have thought Lucie might have felt it rather than Belinda.”

“Lucie accepts what she is. She knew that she came into the family in an unconventional way but she accepts me as a mother-sister as a family relationship, I am sure; and she and Belinda are as close as two sisters. There are naturally occasional quarrels, but fundamentally they are fond of each other.”

He took my hand and held it tightly: “I think it was wonderful of you to take the child in,” he said.

“I had a compulsion to do so, as I told you.”

“Yes, you must have had.”

“And I have never regretted it.”

“And if you marry ...?”

“I would never marry unless my husband accepted the child.” I smiled, thinking of Pedrek who understood my feelings. My thoughts had slipped away to the future. We should be so happy. They would all understand about Lucie. There would be no problem as there would certainly be if I had contemplated marrying someone else.

The door was flung open. Oliver released my hand which he was still holding. Belinda stood there.

“You have brought me the clues and you have come to claim the treasure,” said Oliver.

She shook her head. She was near to tears.

“I have five,” she said. “I can’t find the last one. I’ve looked everywhere. Lucie’s nearly there ... 7 want the treasure. It ought to be mine. This is my house.”

“That’s nothing to do with it,” I told her. “This is a game and you have to win fairly.

You must not be a bad loser.”

Oliver Gerson held out his hand and she went and leaned against him. He opened her clenched fingers and took out the screwed-up pieces of paper. “It’s the last one,” she said in heartbroken tones. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

“What does it say on number five?” he asked. He read aloud:

“ ‘Over the water you must seek Beside the winged and noble Greek.’ “ He took her by the shoulders and she watched his lips expectantly.

“You’re not thinking hard enough,” he said. “You know where the water is, don’t you?”

She shook her head.

“Who is the noble Greek?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Who’s got wings on his heels?”

She looked blank.

“Where do the water lilies grow?”

“On the pond.”