The Changeling

Missing Person

LEAH WAS IN THE garden with the children and I was just about to join them when a telegram arrived.

I glanced at it and saw that it was addressed to Leah. I took it to her at once. She was startled and took it from me with trembling fingers. Like most people who received them she was immediately thinking of bad news.

She read it and stared at me.

“Is something wrong, Leah?” I asked.

Belinda ran to her and took the telegram. “ ‘Your mother very ill,’ ” she said. “ ‘Asking for you. Come if possible.’ ”

I snatched the telegram from her. Belinda had read it correctly. “Oh Leah,” I said. “You must go at once.”

Leah looked round in a bewildered way. “How can I? The children …”

“Of course we can manage. Don’t you think you should go? She is asking for you.”

Leah nodded dumbly.

“You could catch the evening train,” I went on. “It would get you to Cornwall in the morning. Someone will meet you. Don’t worry about what’s happening here. We can manage.”

She seemed very undecided but at length she agreed that she must go.

I kept thinking of Mrs. Polhenny … ill. I wondered what had happened to her. The last time my grandmother had mentioned her, everything seemed as it always had been.

A few days later I had a letter from my grandmother.

“We are all a little shocked by the death of Mrs. Polhenny,” she wrote. “She was so much a part of the place and it is hard to imagine that we shall not see her any more. She was riding home from one of her cases when the wheel of her old boneshaker seems to have come into contact with a stone of some sort. It must have been a sizeable one. Unfortunately she was at the top of Goonhilly Hill and she came hurtling down. You know how steep it is. She fell and cracked her skull. They got her to the hospital in Plymouth but by the time she reached there she was in a bad state. A messenger came to tell me that she was asking for me … urgently. She wanted to say something very important to me. They had already sent for Leah.

“I scarcely recognized her when I saw her. She did not look in the least like the Mrs. Polhenny we knew. She looked old and frail lying there wrapped up in bandages.

“They left me with her, for somehow she implied that was what she wanted. I was surprised that it was allowed but I think she was too far gone for anything to matter. It was so strange, Rebecca, she seemed really afraid. You know how we used to say her place was secure in Heaven. She was always the virtuous one, you remember, on very special terms with the Almighty. We used to say she had her place booked in the Heavenly Choir. And then … there she was. There was no doubt in my mind that she was a very frightened woman.

“She put out a hand to me. I took it. Hers was cold and clammy. She was very feeble but the light pressure on her fingers told me she wanted me to be there. She kept saying, ‘I want … want … want …’ I replied softly, ‘Yes, Mrs. Polhenny, I am here. What is it you want? I am listening.’ ‘Have to … have to …’ I could not make out what she was trying to tell me but I knew it was something on her mind. Then she started to make queer gurgling noises. I thought she needed help so I called for the nurse. I was sent out of the room and the doctor came in. That was the end, and I never knew why that urgent call had been sent to me. I waited at the hospital and a little while later they came out to tell me she was dead.

“I can tell you it was a terrible shock to us all. I think we had believed she was immortal. We expected she would still be riding that old bone-shaker up and down the hill when most of us were no more. Oh, how I hate change!

“How are you getting on? We think of you all the time.

Pedrek has now arrived in New South Wales. His grandparents are sad without him. They say he will probably be away for two years.

“How I wish it could all have been different!”

I could scarcely read on. This terrible thing had ruined not only Pedrek’s life and mine but all those who loved us.

Leah had returned from Cornwall. It was difficult to tell what her true feelings were. She had always been such a secretive person. She had found her mother dead when she arrived. There had been a certain amount to clear up. She had to arrange the sale of the furniture and other matters. My grandparents had been helpful and had insisted that she stay at Cador while all that was done.

The children were delighted to have her back. Belinda had been a little sad because Oliver had left so abruptly. I wondered what her reaction would be when she realized she was not going to see him again. His visits had always been spasmodic so, for the time being, she had no notion that anything was wrong and I did not give her any intimation. I thought the longer the time lapsed the easier it would be.

Then Tom Marner arrived.

Benedict told me about him. Since that day when I had had a glimpse of a different aspect of him, there had begun a growing friendship between us. It was as though a high barrier had been removed; but there were still others.

We were at dinner. There were only three of us: Benedict, Celeste and myself.

He said: “By the way, Tom Marner will be coming. He’s now on his way over.”

I imagined Celeste, like myself, had no notion who Tom Marner was.

“He’s a good sort,” went on Benedict. “A bit of a rough diamond, but he’s a fellow one can trust. By the way, he’s the man who bought the goldmine from me.”

“And he is coming here?” asked Celeste in some alarm.

“If he’s a good sort we shall enjoy meeting him,” I said.

“I think you will be interested and amused. Honest … down-to-earth, no compromise.”

“I know,” I said. “The heart of gold under the rough exterior.”

“I think you have the idea.”

He looked faintly embarrassed as he did when he mentioned the mine. He guessed, rightly, that I should be thinking of the way he acquired it.

“I didn’t sell outright,” he went on. “I retained a small interest in it.”

“So it is really a business visit,” I said.

“You could say that. There are certain matters we want to discuss.”

“Will he be staying in Manorleigh or London?” asked Celeste.

“Manorleigh first, I should think. And we may go up to London. He’ll probably be here in a couple of weeks.”

“We will get ready for him,” said Celeste; and we went on to talk of other things.

I made use of the Australian’s coming when Belinda talked about Oliver Gerson.

“It’s funny,” she said. “He went away without seeing us. He didn’t say goodbye and it’s ages since he came.”

“Well, now we are going to have another visitor.”

“Who?”

“Someone from the Outback.”

“What’s the Outback?”

“The wilds of Australia.”

“Will he be painted red and blue with feathers in his hair?”

“That’s North American Indians,” said Lucie scornfully. “He’s Australian.”

“What do you know about it?”

“More than you do.”

“No quarrelling,” I said. “You will both have to be very polite to Mr. Marner.”

“What’s he like?”

“How should I know? I haven’t seen him. He owns a goldmine.”

“He must be very rich,” said Belinda in awe. “Gold is worth a lot of money.”

“Does he go down the mine?” asked Lucie.

“I don’t know.”

“Of course he does,” said Belinda scornfully. “You have to go down to get the gold. So who will be getting it when he’s not there?”

“He will have people managing it I daresay.”

“Oh,” said Belinda, impressed.

“Tell us about Australia,” wheedled Lucie.

“I don’t remember much. I was only a baby when I left.”

They loved to hear the story, although they had heard it many times before of how my parents went out to Australia and lived in a little shack in a mining township, and how I had been born in Belinda’s father’s house which was the only place suitable for babies to be born in.

The subject of Australia was constantly referred to after that and the coming of Tom Marner brought a certain expectancy into the house.

Benedict’s description of the rough diamond conjured up an image of a rather brash character who gave little attention to dress or manners; in fact the antithesis of Oliver Gerson. I wondered what Belinda’s reaction would be. I was hoping that she would be diverted by him because she was talking of Oliver Gerson very frequently now and expecting that he would shortly be with us.

She had been so overwhelmed by the Gerson charm that I was sure she would find the Australian’s manners a great contrast; and it seemed hardly likely that the rough diamond would go out of his way to win the approval of a child.

And then he arrived. He was very tall with a skin burned to bronze by the sun; and his bright blue eyes seemed to be screwed up as though he was still protecting himself from it even in our climate. His hair was bleached to a light blond—the sun again. I think the children were a little disappointed. They had expected him to look like a miner—at least their idea of one, basing it on the tin miners they had seen in Cornwall. He was quietly dressed in a navy blue suit, the darkness of which made the effects of his outdoor life almost startling.

“This is my wife,” said Benedict.

He gripped Celeste’s hand. “I’ve heard about you. Pleased to meet you.”

“And my stepdaughter.”

My hand was shaken.

“And the rest of the family …”

The children came forward and held out their hands to be shaken.

“How’s everything going?” asked Benedict.

Tom Marner winked and put his finger against his nose. The children who were watching closely were clearly intrigued.

“You don’t look like a miner,” Belinda said boldly.

“That’s ’cos I’m got up like a sixpenny doll … just to meet you folks. You should see me on the job.” He gave Belinda a wink which made her giggle.

I could see there was an instant liking and I rejoiced. He’ll take her mind off Oliver Gerson, I thought.

And so it proved. Tom Marner was a blessing.

He was the epitome of the rough diamond. Goodness shone out of him and one was immediately aware of his sterling honesty; he was good-tempered, easily amused and had a friendly easy-going attitude towards everyone.

Mrs. Emery secretly told me that she didn’t think he was quite the sort she expected in the house but there was no doubt that he appreciated what was done for him and he had a smile for everyone.

“He don’t seem to know the difference between Miss Belinda and the servants. He called that tweeny ‘Chickabidee’ the other day, and I heard him call Miss Belinda the same.”

“The children like him,” I said. “And what is nice he has time for them.”

“Yes, he seems fond of the little ones.”

Miss Stringer had doubts as to the effect he might have on the children’s manners and their use of the English language. They were saying “Good-o” now and talking about things being “dinkum.”

I said I did not think it would do much harm.

He certainly brought a change to the household. I heard him and Benedict laughing together. Celeste found him an easy guest. He went riding with us and his expert horsemanship won Belinda’s admiration—I might say adoration. He and his horse seemed like one. “You live on horseback in the Outback,” he told them. He was skillful. He could tie amazing knots; he could make lassos. He taught them how to throw them round trees and had them practicing for hours. “It’s not trees you want to catch though,” he explained. “It’s cattle … or someone who’s come to rob the homestead.”

We were all fond of him in a very short time.

He did talk business a great deal with Benedict, just as Oliver Gerson had done, so it did seem to me like a replacement for Belinda and I really believe she accepted him as such, for I noticed she ceased to talk so often of Oliver Gerson.

It soon became obvious that Tom Marner enjoyed the company of the children. As soon as they went into the garden he would be there with them. Leah was pleased about this. She had changed since the death of her mother but I was not sure in what way it had affected her. I imagined there had never been great love between them. It was hard to think of anyone’s loving Mrs. Polhenny. In fact I had always been under the impression that Leah wanted to get away from her and I could understand that.

I wished Leah was more communicative. One could never understand what might be going on in her mind. I had tried to talk to her on one or two occasions but had never made any headway. Her devotion to the children was wonderful—particularly to Belinda. She understood Belinda’s difficult nature better than any of us. Even she seemed to blossom a little under the influence of Tom Marner and I had heard her laugh quite heartily several times and join in the merriment he seemed to generate.

Celeste seemed relaxed in his company, so it was a very pleasant visit.

Sometimes I heard his cry echoing through the house: “Cooeee” and Belinda or Lucie would answer in the same way, and ran to find him, anticipating some excitement, some story of the Outback, or the fun of riding with him.

He was a lover of nature and his admiration for his own country soon became apparent.

He used to tell them stories of how the first fleet went out to Australia. “Prisoners … all of them … who had committed some petty crime … or no crime at all.” He talked of how the convicts had suffered during the long haul across the ocean. How they had been lined up on deck when they reached that sun-drenched land, to be chosen as slaves and to work out their time of exile. He described the golden gorse and the eucalyptus trees, the colorful birds, the rosellas, the grey- and red-crested cockatoos called galahs, the kookaburra with its laughter, the one they called the laughing jackass.

We would often hear cries imitating the kookaburra. “It would be useful if the children were lost,” said Miss Stringer, “or when one wanted them to come in from the garden.”

She also approved of the history which was wrapped up in Tom Marner’s racy conversation; so even she was not averse to his presence in the house.

All this talk of Australia naturally made me think even more of Pedrek. I wondered what he was doing out there and how often he thought of me. He would be reproaching me, I knew, for doubting him. In my heart I did not … and yet there was that niggling fear.

For the rest of my life, I thought, I shall go on longing for him, believing in him … or would there always be that faint uncertainty?

But something told me that even if it were true, if I had loved him enough I should never have deserted him. Was not understanding … and forgiving … the very meaning of love? What did they say? In sickness and health. If this were a sickness, I had not been there to understand him or help him.

But he had been so horrified that I could not believe him. I did, I wanted to cry out. I did. But somewhere in my mind was that damning doubt.

How sad life was! There was Celeste who could look so sorrowful. Why could not life be simple … easy … as it seemed to be with people like Tom Marner?

I liked to be alone with my thoughts—far from happy ones, it was true. Sometimes I was on the verge of writing to Pedrek begging him to come back and let it be as it was in the past, so that we could get on with the future we had planned.

But in my heart I knew it could never be as we had planned. Always there would be the memory. I think my encounter with Jean Pascal—who mercifully had not visited his sister since—had made me more conscious of the horror of a victim in that situation. I would never forget the terror on Belinda’s face, her bewilderment, her horror.

The children’s preoccupation with Tom Marner gave me the opportunity I needed for a little solitude and I often rode out alone. I found a certain solace in the quiet of the country lanes, though Pedrek was always in my thoughts and I believed that our parting would cast a gloom over my life for ever more.

One afternoon I was on my way back to the house when I passed The Hanging Judge. I paused to look at it and remembered that occasion when Oliver Gerson had taken the children there, and how thrilled they had been to drink watered-down cider out of tankards.

As I approached two people emerged and made their way to the stables.

I stared after them. I could scarcely believe my eyes for one of them was Oliver Gerson, the other Celeste. I felt apprehensive. Celeste … meeting Oliver Gerson … secretly! It must be secret for he was not allowed into the house. What could it mean? I knew she was the sad and neglected wife … but Oliver Gerson!

I guessed it would be embarrassing to us all if they saw me so I turned abruptly and rode off in the opposite direction. For the rest of the day I wondered about what it meant.

I could see terrible trouble ahead if what I feared might be the case. Was she seeking consolation? And if she were to whom would she be more likely to turn but to a man who had great charm at his fingertips and a great deal of sympathy to offer to his enemy’s wife. They would have much in common for they would share resentment towards Benedict. Both would have considered themselves to have been badly treated by him and it was very likely that they would want their revenge.

Was it any concern of mine? I asked. My stepfather’s affairs were for him to sort out.

Yet something had happened to our relationship in the past weeks. I had a strong feeling that my mother was close to me … that she was urging me not to quarrel with him … to do all I could to help him.

Why did I get these fanciful ideas? It was due to living in a house in which it was said there was a ghost whose story had some resemblance to my mother’s.

Benedict and I were the two whom she had loved dearly and I could not get out of my mind that there must be ties which even death could not break.

It had been one of her dearest wishes that Benedict and I should be friends.

I thought a good deal about Celeste and Oliver Gerson. I had heard him attempt blackmail and I was aware that he was an unscrupulous adventurer. Would Celeste know this or would she be only aware of that overwhelming charm, which I imagined would bring some balm to a woman who thought herself to be unwanted?

I decided to talk to her.

I asked her if she would come to my room because I wanted to show her something, but when she arrived, unsuspectingly, I thought it best to come straight to the point.

“Celeste,” I said. “I know it is none of my business, but I was passing The Hanging Judge the other day …”

She was startled. She turned pale and then the color rushed into her face.

“You saw …”

“Yes. I saw you come out with Oliver Gerson.”

She did not answer.

“You know of course that Benedict has forbidden him to come to the house?”

She nodded.

I said: “Celeste, please forgive me … but …”

“I know what you are thinking. You are quite wrong. I went to see him because … well, you know he left the house in a hurry.”

I nodded.

“He had found some lace mats in his luggage … only small things. He said he had swept them up at some time when he was getting his things together. He thought they might be valuable … special lace and so on … and he wanted to return them.”

“And he did? And are they valuable?”

“I don’t know. I’d never seen them before. I did not know they were missing. I just put them back in the room which had been his. Surely you didn’t think …”

“Not really. But, you see, Benedict having quarrelled with him …”

“Benedict never talks to me of that sort of thing. Mr. Gerson said there had been some misunderstanding. He didn’t want Benedict to know that he had seen me … and he thought our meeting like that was the best way of returning the mats.”

“He could be rather dangerous, you know,” I said.

“Dangerous?”

“Well, there was this quarrel. I thought he would not be coming to the house again.”

“He did tell me that he had been badly treated.”

“And you believed his side of the story.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

I did not know how far I could go and it occurred to me that I was getting into dangerous waters. Benedict had spoken to me on the spur of the moment, in the heat of his anger against Oliver Gerson and because he knew that I had overheard enough to piece some story together. He would trust my discretion. Perhaps I was going too far now.

“I don’t think it is wise to see him,” I finished lamely.

“It is good of you to worry about me, Rebecca. I’m all right. I would never take a lover … if that is what you are thinking. I love Benedict. I always have. I wish I didn’t. I’m a fool, I know, but I do. He is the only one I want. It’s not easy … being here with him when he shows so clearly that he does not love me.”

“Dear Celeste, forgive me.”

“There isn’t anything to forgive. I’m so glad you are here. You’ve helped me a lot. Sometimes I am so wretched, Rebecca.”

“You can always talk to me.”

“Talking helps,” she admitted. “You understand how it is.”

“Yes, I understand. I meant forgive me for thinking …”

“You mean about Oliver Gerson?”

“I think he could be a dangerous man,” I said.

It was always interesting to drink a cup of tea in Mrs. Emery’s room. Her all-seeing eyes missed little. I knew at once that something excited her.

She poured out the tea in her special cups.

“My goodness, Miss Rebecca, that Mr. Marner is a one, isn’t he? You can’t help noticing that he’s around … singing that one about kangaroos and things. You’d think you was in the wilds of Australia. But you can’t help liking him. He’s got a smile for everyone … no matter who. Mind you, he’s not exactly what I’d call a true gentleman.”

“It depends on your definition of a gentleman, Mrs. Emery.”

“Oh, I know one when I see one. I’ve always worked for them. But he’s a bit of a caution. That Miss Belinda thinks the sun shines out of his eyes.”

“She is apt to get these feelings for people … and mostly men.”

“She’ll be a little Madam when she grows up, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Some children are like that. They are attracted by people and put them on a pedestal.”

I was rejoicing that her adoration for Oliver Gerson had waned and that Tom Marner had clearly stepped into his shoes.

“It does you good to hear them all laughing away,” she said. “Another cup?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Emery. It’s delicious.”

She nodded, gratified.

“Have you noticed the change in that Leah?”

“Leah?” I queried.

“A bit of a misery, I used to think. Might have had all the troubles of the world on her shoulders. Well, she’s changed. Now there she is laughing away with the children and that Mr. Marner. Do you know, I heard her singing the other day.”

“What … Leah?”

“I couldn’t believe my ears. She used to go round with that mournful face as though she was going to a funeral. Now chatting away she is … and she was always such a close customer.”

“I’m glad. Mr. Marner seems to have made himself very popular.”

“I suppose he’ll soon be moving on.”

“I’m afraid so. There will be lamentations in the nursery.”

“Miss Belinda will be very sorry … that Leah, too. By the way, it’s good news about the shuffle. That’s what Emery calls it. Something to do with the government. It seems it’s really coming now … after all the talk about it.”

“You mean the Cabinet reshuffle.”

“Emery knows all about these things. I reckon he ought to have gone in for it himself. He thinks there’s a good chance of something coming out of it for our gentleman.”

“Mr. Lansdon?”

“Who else? It’s not only Emery. There’s a bit in the paper. Emery cuts bits out and saves them, you know. Emery would like the Foreign Office for him but he doesn’t think there is going to be a change there. The Home Office would be good. Or the War Office … Emery says.”

“You’re very ambitious for him.”

“Emery’s a very ambitious man.”

I could not help smiling at this perfect example of the joys of reflected glory.

“We’re keeping our fingers crossed … Emery and me …”

I was still smiling. A session with Mrs. Emery was as refreshing as her tea.

When I was passing Benedict’s study, he opened the door suddenly and stood smiling at me.

“Rebecca, could you spare a moment?”

“But of course.”

“Then come in.”

I went in, he indicated a chair and I sat down. He took his place at his desk and we sat facing each other.

“I thought I’d let you know,” he said. “I am definitely out of the club business. The deal has gone through.”

“That must be a great relief to you.”

“Yes, it is. The Devil’s Crown decided me. I only wish I could have done it years ago.”

“I hear there is a possibility of a Cabinet post.”

“A possibility,” he admitted. “There’s only a hint at the moment, but I think there is almost certain to be one.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thank you.”

“The Emerys are very eager for your success.”

He smiled. “I gathered that from Emery.”

“They are very loyal.”

He nodded. “And one needs loyalty in this business.”

“It’s very acceptable in any.”

“I thought I’d tell you about the clubs because of our little talk the other day. It was what your mother would have wanted.”

We were silent for a moment.

Then he said: “By the way, Gerson hasn’t been prowling round, has he?”

I had a quick vision of him, coming out of The Hanging Judge with Celeste.

“Around the house … no, I shouldn’t think so.”

“That’s good. I never discovered how he got that key. I should like to know. I don’t suppose I ever shall. But that sort of thing shakes one. I’ve always been so careful.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s a mystery.”

I rose. Our conversation seemed to have come to an end and our relationship was still such that there was embarrassment between us.

I said: “I’m glad about the clubs. I am sure it is for the best.”

He nodded. “I thought you’d like to know.”

I went to the door and as I did so, he said: “You shouldn’t be so much in the country. You should be in London … getting out and about. That was what your season was for.”

“I prefer to be in the country.”

“Might you not regret it later?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Has something happened?” he asked.

“Something happened …” I repeated stupidly.

“You seem withdrawn lately. Brooding on something, are you?”

“I’m all right.”

“Well, if I can help …”

I shook my head.

“I really think you are making a mistake in shutting yourself away like this. What’s happened to Morwenna Cartwright? Wasn’t she supposed to launch you into society?”

“That was at the time.”

“Well, it goes on, doesn’t it?”

“I think I am supposed to be launched now.”

“It’s no good shutting yourself away in the country.”

“I assure you I’m all right.”

“If it is what you want …”

“It is.”

“Are you sure there is nothing wrong? Nothing I can do to help?”

“Thank you. There is nothing.”

He looked at me quizzically. He was trying hard to put things right between us. He would be telling himself that he ought to do it for my mother’s sake. He had now sold out of the clubs because that was what she wanted him to do. No. It was not because of that. Had he not clung to them for all these years? No, he wanted to become a Cabinet minister and as such he could not be involved in them. I must not forget that he had kept his secret papers in what was supposed to be a shrine to my mother.

In the midst of his sentimentality, Benedict would always be practical.

I went out and closed the door.

Benedict had gone to London and Celeste had not gone with him.

She had been very quiet and I was wondering whether she was seeing Oliver Gerson. I had a twinge of conscience because when Benedict had asked me if I had seen him round the place I had said no. What else could I have said? It would have been tantamount to a suggestion that there was some sort of relationship between Oliver Gerson and Celeste.

It was midmorning when Mrs. Emery came to my room. I knew something dramatic had happened by her expression.

“What is it? “I cried.

“It’s Mrs. Lansdon …”

“What of her?” I asked in alarm.

“She’s not in her room. Her bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“Could she have gone to London?”

Mrs. Emery shook her head. “It seems as if her things are all there.”

“You mean she has just walked out … taking nothing.”

“As far as I can see, Miss Rebecca.”

“I’ll come up there.”

I went to their bedroom. The room was in order. The maid had turned down the bed as she did every evening and it was as smooth as it would have been when she made it on the previous morning.

I turned to Mrs. Emery in dismay.

“She must have gone last night,” she said.

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Search me,” said Mrs. Emery. “She could have gone anywhere.”

“What has she taken with her?”

“Nothing as far as I can see. Better get that Yvette. She’s always been her personal maid. She’d know what’s going on.”

“Let’s get her right away.”

Yvette came.

“When did you last see Mrs. Lansdon?” I asked.

“Why, Mademoiselle, it was last night.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

Yvette looked blank. “She send for me when she is ready … to dress her hair … I wait till I am called. This morning … she has not call. I think she does not wish for me …”

“Did she seem all right last night?”

“A little quiet … perhaps. But then … she is so … now and then.”

“She didn’t say she was going to meet somebody?”

“No, Mademoiselle. She say nothing to me.”

“Do you not bring her something in the morning … tea … chocolate … coffee?”

“If she ask, yes. If not, I leave her. She likes to sleep late some mornings.”

“Will you look at her clothes, Yvette, and tell me if anything is missing?”

She went to the cupboard and the wardrobe; she opened the drawers.

“No … nothing … there is only the grey velvet she was wearing last night.”

“So that is the only thing that has gone?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle, and the grey shoes she wear with it.”

“Her coat?”

“There is a coat which go with the grey velvet. That here. Some of her clothes go … last week. She gave them away to people in the cottages … as she does … always. There is nothing else missing.”

“What about her handbag?”

“She have a beautiful crocodile one now. Yes, that is here.”

“It would seem that she went out without anything but what she was wearing.”

“Perhaps she take a walk.”

“Last night? And was she in the habit of taking walks?”

Yvette shook her head vigorously. “Non, non, non,” she said emphatically.

I told Yvette that she could go and when she had left I turned to Mrs. Emery. “This is very mysterious,” I said. “Where can she be?”

Mrs. Emery shook her head.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“Perhaps she went for a walk and has fallen and hurt herself … not able to get back to the house. Yes, that’s the most likely.”

“We’ll get Mr. Emery to organize a search. She has to be here near the house. Yvette says she did not go for a walk. But you never know. The impulse may have taken her. We’ve got to start looking without delay.”

We found Mr. Emery who immediately took charge. Tom Marner joined in. He was very efficient. When the grounds had been explored and yielded nothing the search went on farther afield.

The morning was passing and there was no trace of Celeste. We could not delay telling Benedict any longer.

A message was sent off to London explaining that his wife was missing.

I sat in Mrs. Emery’s room. I could see how worried she was.

“The servants will be talking,” she said. “This will get round. Oh, where is she? If only she’d come walking in! Emery’s worried. The papers will have a field day with this, he said. It could do Mr. Lansdon’s chances a lot of harm. The way things look, Miss Rebecca, I don’t like it at all.”

“I’m not surprised. Nor do I.”

“She’s just gone. She doesn’t seem to have taken anything. It would have been better if she had.”

“Why?”

“Well, then we should have known she had gone of her own freewill. As it is …”

“Mrs. Emery, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that this isn’t going to do him any good. If she’d left him for someone else … well, that’s not very nice … but he can’t be blamed for it … though the papers would try to make something out of it. You can see this is just about the worst time it could happen.”

“Last time …”

“Yes, I know all about that. When he was standing for Manorleigh for the first time. His wife died and there was a bit of a mystery about him. They blamed him and it cost him the seat.”

“I remember hearing about it.”

“If there’s a scandal about this it will all be brought up again. There will be a lot of raking over the past.”

“Mrs. Emery, she must be somewhere near. She wouldn’t have run away from him without anything … only the clothes she was standing up in.”

“I can’t think what it means.”

“Nor can I.”

Mrs. Emery went on: “It looks to me as if she didn’t leave the house of her own free will.”

“How could it be otherwise?”

“If she’d gone at night and taken a case full of some of her things with her … it would make sense. But she’s gone with nothing and we’ve searched the gardens and round about and still … no sign of her.”

“I don’t know what explanation there can be,” I said.

“It frightens me,” added Mrs. Emery.

It frightened me, too.

Benedict returned, and we began to realize how serious the matter was. He questioned every one of us and there was no doubt that Celeste had left the house on the previous night taking nothing with her. The search had been extended and she could not be found.

We knew that it could not be long before the news was out. It came sooner than we expected.

“Wife of prominent M.P. disappears. Tragedy-haunted Benedict Lansdon is the centre of a new mystery. His wife, Mrs. Celeste Lansdon, is missing from her home in her husband’s constituency of Manorleigh. As she appears to have taken nothing but the clothes she was wearing there is alarming speculation as to what has happened to her. It will be remembered that Benedict Lansdon’s first wife died during his original and unsuccessful campaign in Manorleigh and there were suggestions of foul play. It was, however, afterwards proved that she was suffering from an incurable illness and took her own life. Unlucky Mr. Lansdon is now at his home in Manorleigh where extensive enquiries are being made, and there is no doubt that the mystery will soon be solved.”

There was a hush over the house. The servants were talking in whispers. I could imagine the theories which were being circulated. I saw the expressions of excitement … suppressed into concern, of course, but they were there. They were hoping for startling developments. I wondered how many of them knew of the strained relations between the master and mistress of the house.

I also wondered what would be revealed when the press intruded on us and its members talked to the servants … always the most informed of detectives, keeping a close watch on our lives. What would the police get from them? I could imagine the questions … and the answers.

Tom Marner was a boon to us during that time. He took the children off our hands. They went riding with him and he was often in the nursery. I would hear their laughter which sounded odd in a house of fear.

We felt so helpless. What could we do? What had happened to Celeste? If only she would walk into the house and tell us she was well. If only we knew. It was so frustrating. She had just disappeared without a trace.

The first few days had passed and speculation was rife. The police had called. They spent a long time with Benedict. They asked some of us questions, including myself. Had I seen her the night she disappeared? Had I noticed anything unusual?

No, I told them. There had been nothing unusual.

“Had Mrs. Lansdon seemed distressed … afraid? Had she mentioned that someone had been threatening her?”

“Certainly not.”

The questions frightened me. They held a suggestion of foul play.

Did I know any reason why she should suddenly walk out of the house?

I did not. She was not a great walker. We had both said goodnight and gone to our respective rooms.

“What was the time then?”

“About nine o’clock.”

“Did anyone see her after nine?”

I thought no one had.

Yvette was closely interrogated. Everything had seemed as normal, she said.

“Was there any reason why Mrs. Lansdon should leave home?”

There was none that she knew of.

I guessed that they had not ruled out the possibility of murder.

Jean Pascal arrived at Manorleigh. It would have been impossibly embarrassing meeting him had it not been for the terrible tragedy which dwarfed everything else into insignificance.

He looked distracted and grief-stricken. He talked to Benedict in his study and when he emerged he was pale and clearly disturbed. He told us that his parents were worried. They were neither of them well enough to travel and he would have to go straight back to them but would keep in close touch.

He did have a word with me before he left.

“Don’t think too badly of me,” he said. “I’ve repented. I am truly sorry, Rebecca. I misjudged you. I have meant to come here on one or two occasions, but could not imagine how you would receive me.”

“I am afraid it would not have been very graciously.”

“So I guessed. This is a terrible business. We did not see very much of each other recently but she was … is … my sister.”

“If anything comes to light we shall let you know immediately.”

He frowned. “Was everything all right between … them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she seems to have disappeared.”

I said, “Mr. Lansdon was not here when it happened. He was in London. We had to send for him.”

“I see.”

“You can be sure,” I reiterated, “that we shall keep you informed of whatever happens.”

“Thank you.”

I could not help being relieved when he left.

A week had passed. There were paragraphs in the paper.

“Where is Mrs. Lansdon?” The headlines stared out at me. I could imagine how the matter was being discussed all over the country.

My grandmother wrote. “This must be distressing for you right in the midst of it. Would it be possible for you to come to Cornwall for a while?”

I shivered at the thought. There were too many memories in Cornwall. I should be constantly reminded of Pedrek … and here his grandparents would have to be faced. I was glad to be out of London to avoid meeting Morwenna and Justin Cartwright. I believed they blamed me for breaking off the engagement which had sent Pedrek to the other side of the world. I could not bear to think of facing any of them. I could never explain what had happened and to be in Cador would make the bitterness all the more vivid.

Besides, I had to be here. For some strange reason I thought Benedict might need my help.

I could not imagine why I should feel this. He had always been my enemy. I understood the veiled suggestions which were circulating. He was a ruthless and ambitious man, and his wife had disappeared. Why? Had she been an encumbrance? Had he plans which did not include her?

A member of the press had cornered Yvette. They discovered through subtle questioning that the relationship between the husband and wife had not been a happy one.

We read in the papers: “He never had any time for her, said her personal maid. She was very upset about it. She was seen crying. She seemed desperate sometimes …”

Yvette was horrified when she read the papers. I guessed that her sometimes imperfect English had led her into saying more than she meant to reveal.

“I did not say it … I did not,” she cried. “He kept on … he make me say that which I do not mean …”

Poor Yvette. She had not meant to cast suspicion on her mistress’s husband. But of course this was seized on. There were sly hints. One of the less reputable papers printed a piece about him.

“The member for Manorleigh is unlucky in love … or should one say marriage. His first wife, Lizzie, from whom he inherited a goldmine which has made him many times a millionaire, killed herself; his second wife died in childbirth, and now his third, Celeste, has disappeared. But perhaps there will be a happy ending to this one. The police are pursuing their inquiries and are hopeful to solve the mystery soon.”

A week passed and there was still no news of Celeste. The police were searching for her. Emery came in with the news that they had been digging up Three Acre Field by the paddock because it looked as though the earth had been freshly turned over.

That was a terrible time. I was afraid that they would find Celeste buried there.

Nothing was found and there was silence for a few more days.

The news of Celeste’s disappearance was replaced by that of the Cabinet reshuffle as worthy of the headlines. I don’t think anyone was surprised that there was no place in it for Benedict.

The news was in the papers that morning.

“No place in Cabinet for M.P. whose wife has mysteriously disappeared. Mr. Benedict Lansdon, the M.P. for whom all seemed set fair for a high post in the Cabinet, has been passed over. Police intimate they may have an answer to the riddle shortly.”

How subtly cruel they were in linking up his being passed over with his wife’s disappearance. We all knew it was the reason why his hopes had been blighted, but to stress it seemed unnecessary. It was almost like pronouncing Benedict guilty of killing his wife, which was of course what they were suggesting.

Benedict had taken the papers to his study. I was very sad at the thought of his reading those cruel words and a sudden impulse came to me. I knocked at his door.

“Come in,” he said.

I went in. He was sitting at his desk with the newspapers spread out before him.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He knew what I meant for he replied: “It was inevitable.”

I advanced into the room and slipped into the chair facing him.

“It can’t go on,” I said. “There has to be news soon.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Benedict … do you mind if I call you Benedict? I can’t call you Mr. Lansdon and …”

He smiled wryly. “It seems a strange matter to worry about at such a time. You can’t bring yourself to call me father or stepfather … I always understood that. Call me Benedict. Why not? It makes us more friendly. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why you wouldn’t accept me. You couldn’t find a name for me.”

He laughed but it was mirthless laughter. I knew he was desperately upset and worried.

“What is going to happen?” I asked.

“That is something I cannot tell. Where can she be, Rebecca? Have you any idea?”

“Where should she go … just as she was? She has taken nothing … her handbag … she is without money.”

“It looks as though something happened to her. The police think she is dead, Rebecca.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You must have heard. They have dug up Three Acre Field. Why should they do that? Because they expected they would find her there.”

“Oh no!”

“I am sure they suspect murder.”

Of course, he had been through something like this before when his first wife had died of an overdose of laudanum. It had made him acutely aware of the hints and innuendoes, just as it had made him doubly open to suspicion.

“But who …?” I began.

“In these cases the husband is the first suspect.”

“Oh no. How could it be? You were not here.”

“What was to stop my coming to the house, letting myself in … going to the room we shared … taking a pillow … pressing it over her face and then … getting rid of the body?”

I stared at him in horror.

“I didn’t do it, Rebecca. I knew nothing of her disappearance until I received your message. Do you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you.”

“I really think you mean that.”

“I can’t understand how you could think for a moment that I could believe anything else.”

“Thank you. It’s a very sorry business. Where will it end?”

“Perhaps she will come back.”

“Do you think she will?”

“Yes … I do. I think she will.”

“But where from … and why? There’s no sense in it … no reason.”

“Mysteries are always like that until they are solved.”

“I’ve gone over and over it in my mind. Possible solutions … but I can find none good enough to believe. Oh, it’s a wearying subject, and I am to blame, Rebecca. I am responsible for this as surely as if I had smothered her with a pillow.”

“You must stop talking like this. It’s not true.”

“You know it is true. You know I have made her unhappy, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did she confide in you?”

“A little.”

“You see … whatever she has done … I am responsible. I should have tried harder.”

“It’s hard to try at love.”

“I should never have married her, but I thought it might work. It was foolish of me to try to replace Angelet.”

“No one could. But you could have found some happiness with her. She loved you absolutely.”

“She was too demanding. Perhaps if she had been less so I could have managed better. But there is no excuse. I have suffered something like this before, Rebecca. If I thought I had killed her with my indifference … with my love for Angelet … I could not live very easily with the knowledge. How could life have been so cruel? I thought I had everything I wanted in life … we both wanted that child … she did very, very much … and then it was all snatched from me. Why? And all for… Belinda. Why am I telling you all this?”

“Because we are now friends … because I can now call you Benedict.”

A faint smile played about his lips. Then he said: “But what of you, Rebecca? You are not happy. Before all this … I noticed it.”

“You noticed?”

“I wanted to ask what had happened. But we were so withdrawn, weren’t we? There was no friendship between us. We were like potential enemies ready to go to war with each other at the slightest provocation.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “we were like that.”

“I have let you see right into the heart of me,” he said. “What about you, Rebecca?”

“I have been very unhappy.”

“A love affair, was it?”

“Yes.”

“My poor child, how can I help?”

“Nobody can help.”

“Couldn’t you tell me?”

I hesitated.

“If you do not,” he went on, “I feel that we have not really found this new friendship which means so much to me.”

“I don’t think you would have approved perhaps. You wanted a grand marriage for me … because I was your stepdaughter.”

“I…”

“There was that costly London season.”

“It was then, was it? Some perfidious man?”

“Oh no. I always thought you would try to prevent our marriage, for after the cost of that season you would have wanted me to marry a duke or something like that.”

“All I wanted was your happiness because that was what your mother would have wished.”

“We were going to be married.”

“You and …?”

“Pedrek … Pedrek Cartwright.”

“Oh. A nice young man. I was always interested in him because he was born in my house. I remember it well. What happened?”

I was silent for a few moments, not wishing to speak of it.

“Tell me,” he insisted. “I find it hard to believe that he would behave badly. What was it, Rebecca?”

“It’s … it’s hard to talk of.”

“Tell me.”

I found myself telling. I described that terrible scene when Belinda had come running in to us with that horrific story. Benedict listened in blank amazement.

He said: “I don’t believe it.”

“We none of us could.”

“And that child … Belinda … she told you this?”

“She was so distressed. If you had been there, you would have seen …”

“And you confronted Pedrek with this?”

“He came the next morning … just as though nothing had happened …”

“And what did he say?”

“He denied it.”

“And you believed the child and not him?”

“If you had seen her crying and distressed … her clothes torn.”

“And she said it happened at St. Branok’s Pool. That’s significant.”

“It happens to be a lonely spot.”

He seemed to be looking far away. “I remember it well,” he said.

He seemed very thoughtful. Then he said: “Did it occur to you to doubt the child?”

“I told you how she looked. She was distraught. She had obviously been molested.”

“There is something odd about this because something happened years before you were born when your mother was a child. I was not much more. It was at the pool of St. Branok. This is what I find so odd about it. A murderer had escaped from jail. He was under sentence of death for having raped and murdered a little girl. This is something I never told anyone but I am telling you, Rebecca, because I think it could have a bearing on this matter. When your mother was a little girl she came face to face with this murderer at St. Branok’s Pool.”

I caught my breath in horror.

He went on: “I came in time. I went for him and he fell and struck his head on a boulder. It killed him. We were young and frightened and we did not know what to do. You are shocked. You are stunned. These things come suddenly upon you. We dragged his body to the pool and pushed him into the water. I know it is dramatic … sensational, the sort of thing one sometimes reads of in the papers, things that may happen to other people but should not to us. We kept our secret … your mother and I. It is a long story. Perhaps it was all part of the bond which held us together. It certainly influenced our lives. It was the reason for our parting. You see while it drove us apart it forged the unbreakable bond. You would have to live through it to understand it. But let us think of your problem. Does it not seem odd to you that a similar thing should have happened to Belinda?”

“Yes,” I said. “But it is a lonely spot. There is only one small cottage nearby. It is a place where that sort of thing could happen.”

“Might it not be that an imaginative child who had heard the story might have conjured it up?”

“But the look in her face … her clothes … Besides, nobody would have told her the story and if she had heard it she would not have understood what it really meant.”

He was silent for a while. He seemed to be considering. Then he said: “Would you take a piece of advice from me?”

“I would certainly listen to it.”

“Pedrek is in Australia now, is he? He was so hurt and disgusted by your suspicions that your engagement was broken off and he went away. Is that the story?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Go to your room now and write to him. Tell him that he must come back. That you are wretched without him. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but …”

“Do you want to live your life regretting … ? You love him, do you not? I know you have been together a good deal. It was not a sudden attraction. It has grown gradually. It has deep roots and you really love him. I know that. Yours could be a wonderful marriage. When you have the chance of happiness, you must not turn from it. You must hold on to it. Never let it be your fault that it ended.”

“I know I shall always be miserable … but always, too, I shall think of Belinda coming in from the pool … that terror in her … the horror of it.”

“Write to him. Tell him you made a mistake. Don’t be afraid to admit it, for I know you have made a mistake. Tell him that you want him back, that you believe him. Tell him that it could not be otherwise. Write to him … write today.”

“Perhaps I should think about it.”

He had risen from his chair. He came towards me and I stood up to face him. There was an earnest look in his eyes.

“Believe me. I am right,” he said. “I know how much you care for him. There will never be anyone else for you. Don’t lose this, Rebecca. Some of us make big mistakes which ruin our lives. Tell him how much you love him. Do not say whatever he has done you will love him. Tell him you do not have any shadow of a doubt now about the crime of which he was accused. Tell him you believe him … completely. Put your trust in him. Tell him you know he is innocent and beg him to come home.”

“But … I am not sure …”

“You will be. I know you will be. I think I am going to prove to you that I am right, but first of all you must send that letter … send it to him … without delay. I can see now how I can help you. That is why you should not wait. This is what your mother would want. Think of her. If she is looking down on you she will have mourned for the loss of your happiness. She wanted you to be happy so much. She cared so much for you. Rebecca, we have to live without her. Let’s see if we can help each other to do that. You look a little happier already.”

“It is the thought of writing to Pedrek.”

“Go then … go now and do it.”

Benedict is one of the most forceful men I ever knew. I could understand how it was that, among all those men who went to Australia to look for gold, he found it. He was a man who would always succeed at whatever he set himself to do. He may have been ruthless, but that was necessary if he were to reach his goal; he had a way of enforcing his beliefs until one accepted them as one’s own.

In spite of the turmoil in the house and the terrible shadow which hung over it—and in particular over Benedict—he could give his mind to my problem and I felt happier than I had ever since the day when Belinda had run in from St. Branok’s Pool.

Benedict had convinced me. I could not believe that Pedrek was guilty and there must be some other explanation.

I sat down and wrote:

Dearest Pedrek,

I love you. I am so miserable without you. It was all so quick. I could not face it then, but now I believe in you. I have always believed in you. I know that it was all a mistake and will be proved to be so in time. I want you back. Please believe me. We will face whatever has to be faced together. I know we can just as I know you are innocent of what you were accused. We will prove it in time, but now … I believe in you and we have each other.

So please, please, come back to me.

Your ever faithful Rebecca.

Perhaps it was a little hysterical. Perhaps it did not convey all I felt. But it was sincere. Benedict had had that effect on me. He had made me see my true feelings. He had made me believe in Pedrek.

The letter was posted.

Would he come? Would he forgive me for doubting him?

Just as I knew he could never be guilty, I knew he would come.

Benedict said to me: “Have you written to Pedrek?”

“Yes.”

“Telling him you believe in him.”

“I have.”

He smiled. “I want you to come to my study.” I went with him. He sent for one of the servants and when she came, he said: “Will you go to the nursery and bring Miss Belinda to me here, please?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll tell Leah to bring her.”

“There is no need for Leah to bring her. She knows the way.”

In due course Belinda came. She looked a little uneasy and suspicious and not without that certain bellicosity which I had noticed she assumed in Benedict’s presence.

“Shut the door and come in,” said Benedict.

She obeyed somewhat unwillingly.

“Now,” he said, “I want to talk to you. Cast your mind back to that time when you were at St. Branok’s Pool.”

She flushed scarlet. “I … I don’t have to talk about it. It’s, it’s bad for me. I have to forget it.”

“Perhaps you can forget it later. Just at the moment I want you to remember it. I want you to tell me exactly what happened … I mean the truth.”

“It’s bad for me, I don’t have to remember.”

“But I want to know.”

She was afraid of him, I could see, and I felt sorry for her. He was remembering that she was the child whose coming had brought about her mother’s death, and for that he could not forgive her.

“Come along,” he said. “Let’s talk, shall we? Let’s get it over.”

“It was Pedrek,” she said.

“We’ll start at the beginning. Why did you go to the pool? You weren’t supposed to go out at that time alone, were you?”

“I went to take a book to Mary Kellaway at the cottage.”

“Did you see Mary Kellaway?”

“No … he was there first.”

“What happened to the book?”

“I … I don’t know. He just … jumped at me.”

“Did Mary Kellaway tell you about the murderer who was found in the pool when they dragged it?”

“No, that was …”

“Not Mary Kellaway. Then someone else?”

“Mary Kellaway used to tell us old stories about the bells down the pool and knackers and ghosts and things.”

“I see. Then who told you about the murderer?”

“That was Madge.”

“Madge?”

“One of the maids at Cador,” I said. “She was often with the children.”

“So Madge told you about the murderer, did she?”

“Yes.” She smiled, remembering and momentarily forgetting her fear. “He’d been in the pool for a long time.”

“Did she tell you whom he murdered?”

“Yes, it was a little girl … well, not really very little. She was about eight or nine.”

“About your age. Did she tell you what he had done to the little girl?”

She was silent.

“She did, didn’t she?”

“Well, she said not to tell. She said we were too young to understand.”

“But you are clever and you did.”

She was rather pleased at the suggestion.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I did.”

“You didn’t like Pedrek Cartwright, did you?”

“I didn’t mind him.”

“I want a truthful answer. Why did you go out that evening, Belinda? Where is the book you took to your friend? What happened to it?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“You don’t know because there wasn’t a book. You didn’t see Pedrek at the pool, did you?”

“I did. I did. He attacked me … just like the murderer did … but I ran away.”

“Why, Belinda?”

“Well, I didn’t want to be … done that to, did I?”

“I mean why did you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything. I only ran away.”

“It’s no use lying any more. You went to the pool. You tore your clothes. You put soil on your face. You even scratched yourself. It was acting, wasn’t it, and you liked acting. It was a good game, and when they were all worried about you, you came back and told those dreadful lies.”

“I didn’t. I didn’t. I hate you. You’ve always hated me. You think I killed my mother. I didn’t. I didn’t want to be born.”

I was filled with pity and took a step towards her, but Benedict signed to me to stand back.

He said gently: “I don’t blame you, Belinda. I never have. I want to be good friends with you. Let’s try, shall we?”

She stopped crying and looked at him.

“We’ll help each other. I’ll help you and you’ll help me. Your mother would be very unhappy if she knew we were bad friends.”

She was silent. He went to her and knelt down beside her.

He said: “Tell me the truth. Tell me everything. You won’t be blamed for I am sure you had a reason for what you did. You love Rebecca, don’t you?”

She nodded vigorously.

“You don’t want her to be unhappy, do you?”

She shook her head. Then she said: “It was because … because …”

“Yes, yes?”

“It was for her.”

“For Rebecca?”

She nodded again. “She was going to marry him. I didn’t want her to. I wanted her to marry Oliver. We could all have lived together. It would have been nicer for her …”

“I see. So you did it because you thought you knew what was best for Rebecca? You are not very old, you know, to judge for other people.”

“I knew it would be lovely if we could all live together. What … what are you going to do to me?”

I went to her then and took her hands in mine.

“Do you hate me?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“He’s gone away, hasn’t he? He’s gone to Australia.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t want him to. You do hate me.”

“No. I understand now. But it was a wicked thing to do. You must never do anything like that again.”

“It was only a game.”

“A game which has hurt a lot of people.”

“But I did it for you.”

“You knew you were wrong though, didn’t you?”

She started to cry again.

“But,” I went on, “you’ll feel better now you have told us. It’s always good to confess. Now you can start again.”

“I’m sorry, Rebecca. Oliver would have been fun to have with us and he would have married you. We don’t see him now.”

“But there is Mr. Marner. You like him, don’t you?”

“But he’ll go back to Australia.”

“Perhaps not for a little while.” I turned to Benedict. “I think I should take her back to Leah. I’ll tell Leah what’s happened.”

She suddenly flung her arms round my neck. “I did it for you as well,” she said.

“As well as for yourself. I know.”

“And Lucie, too. She liked him.”

“I understand. Now we are going to forget all about it. But promise me you won’t ever do anything like that again.”

She shook her head and clung to me.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go now.”

She did not look at Benedict as I led her out. I left her with Leah.

“There has been a bit of an upset,” I said. “I think she needs to be alone with you. She will tell you about it. I will later. But just now … soothe her, Leah.”

Leah always seemed to understand. She took Belinda in her arms.

I went back to Benedict’s study. He was waiting for me.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“She’s a strange child. I know she is my daughter but she bears no resemblance to her mother or to me. She is like a changeling. I have watched them from my study window sometimes. I find Lucie more appealing. Belinda bears me a grudge.”

“You have ignored her.”

“I know. I couldn’t forget. If she had been a different child …”

“It was a terrible thing to do … to let a child feel she has cause her mother’s death. I know it is not the first time this sort of thing has happened, but it should never be.”

“I know. I am to blame. But there is something about her which … in a way repels. Celeste told me that she took your mother’s clothes and played the ghost. It shows a strange quirk in her nature.”

“It is because you have aroused this feeling of guilt in her.”

“I have done so much that is wrong. But it was so premeditated. She stole the key from Mrs. Emery’s drawer to get the clothes … it was not a matter of dressing up on the spur of the moment. It was planned. She knew it would cause distress and I guessed—though it was only a surmise—that this was another of her well-thought-out schemes. She is devious.”

“She is clever to deceive us all.”

“You were too ready to be deceived.”

“It is because of her youth. I would never have thought she knew about that long-ago murder.”

“Foolish people talk to her. There was that maid. You can imagine her version. Then the little girl whose father had been in the mine accident. She would be interested in stories of disaster … legends … bells at the pool. The salacious Madge would corrupt the mind of the young. They would not fully understand, but they would know enough to give a girl like Belinda the material she needed for her game.”

“I feel a little lightheaded.”

“You see why I wanted you to get this letter off to Pedrek? I did not want you to write to him later and say you had discovered the truth. I wanted that letter to go first. I wanted you to show your faith in him … the depth of your feelings …”

“I don’t know what to say to you. I can’t help feeling happy although …”

“Well, at least there is a little brightness now. I feel happier too. Believe me, it grieved me to see you so sad.”

He took my hands and gripped them hard.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” I began.

“Then say nothing. We’ll talk … we’ll talk a lot … later.”