The Changeling

The Ghost in the Garden

TO COME TO MANORLEIGH after having been away from it for some time was an emotional experience. Memories of my mother came flooding back. I could not forget those locked rooms, untouched since her death; and there was a certain intimacy in the house which the London one lacked.

For instance, in London I used to go out with Morwenna and Helena; there had been shopping expeditions and visits to then-houses and I did not see Benedict for days when he was busy at the House of Commons. Celeste had had her friends—wives of members like herself who met frequently. But in Manor Grange it was different. We all seemed closer together and I found that disconcerting.

The children were delighted to see me and for the first few days I spent my time mainly in the nursery, catching up on what had been happening during my absence.

They had been progressing with their riding and I went down to the paddock to watch them. They were good enough now to leave the paddock and take to the road with a groom in attendance. They both loved their ponies dearly.

Leah looked a little better than she had in London. I asked if her headaches no longer troubled her.

“Very rarely now, thank you, Miss Rebecca,” she said. “I trust you had a successful season in London.”

“Oh yes,” I told her. “Mr. Cartwright unfortunately had to leave town. He’s gone to Cornwall to a mining engineering college. We shall see him when he comes down to visit his grandparents there.”

“Are we going to Cornwall soon?”

“My grandparents are suggesting we go.”

“The children always enjoy it.”

“And I daresay you are looking forward to seeing your old home.”

A blank expression crossed her face. She must love Cornwall but it did contain her mother. I gathered that Mrs. Polhenny was still plying her trade. My grandmother had written that she had acquired a bicycle with wooden wheels and iron tires—what was called an old bone-shaker—and that she rattled up and down the hills getting to and from her patients. It was daring for a woman of her age but I supposed she had commanded the Lord to look after her.

I could well understand that Leah, who had lived in her mother’s holy shadow for so many years, would be glad to escape and could not have any great desire to get within a few miles of it.

Back in Manorleigh we were plunged into a whirl of activity. Benedict was rarely at home; he went travelling round the constituency which covered a large area, speaking at meetings, attending conferences and on certain days attending what was called “the surgery” which was conducted in a small room leading from the hall where he listened to complaints and suggestions from his constituents.

We all seemed to be caught up in parliamentary duties.

When he was not at home people sometimes called with problems and Celeste was expected to listen to their accounts and answer sympathetically, explaining the unavoidable absence of her husband before whom the matter would be put on his return.

On one occasion, when Benedict was away for a few days, one of the farmers called. He was concerned about a right of way which people were using discriminatingly and damaging his corn.

Celeste was not at home and I happened to be there so I took him into the little room called the surgery and let him talk to me.

Having been brought up at Cador, I did understand what he was talking about.

“I remember something very like it in Cornwall,” I told him. “The farmer put up a fence leaving just a narrow path. His workmen were able to do it very quickly and his crops were safe.”

“I’ve been thinking of it, but I didn’t want to go to the expense.”

“It’s worth it,” I assured him. “You see, there is this law about rights of way.”

“You have a point,” he said. “I was wondering if there was anything Mr. Lansdon could do about it.”

“The law is the law, and unless it’s changed it stands.”

“Well, thank you for your attention. You’re his stepdaughter, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s better talking to you than to the foreign lady.”

“You mean Mrs. Lansdon.”

“She doesn’t know what you’re talking about half the time. It’s different with you. You’ve got good sense.”

“It is on account of my being brought up on my grandparents’ estate.”

“That’s what I say. You know what you’re talking about. It’s a pleasure to talk to you.”

A few days later Benedict returned home. He met the farmer who told him that he had called at the house and what a bright and intelligent young lady his stepdaughter was.

I always avoided Benedict when I could and the relationship between us was as uneasy as it had ever been. Belinda was the same with him. It was his fault. He could not bear to look at her. Oddly enough, he was happier in Lucie’s company with whose existence he need not concern himself. She did not arouse any sad memories in him. Lucie was attractive and well mannered; she caused him no annoyance, whereas Belinda was the one left to him as a substitute for Angelet—and he could not forgive her for that. It was unfair. Belinda was not an easy child to handle but she was blameless on that score.

“I understand you took surgery the other day,” he said to me.

“Oh, there was no one else about.”

“They shouldn’t come when I am not here. There is a special day for it.”

“The farmer must have forgotten that.”

“You impressed him.”

“Oh … it was about a right of way … similar to a case we had in Cornwall.”

“He said it was good to talk to someone sensible who knew something about things.”

“Oh … I’m flattered.”

“Thank you, Rebecca.”

I said: “Well, I happened to be around and he caught me.”

My resentment was as great as ever. I did not want him to think I was going out of my way to help him.

I left him quickly. I hoped the farmer had not mentioned that he preferred to talk to me rather than to Celeste.

I was growing sorry for Celeste. The marriage was a great mistake. I could see that and it was his fault mostly.

He did not care. He had a wife which was what was expected of him. She was a good hostess and so elegant that her appearance carried her through. That was what he had needed. Did he ever think that she would not be content to be a puppet set up to further his ambitions? Did he not think she might want a loving husband? I knew enough to see that she craved his affection; I believed she was a passionate woman who needed to be loved. It was cruel to have married her if he intended to remain aloof … mourning one who was lost to him for ever.

There was something very wrong in this house. There was a brooding feeling of tragedy. Perhaps I was fanciful. It might be because I knew something of the deep passion which had existed between him and my mother—a feeling of such intensity that it could not die because one of them had. What happened in that silent room behind the locked door? Her brushes were on the table … her clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Could she come back to him there? I had thought she came to me once. Perhaps when a person is deeply loved that person becomes part of the one left behind; there is a bond which even death cannot break.

But Poor Celeste was living flesh and blood. Warm and passionately, earnestly desiring … the unwanted one, brought in because the people who had put him into Parliament expected him to have a wife. That was what was wrong in the house and it was more obvious here than it had been in London because behind that locked door my mother seemed to linger.

I was in my room one day, thinking of going for a ride. I was about to change into my riding habit and sat for a moment at the window looking down at the seat under the oak tree, that haunted part of the garden where Lady Flamstead was said to have returned to be with the daughter she had never seen.

There was a gentle tap on the door. I turned sharply. Such was my mood that I almost expected to see my mother standing there.

The door opened slowly and Celeste came in.

“I thought you were here, Rebecca,” she said. “Were you just going out?”

“Yes, but it is not important. I was only going for a ride.”

“It’s Mrs. Carston-Browne. She always terrifies me. She is downstairs now. She speaks so that I cannot follow all.”

“Oh, she is an indefatigable worker for good causes. What does she want?”

“She talks about a fête … a pageant… I think she say. I tell her I believe you were in and that you are interested in that kind of thing.”

“Celeste!”

“Forgive … I am desperate.”

“I’ll come down,” I said.

Mrs. Carston-Browne was in the drawing room. Large, benign and bland, she regarded me with relief. This was the second time within a week when I realized that the Member’s stepdaughter was preferable to his wife.

“Oh … Miss Mandeville … good morning. How nice that you are at home.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Carston-Browne. It is good of you to call. I am afraid Mr. Lansdon is out.”

“I did not want to see him exactly. I daresay he is too busy and that is no man’s business. It is for us women … the pageant, you know.”

“Well, you see, I have only just arrived here.”

“I know. It is necessary for us to be represented at Westminster certainly and we cannot expect the Member to be here all the time. But this is something we have been planning for some time. It is done every year and I wanted to enlist your help. We are doing scenes from Her Majesty’s youth and we thought that as it is forty years since she came to the throne we might have a coronation. Tableau vivant, you know. Some people manage so much better if they don’t have to speak. We’re collecting clothes … anything that could be made over to fit the period.”

“I see,” I said. “I don’t know if we have any clothes. I’ll look.”

“We thought the little girls might appear. Children are so appealing. The Member’s daughter should certainly be there … and the little adopted one as well.”

“You mean taking part in the tableau?”

“Exactly. We are doing as one scene the Queen’s being awakened to be told she is Queen … and then her coronation and her wedding. A great deal of organizing has to be done and it does help raise funds. It is for the church, of course. I thought the little girls might be in the wedding scene. They could be attending on the Queen.”

“I am sure they would enjoy that.”

“We usually do very well and the proceeds are for the church. Reverend Whyte is very concerned at the moment about the roof. He said if we can get it done now it will save pounds later.”

“Was the bazaar a success?”

“An immense success.”

“I am sure Mrs. Lansdon is very sorry she was not here to help you.”

Mrs. Carston-Browne gave Celeste a cool nod in acknowledgment of her regret.

“It was nécessaire to be in London,” said Celeste. “Did you know that Rebecca was having a season?”

“Yes, we do read the papers.”

“Oh, was it mentioned there?” I asked.

“The local paper. As the Member’s stepdaughter …”

“Oh, of course.”

“I am sure, Miss Mandeville, that you will be able to dress the children.”

“Mrs. Lansdon will, I am sure. And perhaps help you with the costumes. She is very clever at that sort of thing.”

“Oh?” said Mrs. Carston-Browne, almost disbelievingly.

“Yes, she has a special eye for what is right for all occasions.”

“I am sure that will be most useful. Could I expect you at The Firs tomorrow morning at ten thirty for discussions?”

I looked at Celeste who seemed bewildered. “I am sure that will be all right,” I said.

Mrs. Carston-Browne rose, her feather in her hat quivering as she leaned forward on her parasol and surveyed us—me with approval but Celeste with a certain suspicion.

I walked with her to the front door where her carriage was waiting.

“It was such a pleasure to find you in, Miss Mandeville,” she said.

I stood for a few seconds, listening to the clip-clop of her horses’ hoofs on the gravel.

I thought: What is happening to me? I am being drawn in to help him. I shall go down to Cornwall as soon as I can. I wanted no change in our relationship. I still felt my mother’s death bitterly and resentfully. I really did not want anything to change. On the other hand I was sorry for Celeste. She was trying to take my mother’s place and that was something she could never do.

She was beside me and she slipped her arm through mine.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” she said.

And then I felt a little better.

The pageant occupied us for the next two weeks. It was to be held on the first of September. Lucie was delighted to be taking part. So was Belinda but she pretended that it meant little to her.

Celeste looked through her store of materials. Leah was an expert with her needle and with Celeste’s designs and Leah’s ability to make up the materials, the children were going to make very attractive attendants of the Queen.

Celeste would have made a good Queen; she was petite but perhaps too slim and elegant to play the plump little Queen. Moreover the spectators would have been shocked to see a foreigner in the part.

Benedict was to open the pageant and the tableaux vivants would be shown with intervals of half an hour between each—it was taking all that time to prepare for the next. There were stalls where all sorts of produce could be bought—cakes, homemade jam and all sorts of farm produce as well as flowers. The usual sideshows were in evidence—wishing wells with fishing rods and if these could be hooked on to the toy fishes this entitled the successful to a prize. It was the usual fun of the fair, the highlight being the tableaux vivants which had never been attempted before.

Celeste and I were behind the scenes most of the time, helping to fix up the tableaux. Belinda was running round in a state of excitement. Lucie was equally thrilled. Their dresses were identical. They wore white satin trimmed with lace and round their heads were mauve anemones. They looked very attractive.

The first scene, with the Queen in her dressing gown receiving the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chamberlain to be told she was Queen, was a great success. It was really quite effective with the Lord Chamberlain kissing her hand and the Archbishop standing by preparing to do the same. The coronation was even more grand but the scene which won the most applause was the royal wedding—the Queen, her husband beside her and her attendants … among them Belinda and Lucie, who, because of their connection with the Member, were placed in prominent positions.

The applause rang out. The curtain was lowered and the tableau came to life with the participants coming forward to take their bows.

Belinda’s eyes sparkled. I knew how hard she found it to stand still and I thought she was going to leap in the air at any moment.

She smiled and bowed and waved to the audience which delighted them.

All that evening she could talk of nothing but the part she had played on the stage. She made us all laugh when she said: “I was afraid my enemies were going to fall off my head. Lucie’s nearly did, too.”

“They are anemones,” Lucie corrected her.

Belinda could never accept that she was wrong. “Mine were enemies,” she said.

They were starry-eyed when I said goodnight to them.

“Actresses are on the stage,” said Belinda. “When I grow up I am going to be one of them.”

Belinda’s desire to be an actress lasted for some weeks. It was dressing up which appealed to her. One day I found her in my room trying on a hat of mine and a short coat. I couldn’t help being amused. She wanted to go down to the kitchen and show them and I allowed her to do this.

“I am Miss Rebecca Mandeville,” she announced in haughty tones which were unlike any I was likely to use. “I have just had my London season.”

They were all highly amused.

Mrs. Emery, seated at the head of the table, for they were all having tea, said she was a real caution. Jane, the parlormaid, clapped her hands and soon they were all doing the same. Belinda stood in the middle of the kitchen bowing and kissing her hands to them. Then she flounced off.

“A regular little Madam, that one,” said Mrs. Emery. “You have to watch her though. She’s up to tricks … and she drags that Miss Lucie with her.”

Leah, who had watched the little show, tried to suppress the pride she felt in her charge. I had long ago guessed that Belinda was her favorite. I supposed her exuberant personality was certain to make her outstanding; and then there was the fact that Belinda was the daughter of the house whereas Lucie was a foundling whom, in a rather eccentric manner, I had been allowed to adopt by my rather unconventional grandparents.

I suppose Lucie was aware of this too. I must make her understand that she was as important to me at any rate as my half-sister Belinda.

Her successful impersonation of me must have aroused the desire in Belinda to attempt further success and she announced that she and Lucie were going to do a tableau for us but there would be talking in this one. We must all go to the kitchen and wait there.

I was very glad afterwards that Celeste was unable to come. She was visiting the agent’s wife which was a duty she had rather reluctantly to perform.

However it worked out for the best on this occasion.

The servants were all laughing together as we arranged ourselves in the chairs, Mrs. Emery, hands folded in bombazine lap next to me with Leah and Miss Stringer on the other side.

I felt a twinge of alarm when the children burst in, for Belinda was wearing a top hat and a morning coat which had obviously been taken from Benedict’s wardrobe. She really did look incongruous. I was wondering what was coming next and whether we should have to put a stop to this intrusion into people’s rooms.

And there was Lucie, her hair pinned up on top of her head, strangely unlike herself in one of Celeste’s elegant gowns which trailed along the floor and hung on her like a sack.

There was silence.

“I am your Member of Parliament,” announced Belinda. “And you have to do what I say … I have a big house in London which would be too good for any of you, because I have grand servants there … and we have important people coming. The Prime Minister and the Queen sometimes … when I ask her.” Lucie came forward. “Go away,” went on Belinda. “I don’t want you. I don’t like you very much. I like Belinda’s mother. I go to see her in the locked room. That’s why I don’t want you.”

Miss Stringer half rose in her seat. Leah had turned pale. Mrs. Emery was staring open-mouthed and I heard Jane mutter something under her breath.

I was terrified of what Belinda would say next.

I stood up and went to her.

“Take those things off at once,” I said. “Both of you. Go and put them back where you took them from. You are never … never to take clothes from other people’s wardrobes. You have some things which you have had given you for dressing up. You may use those … and those only.”

Belinda looked at me defiantly.

“It was a good play,” she cried. “It was a true play … like the Queen at her wedding.”

“It was not true,” I said. “It was very silly. Now take them off at once. Leah …”

Leah hurried forward. So did Miss Stringer Leah took Belinda by the hand. Miss Stringer took Lucie’s and they were gone.

There was silence in the kitchen. I turned and followed them upstairs.

I went to see Mrs. Emery in her private sitting room.

“It’s that Miss Belinda,” she said. “There’s no knowing what she’ll do next. She’s got to be watched. She’s got her nose into everything.”

“How does she know about that room?”

“Well, how do they know anything? Little pitchers have long ears and that Miss Belinda’s are ten times as long as normal. Eyes on everything. What’s this? What’s that? And she talked to the maids. I can’t stop the gossiping. They don’t dare do it in front of me but I reckon it’s chitter chatter all the time behind my back.”

“I’m only thankful that Mrs. Lansdon was not here.”

“Yes. That would not have been very nice.”

“Mrs. Emery, how could she have known?”

Mrs. Emery shook her head. “There’s not much that goes on in a house that the maids don’t know about. They see little things … we know how different it is with the French lady than it was with your mother. He worshipped her. They was like one … the two of them. The whole house knew it and when she went it broke him. Then he kept that room.”

“I don’t like it, Mrs. Emery.”

“You’re not the only one, Miss Rebecca. There’s bound to be talk. They’re already saying her ghost is in that room. Orders is that I’m the only one that’s to go in. That’s all very well, but to tell you frank like, I’d never be able to get any of the others to go in … not alone by any road. I reckon if we had that door open and things moved out and changed round a bit … it would be a lot better. It’s like a shrine, Miss Rebecca … and people gets ideas when there’s that sort of thing in a house.”

“You’re right, Mrs. Emery, but what can we do about it?”

“Well, it’s up to him. If only he’d try to forget her … make a normal life for the present Mrs. Lansdon … you see what I mean.”

“I do see what you mean.”

“If someone could tell him …”

She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. “You’d be the only one who could, I suppose. But I know how it is between you. You’re not what you might call loving father and daughter.”

I thought: Our lives are exposed to our servants. They are aware of everything that is going on. They know in this house that Celeste is passionately in love with a husband who rejects her because he is still so deeply in love with his dead wife that he makes a shrine to her and spends nights in that room from which the present Mrs. Lansdon is shut out.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” I said. “Perhaps if the right moment comes it might be possible to say something.”

She nodded.

“While that room stays locked it’s unhealthy. That’s what I’ve always said and I’ll go on saying it. I don’t like it, Miss Rebecca, I don’t like it at all.”

I agreed with her. I did not like it either.

Belinda was very sullen after that. She hardly spoke to me and Miss Stringer said she was more difficult than usual.

Lucie was also in disgrace. She was a sensitive child and what upset her most was that she thought I was angry with her.

I explained to her: “I am not angry. I just want you to understand that it is not polite to imitate people. It is all right to play the Queen or the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chamberlain because they are far away and it is a long time ago when the Queen was called from her bed to be told she was Queen and had her coronation and marriage, but to pretend to be people around you could be hurtful to them … and so it is different.”

She saw the point and was contrite.

It took several days for Belinda’s sullen mood to pass but finally she reverted to her old exuberant self. I remarked to Miss Stringer that she appeared to have given up her theatrical ambitions.

Miss Stringer said: “It was a passing fancy … all due to Mrs. Carston-Browne and her tableaux vivants.”

I agreed.

The children were in the garden with Leah one day when I joined them. We had not been there long when one of the maids came running out. She was breathless. “It’s that new gardener’s boy, Miss Rebecca. He’s cutting down the oak tree.”

“He can’t be,” I cried. “It’s far too big.”

I went across the lawn to that spot past the pond below my window onto which I looked down so often. All the boy was doing was trimming the branches.

“Who told you to do that?” I asked.

“Nobody, Miss. I just thought it needed a trim like.”

“We don’t like the oak tree being touched.”

The maid who had told us what was happening said: “The ghosts wouldn’t like it.”

The boy stared open-mouthed at the tree.

“It’s an old legend attached to the house,” I said. “I don’t think we want it trimmed. Of course, if Mr. Camps thinks it should be done, he should speak to someone about it. But for the time being leave it.”

“Well, I never,” said the maid. “It was a good thing, Miss Rebecca, that I saw him in time. Cutting up that tree. Goodness knows what would happen.”

“Why is it haunted?” asked Lucie.

“Oh, that’s just a story.”

“What sort of a story?” asked Belinda.

“Something that was once said. I’ve forgotten.”

“Ghosts don’t like it if people forget about them,” said Belinda. “They come back and haunt them to remind them.”

“It was nothing,” I said. “Would you two like to go for a ride?”

November had come—misty autumnal with the days drawing in so that it was dark soon after four.

Ever since the gardener’s boy had attempted to lop the branches off the oak tree there seemed to have been a revival of the hauntings. One of the maids swore she saw a shadow at the window of the locked room. She ran screaming into the house. Some of them would not go into the garden after dusk and certainly not in the vicinity of the oak tree.

I began to be affected by it and often at night I would go down to my window and look down on it, in spite of myself, expecting to see Lady Flamstead or her daughter there … and I would have given a great deal to see my mother.

I thought about what Mrs. Emery had said regarding the locked room. How could one stop young people having fancies in a house like this? It seemed to be enveloped in the unhappy atmosphere created by a husband who did not love the wife he had recently, married and continued to mourn the one he had lost. I understood his passionate obsession; I had one of a kind myself for I could not forget her either; but I still blamed Benedict. Perhaps it was due to living in a house of shadows where the past seemed to intrude on the present where neither he nor I could come to terms with life as it was and were both craving to be back in those days when she was with us.

I wondered if I might speak to him about the locked room. But how could I? He would not listen to me. He found his solace there. He communed with her. I had once felt that she came back to me. Surely she would come and try to comfort him if that were possible.

Celeste talked to me about the servants’ obsession with ghosts.

“I suppose in a house like this,” I said, “in which many people have lived over the centuries, there would be a feeling that those who have gone before have left something behind.”

“What is the story of this oak tree?”

“It was about a woman who lived here long ago. She was the young wife of an older man who adored her. She died in childbirth and came back to commune with the child she had never known on Earth. They were supposed to meet under the oak tree.”

“She would be a kind ghost?”

“Oh yes … quite benign.”

“Where is the daughter now?”

“She is dead. All the people in the story are dead. They had to die before they became ghosts.”

“And she died giving birth. It is like …”

“Yes,” I said, “but I am afraid it is not an infrequent happening.”

She nodded. “I see. Why does Lady Flamstead come back now?”

“Because the servants have been reminded of her. When the gardener’s boy tried to prune the tree he is supposed to have disturbed the ghosts. They will tell you they have come back to warn people not to touch their sanctum.”

“I see. That is it.”

“This talk of ghosts adds a spice to their lives. My grandmother used to say that people whose lives are a little dull have to invent things to make them lively. Well, ghosts have provided this little diversion.”

“I see … how it is. And we need not listen for the clanging of chains.”

“There would be no chains attached to Lady Flamstead nor to her daughter. They never acquired them … they lived pleasant, uncomplicated lives.”

It was a few days later when Celeste fainted in the garden. Fortunately Lucie happened to be nearby and called for help. I was in the hall and was the first to get out there.

“It’s Aunt Celeste,” she said. “She’s lying on the ground.”

“Where?”

“Near the pond.”

“Go and call Mrs. Emery or anyone you can find,” I said and ran out.

Celeste was lying on the ground, looking pale. I knelt beside her. I saw that she had fainted.

I lifted her up to a sitting position and held down her head. I was greatly relieved to see the color coming into her face. She turned her head and looked fearfully over her shoulder.

“It’s all right, Celeste,” I said. “I think you just fainted. Perhaps it was the cold …”

She was shaking.

“I saw her,” she whispered. “It’s true … she was there … under the tree.”

I shivered. What did she mean? Was Celeste seeing ghosts now?

I said: “We’ll get you into the house.”

“She was there,” she went on. “I saw her clearly.”

Mrs. Emery had appeared.

“Oh, Mrs. Emery,” I said. “Mrs. Lansdon has fainted. I think she must have left a warm room and the cold was too much for her.” I was battling to find reasons. I did not like this talk of ghosts.

“Let’s get her in … quick,” said Mrs. Emery practically.

“We’ll take her to her room,” I said. “Then I think a little brandy …”

She was on her feet but shaky; she turned and looked over her shoulder at the seat under the tree.

“You’re shivering!” I said. “Come on. Let’s get in.”

We took her to her room.

“Get her to lie down,” said Mrs. Emery. “I’ll go and see about that brandy. I’ll send up one of the girls to see to the fire. It’s nearly out.”

Celeste lay on the bed. She took my hand and held it tightly. “Don’t go,” she said.

“Of course I won’t. I’ll stay here. Don’t talk now, Celeste. Wait till Mrs. Emery brings the brandy. You’ll feel so much better after that.”

She lay back; she was still shivering.

Mrs. Emery came in with Ann.

“Make up the fire, Ann,” she said. “Mrs. Lansdon is not feeling very well. And here’s the brandy, Miss Rebecca.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Emery.”

“Shall I pour out, Miss?”

“Yes, please.”

She did so and handed it to me. Celeste sat up and sipped it. The fire was now blazing brightly.

“I think Mrs. Lansdon would like to be quiet for a while,” I said.

Celeste looked appealingly at me and I knew she wanted me to stay. I nodded reassuringly and the door closed quietly on Mrs. Emery and Ann.

“Rebecca,” she said. “I saw her. She was there … looking for me. She was telling me that this is her place and there is no room for me here.”

“This … er … ghost spoke to you?”

“No, no … there were no words … but that was what it meant.”

“Celeste, there was no one there. You imagined it.”

“But I see clearly … she was there.”

“She?”

“She has come out of the locked room. She has come to where the ghosts are.”

“Celeste, this doesn’t make sense. You didn’t see anyone there. Lucie was near. She saw you fall. She did not say she saw anyone else.”

“She has come for me … I saw her clearly. Her head was turned away at first … but I knew who she was. She was in a pale blue coat with a cape edged with white fur … and a blue hat with white fur round it … a little old-fashioned in style.”

A blue coat with a fur-edged cape. I had seen my mother in such an outfit—and yes, there had been a hat to match. She had worn it in the house, I remembered. I could visualize her walking under the trees, laughing and talking about the brother or sister I was to have.

I gripped my hands together because they were shaking slightly.

“You imagined it, Celeste,” I said without conviction.

“I did not. I did not. I was not thinking of her. My thoughts were far away and then … I saw the movement under the trees … I saw the figure in the blue coat. She was sitting on the seat … and I know who it was … I have felt her in the house many times. There are those rooms in which she lived … that locked room … and now she has come to the garden to join the other ghosts.”

“This is all fancy, Celeste.”

“I do not think so.”

“It is all in your mind.”

She stared at me. “In my mind …” she stammered.

“Yes, you are thinking of her and you fancy you see her.”

“I saw her,” she said firmly.

“Celeste, it has to stop, you know. Perhaps you ought to leave here for a while.”

“I cannot go.”

“Why not? You could come to Cornwall with me. Come for Christmas. My grandparents would love it. We’ll take the children.”

“Benedict … he could not go.”

“Then we could go without Benedict.”

“I could not, Rebecca.”

“It might be good.”

“No. He needs me … here. I have to be at the dinner parties. It is the duty of the Member’s wife.”

“There is too much emphasis on duties and not enough on … on …” She waited and I added lamely: “On … er … home life. You should go away. Then perhaps he would miss you and realize how much you do for him.”

She was silent. Then suddenly she turned to me and I knew by the heaving of her shoulders that she was weeping.

“What am I to do?” she asked. “He does not love me.”

“He must do. He married you.”

“He married me because he wanted a wife. All Members of Parliament should have wives. If they want big office they need a wife … the right wife. But, alas, Rebecca, I am not the right one for him. Your mother was.”

“You must forget that. You are good. You are wonderful at parties. You always look so elegant. They all admire you.”

“And when he look at me … he think of another.”

I was silent.

“Was she very beautiful?” she asked.

“I don’t know. She was my mother. I never thought whether she was beautiful or not. To me she was perfect because she was my mother.”

“And to him … she was perfect and there could never be another to take her place. Do you believe that when people are so deeply needed they can be lured from the tomb and come back to those who cannot live without them?”

“No,” I said.

“Your mother … she must have been a wonderful person.”

“She was to me.”

“And to him.”

“Yes, to him. But they both married someone else in the first place.”

“I know he married the girl in Australia. She brought him the goldmine.”

“My mother married my father first. He was very handsome and charming … like Hercules or Apollo … only better because he was so good. He gave his life for his friend.”

“I know. I have heard.”

“And my mother loved him … dearly,” I said fiercely. “But it is all over, Celeste. That is in the past. It’s now that matters.”

“He doesn’t care for me, Rebecca.”

“He must. He married you.”

“Did he care for the first one, I wonder?”

“This is different.”

“How is it different?”

“I am sure of it.”

“I love him so much. When I first saw him I thought he was the most wonderful man I had ever seen. When he asked me to marry him I could not believe it. I think I am dreaming. But we marry … and now he does not want me. All he wants is her. He dream of her. I have heard him say her name in his sleep. He has drawn her back from the grave because he cannot live without her. She is here. She is in this house. And now she is tired of being in that locked room. She has come out to join those other ghosts in the garden.”

“Oh, Celeste. You must not think like that. He needs time … time to recover.”

“It is years since she died. It was when Belinda was born.”

“She would not wish you to suffer like this. She was the kindest person in the world. If she came back it would be to help you … not to harm you.”

I wished that I knew how to comfort her. I hated him then. He was responsible for her unhappiness. He was selfish and cruel. He had married her because he needed a wife to enhance his career, just as he had married Lizzie Morley because he needed her money for the same reason. My mother he had truly loved; there was no doubt of that, and God … or Fate … was repaying him. He had lost the one he loved and would not try to make a happy life for the woman he had taken up to serve his own ends.

He was a monster, I thought, and whipped up my hatred and contempt of him.

I said: “It will come all right one day, Celeste.”

She shook her head. “But I pray that he will turn to me,” she said. “I lie here sometimes waiting … waiting … You cannot understand, Rebecca.”

“I think I do,” I replied. “And you must rest now. Do you think you could sleep?”

“I am very tired,” she said.

“Shall I get Mrs. Emery to send up a little supper on a tray? I could have mine with you if you liked. Then you could rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’ve never fainted before,” she told me. “It’s strange to feel the Earth slipping away.”

“People often faint for various reasons. There are no after effects. Perhaps you were not feeling well and the change of air…”

“But I saw …”

“It really could have been the mist in the air.”

“It wasn’t mist. I saw her clearly.”

“How did you know who it was?”

“I knew.”

“People see a sort of mirage sometimes. There are shadows and they don’t recognize them as such and the brain starts to work out what it is … and imagination comes in. It’s all this talk about ghosts. Just suppose it was a ghost. It might have been Lady Flamstead or Miss Martha.”

“I know who it was. Instinct told me.”

“Will you have something to eat?”

“I couldn’t manage it … not tonight.”

“Do you think you could sleep?”

“Perhaps.”

I stood up and kissed her.

“I am so glad you are here, Rebecca,” she said. “I wondered a lot … how would you like me … the one who took your mother’s place.”

“I never felt like that for a moment. It is so long since she died.” I smiled at her. “If you want me … later on … if you can’t sleep and would like to talk … ring the bell and tell one of the servants. I’ll come along and talk.”

“Thank you. You would comfort me much … if I could be comforted.”

“You will be, and I am going to see that you are.”

She smiled faintly. She looked a little better and very young with the traces of tears on her eyelashes and a faint flush in her cheeks.

I was glad to be alone. I wanted to think. She had shaken me. Although I had told her that I did not accept the theory that she had seen a ghost, I was impressed by her description of the clothes. Being so interested in the subject she would see them more clearly than most people and she had been so emphatic in her description of them.

I kept seeing my mother walking across the garden with her hair escaping from under that becoming hat and mingling with the white fur on the edge of it.

Celeste had described it accurately.

It was not possible. If my mother returned, it would not be to show herself to poor little Celeste, but to me … or to him … and she would not do it in a frightening way.

I recalled that occasion when I had thought she was in my bedroom. I had not seen her. I had not heard her voice. It was just a conviction that she was close. I had been overwrought at the time, worried about Lucie and what would become of her.

At such times one could have hallucinations. But I had never seen her and Celeste would have it that she had seen her so closely that she could describe the clothes she was wearing.

She did not send for me that night but before I retired I went to her room to see how she was and found her sleeping peacefully.

I tossed and turned all night and it must have been about five in the morning when I found myself wide awake.

I sat up in bed and said in a whisper: “I don’t believe it.” The clothes were real though. My mother did possess them at some time. Was it possible that someone could have found those clothes and worn them and come to the spot to play the ghost?

I could not get the idea out of my mind.

I was up early. I had thought a great deal about what I could do. I would enlist the help of Mrs. Emery. I could take her into my confidence and I knew that she would respect it.

The first thing I did was to go along to Celeste.

She looked exhausted and drawn and I was relieved when she suggested staying in bed, for the morning at least.

She was very tired, she said.

I told her I would have a light breakfast sent up to her room and after she had partaken of it she should try to sleep. I would look in later to see how she felt.

Mrs. Emery was a woman of routine. She was a great believer in the beneficial effects of a good cup of tea and she took it at eleven in the morning as well as in the afternoon.

It was safe to go along to her room at eleven o’clock.

She was always pleased to see me. Celeste was, of course, the mistress of the house, but now that I was no longer a child, Mrs. Emery regarded me as such. She could not give foreigners the same respect she applied to her own countryfolk, therefore, I was as important—perhaps more so—in her eyes than Celeste.

“I do want to talk to you, Mrs. Emery,” I said.

She preened herself. “Well, it is always a pleasure, Miss Rebecca.”

“Thank you.”

“And you’re just in time for a cup of tea. I’ll have it ready in a jiffy.”

“Oh thank you. That would be nice.”

I did not speak until the ritual of teamaking was completed. I watched her. I had heard her tell the servants many times. Warm the pot with very hot water, dry thoroughly before putting in the tea … one teaspoonful for each person and one for the pot. Infuse, stir, and allow to stand for five minutes … not a second more … not a second less.

The tea was poured into the cups which she kept specially for honored visitors. I was flattered that I was one.

“Mrs. Emery,” I began, “I am concerned about what happened yesterday.”

“Oh … Mrs. Lansdon, yes … she was really shook up.”

“Do you know what caused it?”

“I didn’t. I just wondered. Well, it seems hardly possible. I wondered if she was expecting.”

“Oh no … nothing like that, I think. She thought she saw … something … under the oak tree.”

“Mercy on us, Miss Rebecca. Not the ghost!”

“Mrs. Lansdon believed she saw one … on the haunted seat.”

“My goodness gracious me! What next?”

“She described the clothes. I recognized them as my mother’s.”

Mrs. Emery stared at me open-mouthed.

“Yes,” I said. “She thinks it was the ghost of my mother.”

“But …”

“You see …”

“Yes, I see all right. You can’t help knowing how things are. Oh, how different it was when you dear mother was here. Then we were a happy household.”

“We should try to make it happy now, Mrs. Emery.”

“Well … what with him and that locked room … and her … well, it’s not easy, is it?”

“She must have imagined something. She is not very well.”

Mrs. Emery nodded. “She’s a sad lady. There are times when I feel sorry for her.”

“Yes, but I don’t think she imagined this. I think she really did see something under the trees and whoever it was was wearing my mother’s clothes.”

“Lord a’ mercy!”

“I may be wrong but the fact that she described the clothes so accurately makes me believe that someone in this house was playing a trick.”

Mrs. Emery nodded thoughtfully.

“You go to that room regularly and everyone knows you do that. I think someone got into your room, found the key and took the clothes from my mother’s wardrobe.”

“The door is always locked and I have the key.”

“You always keep it in the same place?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Possibly someone discovered where you kept it.”

“I can’t see how.”

“I can. The door of your room … this room … is never locked, is it?”

She shook her head.

“Someone could come in when you are busy and there was no chance of being disturbed. Whoever it was could have taken the key, gone to the locked room, taken the clothes, locked the door and returned the key back to this room. That’s possible.”

“No one would dare.”

“There are some daring people around, Mrs. Emery.”

“But what for? What’s the good of it?”

“Mischief. That is very attractive to some.”

“You mean someone did it to frighten the wits out of that poor lady?”

“It’s possible, and I intend to find out. You have the key here now?”

She rose and went to a drawer. She opened it and triumphantly held up the key.

“I want you to take me up to that room now, Mrs. Emery,” I said. “I want to see if those clothes are there. If they are, and I think they should be because my mother was wearing them right to the time she left here, then we shall know that whatever Mrs. Lansdon saw under the oak tree was not a figment of her imagination. But because this happened only yesterday, whoever took the clothes might not have had time yet to return them.”

“Well, the key was there, and if anyone took it they’d have had to return it pretty prompt like. They wouldn’t know when I was going to pop in … and it would be dangerous to bring it back when I might come in and catch them at it.”

“So it is fair to say that if the clothes are still there what Mrs. Lansdon saw was something very likely to be supernatural. And if it was someone playing a trick … well then, the one who played the trick could still have them.”

“I can’t believe anyone would go to all that trouble just to frighten her. And run the risk of getting caught into the bargain.”

“Some people like mischief. They like to take risks, too. In any case, let us take the first step towards solving the mystery. Let’s go and see if the clothes are still there.”

Mrs. Emery rose immediately and we went to the room.

Even at such a time I was deeply moved as I stepped over the threshold. It was exactly as it had been in the old days and I could imagine myself a young girl again … secure in the love of my mother, though that resentment I felt towards my stepfather was already with me.

The sight of her things unnerved me; but I had come here for a purpose.

I went to the wardrobe. Her clothes were hanging there but there was no sign of the blue coat. I reached up and in between a tweed costume and a riding habit was an empty coat hanger.

I turned to look at Mrs. Emery.

I said: “I think someone has been in here and taken the clothes.”

“I can’t believe that,” cried Mrs. Emery. “I kept that key in my room. Nobody comes in but him and me. We are the only two with keys.”

“Could anyone have stolen his key?”

“I’d hardly think so. He keeps it on his watch chain and it is always with him … and he hasn’t been here this past week or more.”

She locked the door and we went back to her sitting room.

When we were seated she said: “Of course, there is no knowing that this coat and hat was in the wardrobe.”

“Not for certain,” I agreed. “But I know my mother liked it particularly and she did have it right to the time she went down to Cornwall. You always keep the key in that drawer, I suppose. Could you put it in a different place?”

“Well, perhaps I could …”

“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.

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.”

“What are you going to do? Tell him … tell my father?”

I shook my head. “No. You must see your stepmother and tell her how sorry you are and you will never do anything like that again. Don’t you see how wrong it is to hurt people?”

“I was only being a ghost.”

“I told you before …”

I saw the tip of her tongue protruding.

“Belinda, listen to me. You want people to like and admire you, don’t you?”

“Leah does.”

“Leah has been your nurse since you were a baby. She loves you and Lucie as though you were her own.”

“She loves me best.”

“She loves you both. If you are kind to people they will love you in return. Believe me, you will be happier if you are good and do not play unkind tricks on people … especially those who have done you no harm.”

On impulse I put my arms round her and to my amazement and joy she suddenly clung to me. I held her to me for a few minutes. Then I looked into her face. Her tears were genuine.

“Always remember, Belinda,” I said, “that we are sisters … you and I. We lost our mother. I knew her and loved her dearly. She was everything to me. We have to remember that he loved her dearly, too. When she died he was deeply and bitterly hurt. He cannot forget her. We each have to help him, Belinda, and in helping him we shall help ourselves. Promise me you will talk to me more. If anything happens, come to me, tell me about it. Will you?”

She looked at me steadily and nodded.

Then she threw her arms about my neck and I felt happier than I had for a long time. I was breaking through. I was beginning to make headway with this strange child who was my sister.

I said: “Now we understand each other. We are friends, eh, Belinda?”

She nodded again.

“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.