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.”