Philippa Carr - The Changeling

“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.”

FEELINGS OF ELATION MINGLED oddly with a terrible apprehension. This was a house of shadows with a menacing cloud hanging over it. And so it would remain until Celeste was found. But there was something miraculous in my new relationship with my stepfather, and the manner in which he had dealt with my unhappiness filled me with tender admiration for him.

It seemed that he, who had always before been on the fringe of my life, had now walked into it and swept aside all obstacles to my happiness. He had always given an impression of power, and how astute he was for as soon as he was aware of what had happened, he had guessed at the truth and exposed it in a masterly fashion.

I wished that I could do something for him.

I wrote to Pedrek telling him what had happened, making sure, as Benedict would have advised me, that he knew I had written my previous letter before the revelations.

Then I wrote to my grandparents, the Pencarrons and Morwenna and Justin. I told them all that I had already written to Pedrek some days before the truth was known, that I believed in him and hoped he would forgive me for doubting him even for a short time; and I was waiting to hear from him that his feelings towards me had not changed.

I knew what joy that would bring them all. We could now be together in harmony just as we had been in the past.

I asked them all not to think too hardly of Belinda. She was only a child and it had been a great tragedy for her that she had lost her mother before she could know her. We must all try to understand that.

“I have talked to Benedict,” I wrote. “And he wants to do everything he can to make a harmonious family life for us all. At the moment, of course, he is terribly worried and unhappy with this fearful mystery hanging over us. But I am convinced that the truth will come out soon.”

I wondered how long it would take for my letter to reach Pedrek and for him to reply. It was a long way for a letter to go—to the other side of the world.

Meanwhile it was the waiting period. I could not believe that Pedrek would not come back to me. But then he would not have believed I could think him guilty of such a monstrous crime. He must have been bitterly and deeply wounded. Did that sort of thing leave a scar forever?

My grandparents wrote of their delight. How understanding they were! They spared a little sympathy for Belinda in spite of the havoc she had wrought in our lives.

“We must remember that she is only a child,” wrote my grandmother, “and I suppose she did it for your happiness as well as her own. She, in her simple innocence, thought she could play God and direct your lives. At what a cost to poor Pedrek! Let us hope that he will soon come home and that you will be happy together.”

And it was Benedict who had done this. But for him I should not have written that letter. Only he could have made Belinda confess the truth.

How I wished that I could help him!

For some time I had felt a twinge of guilt because I had never said anything about that occasion when I had seen Celeste and Oliver Gerson together at The Hanging Judge. Was it of any significance?

How could I know? But in a case like this any small detail could be of importance. Who knew which were the key pieces to fit into the puzzle to complete the picture?

I could not bring myself to speak to him of Oliver Gerson. He hated the man and would not have him in the house. Understandably since he had tried to blackmail him. As for Oliver Gerson, the thought had occurred to me that he might be responsible for some of the pieces which had appeared in the press. I could well imagine his revelling in supplying damning information. I was sure he was delighted to see Benedict in trouble.

I could not believe that Celeste was dead. I awoke one morning. I had been dreaming, but it was as though a revelation had come to me. In my dream I had seen Oliver Gerson, with a malicious expression on his face. I heard his voice: “Don’t think I shall let this pass.”

I had the firm conviction that Oliver Gerson could tell us something.

He would never help Benedict, but what of me? He had been courteous and charming to me always. Of course, he had thought I was a good proposition. He had planned to marry the stepdaughter and so acquire a share in the business. That had been his motive. Most girls would have been impressed by him and very likely delighted that he had planned to marry them.