used towards me. “I want you to meet your … stepmother.”
The pretty creature covered her face with her hands and murmured: “Oh, but it sounds so dreadful.”
“Nonsense, my love,” said Father. “Harriet and you win be friends.*1
She rose and lifted those big blue eyes to my face—she was considerably shorter than L “Do you think so?” she asked tremulously.
I realized that the creature was—or pretended to be—afraid of me!
“I am sure we can,” I said.
Never had I found it so easy to please my father, who was now smiling at me benignly.
“I’m so gad.”
“Hal” said my father. **I told you you need have nothing to fear, did I not?1*
“You did, Teddy, you did.**
Teddy? That was new to me. Teddy! How absolutely incongruous I But more so that he should actually tike itl What miracle had this woman been able to work?
“And was I not right?”
“Teddy dear, you know you are always right**
She was dimpling, and he was smiling at her as though she were one of the wonders of the world. I felt I had stepped into one of my dreams; they appeared to be so content with each other that they were allowing some of that contentment to lap over onto me.
“You’re looking puzzled … Harriet” She spoke my name shyly.
“I had no idea… It was a surprise.”
“You didn’t warn herl Oh, Teddy, how naughty of you! And I’m really a stepmother. Fancy that Stepmothers are supposed to be such horrid creatures.”
“I am sure you will be a kind stepmother,” I said.
My father looked emotional. Could it be, I wondered, that I had never know him before?
“Thank you … Harriet.” Always the little pause before she spoke my name, as though she were frightened of using it
Victoria Holt
73
“Stepmother indeed!” said my father. “You are not six years older than Harriet”
She gave one of her little pouts and said: “Well, I shall try to do my best to be a good stepmother.”
“In fact” I said, “I am too old to need a stepmother, so perhaps we could be friends instead.”
She clasped her hands ecstatically, and my father looked pleased.
“You will have time to get to know each other during Harriet’s holidays,” said my father.
“That,” she announced, “will be the greatest fun.”
When I was in my room I shut the door and looked about ft, expecting it to have changed. Here were the same four walls which had seen so much of my childhood misery; here I had come after hearing those cruel words of Aunt Clarissa and made my plans for escape; here I had often cried myself to sleep because I had believed myself to be ugly and unloved. There was the picture of the Christian Martyr, which for some reason had always frightened me when I was young. It portrayed a young woman waist high in water, bound to a stake; her hands were tied with the palms together so that she could pray, and her eyes were raised to heaven. It used to give me nightmares until Fanny explained that she was happy to die because she was dying for her faith, and it would soon be over when the tide rose, for then she would be completely submerged. There was the little bookcase with my old books which had delighted my childhood. There was the moneybox from which I had extracted the shillings and sixpences to pay my fare to Cornwall. The same room where I had been kept on a diet of bread and water as a punishment for some misdemeanor, where I had struggled to learn the collect of the day or lines from Shakespeare as penance.
The same room—but the house was different. My father’s resentment, the unhappiness of years had dropped from him —or rather it had been removed like a cloak by the delicate fingers of this frivolous-looking piece of confectionery who was my stepmother.
I studied my reflection in the dressing-table looking glass. Yes, I had changed. That little kindness my father had shown me had lifted the scowl from my brow. I promised myself that I was growing better-looking. Gwennan was right when
The pretty creature covered her face with her hands and murmured: “Oh, but it sounds so dreadful.”
“Nonsense, my love,” said Father. “Harriet and you win be friends.*1
She rose and lifted those big blue eyes to my face—she was considerably shorter than L “Do you think so?” she asked tremulously.
I realized that the creature was—or pretended to be—afraid of me!
“I am sure we can,” I said.
Never had I found it so easy to please my father, who was now smiling at me benignly.
“I’m so gad.”
“Hal” said my father. **I told you you need have nothing to fear, did I not?1*
“You did, Teddy, you did.**
Teddy? That was new to me. Teddy! How absolutely incongruous I But more so that he should actually tike itl What miracle had this woman been able to work?
“And was I not right?”
“Teddy dear, you know you are always right**
She was dimpling, and he was smiling at her as though she were one of the wonders of the world. I felt I had stepped into one of my dreams; they appeared to be so content with each other that they were allowing some of that contentment to lap over onto me.
“You’re looking puzzled … Harriet” She spoke my name shyly.
“I had no idea… It was a surprise.”
“You didn’t warn herl Oh, Teddy, how naughty of you! And I’m really a stepmother. Fancy that Stepmothers are supposed to be such horrid creatures.”
“I am sure you will be a kind stepmother,” I said.
My father looked emotional. Could it be, I wondered, that I had never know him before?
“Thank you … Harriet.” Always the little pause before she spoke my name, as though she were frightened of using it
Victoria Holt
73
“Stepmother indeed!” said my father. “You are not six years older than Harriet”
She gave one of her little pouts and said: “Well, I shall try to do my best to be a good stepmother.”
“In fact” I said, “I am too old to need a stepmother, so perhaps we could be friends instead.”
She clasped her hands ecstatically, and my father looked pleased.
“You will have time to get to know each other during Harriet’s holidays,” said my father.
“That,” she announced, “will be the greatest fun.”
When I was in my room I shut the door and looked about ft, expecting it to have changed. Here were the same four walls which had seen so much of my childhood misery; here I had come after hearing those cruel words of Aunt Clarissa and made my plans for escape; here I had often cried myself to sleep because I had believed myself to be ugly and unloved. There was the picture of the Christian Martyr, which for some reason had always frightened me when I was young. It portrayed a young woman waist high in water, bound to a stake; her hands were tied with the palms together so that she could pray, and her eyes were raised to heaven. It used to give me nightmares until Fanny explained that she was happy to die because she was dying for her faith, and it would soon be over when the tide rose, for then she would be completely submerged. There was the little bookcase with my old books which had delighted my childhood. There was the moneybox from which I had extracted the shillings and sixpences to pay my fare to Cornwall. The same room where I had been kept on a diet of bread and water as a punishment for some misdemeanor, where I had struggled to learn the collect of the day or lines from Shakespeare as penance.
The same room—but the house was different. My father’s resentment, the unhappiness of years had dropped from him —or rather it had been removed like a cloak by the delicate fingers of this frivolous-looking piece of confectionery who was my stepmother.
I studied my reflection in the dressing-table looking glass. Yes, I had changed. That little kindness my father had shown me had lifted the scowl from my brow. I promised myself that I was growing better-looking. Gwennan was right when
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