‘Come along, Uncle, do it properly. Once upon a time…’
He blinks and swallows. ‘Once upon a time…’ he clears his throat. ‘Once upon a time there was a woman with a babe of her own, a babe as sunny as could be, whose laugh lifted the heart. And this woman took a position looking after another infant as well, how hard could it be? But the new child was monstrous unhappy, crying and screaming, never joyful, always hungry. She fed both children, but her own babe never seemed to get enough milk, and the other took the lion’s share yet still demanded more. The woman knew all of the tales and superstitions; she wasn’t educated, but told herself not to be silly, there was no reason to think the true baby had been stolen away by those who hide in the green or under the mountains or beneath the waters. The child’s own mother managed to love it, after all, did not see anything unnatural in her offspring, though she was impatient. So, the nurse tried to love it too, just as she did her own; she thought that if she loved it enough, it would be enough.’ It seems as if the further he gets into his story, the more comfortable he is, but he’s still not telling me everything, my listener’s ear can detect the off-note, the places where he is keeping something back and trying to cover the lack.
‘But…’ I prompt.
‘But she came to regard the baby as a changeling. In her mind, that’s what she called it, and in doing so she was able, perhaps to distance herself from it, so that when she at last lost her temper with the little thing’s rages and rants, it was not so very hard to do… what she did.’
‘And what did she do, Uncle?’
‘She put a pillow over that squalling little mouth and held it down until it there was no more,’ he says quite viciously.
He says “it” not “the girl” or “the daughter”. He does not give either child a name. ‘And then?’
‘Then she set a fire, thinking to hide what she’d done.’ He wipes a hand across his brow.
‘And did that work?’
His eyes are very dark blue when they meet mine. ‘Even fire cannot cover all sins.’
‘And the mother?’
‘What mother doesn’t mourn her own child, no matter that it’s a little monster?’
‘And the father?’
‘Fathers, as you may be aware, often care for nothing but the gaze of their wives; and this wife’s heart was broken, so he sought to avenge that.’
I hear again the off-note in his recounting, and I realise at last that it wasn’t a matter of what he saw in the nursery but rather what he did there.
As much as I dislike Nelly, she has cared well for Ena, and when Ena was teething she was a monster. Yet Nelly never lost her temper with her – with me, yes, with the child, no. Of course, I might be wrong, there’s no guarantee that a woman won’t kill a child. Even though Nelly is the sort who, like so many others, loves in the wrong place, who stays with a man she ought not to, I do not believe she killed the real Ena. Not after hearing my not-uncle’s rendition.
And I realise, if I did not before, just how very dangerous Edward Elliott is. He smothered my little sister because she cried too much and tells himself she was a monster the world is best rid of. He killed my parents, who had been his friends, to cover up his crime and he took their home. He has happily blamed Nelly, the mother of his child, for his own sin. He eradicated an entire family all for this.
‘Where is my mother buried?’ I ask and the way he smiles says he’ll never reveal that. Why would he? If he notices that I don’t ask about my father I cannot tell.
‘Who are you?’ I say before I think better of it; a kind of wonderment and despair push the words out of me.
I see his expression change: he’d thought himself clever, thought he’d told such a tale as to cover himself, render himself free of all blame. But just as I heard the lies in his story, so he hears the disbelief in my voice. He looks like one of those ghostly robber bridegrooms who found themselves hung on a gibbet. He lives his life the same way as they did, doing as he would and fie for all consequences, figuring he could always outrun them or blame someone else.
He smiles, wolfish. ‘Only your dear Uncle Edward, my darling girl. Who else might I be?’
‘I think… I think you are a man who drifts and takes what he wants.’
‘Do you think so?’ He rises, steps towards me, more confident now. ‘And do you know what I want?’
‘I’ve an inkling.’
He’s smart enough to stay a few steps away. ‘Miren, there is everything in Blackwater for us. With your presence, what had stultified is once again blossoming. We can rule here.’ He kneels as if proposing. ‘And I will let you take your revenge on Nelly for what she did to your poor innocent sister.’
I drop my gaze to the floor. He cannot know that I don’t believe Nelly did that. He knows I don’t believe in his identity, but he doesn’t know that I have divined the lie in everything else. All I can think of is the sister I never knew, monster or not, burning in her cradle. I want to believe she was not alive, that she’d already been smothered before the flames, but in my mind she is screaming. She’s screaming and I’m not sure she’ll ever stop.
I stand, and I smile, I give him my full face and he makes a mistake: he takes my expression for acceptance, for yes. As he approaches, I pick up the lantern and I throw it
