with heavy feet and a slow expression。 but isabelle inherited her looks from both her parents。 the ginger hair shared by her father and brother was burnished in the girl child to a rich； glossy auburn。 in her； the pale angelfield plexion was stretched over fine french bones。 she had the better chin from the father’s side； and the better mouth from the mother’s。 she had mathilde’s slanting eyes and long lashes； but when they lifted； it was to reveal the astonishing emerald irises that were the emblem of the angelfields。 she was； physically at least； perfection itself。
the household adapted to the unusual state of affairs。 they lived with the unspoken agreement to behave as though it were entirely normal for a father to dote on his baby daughter。 it was not to be considered unmanly； ungentlemanly or ridiculous that he kept her constantly by him。
but what about charlie； the baby’s brother？ he was a slow…witted boy whose mind turned in circles around his few obsessions and preoccupations； but who could not be prevailed upon to learn new ideas or think logically。 he ignored the baby and weled the changes her arrival introduced to the household。 before isabelle there had been two parents to whom the missus might report instances of bad behavior； two parents whose reactions were impossible to foresee。 his mother had been an inconsistent disciplinarian； sometimes having him spanked for bad behavior； at other times merely laughing。 his father； although stern； was distracted； and the punishments he intended were frequently forgotten。 catching sight of the boy； though； he would have the vague sense that there might be some misdemeanor to correct； and he would spank the child； thinking that if it wasn’t actually owed it would do in advance for next time。 this taught the boy a good lesson： he stayed out of the way of his father。
with the ing of the baby isabelle； all this changed。 mamma was gone； and papa as good as； too busy with his little isabelle to concern himself with hysterical reports from housemaids about mice roasted with the sunday joint or pins pressed by malicious hands deep into the soap。 charlie was free to do as he pleased； and what pleased him was removing floorboards at the top of the attic stairs and watching the housemaids tumble down and sprain their ankles。
the missus could scold； but then she was only the missus； and in this new； free life he could maim and wound to his heart’s content； in the certain knowledge that he would get away with it。 consistent adult behavior is said to be good for children； and consistent neglect certainly suited this child； for in these early years of his semi…orphanhood charlie angelfield was as happy as the day is long。
george angelfield’s adoration of his daughter persisted through all the trials a child can inflict on a parent。 when she started to talk； he discovered her to be preternaturally gifted； a veritable oracle； and he began to consult her on everything； until the household came to be run according to the caprices of a three…year…old child。
visitors were rare； and as the household descended from eccentricity into chaos； they became rarer。 then the servants began to plain among themselves。 the butler had left before the child was two。 cook put up for a year longer with the irregular mealtimes that the child demanded； then the day came when she； too； handed in her notice。 when she left she took the kitchen girl with her； and in the end it was left to the missus to ensure the provision of cake and jelly at odd hours。 the housemaids felt under no obligation to occupy themselves with chores： not unreasonably they believed that their small salaries barely pensated them for the cuts and bruises； sprained ankles and stomach upsets they incurred owing to charlie’s sadistic experiments。 they left and were replaced by a succession of temporary help； none of whom lasted long。 finally even the temporary help was dispensed with。
by the time isabelle was five the household had shrunk to george angelfield； the two children； the missus； the gardener and the gamekeeper。 the dog was dead； and the cats； fearful of charlie； kept outdoors； taking refuge in the garden shed when the weather turned cold。 if george angelfield noticed their isolation； their domestic squalor； he did not regret it。 he had isabelle； he was happy。
if anyone missed the servants it was charlie。 without them he was lost for subjects for his experiments。 when he was scouting around for someone to hurt； his eye fell； as it was bound sooner or later to do； on his sister。
he couldn’t afford to make her cry in the presence of his father； and since she rarely left her father’s side； charlie was faced with a difficulty。 how to get her away？
by enticement。 whispering promises of magic and surprise； charlie ； led isabelle out of the side door； along one end of the knot garden； between the long borders； out through the topiary garden and along the beech avenue to the woods。 there was a place charlie knew。 an old hovel； dank and windowless； a good place for secrets。
what charlie was after was a victim； and his sister； walking behind him； smaller； younger and weaker； must have seemed ideal。 but she was odd and she was clever； and things did not turn out exactly as he expected。 charlie pulled his sister’s sleeve up and drew a piece of wire； orange with rust； along the white inside of her forearm。 she stared at the red beads of blood that were welling up along the livid line； then turned her gaze upon him。 her green eyes were wide with surprise and something like pleasure。 when she put out her hand for the wire he gave it to her automatically。 she pulled up her other sleeve； punctured the skin and with application drew the wire down almost to her wrist。 her cut was deeper than the one he had given her； and the blood rose up at once and trickled。 she gave a sigh of satisfaction as she looked at it and then licked the blood away。 then she offered the wire back to him and motioned to him to pull up his sleeve。
charlie was bewildered。 but he dug the wire into his arm because he wanted it； and he laughed through the pain。
instead of a victim charlie had found himself the strangest of conspirators。
life went on for the angelfields； sans parties； sans hunt meetings； sans housemaids and sans most of the things that people of their class took for granted in those days。 they turned their backs on their neighbors； allowed their estate to be managed by the tenants； and depended on the goodwill and honesty of the missus and the gardener for those day…today transactions with the world that were necessary for survival。
george angelfield forgot about the world； and for a time the world forgot about him。 and then they remembered him。 it was to do with money。
there were other large houses in the vicinity。 other more or less aristocratic families。 among them was a man who took great care of his money。 he sought out the best advice； invested large sums where wisdom dictated and speculated small sums where the risk of loss was greater but the profit； in the case of success； high。 the large sums he lost pletely。 the small ones went up—moderately。 he found himself in a pickle。 in addition he had a lazy； spendthrift son and a goggle…eyed； thick…ankled daughter。 something had to be done。
george angelfield never saw anyone； hence he was never offered financial tips。 when his lawyer sent him remendations； he ignored them； and when his bank sent him letters； he did not write back。 as a consequence of this； the angelfield money； instead of expending itself chasing one deal after another； lounged in its bank vault and grew fat。
money talks。 word got out。
‘doesn’t george angelfield have a son？“ asked the wife of the near…bankrupt。 ”how old would he be now？ twenty…six？“
and if not the son for their sybilla； then why not the girl for roland？ thought the wife。 she must be reaching a marriageable age by now。 and the father was known to dote on her： she would not e empty…handed。
‘nice weather for a picnic；“ she said； and her husband； in the way of husbands； did not see the connection。
the invitation languished for a fortnight on the drawing room windowsill； and it might have remained there until the sun bleached the color out of the ink； had it not been for isabelle。 one afternoon； at a loss for something to do； she came down the stairs； puffed out her cheeks in boredom； picked the letter up and opened it。
‘what’s that？“ said charlie。
‘invitation；“ she said。 ”to a picnic。“
a picnic？ charlie’s mind turned it over。 it seemed strange。 but he shrugged and forgot it。
isabelle stood up and went to the door。 “where are you going？”
‘to my room。“
charlie made to follow her； but she stopped him。 “leave me alone；” he said。 “i’m not in the mood。”
he plained； took a handful of her hair and ran his fingers over he nape of her neck； finding the bruises he had made last time。 but she twisted away from him； ran upstairs and locked the door。
an hour later； hearing her e down the stairs； he went to the doorway。 “e to the library with me；” he asked her。
‘no。“
‘then e to the deer park。“
“no。”
he noticed that she had changed her clothes。 “what do you look like that