Clarabelle was quiet, which was good. Perhaps she was asleep. I had seen Mother go into Clarabelle’s room this morning holding a syringe. Mother loved Clarabelle and she had worked as a nurse, so I guessed the syringe had been full of some calming medicine that would help Clarabelle adjust to her new way of living. I felt sorry for Clarabelle. Even though Mother had rescued her from a nasty family, Clarabelle had been torn abruptly from everything she’d ever known. I wondered if she used to go to school every day. Did she have a best friend who she missed? Did she miss her school teacher? In many of the books I read, teachers were mean. But in some stories, the teachers were lovely. Maybe Clarabelle’s teacher was lovely. Maybe her teacher had comforted poor Clarabelle when she had been beaten by her father.

I wondered if Mother had acted a bit too soon by bringing Clarabelle here and making her part of us. Then told myself not to be so stupid. I knew hardly anything about the outside. Mother knew it all, but I only knew little fragments; things that Mother told me; things I read in books. I wanted to know more. A lot, lot more. It was hard to feel full when I didn’t know all of the things that made up the other world. But at least Mother told me things. Things she thought I needed to know.

But … does Mother always tell you the whole truth?

Yes! Stop being so bad.

I cringed. I shouldn’t be thinking these ugly thoughts, especially as I was about to betray Mother’s trust in the worst way. Mother had never said no to the attic, but I knew she wouldn’t want me up there. Just because she had never said the rule out loud, that didn’t mean it did not exist.

Guilt glued me to my chair. I looked at Othello, the Shakespeare play I was supposed to be reading. The tiny words blurred into unreadable spiders’ legs – thousands of them. Black, spiky, harsh. My heart thumped in my chest and a cold sweat broke out under my arms. I should not go up into the attic. I should be a good doll and do as I was told. I had never gone against Mother before. Not like this.

Dolls live short lives.

No. Go up there. Investigate. Stop being such a scaredy-cat!

I hurried out of my bedroom onto the landing before I could change my mind.

Plunged in shadow, the landing looked more unwelcoming than ever – a cold, brown void that lay below a possible wealth of treasures. I looked up, just imagining, the curious cat scratching relentlessly at my skull. Beyond that small door in the ceiling lay answers, I felt certain of it.