My tummy lurched and my heart twisted at the phrase ‘new mummy’. I thought about the article and the blue dress. Told myself not to think about them.

‘Home? What do you mean?’ I said.

‘Where my other mummy and my daddy are.’ I tensed at the word daddy. Mother had said she’d rescued Clarabelle from her father. She’d told me he was evil. That he’d been hurting the little girl.

Yes, but she also said Clarabelle came from Utopia.

‘Where’s that? Where’s your home?’ I said. ‘Where are your other mummy and your daddy?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh.’

She began to hiccup. ‘Mirabelle?’

‘Yes?’

‘I miss my mummy and my daddy. Will I see them again soon?’

I hesitated and bit my lip. I was already being bad by talking to Clarabelle without Mother’s permission, but I had to know. I had to find out what was going on. Mother was very sad from what had happened to her and her twin sister when they were young. Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe she had made more than one mistake. If she had, maybe I could put it right. I couldn’t bear to hear Clarabelle so upset. She was my new sister. It was my job to look after her. I thought about Little Women and Pride and Prejudice and how much the sisters in those stories looked after each other, and decided I would do the same. If Clarabelle was upset, I would work out why and try to fix it.

I also needed to find out if Mother had done the right thing by bringing her here.

‘Tell me about your daddy,’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean … what does he look like?’

She hiccupped and giggled. ‘Mummy says Daddy looks like James Bond. But with a big bottom.’

‘Who’s James Bond?’

‘A man in films at the pictures.’

‘The pictures?’

She went quiet.

‘Clarabelle?’

‘I’m Emma.’

‘Oh, sorry. I forgot. Emma, tell me about your daddy. Is he kind?’ Inside, I winced – she sounded so sure that Emma was her real name. Who was right – her or Mother?

‘Oh yes! My daddy is kinder than any other daddy in the world! He buys me presents and he tells me stories from his head and he carries me upside down to bed. He makes silly faces and pretends to pick his nose when Mummy’s not looking!’ She giggled and hiccupped.

‘He’s never hurt you?’

‘No. Once he shut my hand in the door, but it was an ax-dent.’

I frowned. Her father didn’t sound bad at all. He sounded like the sort of daddy I dreamed about. Like Captain Crewe from A Little Princess. Had Mother made a mistake?

Is she lying?