Feeling shaken by the incident, she hurried downstairs, but her mind was not easy. Who had been crying in the attic? Had it really been a cat? Why was the attic door in the east wing locked?
And where was the key?
Chapter Four
Helena was relieved to join Mrs Beal in the kitchen again for dinner. After an unsettling day, here, with cheerful company, the castle seemed less menacing, and Helena felt her confidence returning. She knew she needed to be careful of what she said, but she was not as frightened of making a slip in front of Mrs Beal as she had been in front of Lord Torkrow, because Mrs Beal would probably not notice. And if she did, she would probably forget it the moment a pie needed taking out of the oven.
‘Yes, you’ll need some maids,’ said Mrs Beal, as the two sat down to a nourishing meal of chicken and potatoes, and Helena told her that she had spoken to the earl. ‘There’s no way you can run the castle without them. It’s a long walk to the village across the moor, mind, so make sure you’re wrapped up warm, and mind you wear stout shoes.’
‘I will,’ said Helena.
‘Go and see the rector’s wife, Mrs Willis. She’s used to finding maids for the castle. The last two left, silly girls. Said they’d heard a ghost, or some such nonsense. But work’s scarce hereabouts, and there’ll be two more to take their place.’
‘Do you think the same two could be persuaded to return?’ asked Helena. ‘They would know their business,’ she explained, when Mrs Beal looked surprised.
Mrs Beal considered. ‘Maybe. Their fathers will want them working, that’s for sure. If it hadn’t been for the fact there was no housekeeper at the castle, they’d have made the girls go back to work at once, ghosts or no. But there were those in the village who said it wasn’t right for girls to be working at the castle with no one but his lordship here. I’m down in the kitchen all day long, and the villagers know it.’
‘But they would consider Miss Parkins a suitable chaperon, surely?’
Mrs Beal pulled face. ‘There’s not many that like Miss Parkins hereabouts. Why keep a lady’s maid when there’s no lady? That’s what the gossips say.’
‘They can’t think . . . ?’
‘Why, bless you no, there’s none so crazed as that, but there are those who say she knows things about him, things that could harm him, and that’s why he keeps her here. There are those who say he can’t afford to turn her away.’
‘Do you believe it?’ Helena asked, putting down her cup.
‘Not I. He’s a good master. Some masters are forever finding fault: the food’s too rich, the food’s too plain, there’s too much spent, there’s too much waste . . . nothing but complaints with some people. But he never criticises. I can make what I want, as long as the housekeeper agrees. It’s a good place, and I mean to keep it.’
As they ate, Helena asked: ‘Dawkins doesn’t eat in the kitchen, then?’
‘He has his meal earlier, at four o’clock, with Effie. It leaves him free to attend to his lordship when his lordship eats his meal.’
‘Do you know where his lordship has gone?’ asked Helena.
‘He’s gone to York, maybe, to see to business.’
‘And do you know when he is likely to return?’
‘He never says. It would be easier if he did. He’ll expect a hot meal when he gets back. But there, it’s not his place to think of my convenience, it’s mine to think of his.’
They finished their meal, and Helena retired for the night. Her footsteps sounded ominously on the stone floor, pattering like a frightened animal scurrying for shelter, and she thought she detected the sound of footsteps following her. Her mind worked feverishly, trying to convince herself that any stray footfalls were merely echoes, but she quickened her step nonetheless. Then she stopped abruptly, trying to catch whoever was following her, but there was no extra footfall. The echo was nothing but her imagination, she told herself, and hurried on.
The flickering light of her candle cast strange shadows on the walls, and she jumped at the sound of a door creaking somewhere below. The castle seemed full of mysteries, and she longed for the safety of her room.
She began to run, hastening up the stairs and along the corridor . . . and then stopped. She quickly retreated into an open doorway as she saw Miss Parkins at the end of the corridor, standing just outside her room. The maid’s hand was on the door knob.
Helena’s thoughts began to race. Was Miss Parkins about to go into her room? Or had she already been inside?
What was Miss Parkins really doing at the castle? wondered Helena. How long had she been there? What lady had she come with? And why did Lord Torkrow allow her to remain?
She shrank back as she heard Miss Parkins coming towards her and, afraid of being discovered, she slipped into an empty room. She snuffed her candle, for a strange fear had gripped her, and it did not leave her until Miss Parkins had walked past.
She waited until she was sure Miss Parkins had gone before stepping out again. The corridor was dark, and she had to let her eyes adjust to the gloom before she could go on. She began to regret having snuffed her candle. Feeling the wall at her right with one hand, she continued down the corridor and fumbled with her door knob, then turned it and went in. The fire was glowing in the hearth, and she quickly lit her candle from the flames, then lit the other candles. She looked around. Had Miss Parkins entered the room? She could see no signs of it. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. But Helena was still not comfortable. If Miss Parkins had not entered the room, then Helena felt that she had been about to do so. Why? Had she hoped to find something that would tell her Helena was not Mrs Reynolds? Or had she had some other reason?
Whatever the case, Helena determined to lock her door every time she left her room in future. She wanted no more unwelcome visits.
Simon, Lord Torkrow, arrived in York and then made his way to the office that had sent him Mrs Reynolds. He went in.
‘May I help you?’ asked the man behind the desk.
‘You supplied me with a housekeeper, a Mrs Elizabeth Reynolds. I would like to speak to the person who interviewed her and recommended her for the post.’
‘If I might have a name?’ enquired the young man.
‘Lord Torkrow.’
‘I will apprise Mr Wantage of your visit,’ said the young man, bobbing into an inner office and returning a minute later to usher him in.
‘Lord Torkrow, this is a pleasant surprise – an honour, an unexpected honour. I hope all is well at the Castle? Mrs Reynolds suits, I trust?’
‘Did you interview her?’ asked Simon, taking the seat that was offered to him.
‘No, that was my colleague, Mr Brunson.’
‘I would like to speak with him.’
‘I am afraid he is not here, he was taken ill on Monday with a putrid sore throat, but if I may be of assistance?’
‘You met Mrs Reynolds?’
‘No, I did not. I read her references, however, and they appeared to be in order. We have recommended her for positions before, and she has always given satisfaction. I hope there is nothing wrong?’
‘I would like to speak to Mr Brunson as soon as he is well enough. You will write to me, and let me know when he is fit to be seen.’
‘Yes, my lord, of course, my lord.’
‘Good.’ He thought for a moment, and then said: ‘Your boy in the outer office. He met Mrs Reynolds?’
‘Alas no, my lord. He has only just joined us. His predecessor is sadly demised.’
‘I see. Very well. Inform me when I might speak to Mr Brunson.’
‘Yes, my lord, very good, my lord.’
He took his leave, with Mr Wantage bowing him out of the office, then set about paying attention to business.
The following morning, Helena was awake early, and was already dressed when Effie entered the room. She wanted to question the girl, and find out what she had discovered in the drawer in the housekeeper’s room.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
> Effie grunted a reply, and set about seeing to the fire.
‘I wonder if you can help me,’ she said. She considered asking a direct question, but suspected it would produce nothing but anxiety in the girl, as it had when she had questioned her about the mail, and so she decided to lead up to it in a roundabout manner.
‘I would like to make an inventory of the drawers in the housekeeper’s desk – that means making a list of everything that’s inside them,’ she explained, as Effie turned and looked at her blankly. ‘I need to know which of the things belong to the castle, and which belong to Mrs Carlisle. She might want to claim her belongings when her sister is feeling better, and I do not want to use them by mistake.’
‘No, missus.’
‘Can you remember what you saw there when you looked for some string?’
Effie turned back to the fire hurriedly, knocking the fire irons over in the process. They fell with a clatter. Effie jumped, picking them up nervously and trying to hang them back in place, with hands that shook so much she had to make several attempts before succeeding.
‘Can you remember what there was?’ Helena prompted her.
Effie shook her head.
‘Was there, perhaps, some writing paper?’
Effie jumped.
‘There was a letter, perhaps?’
Effie’s mouth clamped together, and her hands shook as she raked the grate.
‘Do you remember anything at all?’ Helena asked.
Effie shook her head, and concentrated vigorously on her task.
It was clear Helena was going to get nothing from the girl, at least for the moment, so she complimented her on her ability to lay a clean fire. Her praise went some way towards relaxing Effie, who picked up the empty bucket and hurried out of the room.
One avenue of exploration had led nowhere, but she hoped she might have better luck with another. After taking breakfast with Mrs Beal in the kitchen, she went out to the stables, for she had remembered something overnight: Mrs Beal had mentioned that the coachman had taken her aunt to Draycot to catch the stage.
The stables were situated behind the castle, and the block was well tended. The noise of horses snuffling came from the stalls, and a glossy chestnut head looked out.
The black carriage, which Helena had ridden in on her journey across the moor, was standing in the stable yard, and the coachman was polishing the brass lamps.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
He looked up briefly and acknowledged her presence, before returning to his work.
‘I wanted to thank you for driving me across the moor on my arrival here,’ said Helena.
‘His lordship’s orders,’ said the coachman.
‘Quite so. It was good of him to take me up. It is not every earl who would make room in his carriage for his housekeeper.’
He grunted a reply and went on with his work.
‘He seems to be a good master to work for,’ she said.
He grunted again.
‘He set you to drive my predecessor to the nearest town, so that she could catch the stage coach a few weeks ago, I understand.’
‘Aye.’
‘It was a very kind thing for him to do. Poor lady, having to leave in such a hurry.’
‘Ah.’
‘And so late at night. Was it not difficult for you to harness the horses?’ she asked. He looked at her as though he thought she was a half wit. ‘I’m afraid I know very little about horses. I have never learnt to ride, and I have ridden in a carriage only once or twice. But don’t horses sleep, as we do? Did you have to wake them? Or had they not yet gone to bed?’
‘Horses work here, same as everyone else,’ he said.
‘Even late at night?’
‘Whenever his lordship commands.’
‘It must be difficult driving across the moor in the dark,’ she said. ‘I am surprised Mrs Carlisle wanted to venture out in the middle of the night. Did she not think it would be better to wait until morning?’
‘No.’
A horse snorted.
‘Was there a stage coach to take her on when you left her? I hope she did not have to wait in an isolated spot, all on her own.’
‘I left her at the inn,’ he said.
‘What a distressing thing for her, to have to make such a long journey.’
She paused, hoping he would reply, but he was a taciturn individual, more used to dealing with horses than with people, and he said nothing, just continued with his work.
‘Where do the stage coaches go from here?’ she asked.
‘North. South,’ he said.
‘And west and east, I suppose,’ she said in disappointment.
‘Most ways,’ he agreed
‘That is very convenient.’
He did not reply. It was clear she would learn nothing more from him, and reluctantly she left the stable yard. She bent her footsteps towards the castle, but she was disinclined to go back inside. She feared she would be overcome by the oppressive atmosphere, and her lack of progress in discovering her aunt’s whereabouts. Instead, she decided to take a walk. It was a bright morning. The air was fresh and the sun was shining. There was even a little warmth in its rays.
She began to walk across the lawns that led to the outer wall. To her right the drive led through the arch and out on to the moor. Directly in front of her was a set of stone steps leading up to the top of the wall.
As she took the steps, she wondered if the coachman had really taken her aunt to Draycot, or if he had simply said so on Lord Torkrow’s orders.
In the fresh air, with the solid feel of the stone steps beneath her, it was easy to dismiss such suspicions. Why would his lordship make his staff lie? There could be no reason for it.
She reached the top of the wall. It was windy, and she pulled her cloak tightly round her. She looked out across the moors. The landscape looked gentler than it had done the previous day. The colours were brighter, and the air softer. Far off, she saw a gleam of yellow. The cheerful colour stood out against the muted greens of the moor, and she saw that a few early daffodils were in flower, nestling in a sheltered hollow.
She descended the steps and went out of the gate, making her way towards the bright flowers, which were nodding their heads in the breeze. She picked a bunch and then carried them back to the castle. Taking them into the flower room, she arranged them in a vase, and then carried them back to the housekeeper’s room.
On the way she passed the library, and thinking that the fire might need mending, she went in. She put the vase on the mantelpiece whilst she poured more coal on the dying flames, then allowed herself a few minutes to look at the books that lined the walls. She had read a great deal as a child, but after her father’s death there had been little money for books and she had purchased only two the previous year. But here was a feast of literature. There were works by Shakespeare, Marlowe, Chaucer and many more, some in fine covers, and some in books that were falling apart with age. She took down a copy of Le Morte d’Arthur and lost track of time as she became absorbed. She was lost to the world, but the sound of the door opening shocked her back to reality. She turned round to see Lord Torkrow standing in the doorway.
Castle of Secrets Page 6
