He must have taken them when the butler left, and before Mrs Beal started checking the cellars. No wonder he tried to warn people away from the attics: he did not want anyone noticing his comings and goings, or deciding to take a turn on the battlements and discovering his secret store. And if anyone heard his footsteps, why, he could blame them on a ghost.
Had it also been Dawkins crying in the attic? she wondered. She must try to find out.
She took one last look at the view, which was splendid from such a high vantage point, and would be even better in summer under a blue sky, and then climbed back into the attic. She grasped the piece of rope and pulled the door shut behind her, then replaced the chair and went down to her room. Once there, she took off her cloak and stout shoes, peeling off her gloves before removing her bonnet.
She was going down to the housekeeper’s room when, passing the gallery, she had an urge to look at the portrait of Lord Torkrow’s sister-in-law again. She went in, and had almost reached the end of the gallery when she noticed something odd. There was an open door at the end where no door should be. Curious, she went forward, and then stopped suddenly, as she saw that Lord Torkrow was in the hidden room, looking at a portrait of a beautiful young woman: his sister-in-law.
Helena shrank back, then hurried from the gallery. There had been something in his face when he looked at his sister-in-law’s portrait that had cut her to the quick.
She was about to go into the housekeeper’s room when she changed her mind. She was tired after her exertions, and she went down to the kitchen. Mrs Beal was there, busy baking cakes.
‘Well, so you’re back, and cold, I’ll warrant,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘Effie, set the kettle over the fire. How did you get on with Mrs Willis?’ she asked.
‘Very well. She has promised to find me some help, and will send any likely workers to the castle.’
‘That’s one job done, then,’ said Mrs Beal.
The tea was made, and Mrs Beal poured it.
‘I think I’ll join you,’ she said. ‘I’ve some biscuits just come out of the over. You’ll have one with your tea?’
Helena thanked her. She was glad of something to eat and drink.
They fell to talking about the arrangements for the ball. Some of the suppliers had expressed doubts about being able to produce such large quantities of food, and Mrs Beal talked of alternatives whilst Helena gave her opinion.
‘And now, I had better tend to my own work,’ she said, as she finished her tea. ‘I need to sort through the linen and make sure there are enough sheets for those guests who are staying overnight. I am hoping they are clean and dry.’
‘Mrs Carlisle always took care of that. Clean, dry and smelling of lavender, they’ll be.’
Helena felt a pang as she thought of Aunt Hester, and she found she could almost smell the lavender.
‘Then I had better count them and make sure we have enough.’
Helena had just reassured herself that there would be enough clean linen for the overnight guests at the ball, and was about to retire for the night, when she was startled to find Effie waiting for her in the corridor.
‘Yes, Effie, what is it?’
‘Please, missis, it’s about the key to the attic,’ said Effie, twisting her apron in her big, clumsy hands.
‘Yes, Effie?’
‘I knows where I thinks it is, missis.’
Helena’s pulse quickened.
‘Mrs Carlisle, she kept some spare keys in the scullery, missus. I saw ’er with them once. She used to go in and out of the attic, quiet like.’
‘Quiet like, you say?’ asked Helena, wondering if her aunt could have suspected Dawkins of taking wine from the cellar, and if she had perhaps followed him.
‘Yes, missus. I saw her when I was doing the fires.’
‘But you don’t do the fires in the attic.’
‘I was doing them in the bedrooms, and I ’eard a noise. Manners – he was one of the footmen, missus, we used to ’ave ever so many footmen – he said to me, “It’s a ghost”, and he dared me to go ’ave a look.’
‘And do you mean to say you did it?’ asked Helena, looking at Effie with surprise.
‘No, missis. But later, when I saw Mrs Carlisle going up there, I thought, I’ll go after ’er and see if there’s a ghost, and if there is, she won’t let it ’urt me, and if there isn’t, I don’t need to be frightened of what Manners says to me no more.’
‘And did she go into the east wing?’ asked Helena. ‘Did she go into the locked attic?’
‘Yes, missus. That’s where the noises were coming from.’
‘And was it a ghost?’ asked Helena, hardly daring to breath.
‘Don’t know, missis. There were something in there, I ’eard it, but I don’t know what it was. Mrs Carlisle, she went in, and then about ten minutes later she come out again.’
‘Was there anyone with her? Dawkins, perhaps?’
‘No, missis, she were by ’erself.’
‘Did she seem agitated?’ asked Helena.
‘Don’t know, missis.’
‘Did she seem happy?’
‘Don’t know, missis.’
‘Did you see her face?’ asked Helena.
‘No. I runned down the stairs so she wouldn’t see me.’
‘Very well, thank you, Effie.’ She added casually: ‘Is Mrs Beal in the kitchen?’
‘No, missis, she’s gone to bed.’
‘No matter, I will speak to her tomorrow. I have a few spare minutes, I think I will come down and look for the key now,’ said Helena.
‘Yes, missis.’
As she went down to the scullery, Helena’s thoughts were racing. So her aunt had been into the east wing, and she had discovered something there. Was it Dawkins? But he had climbed out on to the battlements from the west wing. What else could it have been?
Could it have been Lord Torkrow’s brother? There was something about his brother, she was sure, something no one was telling her. She thought of Mrs Beal saying he had been driven mad with grief. What if he had literally been driven mad, and his family had confined him in the attic.
She thought of Miss Parkins. What if Miss Parkins was looking after his lordship’s brother? What if that was her role in the castle? Was that why Lord Torkrow let her remain? Or had her aunt, perhaps, been the one who was looking after him? Was that why she had disappeared? Had his mad brother killed her? Or had her aunt threatened to tell someone about him, because the madman had killed or injured someone else?
She had time for no more thoughts. Going into the scullery, she asked Effie to show her where the key was kept. She was determined to solve the mystery of the attic once and for all. Effie took her to a drawer at the back of the scullery. Helena opened it . . . and it was empty.
Helena stood staring at the empty drawer with disbelief.
‘It were there, missis. I saw it,’ said Effie.
‘Yes, I’m sure you did, Effie,’ said Helena soothingly.
But the key had nonetheless gone. Who had taken it? thought Helena. And why?
Chapter Eight
The following morning brought a letter to the castle from Caroline. It came as a welcome relief to Helena to know that she was not entirely cut off from the outside world. The atmosphere in the castle was claustrophobic, but Caroline’s letter brought the noise and bustle of Manchester back to her. She could see Caroline, in her mind’s eye, sitting at the cramped table beneath the window, with its view of the noisy street and its glimpse of the canal. She could see Caroline lifting her head, as she always did, and then resting it on her hand as she watched the bakers walking past with trays on their heads and ragged children playing, and dogs scavenging for food. There would be a restlessness about her, for Caroline was always restless inside. And when Caroline had finished the letter she would have thrown her cloak over her shoulders in a swirling movement, picked up her basket and gone out, threading her way purposefully between the street merchants and other shoppers, stopping to talk
to neighbours, and sending the letter, before looking longingly in the windows of the milliners on her way home.
Helena examined the seal and was relieved to see that it had not been tampered with, so it seemed that the mail went from and came to the castle undisturbed. If Aunt Hester had written to her, then it seemed unlikely the letter had been interfered with.
She broke the seal and began to read.
My dear friend.
Good. So Caroline had guessed something was wrong, and was writing in a guarded style.
I was very pleased to get your letter. What a pity you have heard nothing of H. I have had no news, either. I hope all is well and that we will soon hear something.
I have some news of my own. I secured the position with Mrs Long and I am writing to you from her home in Chester. She is not too demanding and she treats me with respect, which is the most I can hope for.
You, however, deserve more.
I have seen our friend G several times and I hope you will see him before long, too. I have not given him your direction, but if you wish to write to him, I’m sure a letter would be most welcome.
I will await your next letter with interest.
She included Mrs Long’s address, and signed the letter Caroline.
As Helena folded it and put it in her pocket, she found her thoughts returning to Mr Gradwell. Life with him would be safe. He would help her when needed, indeed, he would help her now if he knew of her troubles, though there was little help he could give. Yet she had no desire to hurry home and confide in him. Quite the reverse, she was glad of some time away from him, for it enabled her to think more clearly.
She tried to imagine what life would be like with him. She would be the mistress of her own home, with a maid and a cook to serve her. She would have new clothes to wear, and a carriage to ride in, and she would be able to spend her time visiting and shopping and inviting friends to supper, instead of working all day long. She would have the companionship of Mr Gradwell, and there would be trips to the theatre and to the museums, and in the summer there would be picnics and outings to the seaside. But although it seemed very inviting, her heart sank at the thought of it. Perhaps she was just tired. She would not think about it for the moment. There would be time enough to think about it when she had found her aunt.
She began to draw up a plan for cleaning the castle, in the hope that Mrs Willis would find her some willing helpers, and was rewarded for her hope by the arrival at the castle of seven girls and six men, shortly before ten o’clock. On asking them their names, she was pleased to learn that Sally and Martha, the two girls who had worked at the castle before, were among them.
She went down to the kitchen to speak to them.
‘There is plenty of work to be done,’ she told them. ‘Can you start today?’
They had all come prepared to stay, and Helena set them to work. Whilst two of the young men began polishing the silver under the direction of Dawkins, the other four took down one of the tapestries and carried it outside, where Helena set three of the girls to work beating it with brooms. The men than moved on to fetching buckets of water so that the rest of the girls could wash the floor.
Fortunately the day was fine, and Helena joined the girls who were working outside. It was pleasant to be out of doors, and though the air was cold, beating the tapestry was heavy work and it soon warmed them.
‘I think you have you worked at the castle before?’ she asked Sally and Martha.
‘That’s right, missus.’
They were perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age, and although they seemed ready enough to work, the glances they kept throwing at the younger footmen whenever they walked by suggested they would not be reliable if left alone.
‘What were your duties?’
‘We kept the rooms clean, missus. We dusted ’em and polished the grates and kept the fire irons shiny. We swept the floors and made the beds.’
‘Then I would like you to do the same now you have returned. Did you air the rooms before?’
‘Yes, missus, some of ’em. The ones that ’ad someone in ’em.’
‘Good, then you can continue to do so. Did you air the attics?’
‘No, missus, we daren’t go near the attics.’
‘Why not?’ asked Helena.
‘There was noises,’ said Sally.
‘At night,’ said Martha, with wide eyes.
‘Made my blood curdle, they did,’ said Sally. ‘All that screeching and wailing.’
‘You said it was crying,’ put in one of the other girls, as she hit the tapestry with a broom.
‘Screeching,’ said Sally emphatically, ‘and wailing.’
The story grew in the telling, and Helena was not surprised when the girl asserted that she had heard chains clanking behind the door. However, Helena believed there had been something in the girl’s story.
‘When did you hear it?’ she asked.
‘It were just before Mrs Carlisle disappeared. A week before, mebbe.’
‘And you stayed in the castle a whole week with such noises?’ asked Helena.
‘They weren’t so bad after that. Just sobbing now and then.’
‘Ghost must’ve got a sore throat,’ said one of the footmen cheekily, as he walked past on his way to the well.
‘I’d like to see you spend a night there, for all your talk,’ retorted the girl.
Helena was not sure what the girl had heard, and she knew she couldn’t rely on what the girl said, but nevertheless she was sure Sally had heard something.
‘Perhaps it was a cat,’ suggested Helena.
‘That’s what Dawkins said, but it weren’t no cat,’ said Sally definitely.
‘Was he with you when you heard it?’
‘Right next to me, e was.’
So, the sound had not been made by Dawkins, at any rate. Then who, or what, had been crying in the attic a week before her aunt left?
In an attempt to find out more about Lord Torkrow’s family, Helena tried to induce the maids to talk of them, but they answered her questions with monosyllables and would not be drawn. Whether it was deliberate, or whether they were simply more interested in their own affairs, Helena did not know.
It was a pity, because something was tugging at her memory, and she thought it might be important, if only she could remember what it was.
At last she returned to the housekeeper’s room to finish her plans. There was a lot of hard work to be done before the castle was ready for the ball.
The fire burned low, and Effie arrived with a bucket of coal to mend it.
Helena was about to ask her again what she had seen in the housekeeper’s desk, when she had a better idea. Going over to the window, she toyed with the curtains, then said: ‘Bring me some string from the drawer, would you please, Effie?’
Effie hesitated.
‘The top drawer,’ Helena prompted her.
The girl reluctantly went over to the desk, wiping her hands on her apron. She opened the drawer, and stood looking at something inside. She appeared to wrestle with herself, then blurted out incoherently: ‘If someone knew something and someone ’ad said something but someone thought it wasn’t what they said it was, what ought they to do?’
Castle of Secrets Page 12
