He saw her mind working behind her eyes.
‘There was one strange sentence. She said she had not found what she was looking for, but did not despair of finding it.’
His expression darkened.
‘It could mean she knows . . . ’ He shook his head ‘ . . . or it could mean nothing more than a lost shawl. Has she had a reply.’
‘Yes. I did not manage to read it before she saw it.’
‘A pity. Never mind. We must continue to be vigilant.’
Miss Parkins’s look was derisory.
She knows I lowered my guard, he thought. I should not have done it. But there is something about Mrs Reynolds . . . if she is Mrs Reynolds, he reminded himself.
‘Very good, Miss Parkins. That will be all.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
As the door closed behind her, he walked over to the fire. His brother’s death had been a terrible thing. And his sister-in-law’s death had been worse.
And now . . . who was in the castle with him? Was it Mrs Reynolds? Or was the woman in the housekeeper’s room someone else entirely?
Chapter Nine
Helena was woken by the noise of hail pelting against the window and pulled the covers up over her ears. The sound was dispiriting; even more so when she shook away the last vestiges of sleep and remembered that it was Sunday, and that she had been hoping to go to church, so that she could talk to the villagers about her aunt. If the weather did not improve, that would be impossible, and she would have to remain in the castle, where she was in danger of being tangled up in the dark mysteries that hung about it. And, even worse, where she was in danger of becoming attracted to Lord Torkrow.
In danger of becoming attracted to him? she thought, scoffing at herself. She was attracted to him already. There was no use denying her feelings, for they had undergone a change since arriving at the castle, turning from apprehension to intrigue, and then to something more.
It was compassion, she told herself firmly, nothing more than a kindly sympathy for a man who had had to carry the news of two deaths in one night. But it was no good. She knew it was not compassion, it was something much deeper.
She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. At least the cold and the damp took her thoughts away from their other, more disturbing, subjects.
She washed and dressed quickly, then went downstairs to the kitchen. Over breakfast, Mrs Beal remarked that she would need more help in the kitchen as the ball approached, and she and Helena arranged for all the maids to spend a spell in the kitchen, so that Mrs Beal could choose the most useful girl to help her as the time drew near.
‘The men will all have to learn how to carry a tray,’ Mrs Beal reminded her.
Helena nodded, but her thoughts were less placid than her expression suggested. She knew she could not stay at the castle forever, and if not for the ball she would be thinking of leaving already, for she had explored almost every avenue of information open to her. She did not feel she could leave Lord Torkrow without a housekeeper at such a time, but once the ball was over she would hand in her notice and return to Manchester.
‘And make sure they know how to behave,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘No talking to his lordship’s guests. It’s a good thing he’s going away, it will make it easier for us to get on.’
‘I didn’t know he was going away?’
‘He always sends word to the kitchen. He’s a good master that way, though he can’t say when he’ll be back. Gone for a few days, anyway.’
Helena did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. He affected her in curious ways. He was secretive and alarming, but he moved her, too, and that was something no one else had ever done.
She finished her breakfast and then, leaving the kitchen behind her, she decided to revisit the east wing of the attic, in case she had missed anything. She found the door as she had left it. Ignoring the broken lock she went in, examining the blankets and pieces of broken furniture, then looking for other tell-tale signs that someone had been there. She breathed on the windows, remembering the times she and her aunt had written messages to each other in the steam when she had been a child. She recalled that, once the steam had gone, the messages remained, to be revealed the next time the window misted over. But there was nothing.
She turned towards the door . . . and jumped, as she saw Miss Parkins standing there. She moves like a cat, thought Helena, unnerved by Miss Parkins’s silent approach.
Miss Parkins was standing with her hands folded in front of her and she looked at Helena with expressionless eyes.
‘Miss Parkins,’ said Helena, feeling that she must speak. ‘Did you want to see me about something?’
‘I wanted to inform you that the door into the attic has been broken, but I see you have already discovered it,’ said Miss Parkins, watching her. ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘Yes,’ said Helena, standing up to her. ‘One of the maids thought she heard a cat in here, and I ordered the footmen to break the lock. I was concerned that the animal might be trapped.’
‘That is strange. Dawkins believed he heard a cat in there several weeks ago.’
‘It must have crawled back in.’
Helena could tell that Miss Parkins did not believe her, but did not say so. Instead, it was as though they were playing some deadly game.
‘And did you find it?’ asked Miss Parkins.
‘No. I believe it must have climbed out again without our help.’
‘So there was no need to break the lock.’
‘I did not know that at the time.’ There was an awkward silence, then Helena said, ‘I must not keep you.’
‘You are not keeping me,’ said Miss Parkins.
‘Then you must excuse me. I have work to do.’
Miss Parkins did not move out of the way. Instead she said: ‘There was no mention of you destroying property in your previous positions.’
‘I can see no point in discussing the matter further,’ said Helena, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation about her supposed previous positions. ‘If his lordship wishes to take the cost of repairing the lock from my wages, then I am sure he will do so.’
She did not ask Miss Parkins to leave again, she simply walked past her. She could feel Miss Parkins’s eyes on her, but she resisted the urge to look back . . . until Miss Parkins spoke again, just as she reached the landing.
‘I found a pile of handkerchiefs in the cupboard in your room,’ she said. ‘I expected to find them embroidered with your initials, ER, but instead they were embroidered with the initial C.’
Helena’s throat constricted. She had forgotten to lock her door when she had gone downstairs for breakfast, and she was glad her back was to Miss Parkins, so that Miss Parkins would not see the consternation that swept across her face.
Taking a moment to gather herself, she turned round and said: ‘Do you make a habit of going into other people’s rooms and going through their cupboards?’
‘I feared it might be damp,’ said Miss Parkins. ‘I did not want your clothes to become mildewed.’
‘It is not your job to see to damp cupboards. That is my preserve,’ said Helena.
‘I help his lordship in any way I can. Mrs Carlisle was also pleased to have my assistance. I am surprised you do not feel the same way. But you have not told me why your handkerchiefs bear the initial C.’
Helena had had time to think, and a simple solution to the problem presented itself as her aunt’s initial was also C.
‘They are not my handkerchiefs. I found them in the cupboard. They must have belonged to the previous housekeeper.’
‘How very singular,’ said Miss Parkins, in a voice devoid of emotion.
‘In what way?’ asked Helena, suddenly apprehensive.
A malicious gleam of triumph entered Miss Parkins’s eye.
‘Mrs Carlisle did not occupy that room.’
Helena felt as though the floor had suddenly given way beneath her.
‘I thought . . . that is, I assumed . .
. that she had the bed chamber I now occupy.’
‘No, she did not. So if she had had any handkerchiefs they would not have been in that room.’
‘Perhaps she had just had them laundered,’ said Helena, thinking quickly, ‘and one of the maids returned them to the wrong room by mistake.’
‘Strange that the maid should return them to a room with no fire, and no sheets on the bed,’ said Miss Parkins.
Helena felt as though she was a mouse who had been caught by a particularly malignant cat.
‘Perhaps she went into the room to air it, and then forgot to reclaim the handkerchiefs when she left,’ Helena said.
‘Mrs Carlisle was not a great believer in instructing the maids to air the rooms,’ said Miss Parkins.
‘Oh, yes — ’ said Helena, about to say that her aunt had been a great believer in fresh air. She recovered herself quickly. ‘— she must have been. The room smelt fresh, not as though it had been shut up. Any good housekeeper knows the value of opening the windows when the weather is fine.’
Miss Parkins stared at her, and Helena felt an urge to squirm. She was held, mesmerised, by Miss Parkins’s strange eyes, and she found herself wondering if she had ever seen Miss Parkins blink.
‘Do you have a forwarding address? Then I can send them on to her,’ said Helena, trying to turn the situation to her advantage.
‘No. I have no address.’
That is a pity. Then it seems I will have to keep them.’
‘Perhaps you can use them yourself,’ said Miss Parkins.
‘I do not believe I would wish to do so,’ said Helena, conscious of the fact that she had one such handkerchief tucked up her sleeve at that very moment. ‘Now, Miss Parkins, I am very busy, and I will bid you good day.’
Helena turned and once more walked out onto the landing. As she did so, Miss Parkins said: ‘The castle is a strange place. It has seen many strange things. No doubt, it will see many more.’
Helena did not look back, but felt uneasy as she went downstairs. Was it a threat? she wondered. Or was it a warning? Either way, she felt she must be on her guard.
Preparing the castle for the ball was hard work, but by and by, it began to take on a brighter air. The hall was clean and fresh, the downstairs rooms were dusted and the ballroom was ready. She and Mrs Beal were putting the finishing touches to the supper menu for the night of the ball.
‘Of course, the balls aren’t nearly as big as they were in her late ladyship’s time. She had a lot of society friends and they came from all over: London, Edinburgh and Paris. Very good to the servants, she was, her ladyship. “The servants must have their fun as well”, she used to say. The day after the ball the family would be up late, and they’d have a bit of a sandwich for lunch. Then we’d lay out a cold supper for them in the dining-room at six o’clock and they’d help themselves. We had our own ball then, and didn’t have to touch a bit of housework til the following morning — A Solomon Grundy for the centre of the table?’ she asked, breaking off in mid sentence to suggest a dish for the ball.
‘Yes, that will look impressive,’ said Helena.
Mrs Beal wrote it down.
‘There were ever so many of us,’ she said, reminiscing again. ‘Mr Vance the butler – a very stately gentleman he was – kept everyone in order, and there were the outside staff, too, stable boys, grooms – and didn’t they just chase the maids! – and coachmen, all dressed up.’
‘The servants dressed up, too?’ asked Helena, surprised.
‘Yes. It was our own costume ball. Many a maid’s been a queen on ball night. There were pirates and monks – Mr Vance was once Julius Caesar. “Oh, Julius, seize her!” said one of the grooms, a cheeky young monkey, when Mr Vance was trying to pluck up the courage to dance with the housekeeper – I was just the kitchen maid then. Well, Mr Vance, he went bright red, but he did it all the same, seized her, that is, and the two of them whirled round the room. He married her in the end, and the two of them are living in Hull.’
‘We might get up some kind of dance on the night after the ball ourselves,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘Nothing so grand, but it might persuade the maids to stay if they think there’s some fun to be had from time to time. I’ve still got the costumes, packed away in a tea chest.’
‘I will speak to Lord Torkrow and see if he will allow it,’ Helena said.
When they had agreed the final menu, she said: ‘Where are the costumes? If his lordship approves of the ball, I will ask the maids to help me sort through them and see if they need washing or mending. They can choose what they will wear, and it will help me to motivate them to work hard. Some of them are prone to stop and gossip the minute my back is turned.’
‘They’re in the last pantry,’ said Mrs Beal. She took a key off a chain round her waist and handed it to Helena.
‘I will go and make sure the moths haven’t attacked them, before I mention it,’ said Helena. ‘Disappointed hopes will lead to less work, not more.’
Mrs Beal agreed.
‘I’ve to go to the dairy, but you can give the key back to me when I return.’
Helena took the key and went through the first pantry and into a smaller one. After going through five similar rooms, each with its own purpose, she came to one that was empty apart from a large tea chest. She knelt down and opened the chest. There was a musty smell as she lifted the lid, but she saw that the costumes were in good condition. She took out a medieval gown made of dark red velvet. Beneath it was a gold mask. She picked it up and an idea came to her. If she wore it on the night of the ball, then she could pass unnoticed amongst Lord Torkrow’s guests. She had been getting nowhere in her quest to find her aunt, but if she could talk to the neighbouring gentry she might learn something. They would not confide in a housekeeper, but would have no hesitation in talking to a woman they took to be their social equal. One of them might have seen her aunt board the stagecoach if they had been returning home after a night of carousing, and Helena might learn, at least, if her aunt had gone north or south.
She closed the chest, resolving to return and take the medieval gown up to her room later, together with the hat, mask and shoes that went with it. If she mixed them in with a pile of freshly-laundered sheets, then no one would see what she was doing.
As she stood up, she noticed that a small door led out of the pantry, opposite the door through which she had come. It was only two and a half feet high, and she was curious as to its purpose. She tried the handle, and the door opened. It led into a low passageway. It was dark inside. She looked around the pantry, finding a candle and tinder box in a drawer. Lighting the candle, she knelt down and peered into the tunnel. It smelled dank. The floor was made of hard-packed earth, and as she put out her hand to feel it, she discovered it was damp.
She did not want to go through, but she could not ignore what she had found, so, pushing the candle in front of her, she began to crawl through the tunnel. She felt the damp seeping through her dress, and her knees were cold. She looked over her shoulder, wondering if she should close the door, for it would look strange if anyone entered the room, but she had a fear of being shut in. Besides, the light was a help, both to her eyes and her nerves.
She went on, shivering as the dank walls closed about her and watching the candle flame anxiously as it flickered and spurted in the gloom.
She had not gone far, however, when the roof began to raise, and before long she could stand up. She walked for some distance before she found her way blocked by another door. She tried to open it, but it was heavy, and it was not until she set her shoulder to it that she felt it give. She pushed with all her might and slowly it opened. She went through and found herself in a mausoleum. The desolate place made her shiver, and the candle flickered with the trembling of her hand.
Castle of Secrets Page 14
