Castle of Secrets

by Amanda Grange

  ‘Will you? Or will you disappear like a will-o’-the’wisp, never to be seen again?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘The idea is absurd.’

  But, standing the in the long gallery, it did not seem absurd. The supernatural seemed to be all around them, from the dappled light to the strange atmosphere.

  ‘I am not so sure,’ he said. ‘I am beginning to think you are a creature from folk tale who will evaporate like the mist as midnight strikes, leaving me bereft, and I have a mind to discover your identity now, before it is too late.’

  ‘That would spoil the game entirely,’ she said, turning to go.

  He caught her by the arm and said: ‘It is near enough the appointed time, and I will not be denied.’

  So saying, he pulled off her mask. Its strings caught on her wig, and the mask, wig and hat came off together. She felt a surge of alarm and she had a desire to run away, but he was still holding her arm, and flight was impossible.

  Her only hope lay in the dim light, but it was dashed as she saw recognition dawn in his eyes. For a long time, he just looked at her. And then he said again: ‘Who are you?’

  Helena’s pulse jumped at the question. So he knew she wasn’t Mrs Reynolds! Or perhaps he did not know for certain; perhaps he just had doubts.

  ‘I know I should not have done it, but I could not resist. I heard the music and I was overcome with a longing to dance, and so I slipped upstairs and put on the costume I had been intending to wear for the servants’ ball,’ she said.

  ‘Then if you want to dance, you must dance.’

  He slipped his hand round her waist and before she knew what was happening, they were waltzing, whirling in and out of the shadows whilst the light played strange tricks all around them. Was he a man or a monster? she wondered, as the faint strains of music drifted up from the minstrels’ gallery, like the wail of an unearthly creature baying in the dark.

  ‘Well? Was it worth it?’ he asked her, as they reached the end of the gallery.

  ‘I cannot answer that,’ she said, looking up at him and trying to read his thoughts.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I do not know yet what the consequences will be.’

  ‘So, disguising yourself does not trouble you unless there are consequences?’

  ‘That is not what I said.’

  ‘But it is what you meant. Was it worth the deception, to get what you wanted? Did the end justify the means?’

  She felt that he was not talking to her about her disguise, but about something much more sinister, and she began to be frightened. She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast.

  ‘Just what would you do, if you felt there would not be any consequences? You did not hesitate to impersonate Elizabeth Reynolds. What else would you not hesitate to do?’

  ‘I don’t understand you,’ she said, feeling a rising tide of panic.

  ‘Would you lie . . . steal . . . kill?’

  His fingers tightened round her wrist like a vise.

  ‘Let me go.’

  With a strength born of desperation, she wrenched herself free, but he stood in front of her and would not let her pass.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded menacingly.

  ‘I am Elizabeth Reynolds.’

  ‘No, you are not Elizabeth Reynolds. She never arrived. A messenger came from York earlier this evening, saying that Mrs Reynolds had written to apologise for not taking up her position, because she had been ill, and was still not well enough to work. And so I ask you again, who are you? And what are you doing at Stormcrow Castle?’

  For a brief moment she thought of telling him the truth, but it was too dangerous. If he had done away with her aunt, and if he knew she had come looking for her, then he would do away with her, too.

  ‘A friend,’ she said. ‘I’m a friend of Mrs Reynolds. She told me she would not be able to take up the position as she was not well, but she did not want to acquire a reputation for being unreliable with the registry office. I was looking for a position at the time, and so we agreed that I would take her place.’

  He looked at her searchingly, and then his face twisted.

  ‘You are lying,’ he said roughly. ‘You will leave the castle first thing in the morning. The carriage will be at the door at eight o’clock. It will take you to the stage coach. And to make sure you go, I will put you on the stage coach myself. You will leave this neighbourhood, and you will not return. If you do, I will know how to deal with you.’

  His eyes were hard, and in the candlelight they glittered like obsidian. He loomed over her, and she wondered what he would be capable of if he was crossed. But she would never find out, because she had no intention of remaining. She had learnt all she could at the castle.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. She thought of the coming journey, and realized that she had no money. ‘What of my wages?’ she asked.

  ‘Your wages?’ he returned incredulously.

  ‘I have worked for you faithfully, and my wages are owing,’ she said defiantly.

  He looked as though he was about to make a cutting retort, but then thought better of it.

  ‘I will have them waiting for you in the morning,’ he said. ‘Make sure you are in the courtyard at five minutes to eight.’

  ‘I will be there.’

  And with that she picked up her mask, hat and wig, then swept past him, out of the gallery. Once she was out of sight she gave in to an urge to flee, and she ran back to her room, closing and locking the door behind her.

  Only then did she let out a deep breath. She was safe at last. She went over to the fire and knelt in front of it, wrapping her arms around herself. As she did so, she began to shiver with reaction to the frightening encounter. She had not known what he would say or do, and at one point she had been afraid that she might not even escape with her life. Thoughts whirled round her head – graveyards and ballrooms, castles and crypts – all was jumble and confusion.

  The fire was hot, with flames leaping in the grate, but it did little to warm her. She was cold through and through. She glanced at the bed, and wondered if there was a hot brick in it. She went over to it and discovered, to her relief, that there was. She undressed and slipped her nightdress over her head, then climbed between the sheets, but although she lay down and closed her eyes, Lord Torkrow aroused such conflicting emotions in her that she could not sleep.

  At last she got out of bed and, throwing her shawl round her shoulders, she went over to the fire. Sitting beside it, she looked into the flames.

  There was one chance more for her to learn something about her aunt. If she went to Mary and told her the truth, then perhaps Mary could tell her something.

  The more she thought of it, the more the idea appealed to her. She would leave early, before the carriage was ready, for it would be better by far to be well away from the castle by the time he started looking for her. With Mary she would feel safe.

  She went back to bed and at last she fell asleep, but vivid dreams gave her no rest. She was running through the castle, holding up the skirt of her medieval gown as she ran along the corridors, looking for something she could not find, her task made more difficult by a swirling mist. The mist parted, and she saw a door. She seemed to be moving in slow motion as she opened it, to reveal a large room with a four poster bed, hung with red curtains. A man and woman were embracing passionately by the bed. As Helena watched, the woman opened her eyes and turned towards her, smiling as the man kissed her throat. And then the woman's face changed, becoming her own, and as the man spun round, Helena saw it was Lord Torkrow.

  Shocked, she closed the door and ran on down the corridor, but it was hung with cobwebs. She brushed them aside, but they became thicker and thicker as they went along, until she was flailing wildly in an effort to keep them away from her. They were in her hair and her mouth, and they were beginning to suffocate her. She fought them wildly . . . and woke up to find that she was wrestling with the sheets. She was panting with the exertion,
and she lay still, until she heard a noise and realized what had woken her: it was Effie, scratching on the door.

  She rose, bleary eyed and feeling unrefreshed, and let the scullery maid into the room. As Effie saw to the fire, Helena washed and dressed. She put on her warmest clothes and her stout shoes, then she went down to the kitchen. It was empty apart from Effie, who had finished seeing to the fires and who was busy washing dishes.

  ‘Where is Mrs Beal?’ asked Helena.

  ‘She’s seeing to the clearing up,’ said Effie.

  Helena felt sorry to be leaving Mrs Beal to so much work. If things had been otherwise she would have overseen the servants as they returned the spare furniture to the attic and instructed them as they cleared the rooms, but she could not linger.

  She helped herself to some rolls and chocolate, then sat by the fire to break her fast.

  When she had done, she wrapped some food up for the journey: a piece of chicken, some bread and cheese, a slice of pie and a bottle of water; then she went upstairs and packed her few possessions. She checked the drawers and wardrobe to make sure that nothing had been forgotten, and looked under the bed, then closed her valise and set it by the door.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly half past seven.

  Throwing her cloak over her shoulders, she put on her bonnet and pulled on her gloves then, picking up her valise went swiftly down the back stairs. She had hoped to see Mrs Beal before she left, but time was moving on and she did not want to risk looking for her in case she bumped into Lord Torkrow.

  She opened the side door carefully and looked out. There was no one about. She went out, closing the door behind her.

  She hurried across the courtyard, looking over her shoulder as she did so to make sure she was not being followed. She had a dread of seeing Lord Torkrow or Miss Parkins standing at one of the windows, watching her, and she scanned them nervously, but, to her relief, there was no one there.

  Her gaze reached the gallery window . . . and her heart almost stopped, for she was suddenly reminded of the fact that the castle was symmetrical. Every room had its counterpart.

  So the galleries must be symmetrical, and the hidden room in the portrait gallery must have its counterpart in the long gallery.

  There was another secret room.

  Chapter Eleven

  The enormity of the revelation froze her for a moment then, turning on her heel, she ran back to the castle. In the side door she went, up the stairs, along the corridor and into the long gallery. She walked along its length, her footsteps sounding loud to her ears, despite her attempts to walk quietly, and it was with relief that she reached the end. She dropped her valise, and then began to feel the wainscoting, running both hands across it. There must be a way of opening it, and she guessed it must have something to do with the embossing. She pressed the flowers and turned the grapes, and as she did so, she called out softly: ‘Aunt Hester! Aunt Hester! It’s me, Helena!’

  But there was no reply.

  She pushed the centre of a small flower, and it gave. She heard a click, and then a door in the panelling swung open. She took a deep breath and went in.

  She found herself in a small room. There was a window to the west, but the grey light of morning did little to illuminate the chamber. The air was stale, and she wrinkled her nose against it. She stood motionless whilst her eyes adjusted to the dim light and then went forwards. As she did so, she saw that the room was empty, except for some blankets on the floor in the corner. There were no pictures on the walls, and the floor was bare.

  She went over to the blankets, which had been arranged to make a bed. She crouched down next to them and turned them over, then she sat back, shocked, as she saw that, in between the folds was a piece of plaited lavender. She picked it up with trembling fingers. So her aunt had been here!

  She shook the blankets, hoping to find another clue, and something fell out. It was a wooden soldier. She picked it up and examined it. It had been painted but the paint was coming off. It was evidently a much-loved and much-used child’s toy. But what had a child been doing in this room, and what had Aunt Hester been doing with him?

  Could the child have been playing here, and could Aunt Hester have been looking after him? But why would anyone make a child play in a cramped, gloomy apartment? And what child could it be? Lord Torkrow had never married.

  But his brother had . . .

  A sliver of fear crawled down her back. Every dark thing she had ever heard about Lord Torkrow and every unsettling thing she had experienced since entering the castle, returned to haunt her. Had he been responsible for her aunt’s disappearance, and perhaps worse besides?

  What had her aunt been doing in the secret room? Tending to the child? Or protecting him? Because if Lord Torkrow’s brother had been the older of the two, and if he had had a son, then the boy was the true heir of Stormcrow Castle . . .

  Helena left the room, closing the door behind her. There was a click, and then it merged into the wall.

  She abandoned her plan to leave the neighbourhood, for she knew she could not ignore what she had found. She feared that a terrible crime had been perpetrated at the castle, but who to tell?

  Her mind went back to the costume ball, and the man dressed as Harlequin: Sir Hugh Greer, the local Justice of the Peace.

  Helena made up her mind to visit him and lay the facts before him: that her aunt had gone missing, and that she had found evidence of her aunt and a child having been kept in a secret room in the castle.

  He would know what to do.

  She did not know where to find him, so first she must go to Mary’s cottage, for Mary would know where to find him, and might even lend Helena the trap to take her there.

  She picked up her valise and went down the stairs, moving cautiously. It was nearing eight o’clock. She could hear the sound of the carriage being brought round. The crunching of the gravel under the wheels was like the sound of bones, and a new fear assailed her. She had delayed so long that, if she set off on foot, she feared she would soon be caught because Lord Torkrow would overtake her in the carriage.

  A quick glance out of the front door showed her that he had not yet appeared, and hurrying through the hall, she reached the carriage before he came in sight. Its black body seemed ominous, and she was afraid of climbing inside, to be swallowed by the red interior, but she mastered her dread as Eldridge climbed down from the box.

  ‘His lordship has been delayed,’ she said. ‘You are to take me to Miss Debbet’s cottage, where I am to deliver a message. You will then proceed to the stage post alone and await his lordship’s instructions.’

  ‘That’s not what ’e said to me,’ said Eldridge, his dour face glowering suspiciously. ‘’e said I was to go to the stage, but ’e didn’t say nothing about no cottage.’

  ‘He has changed his mind. If you don’t believe me, then you must go and ask him yourself. He is in his study. But make haste! He has commanded me to deliver his message without delay.’

  She climbed into the carriage. Eldridge looked towards the door, then at Helena’s impassive face, and gave a brief nod before folding the step and shutting her in. He mounted his box, and then they were away. She breathed a sigh of relief to think that one problem, at least, had been overcome.

  The carriage seemed to crawl away from the castle, and she sat forward on her seat, willing it to go faster. At any minute she expected Lord Torkrow to emerge from the castle, shouting: ‘Stop!’

  She was so fearful that she could not help looking back, but everything was quiet. The carriage rolled slowly on, through the arch, and then it began to pick up speed as it emerged on to the road.