A Collector of Hearts

by Sally Quilford

  “What a pity we shan’t be joining them in the morning,” said Mrs Oakengate, as Caroline helped her into bed. “My days of horse riding are over. Did you see the prince making advances at me?”

  It was a surprise to Caroline. “No, though I did notice he pays you great respect.”

  “It isn’t respect, it’s adoration. I think he is in love with me.”

  Rather than scoff at the idea that a man of thirty would be in love with a woman in her mid-sixties, Caroline simply said, “You do?”

  “Yes, he hardly leaves my side. Of course his father was deeply in love with me, until he met the chambermaid.”

  “Did you know her? His first wife?” Caroline knew that the prince had asked, but wondered if Mrs Oakengate were being discreet. Not that she was known for discretion.

  “She cleaned my room. How could I possibly know her?”

  “I’m sure you can tell the prince much about his parents,” said Caroline, determined to press a little further.

  “About his father, yes. He was a very handsome, charming man. Something of a playboy. Cariastan has wonderful casinos, you know. I don’t know about his mother. The girl cleaned my room, so we were hardly on speaking terms. Oh, she was pretty enough I suppose, from what I remember. But a chambermaid and a prince? It was outrageous. More so I think than an actress and a prince. At least I could have played the role of princess to perfection. I daresay she saw him when he visited me and set her cap at him. Girls of that class are always easy with their virtue and can be bought for very little.”

  Caroline thought about the Cariastan Heart offered up for services rendered and wisely said nothing.

  “Oh bother,” said Mrs Oakengate, “I appear to have left my spectacle case in the ballroom. Run and fetch it, will you Caroline? Don’t bother me again tonight though. I’m exhausted again.” She yawned to accentuate the point. “You can give them to me in the morning.”

  “Then I could fetch it in the morning.” Caroline also felt very tired. She put it down to all the running around she did for Mrs Oakengate.

  “Caroline!”

  “Sorry, of course, I’ll it them right away.” The idea to fetch them in the morning had seemed like common sense when she thought it. It was just a pity it came out sounding like insolence.

  As she made her way down to the ballroom, Caroline wondered if she could ever learn to be the kind of docile creature Mrs Oakengate favoured as a companion. She was not doing a very good job of it so far. She wished she could be more like her Aunt Millie, who was adept at holding her tongue. It was a skill Caroline had never learned, even with Millie as a role model.

  All the other guests had gone to bed, and most of the gas lamps in the corridor had been lowered, just allowing a dim glow by which people could find their way to one of the bathrooms in the night if needs be. The flames of the lamps flickered, casting shadows on the wall. Far away, in the back of the house, Caroline thought she heard laughter, and guessed it came from the servants, relaxing after a busy day caring for the guests. The noise quickly died down and the house fell into total silence. As she neared the ballroom, she became acutely aware of every sound, every flicker of the light. She heard a door slam somewhere behind her and almost jumped out of her skin. “Pull yourself together, Caroline,” she whispered.

  She was relieved to see that the ballroom lights were still lit, perhaps because the servants had not yet finished clearing away. That gave her extra courage, as it meant someone would be along soon. She went back to where Mrs Oakengate had been sitting, and found her spectacle case on the small round table. Turning around to leave, Caroline suddenly found the room pitched into darkness. The lamps were still lit, but turned so low as to have very little impact on the surrounding area. The only other light came from the hallway, which cast only a small crescent shaped light near to the open door.

  “Hello?” she said. “Is anyone there?”

  She felt afraid to move, in case she tripped over something, but concentrated on the light near the door as a target for which to aim. Suddenly she heard three loud thumps emanating up from the floor. A gust of wind blew one of the curtains near to her, so that for a brief moment she saw the misty moon shining on the glass, and something else. A faint outline on the glass as if someone were looking in. Then the curtain closed again and all was in darkness. She spun around, trying to see who or what was there, but then the lights came back up again, and she saw that she was completely alone.

  Her heart pounded, and she almost jumped out of her skin when the butler Stephens entered the ballroom. “Are you alright, Miss Conrad?”

  “Yes, yes, I er … Stephens all the lights just went out in here.”

  “Did they, Miss?”

  “Yes, but they’re all separate, aren’t they? So they can only be turned down one by one.”

  “Unless one does it at the mains tap, Miss.”

  “The mains tap? Where is that?”

  “Why, it’s down in the cellar.”

  “But surely turning off the mains would turn off all the gaslights. The ones in the hall stayed on.”

  “Not necessarily, Miss. There are several taps, serving different parts of the house – I’m afraid I don’t understand much of it, but I believe it’s to do with when extra rooms and wings were added late in the nineteenth century. This ballroom is one of the newer rooms. We tend to switch most of the taps when the house is locked up and there is only skeleton staff, so that it saves on gas and helps prevents fire.”

  Caroline slipped Mrs Oakengate’s spectacle case into the pocket of her skirt and sat down on one of the seats. Stephens put dirty glasses onto a tray, then went to a closet at the far end of the room and took out a broom. He started to sweep the floor.

  “Have you been here a long time, Stephens?”

  “Since the young master’s grandfather was a baby, Miss,” he said, pausing in his labours. “I was a young man myself then, not much more than twelve years old. I came here as a footman.”

  “So someone does live in this house then?”

  “Oh yes, Miss. The master spends summers here and winters abroad. The house is usually closed up for winter, but the master will hire it out for parties such as this. It gives the house an airing, you see.”

  “What does the master do? For a living I mean. Or is he landed gentry?”

  “Certainly not, Miss. The master’s family are self-made. They own a chain of hotels.”

  “What hotels?” Caroline felt her throat constrict, awaiting his answer. She knew what it would be before he said it.

  “Cassandra’s, Miss. They have hotels all over the world.”

  “Including Cariastan?”

  “Yes, I believe so, Miss. I’m afraid I don’t know them all.”

  “I imagine you’ve heard all the stories regarding Lady Cassandra.”

  “Oh yes, Miss. But I don’t want to give you nightmares.”

  “I promise you I’m made of stronger stuff than that, Stephens.”

  “Well…” Stephens put down his tray. The gleam in his eyes told Caroline she had touched upon a favourite subject of his. “I don’t like to say too much in front of the younger servants. The girls are apt to be silly about such things. In the old days we could barely keep a parlour maid for more than a few months. They’d get it into their heads they’d seen Lady Cassandra and that was it. They up and married the first man who came along, just to get away from the place.”

  “Oh dear. So what are the stories?”

  “You probably heard on the first night here that Her Ladyship was a witch who used to keep lover’s hearts in a box.”

  “I did.”

  “She was very much into the dark arts, as they say. Mind you, there’s a lot of that in these sleepy little villages, Miss. Even in this day and age people have their superstitions. Anyway, when Lady Cassandra was eighteen she was said to be the most beautiful woman in England, and made her debut in court. She was betrothed to one of James the First’s courtiers, but he threw h
er over for another lady. After that, they say her heart grew bitter and black, and she turned to witchcraft. She used to lure young lovers to the house, then cut out their hearts and keep them in a jewelled box, to deny them the happiness she was denied. Some say that on Halloween, you could see the box moving, as the captured hearts still beat and struggled to escape.”

  Caroline laughed. “Edgar Allen Poe eat your heart out. Pardon the pun!”

  “No, I don’t believe in it either, Miss. But it makes a good story for guests and tourists in the area. Sadly it doesn’t do much for the parlour maid situation. They caught her, naturally, and she was burned at the stake. No one ever knew just how many young lovers had suffered at her hands. She took that secret with her.”

  “Lady Cassandra clearly hasn’t frightened you off. Do you have any family, Stephens?”

  “I did, Miss. My wife dead ten years ago. She used to be the cook here. A wonderful cook she was too. No one could bake an apple pie like my Elsie.”

  “You must miss her a lot. Do you have any children?”

  Stephens seemed to stiffen slightly. He turned away and picked up the tray full of glasses again. “I have a son, Miss.”

  “Does he work here?”

  “My son was never one for being in service. He wanted more from life. More than his poor mother and myself could give him. He left here at the age of fifteen and has had little to do with us since. Went off to be an actor, of all things. Broke his mother’s heart, it did. Not that I’d say anything like that in front of the guests here this week. But, well, Miss, it’s not a proper job like the one you and I do, is it? Not even if it is meant to be a bit of fun. If you’ll pardon me for suggesting you and I are of the same class.”

  “We’re both servants, Stephens. At the beck and call of our masters, or in my case, a mistress.”

  “Quite right, Miss. It seems to me acting is just about swanning around pretending to be someone else. Not that I don’t like to go the pictures sometimes and see a good film.”

  “Has your son appeared in many films?”

  “He hasn’t appeared in any, miss. He says he prefers the stage. Travels around with one of these small companies, putting on Shakespeare in schools and parks, that sort of thing.” Stephens looked at a point above Caroline’s head. “Ah, Master Blake.”

  “Isn’t it a bit late for detective work?” asked Blake. Caroline spun around in her chair to see him standing in the doorway. She wondered how long he had been listening.

  “The wheels of justice never sleep. Or something like that,” said Caroline. Stephens gave a courtly bow and left them, taking the tray of empty glasses with him. “There’s something odd going on here.”

  “Really? Would you like me to be Watson to your Holmes and listen to your deliberations?”

  “Go on then.” Caroline smiled. Despite the frequent chills, she was rather enjoying herself.

  Blake sat opposite her at the table. “Tell me, dear Holmes, what do you deduce?”

  “As I said, there’s something odd going on here. Mrs Oakengate told me that the prince’s mother worked as a chambermaid at Cassandra’s hotel in Cariastan. Now Stephens has just told me that the people who own the Cassandra chain own this abbey. Doesn’t that strike you as an amazing coincidence? Also, I think someone is messing with the gas.”

  “Lady Cassandra, perhaps?”

  “No, don’t be silly. There aren’t any ghosts here. Only people up to no good.”

  “How do you know I’m not one of them? Yet here you are, trusting me with your secrets.”

  “Perhaps I’m only pretending to trust you so that you show your hand.”

  “Ah, that old trick. Okay, I admit it. Last night I dressed as Lady Cassandra just so I could catch you in your nightdress. It was well worth the humiliation of putting on a frock.”

  “We’re getting off the subject,” said Caroline, in stern tones. “Someone is messing with the gas. There are mains taps in the cellar. Stephens just told me. I’ve a feeling someone is turning them on and off.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t worked that out yet. I thought it might just be a prank set up by the Henderson’s to help the Halloween spirit along, but if that were the case, surely they would do it whilst all the guests were present, and not when they’d all gone to bed. Otherwise they could not guarantee everyone seeing the lights dim. It has occurred to me …” Caroline stopped. It would not do to show her hand too clearly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Now you’re definitely not trusting me. What do you think, Caroline? That I’m working for the Russians or the Germans, and planning to assassinate the prince?”

  Caroline had the grace to blush. “I don’t know.” She leaned back in her chair. “I never met my father, but I know he was a handsome conman, and capable of murder. He tried to push Aunt Millie off a cliff! How do I know you’re not the same?” And in that moment Caroline knew exactly what had been bothering her about Blake Laurenson. He was good looking and charming, as her father had been. Just the sort of man she had vowed she would never fall in love with. It had cost her mother her life and liberty. Caroline had no plans to dig her own grave by giving her heart to such a man.

  “I’m flattered you think I’m handsome.” He spoke softly. Caroline felt a different thrill run down her spine, but the pleasure of listening to his voice was tainted with the fear of losing her senses over him. She had to get away from him. What’s more, she had not finished her investigations, and she would do them better without him to unnerve her.

  “I’m sure you already know that you are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.” She stood up.

  “No you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.” She yawned. The tiredness she had been fighting crept back.

  “Well, you might go to your room, but the minute you know the coast is clear, you’re going to go down into the cellar and check the gas taps.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” That had been her plan. If she could manage to stay awake long enough.

  “Because it’s exactly what I intended to do.” He stood up and headed towards the door, before turning back and holding out his hand. “Shall we go together?”

  Chapter Five

  They went into the kitchen, which was empty, and Blake took a candle and some matches out of the door. He led her into a passage behind the kitchen. There were several rooms along the corridor, which had internal windows, so that they could see into them. One was the laundry room, and another looked to be Stephens’ office-cum-sitting room. At the end of the corridor was a narrow door. Blake opened it and shone the candle down to reveal the steps leading to the cellar. Caroline could smell the cold, dank air below, and realised in that moment that she absolutely did not want to walk down into the cellar.

  “Come on,” said Blake, bounding down the steps as if he were out for a country walk. She hesitated before taking her first tentative steps into the cellar. The last thing she wanted to do was let him know how nervous she was about going down there with him. All the servants had gone to bed when they reached the kitchen, so no one knew where she was. Mrs Oakengate would have gone straight to sleep, so had no idea where Caroline was either. Her knees trembled as she descended the stairs slowly, ready to turn and run at the slightest hint of trouble.

  When she finally reached the bottom of the steps, he took her hand and led her to the gas taps, which were in the far corner of the cellar.

  “Look,” he whispered, “some aren’t turned on fully.”

  “That could be the servants, failing to turn them back on properly,” said Caroline, hopefully.

  “I doubt it. See? There’s a small arrow on the pipe at the top. The tap has to line up with that to be switched on fully. I’m sure the servants would make sure they were. Besides the ones that are only part turned on are those that feed the gas to the end of the house where your bedroom is, and the one for the ballroom.”

  Caroline could see sma
ll cards tied onto each tap. She picked them up and read them to find they indicated which parts of the house each tap pertained to. Blake was right. Two of the taps had been turned only part of the way. “But why?” she said. “Why would they do that? It doesn’t make sense … unless…”

  “What?”

  “It occurred to me that if someone were planning to assassinate the prince, they might do it in the dark.”

  “And what, might I ask, would our fair prince be doing in your bedroom? Or perhaps I shouldn’t ask.”

  “Not with me! Mrs Oakengate believes he’s in love with her.”

  Blake’s laughter echoed through the cellar. “Sorry, but that’s ludicrous. As well as rather icky, don’t you think? I’m pretty certain it would be incest, given that she’s had an affair with his father. If not that, then it’s far too close a relationship for comfort. I wouldn’t want to seduce a woman that my father had made love to first. Certainly not one in her sixties.”

  “He was paying her a lot of attention tonight.”

  “Probably pumping her for information about Cariastan.”

  “Well, yes, he did ask her rather a lot about it. I suppose it’s natural that he wants to know more about his father’s homeland.”

  “Hmm, I’m sure he does.” He turned to Caroline and she remembered that she was alone with him, in the cellar with only the small flicker of a candle to illuminate the darkness. His eyes searched her face, before focussing on her lips. “Well, Sherlock,” he said softly, “we’d be as well to leave our deliberations for tomorrow when it’s light and I’m not so tempted to take advantage of this situation.”

  “What? By bumping me off so I don’t talk about your dastardly plans to assassinate the prince?”

  “Actually I just planned to kiss you into submission.”

  Caroline swallowed hard, thinking that the idea did not sound so bad when put into words. Luckily she remembered her own rules. “I can assure you, Mr Laurenson that I am not, and I never will be, that much of a pushover.”