Mistress of the Moor: A gripping gothic romance mystery

by Abigail Clements

  A bell tinkled somewhere in the room.

  ‘That is your uncle now, I must go to him. Please think about what I have said. I would appreciate an answer soon.’

  She left the room behind me. I was quite relieved that I was not required to answer her right away. I secretly blessed Uncle Josh for ringing when he did.

  I walked slowly back to my rooms, thinking about what had happened; it had certainly been an eventful morning. First there had been the row with Roger in the barn. I was quite determined that, come what may, I was not going to like that young man. In spite of his good looks he was brusque to the point of rudeness. Then there was Honey, yes, that had been nice. He was still my friend; he still knew me. It was a pity that I would not be able to ride him over the weekend, but I was committed to doing all of this typewriting for Uncle Joshua and that would take nearly all my time. And now this interview with Dr. Harrison. She was a strange woman ‒ she seemed cold and dispassionate, and yet her words had indicated a genuine concern for Uncle Joshua. On the other hand, it was obvious that Uncle Josh had kept her in the dark about Kittiwake. Was she appearing solicitous in the hope that I would betray my trust? Could she be one of the unscrupulous persons to whom Roger had referred when he was talking about the need for security? She had certainly succeeded in placing me in a quandary, for if I made her my confidante, I should be betraying my trust, and if I did not, I might be risking the well-being, even the life, of Uncle Josh.

  ‘Wake up or you’ll miss lunch.’

  In my preoccupation I had almost walked into Henry.

  ‘What have you got there, coz?’ he asked, indicating the papers I was clutching. ‘The crown jewels?’

  ‘Oh!’ I said, startled. ‘These? Just some work for Uncle Josh.’

  ‘To do with the secret of the big barn, I’ll warrant,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘I … I’m not sure what you are talking about,’ I replied, somewhat flustered. I had no idea how much, if anything, Henry was supposed to know. ‘I’ll just go and put these in my room and then I’ll join you for lunch.’

  ‘Allow me to carry them for you,’ he offered, reaching out his hand.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I answered, clutching my precious papers still tighter, and with that I fled to my room.

  In my sitting room I found a magnificent new typewriting machine which had been placed on top of a stout oaken desk cupboard. I put the papers inside the cupboard and locked it. The key also fitted the centre drawer, which contained paper, erasers, and a brush for cleaning the type. I locked the drawer and looked around for a place to keep the key. There was an empty powder bowl on the dressing table in my bedroom, so I placed the key in that until such time as I could find a more suitable place. I had just finished doing this when I heard the distant sound of the gong. It was time for luncheon.

  I walked down to the dining room, and for the first time, I took my place at the head of the table as mistress of Goathlands.

  Luncheon was a quiet meal. Henry sat at the far end of the table with Dr. Harrison on his right. Roger, who it appeared ate en famille, was late; he arrived halfway through the soup and placed himself on my right. The meal was served quietly and efficiently by Barton, who whispered to me that he would like me to meet the rest of the servants that afternoon and that Mrs. Jollyman, our cook, would like to see me some time that day to discuss Tuesday’s menu.

  Dr. Harrison ate her meal in stony silence, excusing herself before the dessert was served. Roger Attwood made one or two attempts to open a conversation with me, but I was still angry at the way he had treated me earlier and I responded very coolly. All of this seemed to amuse Henry, who kept up a constant chatter about trivialities such as the weather and Yorkshire’s performance in the county cricket championships that summer.

  Luncheon over, I rose to leave them. They stood as I made my way to the door. I was just about to go out when Henry spoke.

  ‘You wouldn’t care to go for a stroll this afternoon?’ he asked.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I replied. ‘But I have far too much work to do.’

  ‘Pity,’ he answered, and then added with a chuckle, ‘I’m going to look at some birds … sea gulls, you know.’

  Chapter Five

  Henry’s remark stopped me, but only for a moment. I think that he was trying to tell me that the great secret was not really so much of a secret after all. This was not too surprising, since he lived here. He must have seen goings on from which, being a person of reasonable intelligence, he had drawn his own conclusions. Henry always made this sort of remark with a kind of light sarcastic humour which was typical of him. It was not unpleasant and certainly not unreasonable. He was, and there was no doubt about this, being kept in the dark about his own father’s work. Could it be that Uncle Joshua did not altogether trust his son? And if he did not trust him, was there any reason for it? If there was no reason, then why this strange desire for secrecy?

  Anyhow, I told myself, it was none of my business. I had a job to get on with and should not be spending my time in idle speculation.

  I went straight up to my sitting room and started work. Though the work itself was not very interesting, the typewriting machine was a joy to use, quite the finest I had ever had. The papers I had to copy contained a great many technical terms which I did not understand, words which I had to spell out because I had never heard them before. Apart from these words, my fingers flew over the keyboard, and I soon realized that it would be quite within my capabilities to have the whole thing finished some time on Monday afternoon. This would be most convenient, as it would leave me all of Tuesday free to prepare for the dinner party that evening. I could have finished earlier than Monday afternoon, but the morrow being Sunday, I would of course be going to church, and that would occupy most of the morning.

  At about four o’clock, by which time I was well into my task, Letty brought afternoon tea up to my sitting room. How lovely it looked: tea, hot muffins oozing freshly churned farm butter, cucumber sandwiches, and to complete the nostalgia, three little cakes covered with pink icing and a cherry sitting on top of each one.

  ‘Where will you be taking your tea, miss?’ asked Letty.

  ‘Put it on the table by the fire,’ I replied.

  ‘Was there anything else, miss?’

  ‘No, that will be all, thank you, Letty.’ Then I remembered Nana. ‘By the way, Letty, I suppose you didn’t by any chance find my teddy bear?’ I inquired.

  ‘No, miss, I told you, miss, I never seen your teddy bear, miss.’ The words tumbled out as if she was defending herself against a charge of theft.

  ‘All right, Letty,’ I said soothingly. ‘Don’t let it worry you. I suppose that it will turn up somewhere.’

  ‘You don’t think that I …?’ She looked so frightened that I felt really sorry for her.

  ‘Of course not, Letty, what reason could you possibly have? Now, please don’t worry about it.’ I smiled at her. ‘You can run along now … and Letty …’

  She turned at the door. ‘Yes, miss?’

  ‘Thank you for bringing my tea.’

  She smiled her thin little smile and left me. She was obviously very much relieved.

  I spent a leisurely half hour over my tea and then went down below stairs to meet the rest of the staff and to renew my acquaintanceship with fat, jovial Mrs. Jollyman, our cook, with whom I discussed the menu for Tuesday. ‘Discussed’ is probably the wrong word, for Mrs. Jollyman told me what we were going to have, pausing every now and then to allow me to say, ‘Yes.’

  By five o’clock I was back at work, and apart from three-quarters of an hour or so for dinner, I worked right through until about eleven o’clock. By that time I had got through about a third of the typewriting, and with the feeling of a good day’s work behind me, I retired to bed with a clear conscience.

  Sunday dawned bright and sunny, and after a breakfast consisting of those wonderful Yorkshire kippers, which are unsurpassed anywhere in the world, I dressed for church. I wore a
dusty blue worsted skirt with a matching tailored jacket over a lace blouse. I also wore a hat of dark blue velour, over which passed a broad, wine-coloured velvet ribbon tied in a bow under my chin.

  Promptly at ten-thirty the landau was drawn up in front of the house. I was glad it was not one of Uncle Joshua’s horseless carriages; it was probably much safer, too, as there would be a lot of horses at the church. Ormerod was waiting by the landau dressed in his Sunday best, which included doeskin breeches, a black jacket, and a top hat. He had to wear a top hat on formal occasions, of course, but it always looked completely out of place over that weather-beaten countryman’s face. We assembled in the hall, both Henry and Roger looking very handsome in their grey frock coats and top hats. Dr. Harrison was wearing a black tweed coat over her black gown. I never saw her in anything other than black, and I wondered if she possessed any coloured garments at all.

  Roger confined his greeting to a grunted, ‘Good morning,’ while Henry saluted me handsomely and told me how attractive I looked. I could not help warming to Henry’s flattery, and, on the other hand, feeling somewhat snubbed by Roger’s attitude. I wondered, did Roger really dislike me or resent my presence here? I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that something of that sort must be the case.

  We boarded the landau, and Ormerod took his place and cracked his whip. The matched pair of glossy black hackneys set off at a brisk high-stepping trot, and we were on our way.

  Though it is little more than two miles, it is a beautiful run from the house to Goathland Village. After leaving the house, you go down a steep hill called ‘Two Howes Rigg’. At the bottom, you join the road proper at Scar Wood. From there the road follows Wheeldale Beck ‒ beck is the Yorkshire name for a large stream ‒ as far as Mallyan Spout. Then the road leaves the beck and cuts across country for the last half mile to the village.

  I was sitting on Henry’s left, which meant that I had Roger facing me. During the entire journey, which took fifteen to twenty minutes, neither Roger nor Dr. Harrison said a word, while Henry chattered away a lot of inconsequential pleasantries. During the journey he slipped into my hand a beautiful Book of Common Prayer. I recognized it. It had belonged to my aunt. It was bound in mother-of-pearl, and I know that it had been one of her most treasured possessions.

  ‘I thought you might like to have this,’ said Henry.

  I smiled my thanks. How kind of him to think of that. I wondered why it was that my uncle had never really got on with his son. Granted, there was little depth to his conversation, but this was a very thoughtful gesture and he had at least shown some desire to make me feel at home.

  At last the old Norman church came into view. As it was not more than a few minutes before eleven o’clock, we went straight in. We took our places in the family pew, which was at the left front of the nave, just below the pulpit. I remembered how, as a child, I had always wished that our place had been further back. Sitting there under the ever-watchful eye of our vicar, the Reverend Cox, it was impossible to suck an illegal candy or to let my attention wander. If I did, the vicar would most surely bring my indiscretions to the notice of my father or, more frightening still, my nanny.

  The morning service over, we filed out of church, where the vicar was waiting to greet us all individually. To me he gave a particularly warm welcome and promised that he would call and pay his respects at the earliest possible moment.

  Ormerod, who had been sitting toward the rear of the church with the rest of our staff, was already waiting at the landau. He put the step down for me to enter when I suddenly realized that Henry was not with us.

  ‘Have you seen Henry?’ I asked.

  ‘No, miss,’ replied Ormerod. ‘He should be with you.’

  ‘Unless I am mistaken, that is your cousin over there,’ said Dr. Harrison, speaking for, I think, the first time since we had left Goathlands.

  I looked in the direction which she had indicated, and sure enough, there he was, deep in conversation with a man that I had never seen before. I had no idea who this stranger was, but he did not strike me as looking like the sort of person with whom I would expect my cousin to associate. His dress, though obviously expensive, was in the most appalling taste; dark grey breeches, a loud check jacket, and a brown bowler hat. Henry seemed to be in a heated argument with him, and though I was too far away to hear the conversation, it was obvious that an angry exchange was taking place. It was when the man clenched his fist and shook it under Henry’s chin that Roger took a hand.

  ‘Wait here, ladies,’ he said. ‘I think I’d better go and sort this out.’

  It was a good thing that he did, as by that time several members of the congregation were watching with that morbid interest which a row always seems to stimulate.

  Roger walked purposefully over and stood between them. I saw him say something to Henry, and then he turned to the other man and spoke to him. The man responded by waving his arms about and wagging an accusing finger at Henry. Roger then turned again to Henry, who nodded. Then, as Roger continued talking, Henry shook his head. Roger took his wallet out of his purse and took from it some pieces of paper; they were white and could have been five pound notes, though I was not close enough to be sure. Roger thrust the papers into the man’s top breast pocket. The man turned on his heel, taking the paper out of his pocket as he did so, and walked away. For a moment Henry seemed to hesitate as Roger appeared to try and persuade him to rejoin us. Finally, both men returned to the landau. Henry was flushed with embarrassment and breathing heavily as he took his place beside me, while Roger, cool and unruffled, sat down and ordered Ormerod to drive us home.

  The journey home was a silent one. Try as I might I could read nothing into the expressions of my companions. Roger was cool and collected, Henry was obviously in a fearsome temper, and Dr. Harrison was as calm and impassive as ever.

  When we arrived at the house, Henry leapt from the landau and dashed up the steps and indoors without a word. Roger waited for the doctor and myself to alight and then escorted us inside.

  ‘How’s the work going?’ he asked.

  I was amazed. It was the first civilized remark he had made to me. But I had no intention of letting him think that I was at all interested in his concern.

  ‘It will be completed on time,’ I replied coldly.

  He grinned and left us. Dr. Harrison turned to me and said, ‘Please do not make any mention of this morning’s incident to your uncle.’

  Of course I had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but I was curious. So, after assuring her that I would say nothing to Uncle Joshua, I asked her if she knew who the strange man was, or if she knew the reason for his accosting Henry.

  ‘I am afraid that I know nothing about it,’ she replied.

  Frankly, I did not believe her. Had she been a normal person I would have said that this was not the first time that she had witnessed such a scene. Roger also was obviously aware of the facts and not surprised by them. All sorts of explanations came to mind: blackmail, gambling, moneylenders? I could make no sense of it. In any case, I had work to do, so I went upstairs and back to my typewriting.

  I set to work with furious energy. I think I was trying to drive from my mind all thought of the unpleasantness outside the church. But my thoughts continued to nag away at me. Typewriting from copy is not a great mental exercise, and after one has gotten into the swing of it it becomes almost automatic. As the machine rattled away, I found my thoughts wandering over the situation at Goathlands.

  For myself, I felt completely isolated; what I really needed was a friend. I wanted someone in whom I could confide, someone whom I could trust to listen, with sympathy and understanding, to the strange story of Nana’s disappearance. My mind travelled first, of course, to Uncle Josh. It would not be the first time that I had taken my troubles to him. He, I knew, was a friend. But on the other hand, Dr. Harrison had warned me against bothering him. For his own sake, I could not ignore that. It appeared that his need of solicitude and conside
ration was much greater than mine.

  Then there was the lady doctor herself. I had the impression that she would repel any advance, on any plane, other than those of a purely professional nature. I felt that she did not like me. She was a forbidding, enigmatic sort of person, yet she had indicated that she was fond of Uncle Josh, and her actions gave me no reason to believe otherwise. Whether she liked me or not was a matter of little moment. All of this, assuming it to be true, meant that I had no alternative but to respect her advice. That she was a good doctor was beyond doubt. Uncle Josh would never have engaged her had this not been the case. Though my grandfather’s considerable fortune was held in trust for Henry and myself, Uncle Josh had the income from it and could certainly afford the best.

  Henry, of course, was family. He was kind and considerate, and the little gesture of the prayer book that morning was the sort of thing which made me feel warm and affectionate towards him. Warm and affectionate yes, but trusting was something else. I could not understand why, but there was something inside of me which said no, when reason dictated that I should confide in him. Was it his occasionally sardonic humour? Was it because Uncle Josh did not seem to trust him? Or was it because of the incident I had witnessed outside the church? I did not know the answers, and, not knowing, I could not take a chance and open my heart to him.

  Ormerod was a friend, but not the sort of friend who would understand a woman’s secret fears. I knew that I could trust Ormerod, but he would have regarded a story about a disappearing teddy bear as a joke. Perhaps he would have been right in that. If, on the other hand, I had wanted a yeoman to slay a dragon or to save me from physical harm, I knew that Ormerod would lay down his life for me, but subtleties would always escape him. He was of the earth, earthy.