Mistress of the Moor: A gripping gothic romance mystery

by Abigail Clements

  Luckily, I had been left with a full scuttle of coal, so I was able to keep my fire well-stoked. The flames were warm and friendly as they danced away. They were thrown into bold relief by the black fire wall behind them.

  As I ploughed through the papers and the pile of completed sheets grew, I got to thinking again about the deliberate destruction of my first effort. Up to now I had allowed my suspicions to fall only upon those people with whom I had had immediate contact: Henry, Dr. Harrison, Roger, and Letty. As I mentally reviewed the situation with a little more objectivity, I realized that there were several other possibilities. There were several other servants in the house, three of whom I had never met before. As I could not think of any really valid reason for an attack upon me personally, even though the facts might seem to point in that direction, I began to speculate elsewhere.

  Remembering the warning which I had received about secrecy, was it not possible that someone had been planted in the house with the deliberate intention of sabotaging the whole Kittiwake project? Accepting this as a possibility, it could be any one of the servants and most likely one who had joined the household within recent months. I made a mental resolution to check with Barton as to when he had engaged all of the people who had not been at Goathlands at the time of my departure eight years ago. If there proved to be one who had been engaged during recent months, I could at least check their references without raising suspicion.

  What should I do if I found that someone had, for example, secured a post at Goathlands on forged references? I could, of course, dismiss them instantly, but that might not be an altogether good idea. To know your enemy is a great advantage, but to make him aware of your knowledge is to nullify any advantage there might be.

  One fact, not altogether to my liking, was beginning to emerge. The person with whom I should have to share my suspicions was the insufferable Roger. He was the one person who had nothing to gain by spoiling the plans for Kittiwake or, even if he had, with his intimate knowledge of the project, he could have handled it in a much more efficient way and without raising any suspicion. Reluctantly, I came to the conclusion that this was indeed so, and that Roger it would have to be.

  Bearing this in mind, I determined to try and break the ice with him during the next few days. I certainly did not want to have anything to do with him personally; nothing could be further from my thoughts, I insisted to myself. However, because he was to be my confidante and ally, it would help if we were on speaking terms.

  A bird started to sing away in the distance, and then another. Dawn was here. The sounds of the night had vanished away as imperceptibly as they had started. I drew back the curtains and looked out over the moors to the east, where the first streaks of crimson were appearing on the horizon. There had been a slight frost during the night, and the silver moors sparkled and glistened as the great golden orb of the sun climbed slowly over the horizon and consumed them with its first warming rays.

  I was by then well over halfway through my task, and the thought that I would finish it on time stimulated me and banished the sleepiness which was, by then, attempting to possess me. I paused just long enough to enjoy the beauty of the sunrise, and then went back to work.

  The night was over, and with the coming of the dawn I had made my resolutions. My plan of action was now clear. I should not be parted from my work until it was completed and safely in Uncle Joshua’s hand. I did not intend to take any unnecessary risks. I would then rest until dinner. As soon as the opportunity should arise, I would discuss the whole of the happenings of the previous twenty-four hours with Roger.

  Promptly at eight o’clock the door opened and Letty came in with my morning tea. I was on the point of reproving her for not knocking when I realized that she would naturally expect to find me still in bed.

  ‘Oh, you’re up, miss,’ she said, somewhat surprised. ‘Would you like to take your tea in here?’

  ‘Good morning, Letty,’ I replied. ‘Yes, I’ll have it here.’

  She put the tray down and headed for the bedroom.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked as she opened the door.

  ‘I was going to … oh, you’ve done your own bed, miss,’ she said in an astonished voice.

  ‘Letty, I have been making my own bed for eight years,’ I replied, not wishing to lie, but equally not wanting her to know that it had not been slept in.

  ‘Don’t you like the way I do it, miss?’ She sounded worried.

  ‘Of course I do. You make my bed beautifully,’ I replied. ‘Please think no more about it, and you can take these things away now.’ I indicated the now rather sordid-looking remains of my coffee.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ she said, and started to gather them up.

  ‘And Letty, you can bring me up lots of bacon and eggs, toast, and marmalade at about nine o’clock.’

  ‘Yes, miss, tea or coffee, miss?’

  ‘Coffee,’ I replied. ‘Strong coffee.’

  Letty left me. As I sipped the tea and nibbled at the biscuits that Letty had brought, I realized that I was very hungry, and I found myself wishing that I had asked for my breakfast to be served immediately. I drank two cups of tea, and after carefully locking the door to the corridor, I permitted myself the luxury of a hot bath.

  I dried myself and put on clean clothes, and feeling very much better, I returned to the sitting room and unlocked the door just in time for Letty to bring in my breakfast.

  ‘You’ve changed your clothes, miss,’ she said as she put the tray down.

  ‘Yes, Letty,’ I replied. Bother the girl. Was she prying, or did she consider it her duty to comment on everything that she saw?

  ‘Do you want anything else, miss?’

  ‘No, Letty, you can leave everything until lunch time,’ I replied.

  Letty left me. I tucked into my breakfast and then went back to my work. By noon I had finished, and I murmured a little prayer of thanks that I had been able to complete the job on time. Once again, I carefully collated the papers and put them into their manilla folders. Then, armed with my labours, I set off in the direction of Uncle Joshua’s room.

  I saw no one as I walked through the house; I supposed that everyone must be about his or her business. As I approached Uncle Joshua’s room I noticed that the door was ajar. As I got nearer, I was surprised to hear the sound of angry voices raised in heated argument. I could not make out what was being said in any detail, but I got the impression that the argument was about money. I hesitated, clutching my precious bundle. Should I just walk in or should I leave and return in an hour or so?

  The question was answered for me when suddenly the door was flung wide and Henry stormed out. His face was blazing with anger as he strode straight past me. I do not think that he was even aware of my presence as I stood with my back pressed against the wall. His expression was really most frightening. His normally calm, handsome face was flushed and twisted in anger, he was breathing heavily, and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles shone white against his skin.

  When he had passed, I hesitantly went through the now wide-open door and to my horror saw that Uncle Josh was sitting, half lying, slumped in his chair, his poor handless arm thumping away at his breast, while his mouth opened and closed as great choking gasps came from him as if he were having difficulty in drawing breath.

  ‘Uncle Josh,’ I cried as I ran towards him. ‘Uncle Josh, are you all right?’

  He made no reply. I do not think that he even heard me. I realized immediately what I must do. I must get Dr. Harrison to him as quickly as possible. I flew to the door, intending to rush across the corridor and call her, but as I reached the door, she was there.

  She pushed past me and went directly to Uncle Joshua. ‘Go to my room and get my bag. It’s on the table by the window,’ she snapped.

  ‘Is he …’ I started to ask if he was going to be all right.

  ‘Don’t stand there, do what I say,’ she said, interrupting me.

  I rushed across the corrid
or and into her room. There, as she had said, by the window was her black medical bag. I grabbed it and hurried back to her.

  She was bending over Uncle Joshua, having loosened his collar and tie, as I took the bag to her.

  ‘Give it to me,’ she said.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked.

  ‘Do?’ she said as she opened her bag. When she looked up at me, there was anger, almost hatred, in her face. ‘Don’t you think that you have done enough? Is this how you keep your promise to shield him from worry and emotion?’ She transferred her glare to the papers I was still holding. ‘Get out of here and take that rubbish with you.’

  Chapter Seven

  I went out into the corridor. I was desperately worried about Uncle Joshua but absolutely furious that that woman could be so stupid as to think that I was responsible for his present condition. More than anything, I wanted to find out whether my uncle’s condition was serious, but I dared not go back into that room. Moreover, I still had the papers. Oh, how I wanted to be rid of them. ‘Rubbish’ she had called them. Did she know what they contained? Did she perhaps know and disapprove? Disapprove so strongly that she could be the one who had reduced my first efforts to ashes? The question was hammering at my brain. Maybe she thought that this concentration on his work was bad for Uncle Joshua. But even if she believed that, she was not going to ease the situation by making his work more difficult. As for her accusing me, I had to admit that in the heat of the moment she could have assumed that I was responsible. After all, when she had entered the room, I had been alone with Uncle Josh. Even so, she could have asked me what had happened; my reply might even have proved of some help in her treatment of him.

  I was calmer now and realized that I could accomplish nothing by standing outside Uncle Joshua’s door, clutching my papers and wondering and worrying about what was happening inside the room. For better or for worse, Uncle Joshua had to be left in Dr. Harrison’s hands. But what about the papers? I had to get rid of them; they were like a millstone around my neck. Every moment that they were in my possession I was terrified that something might happen to them. I decided that I must hand them over to Roger. He had been present when I had received my instructions and was obviously aware of their contents. I made up my mind that I would tell him that Uncle Joshua was unwell but would keep the actual circumstances to myself.

  Having made up my mind as to my course of action, I left the house and headed toward the big barn. When I arrived there, the small door was closed but unlocked. I opened it.

  ‘Roger,’ I called.

  There was a low growl.

  ‘Stay, Basil,’ said Roger’s voice. ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted.

  ‘It’s me, Emma,’ I replied.

  ‘All right, stay there and I’ll come over,’ he called.

  I waited at the door until he stepped outside, his eyes blinking in the glare of the sunlight.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Miss Waldron,’ he said. ‘And what can I do for you?’

  ‘I want to deliver these to you,’ I said, offering him the papers.

  ‘Is that the typewriting?’ he asked. ‘But I thought you were supposed to deliver them to your uncle.’

  ‘At the moment my uncle is not very well,’ I answered. ‘I thought that as he had asked for them to be delivered by this time today I had better let you have them.’

  ‘Not well? He’s been overdoing it again, you know. All right, I’ll take them over to him.’

  It was with a feeling of great relief that I finally handed him the papers.

  ‘I don’t know if it makes any difference,’ I said as he took them from me. ‘But Dr. Harrison is with him just now, or was until a minute or so ago.’

  ‘Oh,’ he replied. ‘In that case I’ll take them over later. If that old dragon has got him in her clutches she won’t let anyone near him.’ He smiled at me.

  He had such a nice smile, it made me feel all warm and toasty inside. I found it hard to remember that this was the man who had been so rude to me.

  ‘Mr. Attwood …’ I began.

  ‘Why don’t you call me Roger?’ he said.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing,’ I replied haughtily.

  ‘Oh, yes you would, you know,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, you’ve already done it.’

  ‘I have done no such thing,’ I retorted indignantly. ‘When did I call you Roger? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘When you called me from the door.’

  ‘I …’ Oh dear, it was true. I had called him by his first name, though it was very rude of him to remind me.

  ‘You see, you remember.’

  He was becoming insufferable again, but it was a small point and I had resolved to enlist his aid.

  ‘Very well, since it seems to be important to you I shall do as you ask,’ I said, in the tone one uses when humouring a persistent child. ‘But you need not think that I approve of this sort of familiarity.’

  ‘I would never dream of it.’ He was mocking me. ‘And you can rest assured that I shall never refer to you as Emma unless you give me your express permission, Emma.’

  ‘You are so rude,’ I said.

  ‘All right, Your Highness, forgive me, I’m sorry. I tell you what I’ll do, I’ll show her to you.’

  ‘You’ll show whom to me?’ I demanded.

  ‘The woman I love.’ Before I could reply, he added, ‘I’m talking about Kittiwake. After all, you are one of the team now, so I see no reason why you should not be allowed to look at her. She’s going to fly tomorrow and everybody will see her.’

  I was curious; who wouldn’t be? So I allowed him to lead me into the big barn and down to the far end where his beloved stood.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

  They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If this is true, then he and I were seeing two very different things. Before me stood a flimsy, gawky, spindle-shanked contrivance with a black ugly mass of engine at the front. It was a mass of wires and open spaces and it was without doubt one of the most evil-smelling objects I have ever seen. I looked at him to see if he had been joking, but no, there was an expression of rapture on his face as he gazed at that monstrosity. Surely he did not intend to risk his life by trying to fly in that.

  ‘You’re not really going to fly it, are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Fly it?’ he replied. ‘Of course I’m going to fly it, and it is going to be the most wonderful experience of my life.’

  ‘Have you ever flown anything before?’

  ‘To be perfectly honest, Emma,’ he paused, ‘no.’

  He was quite mad. I was sure of it.

  ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘there are so few flying machines, if you want to fly, the only way to do it is to build one for yourself and simply fly it. Of course I have been lucky. I have had your uncle. Sir Joshua has one of the finest engineering brains I have ever met. Every detail has been worked out on the drawing board so that, though neither I nor Kittiwake have ever flown before, both of us know exactly what the other is going to do up there tomorrow.’ He gazed affectionately at the contraption. ‘And now I’m hungry. Coming to lunch?’

  His question brought me to the realization of how tired I was. I was sure that I could not face lunch, and with the dinner party that evening, if I was to be any sort of a hostess at all I simply had to get some rest.

  ‘Thank you, but I think I shall miss lunch,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been working very hard these last few days and must get some rest. You could do me a favour, though, and ask Barton if he would deal with the arrangements for dinner and send a pot of tea up to my room at five o’clock.’

  Roger agreed to do as I had asked and I went up to my room. How strange, I thought; there had been a perfect opportunity to tell him about the burnt papers but for some reason the thought had never entered my head.

  I got to my room and stretched out on my bed. I kicked my shoes off but found that I did not even have the energy to undress.r />
  It seemed that I had no sooner closed my eyes than I heard Letty’s voice.

  ‘It’s five o’clock, miss.’

  I rubbed my eyes. I felt awful. My tongue seemed like a lump of dried flannel in my mouth. I sat up.

  ‘It can’t be five o’clock already,’ I complained.

  ‘It is, miss, I’ve put your tea in the sitting room. Would you rather have it in here, miss?’

  ‘No thank you, Letty, leave it where it is,’ I replied.

  ‘Yes, miss. What are you going to wear tonight, miss?’

  The last thing I wanted just then was to get into a conversation with Letty, or with anybody, for that matter.

  ‘Just leave everything, Letty,’ I said. ‘I will sort my own clothes out.’

  ‘What about your room, miss, I haven’t done it yet.’

  Oh dear, I could not be unkind to the girl. She really was most willing and I was aware that the strain of the last days had caused me to be very short with her.

  ‘Letty, I hope you don’t mind,’ I said. ‘I just want to be alone. I wonder if you would be so kind as to do me a really great favour and do my room while we are at dinner. I would really appreciate that.’

  ‘Oh, yes, miss, of course, miss. I’ll leave you right away and come up after you have gone down to dinner.’

  ‘Thank you, Letty. Have the guests arrived yet?’

  ‘Yes, miss, they’re with Sir Joshua.’

  That was good news, anyway; it meant that Uncle Josh was all right.

  ‘Thank you for being so patient with me, Letty, you’re a good girl. You can leave me now.’

  I felt a little more human after I had drunk two cups of tea and washed in cold water. My wardrobe was not extensive and it contained none of the then fashionable hobble-skirted gowns. Not that I regarded this as a tragedy. The hobble skirt was one of those strange garments which women occasionally allow the fashion dictators to foist upon them with no regard for personal comfort. I never owned one and never would. I chose a gown of pink satin velvet with a tailored, tight waisted bodice and leg of mutton sleeves worn over a beautiful old modesty vest trimmed with Brussels lace.