Castle of Secrets (11 page)

‘Did you have
some shopping to do in the village?’ Mary asked.

‘No,’ said
Helena
, sipping her tea. ‘I was
going to see Mrs Willis, to ask her if she could help me to find some maids.’

‘Ah.’

‘There were
girls working at the castle until recently, but they left, and I am finding it
difficult to manage without them.’

‘Yes, I’m sure
you are. The castle is very large to manage alone. But it isn’t surprising the
girls left. There is a lot of superstition hereabouts. They were frightened of
the strange noises in the attic, and instead of attributing them to the
creaking of old wood and the sighing of the wind, they attributed them to
ghosts and ghouls.’

‘You know
about that?’ asked
Helena
in surprise.

‘There is not
much to talk about in a small village,’ said Mary with a smile. ‘We all know
everything. Tell me, have you heard any chains rattling or children crying?
They are apparently everyday sounds at the castle.’

‘No,’ said
Helena
, smiling, too, at Mary’s
humorous tone of voice.

‘You do not
seem very happy, however,’ said Mary, her expression becoming more serious. ‘I
don’t suppose the castle is really haunted?’

‘No, of course
not,’ said
Helena
quickly.

‘But there is
something troubling you,’ said Mary thoughtfully.

Helena
put down her cup.

‘There are
noises,’
Helena
admitted. ‘But they are
just the noises typical of an old building. It is taking me some time to get
used to it, however. I have never lived in a castle before.’

‘It must be
exciting,’ said Mary.

‘I believe it
would be, if I did not have so much work to do’.

And if I
was not so worried about my aunt, she added to herself.

‘Yes, it must
be difficult to keep clean. Old buildings always are. I hope you find the
servants you need, though they may not be much use. Mrs Carlisle had a hard
time making them work, I believe. They were more interested in gossiping, or so
she told me.’

‘Did you know
her?’ asked
Helena
in surprise.

‘Oh, yes, we
both did. We were very fond of Mrs Carlisle. She was an intelligent and
interesting woman. We made her acquaintance at church, and she was good enough
to visit us when she had an afternoon off. We do not have much company, and her
visits were a treat for us, until . . . ’

‘Until?’

‘Until they
stopped.’ Mary picked up the teapot. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

Mary poured
the tea, but did not continue.

‘It must have
been disappointing for you,’ said
Helena
, prompting her.

‘Yes, indeed.
I asked Lord Torkrow if she was ill, thinking this must be why she had not
called, and he said —’

‘Yes?’

‘He said she
had gone to care for a sick sister and would not be returning.’ Mary hesitated,
and
Helena
had the feeling she was
going to say that she did not believe in the story of the sick sister. Mary was
clearly troubled, but did not seem to know how to begin. Then her expression
changed, and
Helena
guessed that her sense of
propriety had won out over her need to talk about her anxieties. Instead of
expressing any fears, she simple said: ‘It is a pity.’

‘It is
indeed,’ said
Helena
.

There was a
pause and then, in a slightly artificial tone of voice, Mary said, ‘I am sorry
not to have seen her one last time. We have a poetry book of hers, which she kindly
lent to my brother.’

‘I didn’t know
my —’
Helena
stopped herself saying
aunt
just in time, ‘predecessor liked poetry.’

‘Oh, yes, she
was a very cultured woman. Do you have a forwarding address?’ she asked
casually.

How clever
, thought
Helena
, admiring Mary’s
subterfuge.

‘No, I’m
afraid I don’t.’

‘No matter.
How are you finding it working with Lord Torkrow? I believe he is a difficult
man,’ she said, changing the subject.

‘I have seen
very little of him. As I am new, though, everything seems strange.’

The
conversation moved on, but
Helena
was sure that Mary’s question had been a ruse. She had no
doubt that Mary would have liked to write to her aunt, to reassure herself that
everything was all right.

So Mary, too,
was anxious.

Helena
kept waiting for her to
return to the subject, but she did not raise it again. Mary, she suspected, was
in a similar position to her own: she did not know whom to trust.

They spoke of
the moors, of the weather, and of Mr Debbet’s health, and an hour passed very
pleasantly. The rain began to abate at last.

‘Thank you for
your hospitality, but I think I must be going,’ said
Helena
, as a weak gleam of sunshine found
its way into the room.

‘Of course,’
said Mary. ‘You will not walk to the village now, I hope? The light is fading,
and it will soon be dark.’

‘I must,’ said
Helena
regretfully.

‘Tom, our man,
will be driving to the village tomorrow in the trap. I can have him take a note
to Mrs Willis if you care to write one. I don’t like to think of you walking on
the moors so late in the day. The road is not well marked, and you might become
lost on your return.’

Helena
thanked her gratefully
and accepted her kind offer. Mary gave her paper and pen, and
Helena
composed a note to Mrs
Willis, asking her to send any willing girls to the castle. She particularly
asked her to secure the return of the girls who had worked there before. She
gave the note to Mary, and then the two of them went out into the hall.

‘It was lucky
for me I met you this afternoon,’ said
Helena
.

‘On the
contrary, it was lucky for me. We see very few people. My brother, I know,
enjoyed your company. He says very little but his spirits improve with
diversion. I hope you will call on us again. You are welcome at any time.’

Helena
thanked her, then having
donned her outdoor things she took her leave. As she retraced her steps to the
castle, she felt heartened to have met Mary. She felt, at least, that she had a
friend in the neighbourhood, someone she could turn to if she had need. She was
convinced that Mary was worried about her aunt’s sudden disappearance, and
decided that the next time they met she would broach the subject. If all went
well, she might be able to take Mary into her confidence. Perhaps if she learnt
nothing from Sally and Martha, she and Mary could think of what to do next.

She returned
to the castle feeling tired, but happier than she had been for days.

Her happiness
faded as she reached the courtyard however, for there, looking down at her from
an upstairs window, was Miss Parkins. Seen in the distance, Miss Parkins looked
like a statue, and even in the dim light,
Helena
felt sure the maid was watching her.
She could feel the maid’s malignancy spreading out to cover her.

What is she
doing at the castle?
thought
Helena
.
Does she really have a hold over Lord Torkrow? Does she
know something to the detriment of his brother? Is that why he allows her to
remain?

Helena
walked on.

I might
have an ally in Mary
, she thought,
but I have an enemy in Miss Parkins.

As she crossed
the courtyard, she saw Lord Torkrow was just emerging from the front door. He
was swathed in his black coat, which flapped around his ankles. She found him a
conundrum. He treated her with hostility, yet he had shown her sudden gleams of
friendship. He frequented graveyards at night, but once there, he was overcome
with grief. He inspired fear in his neighbours, but respect in his servants.

As she looked
at him, she thought to herself,
Enemy or ally, which is he
?

Helena
was just about to go in the side
door when she heard the sound of wheels on gravel, and turning her head, she
saw that a carriage was arriving at the castle. By the check in Lord Torkrow’s
step, and by the fact that he was wearing his cloak, she guessed the visitors
had not been expected. The carriage rolled to a halt. The coachman jumped down
from the box and opened the door, and a beautifully slippered foot set itself
on the step. A moment later, a young woman robed in an emerald cloak with a
trim of swansdown emerged. She had flame red hair, which was elaborately
coiffured, and which was topped by a hat with a large plume. She was followed
out of the carriage by an older woman, who had the same brilliant hair, and who
was dressed in an equally fashionable, if more matronly style, with an amber
pelisse and turban.

Who are
they?
Helena
wondered, as she paused
to look at them.

From Lord
Torkrow’s grimace she thought he was not pleased to see them, but he made them
welcome nonetheless.

Helena
slipped in the side door
and went upstairs to remove her cloak. As she did so, she passed Miss Parkins
on the landing. Miss Parkins was looking down at the party below.

‘He should
have married her,’ said Miss Parkins suddenly.

Helena
did not know if the maid
was speaking to her, and so she did not reply.

‘
His
parents wished it,’ said Miss Parkins with a trace of bitterness. ‘
Her
parents wished it. It was a good match for both of them. If he had married her,
he would have been on honeymoon when . . . ’

The sound of
tinkling laughter came up from below, as the guests entered the hall. Miss
Parkins seemed to recollect herself and she turned to
Helena
.

‘You will have
to hurry. You will be wanted downstairs.’

‘Will you not
be helping?’ asked
Helena
.

The maid’s
gaze rested on
Helena
,
making her squirm inwardly.

‘His lordship
and I do not see eye to eye on the subject of Miss Fairdean. He will not
require my presence.’

‘And Dawkins?’

‘Dawkins has
gone on an errand for his lordship.’

‘Very well,’
said
Helena
.

Miss Parkins
moved away, leaving a chill behind her, making
Helena
shiver.

Helena
returned to her room,
removing her cloak and tidying her hair. As she did so, she regarded herself in
the cheval glass. She had a well-shaped face with fine eyes and was passably
pretty; as pretty, perhaps, as Miss Fairdean, but there any similarity between
them ended. Miss Fairdean’s hair was arranged in the most becoming coiffure,
with small curls framing her face, whereas
Helena
’s chignon was scraped back from her
face, with no curls to soften the style. Miss Fairdean’s cloak was made of
velvet, and shimmered like an emerald, whereas
Helena
’s cloak was made of grey wool. Her dress,
too was made of dark grey wool, and she found herself wondering what Miss
Fairdean’s gown would be like.

Just for a
moment she longed for beautiful clothes. She had never worn silk or satin;
never possessed anything made out of velvet or lace; and never had a colour
more interesting than dark blue. Miss Fairdean’s hair and fashionable clothes
had brightened up the afternoon like a beacon, whereas her own appearance was
as dreary as the weather.

Fortunately,
she had no time to linger. She could do nothing about her dull appearance, and
besides, she had work to do. She went downstairs. The bell was ringing in the
drawing-room as she reached the hall, and she answered it promptly. She went in
to see Miss Fairdean reclining elegantly on a chaise longue, her well-cut
morning gown showing off her Rubenesque curves. She reminded
Helena
of a painting she had
once seen in
London
, voluptuous and enticing,
like a Venus come down to earth. Mrs Fairdean, who was still a handsome woman,
sat beside her.

Helena
’s eyes turned to Lord
Torkrow, who was standing on the other side of the fireplace. His body was
blocking the firelight, and cast a black shadow across the gold-damasked chair.

To her
surprise, he was not looking at Miss Fairdean, he was looking at her. His eyes
were fixed on her for fully a minute, as though committing her to memory. So
long did he look, that Miss Fairdean and her mother looked, first at him, and
then at
Helena
. They exchanged glances,
and Miss Fairdean gave one exquisite shrug of her shoulder.