Castle of Secrets (19 page)

As she lifted
the candle higher, her eye was caught by something odd in the far corner. She
moved forward to see it better. It was a bare patch on the floor, where the
dust had been swept clean. Someone had been there recently. Lovers, she
wondered, seeking a place of solitude? Or someone else?

She brushed
the floor with her hand, hoping to find some clue: a plaited piece of dried
lavender, perhaps, or a brooch; but there was nothing. She stood up and went
over to the main door. It opened inwards, and, with difficulty, she managed to
pull it towards her.

The daylight
hurt her eyes. The sun had come out and, after the darkness of the tunnel and
the mausoleum, it seemed dazzling. She blinked several times, then, loath to
return to the dank tunnel, she blew out her candle, closed the door, and set
off across the moor.

It was a
beautiful day. The weather was unseasonably warm, and there was a strength in
the sunshine that reminded her spring was just around the corner. The sky above
her was blue, and the breeze blew a few wispy white clouds across it. The grass
beneath her feet was soft and springy.

On such a
beautiful day the moor looked peaceful, not a brooding enemy, but a friend. Far
off, the castle basked in the sunshine, its stone appearing mellow in the
light. Even the crenellations seemed less threatening, reminding her of the
jimping on the edges of Mrs Beal’s pastry instead of broken teeth.

It seemed
impossible to think that any evil had befallen her aunt. But if not, where
could she be? Could she have gone away for a holiday? Or could she, perhaps,
have been lured away from the castle with an offer of a higher salary? But then
why would she lie to Lord Torkrow about it?

The more
Helena
thought about it, the
less her aunt’s disappearance made sense. But it had happened, and perhaps, at
the ball, she would have a chance to find out something more.

As she
approached the castle, she wondered if the maids would have taken advantage of
her absence, but there was a flurry of activity when she went into the castle,
and she was pleased to see that everyone was working.

‘We’re going
to be short of chairs,’ said Manners, one of the footmen, coming up to her.

Manners had
been at the castle the last time a costume ball had been held, and he had been
a great help with the preparations.

‘What did you
do last year?’ asked
Helena
.

‘Brung some
down from the attic.’

‘Then that is
what we will do this year,’ said
Helena
.

‘Yes, missus.’

‘Is there
anything else we need from the attic?’

‘There’s a
trestle table up there. It needs its leg fixing, but then it’ll be good as
new.’

‘See to it,
Manners, if you please.’

‘Yes, missus.’

‘I will leave
you to organise it.’

He nodded, and
went away, calling for two of the other men to help him. She left them to their
task, and, seeing Effie going into the housekeeper’s room to mend the fire, she
went down to the kitchen again. Mrs Beal had not returned from the dairy, and, going
into the pantry, she put the candle back in its place and closed the door into
the tunnel. She laid the medieval costume on top of the tea chest, then
collected some sheets from the laundry. Concealing the costume in the pile of
linen, she made her way up to her chamber.

She was about
to put the costume in her wardrobe when she remembered that Miss Parkins had
been through her things once before. She did not want to take the chance of the
maid finding her costume if she should happen to forget to lock her door again.
She thought for a few minutes, and then she went into one of the disused
bedchambers at the end of the corridor. She took the precaution of placing a
chair in front of the door and then she relaxed.

She looked
about her. The room was almost bare. There was a dusty cheval glass and a
wardrobe. There was also a bed, but it had no sheets on it and the mattress was
tattered. The grate was empty, and from the look of it there had not been a
fire there for a long time. The mantelpiece was chipped and the wallpaper was
hanging from the walls.

As she had
already apportioned the rooms for Lord Torkrow’s overnight guests, she knew it
would not be needed on the night of the ball, which was fortunate, as it was
not a room anyone would wish to use. It would be perfect for her purposes.

She went over
to the wardrobe and examined it. Outside, it was dusty, but inside, the shelves
were clean. There was an old straw hat and a fan inside, and on the bottom
shelf there was a blanket, but nothing else. She was about to put her costume
inside when she was overcome with a strong urge to try it on. Quickly, she
stripped off her woollen gown and petticoats, shivering in the cold air as she
was left standing in her chemise and drawers.

She picked up
the medieval dress and dropped it over her head. The velvet slipped over her
skin, and she felt a sensuous pleasure at the feel of the fabric as it slid
over her arms, down over her chest and then fell in folds around her legs and
feet. She had never worn a dress like this before, and she ran her hands over
it, revelling in the feel of the velvet. The pile was deep, and she stroked it
both ways, enjoying the contrast between the rough and the smooth sensations.
It was so different from the thick woollen gowns she usually wore, and the feel
of it against her skin was luxurious.

She turned
round to pick up the wig, and stood transfixed as she saw herself in the cheval
glass. Gone was her dumpy figure, padded out by layers of petticoats and a
thick woollen gown. In its place was a willowiness she had not suspected. The
simple lines of the dress followed the contours of her body. The rich red
accentuated her smooth cream skin,  and gave more colour to her lips.

She put on the
wig, and she could hardly believe that the person in the mirror was her. The
dark wig made her eyes seem deeper set, and the style changed the shape of her
face from a heart to an oval. She put on the tall, pointed hat and the
transformation was complete. No one who did not know her well would suspect who
she was, and with a mask the disguise would be impenetrable.

She felt
things were coming to a head. She would ask as many questions as she could at
the ball, and she had a sense that some of them might be answered. At last, she
would learn some clue to her aunt’s whereabouts and strange disappearance.

She was loath
to remove the costume, with its rich colours and its sensuous feel, but she did
not want to be away from the other servants for too long, for she did not want
anyone asking awkward questions about where she had been, so she changed
quickly, then hid the costume under the blanket at the bottom of the wardrobe.
She dressed quickly in her own clothes then removed the chair from in front of
the door. She listened, making sure no one was coming along the landing, then
she went out, and was soon downstairs.

‘Did you find
everything you needed?’ she asked Manners, as she saw him standing by a line of
chairs.

‘Yes, it was
all there,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a look at the table, and I can mend the leg.
I’ll have it done by tomorrow.’

‘Good.’

She went into
the ballroom. The dust sheets had gone and the floor had been swept. The
bobeches for the chandelier had been washed, and two of the maids were putting
them back in place, so that they would catch the hot wax that fell from the
candles. Chairs had been arranged down either side of the room, and the mirrors
had been polished.

‘This is
looking very well,’ she said to the maids. ‘You’ve worked hard.’

It seemed that
the preparations for the ball might be finished on time, after all. 

Simon, Lord Torkrow returned to the
castle, weary from his journey, and weary, too, from the waste of his time. As
he rode into the courtyard, he thought of his unsuccessful interview with Mr
Brunson, whose description of Mrs Reynolds had been so vague as to be worthless.
A very pleasant widow, of medium build . . . medium height . . . brown hair
. . . possibly twenty-five or thirty-five years of age . . .
 

He was
reluctant to dismount as his horse came to a halt.  He had been glad to be away
from the castle, for he had been thinking more and more about his housekeeper;
which was foolish, when he did not know who she was, and disastrous, when he
recalled the pain of love. It was not an emotion to be welcomed; it was one to
be fought.

A groom came
out to meet him and he could delay no longer. He dismounted and went inside. He
saw Mrs Reynolds as he crossed the hall, and although he was loath to speak to
her he knew he must, for there were some details he needed to arrange for the
ball.

‘Mrs Reynolds,
a word, if you please.’

She joined him
in the library, standing before him with hands folded, perfectly poised. Was
she who she claimed to be? He could not believe any evil of her. And yet he
could not be sure. She asked too many questions, and wanted to know too much.

‘I want to
speak to you about the final arrangements for the ball,’ he said.

‘Yes, my
lord.’

‘Tell me, will
everything be ready on time?’

‘Yes, my
lord.’

‘Good.’ He had
no desire to hold a ball, but now that he was doing so, he expected everything
to go well. The castle had a long tradition to uphold, for  the balls in his
parents’ time were spoken of far and wide, and he was determined that this
year’s ball should not be an exception.

‘Here is the
final list of overnight guests.’

He handed it
to her, and she looked at it

‘The Harcourts
will be arriving early. They have a long way to come, and as Mrs Harcourt does
not travel well, she prefers to arrive well in advance. I have made a note of
those people who should have rooms together and those who should not under any
circumstances be in the same wing. It is unfortunately necessary for me to
invite my family, many of whom dislike each other, but I do not intend to
compound the problem by housing them too close to each other.’

‘I will make
sure they are accommodated as you desire.’

‘Is there
anything else you need to help you?’ he asked.

‘No, thank
you.’ She hesitated, then said: ‘There is just one thing, my lord.’

‘Well?’ he
asked.

‘Mrs Beal
tells me that the staff used to be able to hold their own costume ball on the
evening after the castle ball. If you are agreeable, I would like to revive the
custom.’

He was
thoughtful, as he recalled the custom.

‘It will be a
way of thanking the servants for their hard work, and it will also be a way of
motivating them,’ said
Helena
.

‘I remember .
. .  yes, very well, Mrs Reynolds, as long as they do not begin their
celebrations until after my last guest has been attended to. See to it.’

‘Thank you, my
lord.’

He dismissed
her.

As she left
the room, he wondered again who she was,  if she was really Mrs Reynolds, and
why she had come to the castle.

Helena
returned to the sitting-room and
found the maids were lifting the rugs.

‘Don’t know
why we ’ave to lift the rugs,’ said Sally.

‘The colours
will be much brighter when you have beaten them,’ said
Helena
.

‘It’s a
powerful lot of work,’ grumbled Martha.

‘Yes, it is,
but once it is done the room will look much more cared for.’

‘All right for
some folks who ’as balls to go to,’ muttered Sally, under her breath. ‘It’s
others who ’ave to do all the work.’

‘But when all
the work is done, and the ball is over, then we will have our own ball,’ said
Helena
.

The girls
looked up eagerly.

‘His lordship
has given me permission to revive the servants’ costume ball. Once you have
finished your work, you may go down to the pantry and choose a costume from the
tea chest. But the rugs must be beaten first, and beaten well.’

‘Yes, missus,
it will be,’ said the girls.

They set to
work with renewed vigour. They took the rugs outside and hit them with all their
might, sending clouds of dust spiralling into the early spring sunshine.

It was fortunate the previous weeks
had been fine, thought
Helena
, as she oversaw the last minute preparations for the ball.
It had allowed the maids to beat the carpets and tapestries, wash the curtains,
and air the rooms. She had been so busy that her worries about her aunt had
been pushed to the back of her mind, to resurface in quiet moments. If she did
not learn anything at the ball – she did not allow herself to think of it. She
would
learn something at the ball.