Castle of Secrets (25 page)

Helena
was dumbfounded. Why had
Mary deserted her? Had Lord Torkrow paid her to leave? Impossible! Mary would
not give in to intimidation or bribery, she was sure. But the trap continued,
and turned into the road.

Lord Torkrow
joined her at the window and cursed. ‘So she was here after all. And where she
is, he will not be far behind. Where is she going? What have you told her? You
found the secret room, but what more have you learnt? Answer me! What have you
told her? Where is she going?’

Helena
did not know why Mary had
left her, but she knew one thing: she could not answer his question if she
wanted her aunt to be safe.

‘I will tell
you nothing,’ she said, rounding on him.

‘You will tell
me everything I want to know, or it will be the worse for you,’ he said
threateningly.

‘Never,’ she
said, between gritted teeth.

‘I don’t know
what you think to gain by protecting them. They have already paid you – or
perhaps not,’ he added appraisingly. ‘Perhaps that is why you are protecting
them. Perhaps you are afraid they will go back on their part of the bargain if
you give them away.’

‘I don’t know
what you’re talking about,’ she said.

‘Tell me,
have
they paid you?’ he asked roughly.

‘Have who paid
me?’

‘Maria and
Morton’

‘I don’t know
anyone by the name of Maria, but if you mean Mary, why should she pay me? I do
not work for her.’

‘Then you work
for Morton.’

‘I know no-one
by the name of Morton. The only man I have ever seen her with is her brother,
and surely even you would not blacken the character of a poor, sick man who was
wounded at the Battle of Waterloo in defence of his country?’ she returned
scathingly.

He regarded
her closely, then said: ‘You are either a very good actress, or they have lied
to you.’

‘They have
never told me anything, other than that they were living in the country for the
good of Mr Debbet’s health. You are either evil or mad.’

He searched
her face.

‘And you are
either a hapless pawn or a willing accomplice, but it makes no difference,’ he
said. ‘Where were you going with Maria?’

‘I don’t
know,’ she said.

‘You do, and
you will tell me,’ he said brutally.

‘Do you really
believe I would deliver a woman and a child up to you, so that you can finish
what you have begun? Do your worst. You will never have them,’ she flared.

He looked at
her curiously, then asked her the question he had asked her in the gallery.
‘Who are you?’ he said.

‘Your
nemesis,’ she returned.

‘Your name,’
he demanded.

She flung it
at him defiantly, glad to be rid of the pretence. ‘My name is
Carlisle
,’ she said. ‘I am Mrs
Carlisle’s niece.’

He look
shocked, then said, as if to himself: ‘So that is it. The handkerchief -  C.
Carlisle.’

She saw
understanding dawn on his face, and she wondered what he was going to do, now
that he knew the truth. Would he imprison her as he had imprisoned her aunt?

Her question
was soon answered, for saying: ‘There’s no time to waste,’ he took her hand and
pulled her along in his wake as he strode out of the parlour. ‘You are coming
with me,’ he said.

She resisted,
but he was too strong for her. She looked about her for help, but the corridor
was empty. He pulled her towards the entrance, through which she could see his
carriage. So! He had caught up with it, and learned of her ruse.

She dug her
heels into the gap between the flags, knowing that if she climbed into the
carriage she would be at his mercy. It gave her the resistance she needed to
bring him to a halt.

‘There is no
escape,’ he said, tightening his grip. ‘You are coming with me, and you will
tell me everything I need to know on the way.’

‘So that you
can find my aunt, and kill your nephew, as you killed your brother?’ she
demanded.

‘
What
?’
he said, rounding on her.

In his
surprise he dropped her arm, and she ran, but she had only gone a few feet when
he caught her again.

‘You will
never find them,’ she said, turning on him. ‘My aunt has hidden the boy, and
she will look after him until Mary rescues them.’

He suddenly
dropped her arm, and to her shock, his hand cupped her face. He looked deeply
into her eyes.

‘I don’t know
what Maria has told you,’ he said, ‘but I am not your enemy.’

Again, his
words confused her.

‘Who is Maria,
and why do you keep talking about her?’ she asked.

‘She is the
woman you arrived with at the inn. She is dangerous. I don’t know how she has
imposed on you, but I must know where she is going, because if she finds your
aunt before we do, then she is likely to kill her.’

He was so
convincing that she faltered.

‘I don’t know
what to believe,’ she said uncertainly.

Lord Torkrow
was the villain, wasn’t he? But somehow his words had the ring of truth, and he
was no longer behaving like a villain. He was not threatening her. He had
dropped his hand and although he could have dragged her to the carriage and
thrown her in, he had not done so.

‘Your aunt is
in danger, and so is my nephew,’ he said. ‘You have to decide who to trust, I
cannot take the decision for you. You must trust Maria or you must trust me.’

She felt very
still. She remembered everything she had heard about him, every whisper, every
rumour, and then she thought of her own experiences at the castle. He had been
hostile, but she had never seen him do anything amiss: he had never mistreated
the servants, and he had not filled the castle with debauched friends. Even his
hostility could be explained if Mary was dangerous, as he claimed, and if he
had thought she was in league with Mary.

But Mary could
not be dangerous . . . could she?
Helena
thought of everything she knew about Mary, and was surprised
to realize it was so little, and that even that little came from Mary herself.
She remembered that Mary had tried to discover her aunt’s whereabouts by
pretending she had a poetry book belonging to her and asking for a forwarding
address; and then again by saying that her aunt must have run away with the
boy, and asking if Helena knew where they might have gone. And Mary had
abandoned her at the inn as soon as she had learnt what she wanted to know.

Helena
looked at the man in
front of her, and thought of everything that had passed between them since she
had entered the castle. He was dark and dangerous and she was half afraid of
him, but she realised that her fear had never been for her safety. She was not,
nor had she ever been, afraid he would hurt her, no matter how he had behaved;
she was afraid because he awakened feelings in her that she could neither
control nor ignore.

‘Well?’ he
said. ‘What is it to be? Do you trust Maria, or do you trust me?’

‘I trust you,’
she said.

He gave a
ghost of a smile, then said: ‘We must go.’

‘My aunt is in
—’

‘
Hull
. I know. All I need to
know now is if that is where Maria has gone.’

‘Yes, it is.’

They went out
into the corridor. The landlord was bustling towards them with a hamper. Lord
Torkrow paid him a guinea, and gave him another, saying: ‘Tell me, which is the
best way to
Hull
?’

‘Why, bless
me, you’re the second person to ask me that this morning. The young lady was
just making enquiries. You follow the road here until you reach the main road .
. . ’

Helena
grew more and more
impatient as the man went on. She could not understand why Lord Torkrow
listened patiently to the innkeeper’s directions. Surely he knew the way?

‘Thank you,’
said Lord Torkrow.

The landlord
went about his business, and they went out into the courtyard.

‘Why did you
ask for directions?’ she said.

‘Because I
hoped that Maria might have done the same, and then I could discover which way
the landlord had sent her. He will have told her the main route, as he told me,
but it is not the quickest. We will beat her yet.’

His carriage
was waiting for them. Fresh horses had been harnessed, and were champing at the
bit. Eldridge opened the door and let down the step. Lord Torkrow stood back,
letting
Helena
go in, and then followed
her inside. The step was folded, the door closed, and as soon as Eldridge had climbed
onto his box they were on their way.

Helena
remembered the last time
she had been in a carriage with him. How long ago it seemed! She had been
afraid of him, and worried about her aunt. She was still worried. Where had
Aunt Hester gone? And why?

‘Why did my
aunt leave the castle?’ she said. ‘Did you send her away with your brother’s
child? And why?’

‘Yes, I sent
her away, but she was glad to go. She wanted to protect George as much as I
did, and she knew it was the best way.’

‘But why was
he in danger? His parents are dead, so surely you are the boy’s guardian?’

’My nephew is
not the son of my brother. My brother died childless. The boy is my sister’s
son.’

‘Your sister?’

‘Yes. My
sister. Anna. You saw her portrait.’

Helena
cast her mind back to the
portrait gallery and remember the family portrait hanging there. It had shown
Lord Torkrow and his brother as children, and there had been  a little girl
standing next to them.

‘She was a
beautiful girl,’ he said with a far-away look on his face. ‘She had soft, dark
hair and a mouth that was made to smile. She was my father’s favourite child,
and my brother and I did not mind, because she was a favourite with us as well.
She was the youngest, and we all took pleasure in looking after her.’

He turned to
her. ‘I owe you an explanation. I did not know you were Mrs Carlisle’s niece,
and so I said nothing about your aunt when you came to the castle. But you must
be worried.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘She is safe,
in
Hull
, with my sister. My
sister has not had a happy life,’ he explained. ‘When she was eighteen years
old, my parents took her to
London
for a Season.  She met a man there, John Morton, and she
quickly became besotted with him. My father was displeased. Morton was older
than her by some fifteen years. My father’s warnings fell on deaf ears,
however, because Morton had a way with women, and my sister was entranced.

‘My father
hoped it would come to nothing, that Morton would tire of her and turn to
someone nearer his own age, but instead, Morton asked for her hand in marriage.
My father was reluctant to agree, but Anna was in love, and so he gave his
consent.

‘At first all
went well. Anna was happy, living with her husband in
Norfolk
. But then things started to change.
She seemed quiet and withdrawn. I was anxious, and one day  I paid her a
surprise visit. I found her with a bruised face, and I told her she must leave
her husband and come back with me to the castle, where my father, my brother –
for he was still alive at the time - and I would protect her. She refused. I
thought of carrying her bodily out of the manor house, but she told me she was
with child. Her husband had been delighted with the news, she said. He had
stopped hitting her, and had told her that he had only done it because he had
been frustrated at the lack of an heir.

‘I called on
Anna many times over the next few years. My brother and sister-in-law also
called on her, often unexpectedly, to make sure she was all right. She never
had any bruises, and she was radiantly happy. She loved her little boy, and her
husband doted on the child, too.

‘I was
reassured. Besides, I had other things to think of. My sister-in-law and my
brother both died. Anna came to the funeral, but she never visited the castle
after that, and I never went to the manor. I was lost in my own labyrinth of
darkness, and had no thought to spare for anyone else.

‘So things
went on. And then came a day, a few months ago, when, on a wild night, my
sister came to the castle. She was almost collapsing with exhaustion when I
took her in, and she had been badly beaten. The mark of a whip was on her back
– but I will say no more. Her cur of a husband had taken to hitting her again,
and she had borne it silently, because she had known that if she left him he
would never let her see her son again. But then he had threatened little
George. She waited until he became unconscious through drink, and, persuading a
groom to help her, she took her son and set out for the castle.

‘She had a
little money, which she had kept hidden from her husband, and she used it on a
ticket for the stage coach, before walking the last part of the journey.