A Collector of Hearts (3 page)

“What films have you worked
on with this Hitchcock fellow?”

The guests looked at Blake.
“The Thirty-Nine Steps,” said Blake. “I met Robert Donat and lost my heart to
Madeleine Carroll. Your Royal Highness…” Blake put down his napkin. “You’re
clearly uncertain about my being here. May I ask why?”

Everyone turned to the
prince. It is like a tennis match, thought Caroline. “Excuse me, Mr Laurenson.
I do not mean to be so rude. It is just … well with my claim on the throne of
Cariastan, there are often people out to assassinate me.”

“I assure you I come in
peace.”

Caroline was suddenly
reminded of the line from Julius Caesar.
I come to bury Caesar, not to
praise him.

“What did you say,
Caroline?” Mrs Oakengate’s sharp tones rang down the table. Caroline gasped.
Had she really said it out loud?

“I’m sure we’re all
concerned about the evil that men do, Caroline,” said Blake, his voice
thoughtful. “Especially in such surroundings.” He glanced around the room to
accentuate his meaning. “But believe me when I say that I have no interest at
all in burying Prince Henri.” He raised his glass of wine towards the prince.
“Your Royal Highness…”

The rest of dinner passed
without further incident, though it was fair to say that everyone was on edge.
When Mrs Oakengate’s glass shattered to the floor, knocked off by Anna Anderson
who sat next to her, it gave everyone a start.

“I’m so sorry,” said Anna.
“Let me get you another.”

“How jumpy we all are,” said
Penelope Henderson. “We shall all be nervous wrecks by Saturday night. Let us all
go into the ballroom and play some records.”

“Or tell more ghost
stories,” suggested Count Chlomsky.

“I think we had quite enough
of those last night,” said Penelope, standing and beckoning everyone to follow
her. “Come along. We have some new records brought over from America. I’m not
sure how well they’ll play on that old wind up thing in the ballroom. We can
but try.”

A little while later, the
ballroom was filled with the somewhat tinny strains of Fred Astaire singing,
‘The
Way You Look Tonight’
.

Caroline sat dutifully next
to Mrs Oakengate at one of the small tables dotted around the room, in case the
old lady should need anything. Her eyes could not help following Blake as he
wandered around the room talking to the other guests. To say he was a gatecrasher,
he was very much at ease with everyone and wanted no excuse for being there. In
fact, it seemed to Caroline as if he belonged in the abbey rather more than
anyone else in the room did. A few of the guests started to dance.

“Will you dance with me,
Caroline?” Blake asked when he reached her.

“I’m afraid Mrs Oakengate
might need me,” she said.

“No, go along and dance Mr
Laurenson,” said Mrs Oakengate. “I think his Royal Highness wants me.”

Sure enough, Prince Henri
was waving Mrs Oakengate across to him. It seemed to Caroline that the polite
thing to have done with an elderly woman was to come to her, but she supposed
princes lived by different rules. Mrs Oakengate, however, appeared honoured to
have caught his attention, so walked over to him with as much energy as she
could muster, trying to look ten or twenty years younger.

“Then it’s settled,” said
Blake, taking Caroline by the hand and leading her to the dance floor.

“Who are you?” she asked him
when they had been dancing for a few moments.

“I’m sure we were already
introduced.”

“Yes, but you knew me
before. When we met in the lane. Only then you didn’t mention knowing Jack
Henderson.”

“I didn’t know he was here.”

“But you knew me?”

“I saw you leaving, and
heard Mrs Oakengate telling you not to be too long.”

“So you were watching the
abbey this afternoon?”

“I told you. I walked up to
get a look at it.”

“The prince doesn’t seem to
trust you.”

“Are you always this direct,
Caroline?”

“Yes, I try to be. I find it
makes life much easier. Don’t you?”

“Then you won’t mind me
telling you that you are utterly wonderful. Tell me about yourself.”

“There isn’t anything to
tell. I’m an orphan and I was brought up by a foster aunt and uncle.”

“Oakengate is known as The
Collector. Tell me, why did she collect you?”

“I don’t think I want to
talk about that, Mr Laurenson. In fact, I’d like to sit down now, if you don’t
mind.” Caroline could not understand her own response. She had vowed to meet
the subject of her parentage head on, so why did it matter so much to her what
this man thought?

“I shall find out from
someone else, even if you don’t tell me. A moment ago you spoke of the
importance of being direct. So why can’t you tell me the truth now?” To her
consternation, he was not letting her go. Rather than cause a scene, she
continued to dance with him, but kept her body rigid.

“My parents were spies. My
father died before he could be brought to justice, and my mother died in
prison.”

“Oh. Look, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. I barely knew
them. I was farmed out to relatives early in my life while my mother and father
travelled the world betraying their country. I never knew a proper family till
Aunt Millie and Uncle Jim took me in.”

“The Haxbys?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I’ve never met them but
I’ve heard of them and I think I remember the case. Your surname is Conrad,
which means from what you say that your mother was Barbara Conrad. And your
father Sir Alexander Markham. Am I right?”

Caroline nodded. “They
framed Aunt Millie’s father, Richard Woodridge. That was just before she met
Uncle Jim. My mother admired Millie, so when she was in prison, she contacted
her to ask her if she would take care of me. Aunt Millie came to get me
straight away
 
– I was five at the time -
and took me home to be part of her family.”

“It was remarkable that
Millie agreed, given what they’d done to her father.”

“Aunt Millie is a remarkable
woman. There’s no one else like her in the world. If not for her my mother
would have been executed, but Aunt Millie spoke up for her and mother’s
sentence was commuted to life imprisonment.
 
Aunt Millie has always told me to remember that my parents’ crimes are
not my crimes, which is why I need no apology.”

“Yet you didn’t want to tell
me, Caroline. Why was that?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I
get tired of talking about it.” It was the first lie she had told him. Not so
much about getting tired of talking about her parents. That much was true. But
it was not the reason she had been reluctant to tell him.

“Or maybe,” he murmured next
to her ear, “you thought it would stop me from liking you.”

Caroline pulled away. “I
assure you, Mr Laurenson that I have no need for your approval.” That was the
second lie she had told him.

“Like I said,” he said,
smiling, “you are utterly wonderful.”

Caroline felt her face flush
crimson, and turned away from him. She would have liked to go to bed, but she
was forced to stay until Mrs Oakengate decided to turn in. She picked up her
glass of wine and drank it down in one go, in an attempt to fortify herself.
Her employer, dancing in Prince Henri’s arms, looked as though she might fall
asleep at any moment, yet seemed reluctant to relinquish her hold on the
prince’s attention.

* * *

It was with some relief that
Mrs Oakengate finally said her goodnights, and Caroline followed her meekly up
the stairs, avoiding eye contact with Blake Laurenson who stood in the hallway
talking quietly to Jack Henderson. By that time, Caroline felt exhausted and
could easily have gone to sleep on her feet.

           
“The prince is so charming,” Mrs Oakengate said as
Caroline helped her to get into bed. “I think he rather admires me.” Mrs
Oakengate’s cheeks were flushed from dancing, but Caroline had never seen her
look so happy.

           
“That’s nice,” said Caroline. “Do you want to read for a
while or shall I turn off the lights?”

           
“Actually I’m very tired all of a sudden. Turn off the
lights in this room, but leave my door open, and one of your lights on, please.
I do not like total darkness.”

           
Caroline nodded and smiled, despite not being at all keen
on that idea. She preferred to sleep in darkness, and the night before had
found it hard to doze off with one of the lights glowing in the corner. An
extended yawn told her that perhaps tonight would be different

           
After putting on her night dress, she sat up in bed for a
while, intending to read, but her mind kept going back to Blake Laurenson and
his presence in the house. Why was he there? For some reason the story of him
being an old friend of Jack Henderson’s did not ring true. She had seen them
talking together, and there was none of the easy camaraderie that friends
shared. She supposed that perhaps they were more acquaintances than friends,
and that Blake’s appearance had been something of an imposition. But Jack
Henderson was no pushover according to the gossip columns. He was not averse to
firing even the most famous of actors from his films if they behaved in a way
that held up the working day. So he would not hesitate to throw out a young man
who had worked as nothing more than a runner on a couple of Hitchcock films.

           
The more Caroline thought about it, the more that did not
ring true either. She was a runner, of sorts, for Mrs Oakengate, only on a more
permanent basis. Blake did not seem the kind who would be pandering to the
whims of spoilt movie stars and temperamental directors. He was too much his
own man. That much she gauged just by knowing him for a few hours.

           
Unable to fight her drowsiness any longer, she put her
book onto the bedside table, and got up to turn off several of the gas lights,
leaving the one furthest away from her bed, but nearest to Mrs Oakengate’s
door, lit but turned down a little.

           
The realisation that the light had dimmed even further
came to her slowly; as she lay dozing in her bed, like something on the edge of
her consciousness and through half open eyes. At first she thought nothing of
it, until a few minutes later when she saw the shadow passing in front of her
bed, yielding a small, but bright, light. She tried to open her mouth to
scream, but nothing would come. Was she dreaming? She was not sure. All she
knew was that she had been filled with a great terror. Something was trying to
get to Mrs Oakengate, and she had to help her. The room was almost completely
dark, with just a tiny flicker from the gaslight that barely shed any light at
all.

           
It was only when the figure stood over her bed – a woman
with red hair and dressed in green, with her whole body bathed in a white light
– that she really woke up. “Shh,” said the woman, putting her fingers to her
lips. “Danger.”

           
That was when Caroline screamed.

           
Caroline’s bedroom door flew open and Blake stood there,
fully dressed. “What is it? What happened?”

           
“I saw something. Someone,” said Caroline, her body
trembling from head to toe. “They were in here. Oh! Mrs Oakengate. What if they’re
still in there with her?”

           
Caroline dashed into the next room, closely followed by
Blake. It was still dark, so Caroline lit several of the gaslights, whilst
Blake checked each corner. Out in the hallway, a few of the other guests
started to assemble, but none entered the vestibule, perhaps for fear of
finding something awful. Mrs Oakengate slept soundly in her bed. Too soundly.
It frightened Caroline to see her lolling on the pillow with her mouth open.
“Mrs Oakengate? Mrs Oakengate!” Caroline shook her.

           
“Really, Caroline,” said Mrs Oakengate. She sat up in
bed, covering herself with the blanket when she realised a man was present.
“What on earth is going on?”

“Someone was in our room.”

“Honestly. I took you on
because you’re not prone to such hysterical nonsense. One night in a supposedly
haunted house and you turn into a wreck.”

           
“I am not a wreck,” Caroline said, more sharply than she
intended. She took a deep breath and mentally altered her tone. “I saw someone.
They turned down the gaslight.”

           
“It feels very stuffy in here, Caroline. Open the window.
I can barely breathe,” said Mrs Oakengate. “I’m afraid I may be coming down
with something. My head feels all stuffy.”

           
Blake looked around the room. “There’s no door in this
room.”

           
“No, the only entrance is through mine.”

           
He went to the window and checked it. “This is locked
from the inside.”

           
“What about under the bed?” said Caroline, lifting one of
the blankets. There was nothing there except Mrs Oakengate’s suitcases, and
whilst they were bulky, none were big enough to hold a fully-grown adult.

           
“No one passed me in the hallway,” said Blake, “so they
wouldn’t have got out that way. Who, or what exactly did you see?”

           
“I saw … I saw the gaslight grow dim. A little while
later I felt the presence of a shadow in the room. But they had a torch. I
think. And then…” She hesitated. The next part was going to be more difficult
to explain. “I saw Lady Cassandra standing over me.”

           
Blake burst out laughing. “Lady Cassandra.”