Castle of Secrets (28 page)

Helena
went to her room and
removed her outdoor things, then went downstairs. She followed the sound of
clinking and went into the dining-room, where a scene of chaos met her eyes.
The footmen were chaffing the maids, who were making a half-hearted attempt to
pile glasses on trays.

‘There will be
no ball this evening until the work has been finished,’ she said briskly,
becoming the housekeeper once again. ‘Manners, take the spare chairs to the
attic,’ she said. ‘Dawkins, take the crockery and glasses down to the kitchen,
and be quick about it. All the plates and glasses have to be washed. Martha,
you will have to help Effie.’ Martha pulled a face. ‘It is no use looking like
that, this should have been done hours ago.’

‘We couldn’t
find you . . . ’ began Martha.

‘That is no
reason not to get on with your work. I have had other things to see to,’ said
Helena
. ‘Now, quickly. This must
all be done before Lord Torkrow returns. Have any of the guests been downstairs
yet?’

‘No, not a
one. Never get up early after a ball, that’s what their servants say. Up and
down they’ve been, with trays, though.’

‘Good, it will
make it easier for us to finish our work if they remain in their chambers. Once
everything is finished, we can change for our ball.’

Talk of their
own costume ball brightened the servants, and they became busy, clearing away
the remnants of the previous night’s festivities. Spare furniture was returned
to the attic, the tables were cleared, cloths were removed and spirited away,
the floor was swept, odd wigs, gloves and shoes were put safely aside, and the
room slowly began to return to normal.

The clock
struck three. The overnight guests were now downstairs, and
Helena
explained to them that
Lord Torkrow had been called away on urgent business, but that she had laid out
a cold collation for them in the dining-room.

Some of them
expressed their intention of leaving after the meal, whilst others intended to
stay. They were subdued, however, and many of them were nursing sore heads and
stomachs. After eating, those who did not leave the castle retired to their
rooms.

Once more, the
servants were free to devote their attentions to finishing clearing the
ballroom, supper room, hall and minstrels’ gallery, which were littered with
debris from the party, and it was
seven o’clock
before everything was restored to a
semblance of its former state.

The remaining
few guests were served supper on trays in their rooms, and then the day’s work
was done.

‘Reckon we
deserve our ball,’ said Martha.

‘You certainly
do,’ said
Helena
. ‘A fiddler will be here
in half an hour. I suggest you all go and put on your costumes, then assemble
in the servants’ hall.’

As the
servants dispersed,
Helena
went upstairs to change her dress. She did not put on her costume, having no
taste for revelry, but simply changed into a clean dress. As she did so, she
could not help remembering the previous night, when she had danced with Simon.
As she thought of  it, she remembered the feel of his fingers on hers, and the
weight of his hand on her waist.

She pushed
such thoughts aside and brushed her hair, then wrapped it into a neat chignon.

There was a
scratching at the door, and Effie entered with a bucket of coal. She was
sniffing, and when she put the bucket down, she wiped her nose with the back of
her hand.

‘Leave that!
Go and change, or you will be late for the ball,’ said
Helena
. ‘And make sure you wash first,’ she
said, eyeing Effie’s hands dubiously.

‘Can’t go. Not
invited,’ mumbled Effie.

‘What do you
mean, you’re not invited? Of course you are!’ said
Helena
. ‘All the servants are invited.’

‘Dawkins says
it’s not for scullery maids.’

‘What
nonsense. And besides, you are not going as a scullery maid. What costume have
you chosen?’

‘Haven’t got
one.’

‘Did you not
look in the chest?’

‘All the
lass’s costumes’ve gone.’

Helena
felt exasperated at the
girl’s lack of initiative, but nevertheless she spoke kindly.

‘Then we had
better look in the attic. There are chests of clothes up there. We are sure to
find something to fit you. I think you should go as Cinderella. You spend your
days among the cinders.’

Her humour did
not make Effie smile. The girl looked more woebegone than ever.

‘I couldn’t,
missis,’ said Effie. ‘Mrs Beal’d give me what for if I went through the things
in the attic.’

‘Not if you
are with me,’ said
Helena
.

Then, taking
Effie firmly by the hand – the one the girl had not used for wiping her nose –
she led her up to the attic and together they looked through an old trunk.

‘Now, what do
you think of this?’ she asked, as she held out a panniered gown.

‘I couldn’t
wear nothing like that. That’s for a lady,’ said Effie.

‘Tonight, you
are a lady,’ said
Helena
.
She picked up the dress, and led the girl downstairs again. ‘Now, you just have
a wash.’

Effie needed a
great deal of encouragement, but in the end she stripped down to her chemise.
Helena
breathed a sigh of relief
when she saw it was clean. Mrs Beal evidently took a motherly interest in the
girl. Then Effie washed at
Helena
’s washstand, before putting on the gown.
Helena
helped her to fasten it,
before turning Effie round so that she could see herself in the cheval glass.

‘You look
beautiful,’ said
Helena
.

Effie looked
at herself in amazement.

‘Like a real
lady,’ she said, plucking at the dress in wonder.

‘Here,’ said
Helena
, handing her a wig. ‘You
will be Lady . . . ’ she trailed away, then asked: ‘What is your favourite
name?’

‘
Charlotte
,’ said Effie promptly.

‘Then tonight
you will be Lady Charlotte. If anyone asks, you must give that as your name.’

Effie
scratched her head, knocking her wig and giving it a lopsided appearance.
Helena
straightened it again and
said: ‘No scratching.’

‘No, missis.’

‘Now, go
downstairs, Lady Charlotte, and enjoy yourself.’

Effie walked
out of the chamber, picking up the bucket of coal as she passed.

‘Not tonight,
Effie. I will see to the fires,’ said
Helena
.

She took the
bucket of coal and put it back on the hearth.

She waited for
Effie to reach the end of the corridor, and then followed her, to make sure the
other servants did not tease her, but she need not have worried. There was
already a mood of jollity in the servants’ hall, and Effie was swept into a
dance by a young man dressed as a pirate. Who he was,
Helena
did not know. One of the footmen,
probably. There seemed to be an awful lot of them, and she guessed that some of
the visiting servants and possibly some of the villagers had sneaked into the
ball under cover of a costume, but as she did not want to remove every wig and
mask to make sure, she decided to ignore it. A few extra tankards of ale would
be drunk, and a few extra sandwiches eaten, but no harm would be done. In fact,
some good might come out of it, because the villagers might lose some of their
superstitious fear of Simon and the castle.

The fiddler
was scraping his bow across his fiddle, and stamping his foot to provide a
drum.
Helena
found herself caught
round the waist, and was soon whirling round with the other dancers, not
stopping until her partner released her to get a tankard of ale.

‘Well, this is
fun and no mistake,’ said Mrs Beal, joining her at the side of the room. Mrs
Beal was dressed, in rather unlikely fashion, as a nymph. ‘This dress is very
tight,’ she complained, ‘but it was the only costume left.’ She surveyed the
dancers. ‘Who’s the young girl in the panniered gown.’

‘That’s
Effie,’ said
Helena
.

‘Why, bless my
soul, the girl’s light on her feet. I never would have thought it. Just look at
her!’

Effie was
lifted from the floor by her partner, then dropped carefully back to the
ground, where she twirled lightly around before swapping partners.

‘There’ll be
some surprised faces when she takes her mask off,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘Is everyone
here?’

‘Eldridge is not
coming.’

‘That doesn’t
surprise me. He’s never been one for fun and games.’ She looked round again, then
said: ‘I’d best encourage everyone to eat something. There’s a deal of ale
being drunk. We don’t want sore heads in the morning.’

Helena
left the noise of the
dance and went upstairs. She looked into the main rooms and made sure the fires
were ablaze, for Lord Torkrow would be cold when he returned home.

The long case
clock in the study struck
ten o’clock
.

He could be
here soon
,
she thought.
The ship sailed at
seven o’clock
.

She hoped that
all had gone well, and that Anna and George had set sail, escaping
England
and Morton for ever.

She went over
to the window and pulled back the curtains. The moon was high, and cast a
silvery glow onto the world below. The stars were out, and it was a magical
scene. The moors, which had once seemed threatening, now seemed serene.

The room
overlooked the front of the castle, and she strained her eyes, hoping to see a
speck in the distance, something moving, which could be a hired equipage, but
she could see nothing. She sat on the window seat, with her knees pulled up in
front of her and her arms wrapped round them. She was at last rewarded. In the
distance, she caught sight of movement. Simon was coming!

He must not
find her in his study. She had no right to wait for him. She must return to the
ball.

She left the
window seat and pulled the curtains, then went out into the hall. She was
halfway across when one of the footmen, dressed as a cavalier emerged from the
direction of the kitchen. His costume gave him a swagger, and it was not
surprising, thought
Helena
.
His bucket boots, with their deep turned-over tops, were made for swaggering,
and so was the extravagant costume, with its doublet and breeches in bright
blue satin, and its falling collar of white lace. He wore a short cloak, which
he had thrown back over one of his shoulders in a careless attitude. Over his
face he wore a black silk mask, and on his head was a wide-brimmed hat with an
extravagant plume.

‘Are you
taking the air?’ she asked him.

He raised his
hand, and she saw that he was holding a pistol.

‘You have
picked the wrong person to rob,’ she said, entering into the spirit of the
masquerade. ‘I have no money.’

He said
nothing, and something about his stance made her falter. The hairs on the back
of her neck rose, and she had the unsettling thought that the pistol could be
loaded.

‘You thought
you were very clever,’ he said.

She felt a
chill as she heard his voice. She had heard it before, in Mary’s cottage. The
man before her was Morton. But what was he doing here? How did he get in?

She had no
time to wonder. He was walking towards her.

She began to
back away from him. There was a bell on the wall behind her. In the confusion
of the evening its summons might be ignored, but it might be answered, if only
she could reach it.

‘What do you
want? How did you get here?’ she asked, hoping to distract him so that he would
not see what she was doing.

‘You know what
I want. I want my wife and son.’

‘Your wife and
son are dead, killed by you and your cruelty. You can see their gravestone in
Hull
. They died shortly after
they arrived there.’

‘I’ve already
seen the gravestone. I’ve dug up the ground beneath it, too, and seen there was
nothing there.’

‘What?’ gasped
Helena
, horrified that he would
do such a thing.

‘There were no
bodies. My wife and son are not dead. He’s hidden them somewhere, and you are
going to tell me where.’

‘I don’t
know,’ said
Helena
.

‘You were in
Hull
today.’

‘I was
abandoned before I got there,’ she said. ‘Your sister – or should I say,
mistress – left me at the inn.’