Castle of Secrets (7 page)

Mrs
Reynolds

Torkrow
Castle

Seremoor

Yorkshire

Fondest
regards,

Your dear
friend

She scrawled
an illegible signature at the bottom of the letter, then sanded it, and, when
it had dried, she folded it and fastened it with sealing wax. Then she went out
into the hall, and looked about her for the table.

Seen in full
daylight, the hall was even larger than she had imagined, and just as austere.
The light glinted on the silver armour and lit the stone with a cold light.

Her eye fell
on the oak table, and she crossed to it and put her letter in the bowl. There
were no further letters there, and she wondered how long it would be before it
was sent.

She heard a
clanking sound and started, but, turning round, she saw that it was only Effie,
carrying a bucket of coal towards the housekeeper’s room. As she watched her,
Helena
thought that, although
the girl was young and nervous, if she was capable of going through the
housekeeper’s desk, she might also be capable of tampering with the mail.
Perhaps she had interfered with it innocently, dropping the bowl as she dusted
beneath it, and seeing that a letter was damaged, perhaps she had taken it in
order to escape a scolding. It was possible.

She questioned
the girl gently, but Effie maintained that she never touched the mail, so she
let her go about her business.

Who else
crossed the hall in the course of the day? she wondered, as she glanced at her
letter, which lay defenceless in the bowl. Mrs Beal might venture into the hall
occasionally, but
Helena
did not believe Mrs Beal would interfere with the post. And then there was Miss
Parkins.
Helena
shivered as she thought
of the waxen face and the long, cold hands. Miss Parkins would be capable of
taking one of Aunt Hester’s letters, but why?

There was no
one else . . . except Martha and Sally. They had both been at the castle when
her aunt had been there, and perhaps one of them had seen it, or taken it.

There was a
sound of footsteps behind her, and his lordship came into view, followed by
Dawkins, who was hurrying to keep up.

‘Go to the
stables. Tell them to ready my horse. I want it brought round to the front of
the castle.’

‘Yes, my lord,
very good, my lord,’ said Dawkins, bowing, before heading towards the door.

Summoning her
courage,
Helena
spoke to the earl as he
passed.

‘Might I speak
to you, my lord?’ she asked.

He turned
towards her, and she wondered what he was thinking. Nothing very pleasant, if
his expression was any guide. His mouth was grim, and his deep-set eyes looked
haggard.

‘Well?’ he
demanded.

‘It is about
the maids, my lord. I understand there used to be some working here. I do not
believe I can keep the castle clean without help. There is a great deal of 
dusting and polishing to be done, to say nothing of the floors to be washed.
Mrs Carlisle had some housemaids to help her, I understand.’

He looked at
her as though weighing his words and then said: ‘And so you would like me to
appoint some?’

‘I could take
care of that, my lord, if I had permission to employ, perhaps, two girls.’

‘Very well.
You may walk in to the village on Friday. See to it, Mrs Reynolds, but don’t
disturb me with this matter again.’

‘Very good, my
lord.’

He strode past
her, and went into the library.

Perhaps Martha
and Sally could shed new light on her aunt’s sudden departure, she thought . .
. and perhaps they could tell her more about the crying in the attic.

For some
reason the tale had disturbed her. It had only been the sound of a cat. And
even if it had, by any chance, been a human being, it would not have been Aunt
Hester.
Helena
could not remember Aunt
Hester ever crying.

But a small
voice asked her: what if it
had
been Aunt Hester? What if Aunt Hester
had had some bad news, and had left the castle accordingly?

She found that
she was walking towards the stairs, almost without her own volition, and she
knew she would have no peace until she had been to the attic, to see if,
perhaps, there might be any evidence that her aunt had been there. Now was a
good time, for there was no chance of encountering Dawkins, who was on an
errand for Lord Torkrow.

Lifting the
hem of her skirt, she mounted the stairs, going up to the second floor and then
looking for the steps that led to the attic. She found them at last, tucked
away in a corner. They formed a narrow spiral staircase, lit by arrow slits in
the walls.

She went up as
fast as she safely could, and finally reached the top. To her left was a row of
windows, and from them she could see the moors stretching out before her, their
undulating hills and hummocks a dull green against the grey sky. Set in their
midst, the castle was isolated and cut off, and she was forcefully reminded of
the fact that it was a long back to town, and civilization. Anything could
happen in the castle, and no one would ever know . . .

She turned her
attention back to the task in hand. She saw a long corridor on either side of
her, from which various doors opened off. At the end of each corridor was a
heavy oak door, the doors to the east and west wings, she supposed.

Dawkins had
said the crying came from the east wing, and, glancing at the dim sun that
shone weakly through a rent in the clouds to get her bearings, she chose the
east door. She tried to open it, but it was locked.

She began to
try the keys. One by one, she tried them all, but none of them fitted. She
listened at the door, but could hear nothing, so she knocked on the door, and
called out, but there was no reply.

There is no
one there
,
she thought.
The attic is disused. The crying was nothing more than a cat,
and the animal escaped weeks ago
.

But a need to
get into the east wing and see for herself had taken hold of her, and she went
into the large attic room that was nearest to the east wing, hoping that there
might be a way through. It was a vast space, and draughts swirled around her.
It was full of old pieces of furniture, a selection of childhood toys and
assorted broken chairs, tables and household objects. The floorboards were
bare. She went into the corners, but there was no sign of a door, or a way into
the east wing, and reluctantly she had to admit defeat.

She went out
onto the landing and a movement below caught her eye. Through the window she
saw a solitary figure in the courtyard below: Lord Torkrow. Where was he going?
she wondered.

As he headed
towards his horse, he stopped suddenly, and she felt an unaccountable sense of
alarm. She shrank back as  he looked up, and his eyes raked the window. Had he
seen her? She felt her palms grow damp. As her heart began to race, she
wondered why she was so afraid. She had every right to be in the attic. But
even so, she felt a sense of relief when she heard the horse’s hooves on the
gravel and knew he was on his way.

Feeling shaken
by the incident, she hurried downstairs, but her mind was not easy. Who had
been crying in the attic? Had it really been a cat? Why was the attic door in
the east wing locked?

And where was
the key?

Helena
was relieved to join Mrs Beal in the
kitchen again for dinner. After an unsettling day, here, with cheerful company,
the castle seemed less menacing, and
Helena
felt her confidence returning. She knew she needed to be
careful of what she said, but she was not as frightened of making a slip in
front of Mrs Beal as she had been in front of Lord Torkrow, because Mrs Beal
would probably not notice. And if she did, she would probably forget it the
moment a pie needed taking out of the oven.

‘Yes, you’ll
need some maids,’ said Mrs Beal, as the two sat down to a nourishing meal of
chicken and potatoes, and
Helena
told her that she had spoken to the earl. ‘There’s no way
you can run the castle without them. It’s a long walk to the village across the
moor, mind, so make sure you’re wrapped up warm, and mind you wear stout
shoes.’

‘I will,’ said
Helena
.

‘Go and see
the rector’s wife, Mrs Willis. She’s used to finding maids for the castle. The
last two left, silly girls. Said they’d heard a ghost, or some such nonsense.
But work’s scarce hereabouts, and there’ll be two more to take their place.’

‘Do you think
the same two could be persuaded to return?’ asked
Helena
. ‘They would know their business,’
she explained, when Mrs Beal looked surprised.

Mrs Beal
considered. ‘Maybe. Their fathers will want them working, that’s for sure. If
it hadn’t been for the fact there was no housekeeper at the castle, they’d have
made the girls go back to work at once, ghosts or no. But there were those in
the village who said it wasn’t right for girls to be working at the castle with
no one but his lordship here. I’m down in the kitchen all day long, and the
villagers know it.’

‘But they
would consider Miss Parkins a suitable chaperon, surely?’

Mrs Beal
pulled face. ‘There’s not many that like Miss Parkins hereabouts. Why keep a
lady’s maid when there’s no lady? That’s what the gossips say.’

‘They can’t
think . . . ?’

‘Why, bless
you no, there’s none so crazed as that, but there are those who say she knows
things about him, things that could harm him, and that’s why he keeps her here.
There are those who say he can’t afford to turn her away.’

‘Do you
believe it?’
Helena
asked, putting down her
cup.

‘Not I. He’s a
good master. Some masters are forever finding fault: the food’s too rich, the
food’s too plain, there’s too much spent, there’s too much waste . . . nothing
but complaints with some people. But he never criticises. I can make what I
want, as long as the housekeeper agrees. It’s a good place, and I mean to keep
it.’

As they ate,
Helena
asked: ‘Dawkins doesn’t
eat in the kitchen, then?’

‘He has his
meal earlier, at
four o’clock
, with Effie. It leaves him free to attend to his lordship when his
lordship eats his meal.’

‘Do you know
where his lordship has gone?’ asked
Helena
.

‘He’s gone to
York
, maybe, to see to
business.’

‘And do you
know when he is likely to return?’

‘He never
says. It would be easier if he did. He’ll expect a hot meal when he gets back.
But there, it’s not his place to think of my convenience, it’s mine to think of
his.’

They finished
their meal, and
Helena
retired for the night. Her footsteps sounded ominously on the stone floor,
pattering like a frightened animal scurrying for shelter, and she thought she
detected the sound of footsteps following her. Her mind worked feverishly,
trying to convince herself that any stray footfalls were merely echoes, but she
quickened her step nonetheless. Then she stopped abruptly, trying to catch
whoever was following her, but there was no extra footfall. The echo was
nothing but her imagination, she told herself, and hurried on.

The flickering
light of her candle cast strange shadows on the walls, and she jumped at the
sound of a door creaking somewhere below. The castle seemed full of mysteries,
and she longed for the safety of her room.

She began to
run, hastening up the stairs and along the corridor . . . and then stopped. She
quickly retreated into an open doorway as she saw Miss Parkins at the end of
the corridor, standing just outside her room. The maid’s hand was on the door
knob.

Helena
’s thoughts began to race.
Was Miss Parkins about to go into her room? Or had she already been inside?

What was Miss
Parkins really doing at the castle? wondered
Helena
. How long had she been there? What
lady had she come with? And why did Lord Torkrow allow her to remain?

She shrank
back as she heard Miss Parkins coming towards her and, afraid of being
discovered, she slipped into an empty room. She snuffed her candle, for a
strange fear had gripped her, and it did not leave her until Miss Parkins had
walked past.

She waited
until she was sure Miss Parkins had gone before stepping out again. The
corridor was dark, and she had to let her eyes adjust to the gloom before she
could go on. She began to regret having snuffed her candle. Feeling the wall at
her right with one hand, she continued down the corridor and fumbled with her
door knob, then turned it and went in. The fire was glowing in the hearth, and
she quickly lit her candle from the flames, then lit the other candles. She
looked around. Had Miss Parkins entered the room? She could see no signs of it.
Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. But
Helena
was still not comfortable. If Miss
Parkins had not entered the room, then
Helena
felt that she had been about to do
so. Why? Had she hoped to find something that would tell her
Helena
was not Mrs Reynolds? Or
had she had some other reason?