Castle of Shadows (3 page)

As she hurried back to the Castle, listening for any hint of Foss, climbing in through the window, dodging the maids in the corridors, her hand kept creeping back into the pocket, her fingers searching out the folded edge of her mother’s letter.

The ground-floor corridors, with their dark panelling and moulded plaster ceilings, stank of beeswax and mildew. Charlie’s ancestors frowned from every wall, trapped forever inside gilded frames. The midday sun penetrated the gloom far enough to pick out glinting eyes, petulant mouths, frothy lace, sabres in jewelled scabbards. A rat scratched behind the panelling. Perhaps it knew, as she did, that Mrs O’Dair was safely at her lunch. Charlie shuddered (whether at the thought of the rat or Mrs O’Dair, she didn’t know) and hurried on.

She pulled open the serving-room door and stepped into a long cupboard of a room. A row of tables lined one side. Set in the wall above them was the door that hid the dumbwaiter. Charlie clambered onto a table, tugged the dumbwaiter door open and crawled inside. She took a deep breath and pulled the door closed, shutting herself in the dark. Her fingers fumbled to find the pair of thick cables, fastened around the right-hand one and pulled. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the dumbwaiter lurched and, with a protesting squeak of gears and pulleys, slid down its wooden shaft towards the cellars.

Charlie hauled on the rope with a fury born of panic.
After counting down three floors she fought the dumbwaiter to a halt, flung open the door, exploded out in a flurry of elbows and feet, and sat in an inch-thick layer of dust.

‘
Aaaa-choo! A-tishoo!
’ She grabbed her outraged nose and squeezed it shut as she scrambled to her feet. Dust swirled through the air. It lay in drifts across the stone floor. Overhead, tiny square windows pierced the very top of the walls, where the Castle sprouted from the earth. Dust swam up to the windows and slid back down on feeble beams of light.

Empty cupboards lined the walls either side of her. She glimpsed her reflection in one of the glass doors and saw that Tobias was right: she looked like a scrawny goblin, its hair bristling in a halo of tufts. She scowled and shook her head, spraying dust like water. She should have thought to wash; maybe even tried to brush her hair.

She dug the remains of a handkerchief from her pocket, spat on it and rubbed at her face, patted her hair and scraped at the black crescent moons under her fingernails. The reflection looked as grubby as ever. She gave up and waded through dust drifts down the corridor.

Light oozed beneath the door. She knocked and waited. And waited. Mr Moleglass valued patience. Finally, the pattering of footsteps seeped under the door along with the light. The door creaked open to reveal a small, egg-shaped man wearing a morning suit and
starched collar. His feet were clad in slippers of finest red leather, and he wore gloves the exact pigeon grey of his waistcoat.

‘I see.’ Mr Moleglass peered at her as though from a great height, although he was barely taller than she was. ‘On the scrounge again, Your Highness?’ His voice was soft and sharp at the same time, like a slice of lemon cake. The ends of his moustache curled. The better his mood, the curlier the ends. Today, they barely curved out of the horizontal.

‘You had best come in.’ He held the door wide for her. ‘Although I warn you, I’ve little enough food for myself these days.’

‘You always say that, and it’s never true. You’re quite as fat as ever.’

‘And you, ma’am, are quite as rude as ever.’ Mr Moleglass shut the door behind her and padded across the room to the table which stood near the fireplace. ‘Please be seated.’ He pulled out one of the chairs and waited with the infinite patience of the professional. The visit was turning into a disaster.

‘Oh, please stop butlering!’ Charlie pleaded. ‘I need to talk to you about something really important, and it isn’t my fault you’re in a bad mood.’

When Charlie was five years old, her parents had taken her on a trip to the seaside. While paddling on a shingly beach, she had met a seal with a sleek dark head and anxious brown eyes. The eyes had been wise and kind and
sad. They had asked her a question she could not answer and disappeared into the blue-green water. Mr Moleglass reminded her of the seal. It was one of the reasons she loved him.

His eyes gazed at her in just that way now. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Let us start again. What do you wish to discuss?’

‘My mother! I need to know about my mother, Mr Moleglass.’

He raised both eyebrows. ‘What can I possibly tell you about your mother that you do not already know? She was the Queen; I was her butler.’

‘I need to know about her work.’

‘Ah!’ he said, and smiled. ‘She did her job very well. We were a brilliant team, your mother and I. She had flair and elegance, and I…well, I have a genius for organisation. Precision, timing and attention to detail.’ He sighed. ‘Detail is so important and yet so often overlooked.’

‘Stop teasing! You know I don’t mean all that: I mean her real work, her—’

‘Are you saying that running a castle isn’t real work?’

‘
Please, Mr Moleglass!
’ She hadn’t meant to shout.

His eyes widened. ‘I apologise, Charlie. I did not realise… Sit here, please.’

He fetched another chair and perched in front of her. ‘You ask about your mother’s scientific research. I fear I can be of little help. She seldom mentioned it in
my presence. Now, something has happened to you. What is it? Why is your mother’s research suddenly so important?’

Her stomach twisted into an even tighter knot. Mr Moleglass knew everything about the Castle. It had never occurred to her that he might not know about her mother’s work. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter. ‘I found this.’

Moleglass took the letter, slid his spectacle case from his inside breast pocket, clicked it open, balanced a gold pince-nez on his nose, and glanced down. His eyes darted up to hers, then fastened once more on the paper. When he finally looked up at her, his face was grim. ‘Where did you find this?
Have you shown it to anyone else?
’

The look in his eyes scared her. ‘I-I found it in a book.’ Why was he so upset? ‘A book I took from the library. I remember my mother reading it to me just before she disappeared. And of course I haven’t shown it to anyone else.’

‘Good! Do not!
Promise me
. Let me keep this letter for you…or, better yet, let me destroy it—’ He made a movement towards the hob and its glowing fire.

‘No!’ She jumped up, snatching the letter. ‘I need it!’

‘Very well, Charlie.’ He held his hands up in defeat. ‘Sit down, sit down! I’ll not try to take it from you, child! But you must promise me never to let anyone see that letter!’

‘I promise, but—’

‘Keep it if you must, as a memento, but I advise you to forget you ever read it!’

She stared at him in amazement. ‘Don’t you understand what this means? My mother didn’t abandon me! She left because of something to do with her research. She discovered something dangerous. I have to find out what it was, and I need you to help me.’

He shut his eyes in dismay, but she pressed on. ‘It’s no good, Mr Moleglass. I can’t just forget about this! Do you know who Bettina is?’

‘No. I never heard your mother mention anyone of that name. She must be a friend from her life before she was Queen.’ He stood and strode to the sink, table and cupboard that served him for a kitchen. ‘It is lunchtime. We will think more effectively without hunger to distract us.’

Charlie groaned. Worry always made Mr Moleglass ravenous. ‘How can you think of food now? I’m not hungry!’

He ignored her. He placed the kettle on the hob and began to bustle about, exploring the contents of his cupboard, unwrapping interesting packages, covering the table with a crisp white cloth. A curl of steam rose from the kettle.

Charlie gave up. She had lied, anyway: she was starving! And despite everything, the room was working its magic on her. It was her one true place of refuge. Outside was a world of dust, but inside this room every
surface was burnished until it shone in the red glow of the coal fire. Against her will, she felt a thread of comfort begin to uncurl deep inside and rise, like the steam from the kettle. And she found she could not help wondering about the contents of those interesting packages.

Mr Moleglass turned to her with a smile. ‘Luncheon is served.’

The sight of the table made her eyes grow large. ‘It’s a feast! Oh, Mr Moleglass – it’s wonderful!’ There was sliced bread and butter, a wedge of yellow cheese, a thick slice of pink ham, and sponge cake layered with strawberry jam and sprinkled with sugar. Charlie hadn’t tasted butter or jam for months. She stood in silent awe. ‘Where did you get it all?’ she whispered.

‘That is not your business. And if you expect to eat any of it you had better wash your hands. They are disgusting.’

Mr Moleglass filled her plate, put rather larger portions on his own, and for some time the only sound was that of contented munching. Charlie licked her finger and mopped up the last of the crumbs. She could have eaten more: she could always eat more; but she was aware of the blissful feeling of having had enough. The butler leant back in his chair.

‘Now. This letter. Your mother disappeared over five years ago. Whatever reason she had for leaving—’

‘Her science. The letter says—’

‘Whatever the reason, she has not returned. Which
means that either whatever threat she foresaw still exists, or that she is…unable to return.’

The meaning of his words hit her. ‘
She isn’t dead!
’

Moleglass bowed his head. She couldn’t tell whether he was agreeing with her or merely refusing to argue. Finally he looked up. ‘Perhaps. But the truth is that your mother was Queen of Quale, and whatever this threat is, she could not beat it.’ He paused, and she saw doubt darken his eyes. ‘A grown woman and a queen. You are a child. How can you hope to succeed where your mother failed?’

For a moment it felt like she was back in the dumbwaiter with blackness pressing in from every side. But she knew that, even if Mr Moleglass was right, she couldn’t stop now. If she could find her mother, everything that was upside down in her life would right itself. Her father would get well and be a good king, and there would be no more talk of revolutions and cutting off heads. Mrs O’Dair would be sent away, and Mr Moleglass would move back upstairs. And her mother…her mother would be home again.

She wanted to tell him all this, but the only thing she could say was: ‘You’re my friend. You’re supposed to help me!’

His mouth fell open in protest, and his face flushed pink. ‘You are right,’ he said at last. ‘I apologise. I will help in whatever way I can.’

‘Good!’ Charlie bounced upright in her chair. She
reached out for her cup, took a sip of tea. ‘I need a locksmith.’

‘
What?
’

‘Or the keys to my mother’s laboratory. I need to get inside.’

‘But the keys—’

‘Are with all the others dangling from Mrs O’Dair’s waist. I know. That’s why I need a locksmith.’

‘Just like that?’ He gave his left moustache a fierce tweak. ‘I’m to magic a locksmith into the Castle without that rather astounding circumstance coming to the housekeeper’s attention? Or did you intend to tell her of your plans? Perhaps ask her to come along and supervise?’

Charlie held onto her temper. She knew he was frightened. He had always refused to tell her why he had moved to the cellars after her mother’s disappearance, but she knew it was something to do with Mrs O’Dair. He could hardly bear to speak of the housekeeper. ‘You promised to help,’ she said, fixing him with a stare. ‘Or did you mean only when it’s easy?’

His eyebrows shot upwards in outrage. But almost immediately the eyes beneath them began to sparkle. ‘Do not be so hasty, my child. I shall not find you a mere locksmith. I shall procure for you a genius of locks!’

Charlie groaned. ‘Please, Mr Moleglass. Stop joking!’

‘But I am most serious. And we shall not have to pay our locksmith, I think. Which is just as well, as neither of
us is in funds at the moment.’ He paused, to give his announcement full effect. ‘Come to tea tomorrow, Charlie, and I will provide you with something more interesting even than cake and jam.’

And, no matter how she pleaded, he would tell her nothing more.

Charlie crept along the abandoned corridors of the east wing until she found the room she wanted. The door to her mother’s study thudded behind her. She shivered: cold had seeped into the very bones of this room. Some six-year-old part of her still expected to see her mother look up from the desk in the window and turn to Charlie with the smile she saved especially for her. It had been years since she had come here, or allowed herself to remember that smile.

Several hours later she had looked in every drawer of the desk, every cubbyhole of every cabinet, and rifled the pages of all the books on the shelves. She took a stolen apple from her pocket and climbed onto the window seat. She had found nothing. No hint of what her mother had been researching nearly six years ago. And none of the diaries, address books or old letters contained the name ‘Bettina’. There was still the laboratory, she comforted herself. Surely she would find something there.
If
Mr Moleglass kept his promise about the locksmith.

The apple was old and tasted of cloth, but she worked steadfastly at it and had nibbled it nearly to the core when she heard footsteps clattering down the hall towards her. ‘Blast and botheration!’ Charlie squeezed behind the
nearest curtain. It pressed against her, shrouding her in cold and mildew, clinging to her face like damp cobwebs. The curtains had been eaten into a filigree of holes by sun and moth. She found that if she bent over slightly she could see the room through a halo of frayed fabric.

Martha, the parlour maid, bustled into sight. Trotting at her heels was a maid Charlie had never seen before, a girl of about sixteen or seventeen, with brown hair neatly tucked beneath her cap. Martha marched to the desk and swiped at it with a grimy cloth. ‘You have to dust and sweep the carpet and clean the window, mind. Dusting’s once a week; sweeping once a fortnight, cleaning glass once a month.’

‘There’s a mort of glass in this place,’ the girl grumbled, shrugging her shoulders as if they were already sore from polishing. She picked up a feather duster and dabbed at the bookshelf.

‘Well, it’s gotta be done.’ Martha rubbed at the desk. ‘Waste of time. She’ll not come back.’

‘The Queen?’

‘Dead!’ Martha stopped rubbing and looked at the new maid with narrowed eyes. ‘Some say murdered.’

Inside the curtain, Charlie gasped. It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Martha hitched up her skirt and sat on the desk. The new maid left off dusting. ‘Really?’ she asked, her eyes wide. She clutched the feather duster to her bosom. ‘Who would want to kill the Queen? She was so beautiful.’

‘Jealousy does funny things to a man’s mind,’ said Martha.

‘You don’t mean…’

Charlie couldn’t breathe. She watched Martha shrug her shoulders and smile. ‘Everyone knows the Kingdom’s cursed,’ she said. ‘All the bad things started happening after the Queen disappeared. That’s also when a certain person lost his marbles. You figure it out.’

Charlie yelled. She roared. She tore the curtain open and rushed at Martha, fists flying. The parlour maid caught her wrists. Charlie kicked out, and Martha grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Stop that! You little tyke! If you don’t want to hear nasty things then don’t hide in the curtains and eavesdrop.’

Charlie stopped screaming and stood still. She thought she might be sick. She glared at Martha, shivering.

‘Who on earth is that?’ gasped the new maid.

‘That?’ Martha asked. ‘Believe it or not, that is Her Royal Highness, the Princess Charlotte.’ They stared down at Charlie.

‘
My father did not murder my mother!
’ Charlie’s voice was barely a whisper and she was shaking worse than ever. She looked at Martha until the parlour maid’s eyes flickered and dropped. The new maid did not look away. Charlie saw pity in her face and, at the sight of it, she turned and ran from the room.

She castled too soon. As soon as she switched the
positions of her king and rook, she knew she had made a mistake. Mr Moleglass’s eyes glowed with delight. His bishop swooped out of nowhere and captured her remaining knight.

‘When’s he coming?’ she asked for the tenth time.

‘Patience, Charlie,’ chided Mr Moleglass. ‘He will come as soon as he can. It is your turn,’ he said, tapping the chessboard to draw her attention. ‘You are in danger of losing in less than ten moves. Really, Charlie, it becomes embarrassing!’

As she struggled to concentrate, Charlie became aware of a squeaking which grew rapidly louder. The squeaking was joined by a trundling. They arrived outside Mr Moleglass’s door.
THUD, THUD!
The door shook on its hinges.

‘One moment, please,’ called Mr Moleglass. He rose from his chair, dusted his jacket, neatened the creases in his trousers, straightened his gloves and strolled to the door. Charlie struggled for breath.

Mr Moleglass swung open the door to reveal a wooden wheelbarrow loaded with coal. Behind it stood Tobias. ‘Excellent!’ crowed Mr Moleglass. ‘Come in! You are most welcome.’

Charlie’s heart fell into her boots. She threw Tobias her dirtiest look. He ignored her and grinned at Mr Moleglass. ‘Will I fill the scuttle, then?’

‘If you would, my boy. But wait just a moment.’ Mr Moleglass scurried away and returned with an armful
of old newspapers, which he proceeded to lay in a path across the floor to the fireplace. When he had finished, Tobias wheeled the barrow across the papers and began to shovel coal into the large brass scuttle. Mr Moleglass stood and rubbed his hands with pleasure. Charlie kicked her feet under her chair and wished Tobias in twenty different uncomfortable locations.

‘Thank you most sincerely, Tobias,’ Mr Moleglass said when the barrow was empty. ‘Now please put the barrow outside and return here. I want a brief word.’

Tobias shrugged and wheeled the barrow out. He edged back through the door and stood, scuffing his feet. Mr Moleglass tidied away the papers, filled the kettle and put it on the hob. Charlie and Tobias watched him with identical expressions of discomfort.

‘Wash your hands, Tobias, and join us for a cup of tea,’ said Mr Moleglass.

‘Ah, well…I’d best be off, Mr M. Got work, you see—’

‘Mr Moleglass! Have you forgotten? We’re expecting—’

Mr Moleglass could not have heard them. He turned from the larder cupboard, holding a jug of milk. He set six shortbread biscuits on a plate and put plate and jug on his dining table. Charlie shot a glare at Tobias that could have boiled eggs.

‘The sink, Tobias,’ Mr Moleglass said. Tobias stumped to the sink and splashed briefly. ‘Be seated, please.’ The boy threw a puzzled look at him but scuffed over to
the table. ‘Now, Charlie. Your hands could doubtless use some attention. Please wash them and join us.’

He ignored her look of outrage. She stamped to the sink, washed her hands and sat as far away from Tobias as possible. Mr Moleglass sat between them and poured the tea. Charlie had never enjoyed any cup of tea less. She glared into her teacup.

‘Ah,’ sighed Mr Moleglass into the silence. ‘There really is nothing quite like that first sip to rinse away the strains of the day.’

She could not stand it any longer. ‘Mr Moleglass!’ she hissed. ‘The boy’s had his cup of tea. Now send him away! You know that we’re expecting someone.’

Mr Moleglass looked at her. It was the look he gave her when she made a particularly stupid chess move. ‘Your locksmith, Your Highness, has arrived.’

Charlie stared at him. She turned and looked at Tobias. He stared back, an appalled expression growing on his face. ‘Mr M!’ The hurt in Tobias’s voice was plain. He stared at the butler as though Moleglass had betrayed him.

‘I’m sorry, Tobias. But this is important. You know I would not—’

‘Locksmith!’ interrupted Charlie. ‘He’s not a locksmith! He’s nothing but a gardener’s boy. And he’s not even very good at that! Foss is always shouting at him for skiving off.’

‘Enough, Charlie!’ snapped Moleglass. ‘Or don’t you
want to get into your mother’s laboratory after all?’

‘Of course I do, but—’

‘Then I suggest you stop antagonising the only person who can help you.’

Charlie’s mouth fell open. She stared at the butler, then at Tobias, who had jumped to his feet. ‘You promised,’ he said to Mr Moleglass. ‘I trusted you!’ His face had closed down. ‘I’m off.’ He turned towards the door.

‘Tobias, please!’ Moleglass darted forward, put a restraining hand on the boy’s arm. Tobias whirled to face him and, for a moment, Charlie thought he would shake off the butler’s hand. What was going on?

They were the same height, she noticed – the plump, immaculately dressed butler and the tall boy in his mud-stained clothes and shabby boots.

‘I’m sorry, Tobias,’ Mr Moleglass said. A note of pleading entered his voice. ‘I would not involve you in this if I did not believe that Charlie is to be trusted, and if this matter was not of the greatest importance. Please listen to what we have to say before making your decision.’

Tobias frowned at the butler for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I’ll listen. I reckon I owe you that.’

‘Thank you. Charlie has a problem,’ Mr Moleglass said in a quiet voice. ‘And you are the only person who can help her. I think you are not so unkind as to refuse to help someone who is in need, if you are able? Well?’

Tobias sighed. ‘All right then. What’s up?’

‘Charlie,’ said Mr Moleglass, ‘show Tobias the letter.’

‘But you said—’

‘If Tobias is going to share a secret with you, then it is only fair that you do the same. I would not ask if I thought we could not trust him not to tell anyone about this. Surely you cannot suspect Tobias of having anything to do with your mother’s disappearance?’

She hesitated. Tobias was staring at them both in amazement. ‘Oh, all right.’ She fished the letter from her pocket and handed it to him. He unfolded the paper, and she watched as he read it, once quickly, then again, more slowly, before pursing his lips and giving a low, tuneless whistle. ‘Sweet Betty!’ He raised wondering eyes. ‘How long have you been sitting on this, then?’

‘I found it yesterday,’ she said. ‘It fell out of the book I stole for you.’

‘Stole?’ said Mr Moleglass. ‘What are you talking about, Charlie?’

‘Strike me sideways!’ Tobias studied the letter again, his face solemn. Then the familiar grin returned. ‘See? I done you a favour, Charlie. Reckon you owe me.’

‘I don’t understand. Why would you steal a book for Tobias?’ The butler’s voice was plaintive.

‘I don’t owe you anything, Tobias Petch. But I might. If you really can unlock the door to my mother’s laboratory. It is true?’

He looked at her, considering, then nodded. ‘I’ll do it. I reckon this is important. To more folks than just you. I’ll get you in, but don’t get your hopes up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘You need to find out why your mum left, and that’s as good a place to start as any. What about tomorrow? I can slip away from Fossy for an hour midday. He always nods off in the greenhouse after lunch. But if you ever tell anyone about me, I’ll…well, just you keep your mouth shut if anyone ever asks how you got in there. You understand?’

His blue eyes were cold, and for the first time in all the years she had known him, Charlie was frightened of Tobias Petch.

They left together. Neither spoke. Charlie started for the dumbwaiter but froze when she noticed Tobias wheeling the barrow towards the servants’ lift. ‘You’re never going to use the lift?’ she blurted. ‘O’Dair will hear it. She’ll find you out!’

‘O’Dair knows.’ Tobias gave her a withering look. ‘How d’you think I got the barrow down here to begin with, you gurnless idiot?’

Charlie was so astonished she ignored the insult. ‘O’Dair knows? She lets you bring coal to Mr Moleglass?’

‘She don’t
let
me. It’s her orders. I been bringing him coal and food and such for years. I’m off. It’s all right for some, larking about. I got work to do.’

‘But why?’ Charlie darted in front of the barrow, blocking it. ‘Why does the O’Dair give it to him?’

Tobias let go of the wheelbarrow and stood staring at her, his arms crossed. ‘That’s none of your business,’ he said. ‘I reckon if Mr M wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself. Now, outta my way, or I’ll bump you.’

Charlie jumped aside. ‘I was only asking,’ she said, as he wheeled to the lift and began opening the mechanism. ‘Mr Moleglass is my friend, too!’

A grunt was all the reply she got. Tobias pushed the barrow into the lift.

‘Wait! Tobias!’

He paused in the act of closing the inner grille and looked at her impatiently. ‘Well?’

‘It’s just…’ She gazed longingly at the spacious lift with its glass roof, air vents and pair of glazed lanterns.

‘What?’

It wasn’t worth the risk – just because she was afraid of the dark. ‘Nothing,’ she said. And, because she was disappointed, she snapped: ‘Don’t be late tomorrow.’

‘And don’t you go bossing me around.’

The lift door clanged shut, and the mechanism clanked into action. Charlie stood listening to the gears yanking the lift to the upper floors. Then she turned and began the dark journey back to the attics.