The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel

by Burns, Nathaniel

  He seated himself opposite me. Seeing him where Mervyn had so often sat during happier times made me want to sob all over again. I stifled it, but I could not suppress the tears trickling down my face.

  “If you’re going to keep making this much of a fuss,” he said, fixing me with a cold gaze, “perhaps you should continue having trays sent to your room for a while.”

  I stared at him blankly. It took me a moment to believe that he had really said those words. When at last I did, I was too wounded to speak. Making a fuss? My Mama, the only person I had known and cared for throughout most of my life, was dead!

  “I can’t abide snivelling,” he continued. “Especially when it’s so unwarranted. My dear, you know as well as I do that your mother was a controlling harridan. You wouldn’t have had her here much longer anyway. I had planned to set her up in some little place, one of our more distant properties, where she could not interfere with the way I want to run things here. Although I am not sure she’d have objected – she was quick enough to sell you into marriage at the first opportunity! You should have seen the letter she wrote to me, my little dove. A proper hard sell. Fortunately for her, she wrote at just the right moment. Fortunately for me, she was so desperate to get out of whatever slum you were living in that she didn’t care what I did with you as long as I restored her to her supposedly rightful place by making a lady of you. And this is the mother you weep for?”

  “You don’t understand,” I said, choking back my tears, “It wasn’t like that. She did the best she could for me.”

  “I’m sure there’s many a bawd would say they did the best they could for their charges!” Sir Montague laughed.

  “May I be excused?” I asked, rising to my feet.

  “Well, if all you’re going to do is mope around the place, you might as well be.” He leaned back and stretched out in his chair as I made my way to the door. Then just as I was about to turn the handle he called “But there’s one thing that should bring a smile to your face, little wife. My cousin is coming back for the funeral. You can resume your little assignations much sooner than planned.”

  I did not dignify his remark with a response. I merely slipped out of the library and ran all the way back to my room, determined not to leave it again until the funeral.

  *

  Mervyn did indeed return to Willow Castle for the funeral. I heard the carriage draw up and went straight down to meet it, heedless of the chilly April downpour. As soon as he descended the steps he threw his arms around me.

  “Oh, Rebecca,” he breathed. “I am so sorry for your loss. I could see how much your Mama meant to you.”

  He ushered me inside before I could get completely soaked. We only had a little time before the funeral was due to begin, but we made the most of it. As we took a hasty cup of chocolate together I learned that he had travelled non-stop, day and night to get back from Liverpool in time. I thanked him profusely.

  “I would not have missed it,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to think of you standing at the graveside without a friendly face nearby. Comfort was never a strong point of Montague’s.”

  At once I could hear Mama’s voice in my head, counselling me not to say anything disloyal about my husband. I did not need to, not to Mervyn. He knew me, he knew his cousin and my demeanour said all that needed to be said.

  “How did it happen?” Mervyn asked gently. “Montague’s telegram said only that she had died, but it made no mention of the circumstances. I’ll understand if you do not wish to talk about it, I’m just surprised. She seemed to be in fine form when I saw her last.” I saw him trying hard not to smile slightly as he added “Apart from the occasional headache.”

  I could not quite smile, but I felt my heart lighten for a moment. “It was very sudden,” I told him. “There was an accident in the Blue Dining Room, the ceiling fell in. Mama saw it and it seems to have given her such a shock that she went quite out of her wits. By the time I got to her she was reaching out of her bedroom window for something unseen, and before I could-” I broke off, stifling a sob. Mervyn pulled me to him and kept me close until he felt me relax and allow my tears to flow.

  “Sssshh,” he soothed. “No need to say if you don’t want to. I can guess the rest. You poor girl.”

  So we sat together, Mervyn holding me as I cried, until it was time to go down to the chapel where Mama’s coffin was waiting, wanting only the service and interment for her to be gone from my life forever.

  *

  The funeral tea was a small affair - smaller by one than my wedding had been since Mama was not there. Dr Bagshawe joined us, of course, having performed the service and committed Mama’s body to the sodden ground in the castle’s little churchyard. It seemed as if the usual positions were reversed, for where Mervyn and I had usually conversed and let Sir Montague sit aloof, now it was my husband and Dr Bagshawe who chatted of the roads, of Castleton, of the need for a new roof for the parish church. Mervyn and I sat in silence. For the most part I was lost in my thoughts, but now and then I would raise my eyes and he would meet my gaze and I would feel comforted to know that at least there was still someone in this world who cared for me.

  Just like our wedding breakfast, the funeral tea had been laid out in the Withy Chamber. The side table was heaped with cold meats and pickles, slices of cake and bread and butter. With a malicious smile, Sir Montague fetched me a plate piled high with more food than I had eaten in the past week put together. He set it in front of me and urged solicitously that I should keep my strength up, suggesting that he would not let me leave until I had finished everything he had put before me. The look I gave him in return was one of undisguised hatred. I wished with all my heart that the Devil would return to the Withy Chamber that very moment and devour my husband in a single bite.

  *

  I could barely sleep that night, even with the aid of laudanum. Sir Montague had attempted to come to my bed, no doubt relishing the prospect of flaunting his ownership of me in front of Mervyn, or of enjoying my sorrow, or both. I could not submit as a good wife should. Before I knew what I was doing I was screaming, warning him not to lay a finger on me, not to come near me. I had hurled my pair of silver-backed hairbrushes at him, sending him dashing from the room. As one of them glanced off his shoulder, he shouted for Mrs Chapman to come and help restrain me.

  “She seems somewhat overwrought,” he informed the housekeeper as she bustled in to pin me down and keep me in place until I stopped shrieking and writhing. “We must only hope that it’s not the seed of her mother’s madness.” With that he vanished, apparently content to slake his evil humour rather than his lust.

  I lay in the darkness, tossing and turning, listening to the wind whistling across the valley outside. I could not help but be tormented by the thought of Mama, deep in the earth, cold and confined and dead. I thought of all the times I had hated her and all the times I had loved her. I thought of all the times I had wondered what life would be like without her then dismissed the thought because I simply couldn’t imagine it.

  When at last I could stand it no longer, I got up and lit the lamp by my bedside. I guessed that it was well past midnight, into the small hours. I threw on my wrapper, took the lamp in one hand and set off through the darkened corridors. My fears of Lady Angela’s ghost or devilish apparitions were gone. There was too much pain in my mind and my soul to allow any room for such fantastical imaginings. I wended my way through the passageways until I came to the room where I knew Mervyn slept. Screwing up my courage, I rapped upon the door. My heart pounded as I waited for it to open.

  When it did, I saw Mervyn’s tired, handsome face staring out in confusion, his eyes dazzled by the dim light of my lamp so that he could not see who it was.

  “Mervyn!” I whispered. “It’s me. I’m sorry to wake you, but -”

  “Rebecca? Good God, come in at once!” He opened the door fully and hustled me inside, glancing up and down the dark corridor to see if I was being pursued. “Are you alright? I
s something the matter? Is it my cousin?”

  I hesitated. I had not thought this far ahead, I did not know how to put my thoughts into words. “I’m sorry,” I began. “I should not have disturbed you. It’s just… I couldn’t sleep, and I can’t be alone, and you will leave in the morning and I shall have to stand there beside Sir Montague waving you off and then I’ll be alone again and I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it, I need you to be here!” I felt the tears start again and the knot of anxiety and pain in my stomach pulled tighter as I finally gave voice to my fears. Mervyn pulled me close and held me tight, stroking my hair and making gentle shushing noises as my words abandoned me and I cried.

  He led me across the small room, the same one he had occupied growing up, and sat me down on the bed while he drew up a chair for himself. We sat with our heads together, my hands in his, while I calmed myself enough to tell him everything. I poured out all the things I had never told anyone before – the monotonous routine of life with Mama and the great pressure to live up to her standards and expectations, the hopes I had cherished when I learned I was to be married, the indignities and neglect I had had from Sir Montague. Through gulping sobs I told Mervyn what my husband had said about Mama selling me to him and how I knew that could not be true but feared that it was. I told him how Sir Montague had seen the attraction between Mervyn and myself and had mocked me for it. I told him how Sir Montague had tried to come to my room that night but I had driven him out and he had called me mad.

  “Darling Rebecca,” he sighed. “I wish that coming to Willow Castle had brought you a little more joy. I wish that there was something I could do to make your life here more bearable.”

  “I shall manage, I suppose,” I said. “Mama always said that if I dedicated myself to behaving well, I should find that I could face anything in life with grace and equanimity. But it would help if I knew I would see you from time to time. I know I have no right to ask it of you-”

  “No right?” Mervyn broke in. “Rebecca, don’t say that! You have every right! I love you. You have a perfect right to ask anything you want of me.”

  “I am married to your cousin,” I groaned. “It is not right for me to talk to you this way. I shouldn’t even be here, if I were to be caught-”

  “Rebecca, listen to me. I love you. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, I love you. I have no desire to make your life more difficult and I understand that you are married to Montague and dependent on him. At present, I have nothing to offer you. I am nowhere near financially secure enough to support the two of us, and I would not put you in any danger by incurring my cousin’s wrath. All I can give you is the certainty that you are loved, deeply and truly loved, and that I will do all I can to visit you as often as I may.” Mervyn gently took my face in his hands and gazed intently into my eyes. “And if your husband ever hurts you, get a message to me by any means and I will return immediately and shoot him dead.”

  Then he bent his head and leaned in towards me and I felt the soft touch of his lips upon mine, a warm caress that was utterly unlike anything I had ever experienced. His arms were around me, I leaned back upon the bed and felt him follow. Through his thin nightshirt I could feel the strong muscles of his arms and back, his chest pressing against mine. He buried his face in my long dark hair and I breathed in the scent of his cologne, an earthy musk cut through with a clean, bracing dash of lemon. Then he kissed me again and my lips parted under his, welcoming the tip of his tongue to explore my own. My blood was shot through with fire, I clung to him like a wanton and pushed my body hard against him. I felt him respond then check himself.

  “Rebecca,” he panted, breaking away from me, “we must stop. I am sorry. I should not have kissed you. You have suffered a great loss and people often act strangely at times like this. It is not right that I should encourage you to compromise yourself, especially as you might regret it later. And as much as I dislike him, I would think less of myself were I to play a part in cuckolding Montague. I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  I nodded, sitting up on the edge of the bed and setting my nightdress to rights. I got to my feet, preparing to leave, but Mervyn caught my hand.

  “I do love you, though,” he said earnestly. “Never forget that.”

  “I know,” I replied. “And I love you. Thank you.” With that I bent down and kissed him briefly, pulling away before we could be enticed into resuming the passionate embrace that we had struggled to break. I stole out of Mervyn’s room and was safely back in my own bed long before Sarah arrived at daybreak to light the fire.

  *

  By the time I awoke, having finally managed to sleep for a few hours, Mervyn was already gone – but so, to my surprise, was Sir Montague.

  “The Master said not to wake you, My Lady, it being so early when they left” Sarah mumbled respectfully as she brought me a pot of chocolate in bed. “He has urgent business in town and will be back in two days.”

  “Thank you, Sarah,” I replied. I sat back on my pillows, sipping my chocolate, and considered my situation. For the first time I was alone in Willow Castle. No mother, no husband, just a handful of servants who barely noticed my comings and goings. I was finally at liberty, if only for a couple of days, to do exactly as I pleased.

  8 Secrets

  “I am going out, Mrs Chapman. I shall be back in time for dinner.”

  I did not break my stride as I glided down the stairs, walking straight past Mrs Chapman and throwing the words back over my shoulder as I fastened my cape and made my exit. Her acknowledgement of my words was drowned out by the dull thud of the heavy oak door as it thudded shut behind me. I crossed the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath my thick boots, and heaved the wrought iron gate open just enough to squeeze through.

  The moment I was beyond the gates, I felt as though a weight had been lifted from me. I flung my arms wide and drew a deep, deep breath of clean, cold Peak air. Mam Tor lay before me in all its bleak beauty, the road to Castleton in one direction and a footpath leading up over the crest of the hill in the other. I had planned to walk towards Castleton and turn back a safe distance away from the town, since I was in deep mourning and should not be seen walking alone. Instead I found my steps turning away from the road, leading me onto the muddy footpath. I felt my feet sink in slightly with every step, the mud sucking on my boots as I lifted my feet again. My petticoats grew a little heavier as they gathered a layer of dirt at the bottom.

  I thought of Mama and how horrified she would have been, seeing me tramping doggedly through the muck like this. Then I remembered that she would never see the state of my boots and that I would never need to clean them myself again. Upon my return I would simply have Sarah unlace them and they would disappear to the boot room, and I would not see them again until they were clean and polished. If I climbed dykes and stiles and tore my dress, it would be mended. If I climbed a tree and then leapt out of it straight into a muddy puddle, or chose to drag myself through a hedge backwards, I could still go home and have my garments cleaned and repaired and no-one would care enough about me to judge my behaviour. Even if one of the servants chose to inform Sir Montague, I doubted he would be in the least bit interested in my eccentricities as long as they remained as innocent as a little rambling. It was a strange sort of freedom, the kind that was born out of my Mama’s absence and my husband’s antipathy, yet it was the first freedom I had ever known.

  Rambling alone over the Tor, I had my first chance to take stock of the events of the past few days. Mama’s burial, Sir Montague’s harsh words, my thrilling, guilt-laden moment with Mervyn… It all seemed as improbable and disorienting as a dream, yet at the same time it felt more real than anything I had ever experienced before.

  Invigorated by the chilly air and the weak April sun I cast off my sedate, ladylike pace. I began to gallop along the muddy path, my heart pounding as my feet thundered on the ground. When the track came to an end, I kept on running. I picked up my skirts and hurtled across the grass, my
heart lurching whenever I skidded on a patch of loose shale and nearly took a tumble. My bonnet blew backwards as the wind roared in my face, and nothing but the ribbon under my chin prevented it from being carried away entirely.

  At last I ran out of breath and collapsed in a heap on the ground. The grass was cold and clammy, too early in the year for such exploits, but as I lay on my back and stared up at the vast emptiness of the white sky, I could not regret it. To be here, abandoning myself to nature for the first time, was worth a little discomfort. How long I lay there I do not know, but I watched as dark grey clouds began to gather in the distance and advance inexorably upon the Hope Valley. Suddenly the sky growled with far-off thunder and I realised that I had only a little time to get back to the Castle before the latest rainstorm began.

  I did not quite make it. I was within sight of the gates when the fat, silvery raindrops began to fall, and by the time I had dashed across the drive my clothes were damp and little rivulets were running down my face. I hauled on the doorbell. When Mrs Chapman answered I strolled in serenely. As I had anticipated, she said nothing about the state of me other than telling me that she would send Sarah to help me change.

  “Will you be wanting dinner in your room, My Lady?” she enquired.

  I checked my immediate response. Emboldened by my new sense of freedom, I decided that until my husband came home Willow Castle would be truly mine. I would dine as the mistress of this place should dine.

  “Not tonight, Mrs Chapman,” I informed her. “Tonight I shall dine in the Withy Chamber.”

  *

  That night, despite the laudanum, I found myself wakeful again. My supplies were limited and I did not want to increase the amount I took, but the current dose seemed to have little effect on me now. I lay staring into the darkness for a while, listening to the usual soundscape of the Valley – hooting owls, the occasional flutter of wings from a passing bat, distant vixens’ screeches. As I did so I became increasingly convinced that I could hear something out of the ordinary… music. I was certain that it was there, just on the edge of my hearing, a sombre, stately gavotte. But where on earth could it be coming from?