‘Yes, missis. Always up early she was. “There’s no use lying abed when there’s work to be done,” she used to say.’
‘Quite right, too. There is plenty to do in the castle. You must be busy all day long.’
‘Yes, missis. There’s fires to be lit and there’s that many steps, it’s ’ard work.’
‘Mrs Carlisle must have been sorry to leave the castle. She took a pride in her job, I believe.’
‘Very particular, Mrs Carlisle was. The flowers ’ad to be fresh in summer. Very particular about ’er flowers, was Mrs Carlisle. I mustn’t move anything on ’er desk, and I mustn’t go through the drawers.’
‘Did you used to go through the drawers?’ Helena asked in surprise.
Effie dropped the poker.
‘I were only looking for some string,’ she said, but she seemed nervous, and Helena wondered if she was speaking the truth. ‘My stockings were falling down. Mrs Carlisle said I needed garters, she showed me ’ow to make ’em.’
‘Of course,’ said Helena. ‘Did you find anything interesting when you were looking for the string?’ she asked nonchalantly.
‘Very particular about her pens, she was. Mended ’em ’erself. Didn’t want no one touching her pens,’ said Effie obliquely, picking up the poker and hanging it back on its stand, then she took a piece of newspaper from the top of the bucket of coals and crumpled it vigorously before laying it in the grate.
Helena’s eyes were drawn to the girl’s hands. They were large and strong, and as they picked up another piece of newspaper and crushed it, Helena found herself wondering what else the girl’s hands could crush.
Changing the subject, she said: ‘It must have been a shock to you when Mrs Carlisle left so suddenly.’
‘I didn’t know she was going,’ said Effie. ‘She said nothing to me, just went. One day she was here and the next day she wasn’t.’
‘Do you know why she had to leave?’ Helena asked.
Effie sat back on her heels and rolled up a sheet of newspaper, winding it round her hand and knotting it before laying it on top of the crumpled paper.
‘Do you?’ asked Helena patiently.
Effie glanced over her shoulder and seemed reluctant to speak.
‘I believe her sister was ill?’ Helena prompted her.
‘That’s what he said.’
Helena had the feeling she was concealing something.
‘And did you believe him?’
‘It’s not my place, missis, if master says it, then it must be true.’
‘Ah, yes. Do you like him? The master?’
‘I reckon.’
But the girl’s open manner had disappeared, and once she had finished lighting the fire she wiped her hands on her black-streaked apron, then picking up the bucket she left the room.
Helena was left with much to think about. As she removed her nightgown and washed in the hot water, she thought that Effie had not told her everything she knew. But, if she stayed at the castle an extra day, there would be another morning, and another conversation whilst Effie lit the fire.
She dressed quickly, glad of her thick woollen gown and woollen stockings. She brushed her hair and fastened it into a neat chignon, then, picking up her candle, she went down to the kitchen, following the route she had used on the previous day. As she went through the door into the servants’ quarters, she once again had the unnerving feeling that she was being followed, but when she turned round there was no one there.
She quickened her step and was relieved to gain the sanctuary of the kitchen, where she found Mrs Beal baking bread. The smell of it filled the room and made Helena realise how hungry she was.
‘Effie, set the kettle over the fire,’ Mrs Beal said. Then, to Helena, she said: ‘You’ll have some rolls? They’re freshly baked.’
Helena looked at in the newly-baked rolls that were set on the dresser, laid out on a clean cloth. With their golden tops, they looked appetising.
‘Yes, please.’
Mrs Beal set jars of home made jam and honey on a table in the corner of the kitchen, and put out cups, saucers and plates. She added a mound of freshly churned butter to the table and a jar of frothing milk. Soon a bowl of sugar and a pot of tea joined the rest.
‘I’m ready for a bit of something myself,’ said Mrs Beal.
‘I see you have finished the fires,’ said Helena to Effie, hoping to reassure the girl, so that the next time they met, she would be agreeable to talking.
Mrs Beal answered for her.
‘Yes, she does the fires in the mornings, but his lordship doesn’t want anyone in the library except the housekeeper and Miss Parkins, so she left a bucket of coal outside, as she always does. His lordship’s told you you’re to keep the library clean yourself?’
‘Yes, he has. Miss Parkins does not see to it, then?’
‘Miss Parkins doesn’t see to a lot, from what I can see.’
‘I am not quite sure what Miss Parkins’s position is in the castle,’ said Helena, gently probing, as Mrs Beal poured out the tea.
‘That makes two of us,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘I wouldn’t have much to do with her, if I were you. She comes down here from time to time, but I won’t have anyone interfering in my kitchen. She looks at you sometimes . . . well, I’ve said enough.’
As Helena ate her rolls and drank her tea, the conversation turned to the idleness of dairy maids and the impossibility of running the kitchen adequately without any kitchen maids.
‘In the old days, there were seven people working in the kitchen: Mrs Barnstaple, the cook; me as her assistant; three kitchen maids and two scullery maids. Mind, we had a castle full of people to feed. His lordship and Master Richard. . . ’ She tailed away, then finished: ‘ . . . we’ll not see those days back again.’
Helena tried to encourage her to say more, being sure there had been something important left unsaid, but Mrs Beal would not be drawn.
‘Thank you for breakfast,’ said Helena, when she had finished her meal. ‘And now, I had better see to his lordship’s fire.’
Taking up her candle, she left the kitchen, and then the servants’ quarters, behind her, and emerged into the hall. A faint grey light could be seen coming through the windows. Outside, the sun was rising and it would soon be daylight.
She found the bucket of coal outside the library. Picking it up, she went in, but she was taken aback to see Lord Torkrow sitting behind the desk, looking at some papers. She had not expected him to rise so early, and she wished she had knocked.
He looked up as she stood there in the doorway. As she felt his eyes run over her, she was conscious of a sudden unease, and again she wondered if he had been fooled by her deception, or if he knew that she was not who she claimed to be. She told herself there was no way he could know. Even so, she felt anxious, for there was something about the way he was looking at her . . .
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought the room was empty.’
‘You may see to the fire,’ he replied.
She walked across the room, conscious of his eyes on her, and then poured coal onto the small flames.
‘Tell me, how do you find the castle, now that you have had an opportunity to see it in daylight?’ he asked.
She was surprised by his question, for it was not the sort of thing that most earls would ask their servants. She replied: ‘I find it . . . interesting.’
‘You do not find it too remote?’ he queried.
‘No, my lord.’
‘That is surprising. Most people are disinclined to work in such an isolated spot. It preys on their nerves. The loneliness becomes oppressive. After a time, they find themselves imagining things.’
There seemed to be something behind his words. Was he warning her about something, or was he trying to find out if she had heard anything unusual?
‘I have no difficulty in working here,’ she said.
‘Perhaps you are used to the moors?’
‘I have never seen them before. I think th
ey are beautiful,’ she added.
‘You think so? I used to think so, once.’ His voice dropped and his eyes fell to the desk. He was not seeing the desk, thought Helena, he was seeing something far away, and she wondered why he no longer liked his surroundings. He roused himself. ‘If you are not used to the moors, then you perhaps grew up in gentler climes?’
‘Yes, my lord. I grew up by the sea, in Cornwall,’ she told him.
His eyes narrowed. ‘You do not speak with a Cornish accent,’ he remarked.
‘I left Cornwall many years ago, when I was fifteen.’
‘Ah, I see. Then why did you leave?’
‘My father died, and my mother took me to live in Manchester . . . ’ She trailed away, suddenly conscious of the fact that Mrs Reynolds might have mentioned her abode. She felt herself colouring and hoped he would not notice, or that he would put her sudden flush down to the heat of the fire, but instead she was disturbed to see him turning questioning eyes towards her, as if to say, Now what were you about to tell me? She began to think that his questions were more than a passing curiosity in a new servant; they were designed to find out if she was really Mrs Reynolds.
‘And do you like Manchester?’ he asked.
‘It is my home,’ she said, ‘but no, I do not like it.’
‘I am surprised. You are young. I thought you would enjoy the liveliness of a city. It must seem very quiet here by comparison.’
‘It seems peaceful,’ she said. ‘I like the quiet.’
‘And when did you go into service?’ he asked, returning to his earlier theme.
She was about to say, ‘A year ago,’ when she realised that Mrs Reynolds might have been in service for far longer.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘I cannot recall exactly.’
There was a silence. Then he said: ‘In your letter, you stated that you had been a housekeeper for three years.’ He shot her a sudden glance, and said, ‘You do not have the look of a servant.’
She felt her heart beating more quickly.
‘My father was a gentleman,’ she said, ‘and I was raised to be a lady. But he fell on hard times and our circumstances changed, so I had no choice but to earn a living.’
He said nothing, and she wondered what was going through his mind. Unwillingly, Helena found herself remembering some of the things her aunt had said about the man in front of her. Afraid of him in the village, they are. The stories they tell! It’s always the same in these remote places, but I’ve seen nothing amiss. He’s not an easy master, but I’ll say this for him, he’s fair.
She only hoped her aunt had been right.
At last he said: ‘And now you are keeping house in a castle. Not many people wish to work in such a large establishment, especially with so few servants. What is your opinion of the castle, now that you have seen it?’
She looked round the large room.
‘I think it has been neglected, but it is a beautiful building, and with hard work, I think it will be possible to bring it back to life.’
‘You are an optimist, I see. Hard work will go some way to making it brighter, but hard work has its limits and will not remove the draughts.’
‘Large fires and carefully placed screens can do much to limit their effect,’ she said thoughtfully, wondering how best the disadvantages of such an old building could be overcome.
‘There is no money to waste on large fires at Stormcrow.’
He appeared to become lost in his thoughts, and she said no more.
He roused himself.
‘Very well. The fire will do now. You may return to your duties.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
Helena left the room, relieved that she had escaped unscathed, and made her way to the housekeeper’s room, where she hoped she might find a letter or a diary entry, perhaps, that would tell her something about her aunt’s decision to leave the castle, and her intended destination.
Chapter Three
As she opened the door, she breathed in the scent of lavender, and it awakened memories in her. She remembered how, as a little girl, she had helped her aunt to pick flowers and herbs, and how her aunt had shown her how to plait lavender. Her aunt had always had a plait of it attached to her belt. She remembered summer holidays when her father had been alive, and, in her mind’s eye, she saw her mother and Aunt Hester cutting flowers and herbs, whilst she and her father sat on a rug beneath the chestnut tree with their books. She could remember the pulled thread on the rug, and she could feel its softness beneath her fingers.
She went in, thinking how lucky Aunt Hester was to have such an attractive room to work in. It was newly decorated in cheerful colours, with flowered wall hangings echoing the gold damask of the sofa. There were vases on the console tables, and although they were empty, they were still decorative.
Diamond-paned windows looked out on to the side of the castle. It was a bleak prospect at present, but under a summer sky it would be attractive. Her own position as a housekeeper had not been so grand, and her room had been a dingy room at the back of the house, with a window looking on to a brick wall. She had almost been glad to leave it when the Hamiltons had moved to Wales – almost, but not quite, as she had needed the position, and without it she had been reduced to sharing a room with Caroline.
She went over to the hearth, where there was a fire burning in the grate, noticing that the shelves had been dusted and the furniture polished. She set down the coal bucket and then let her eyes wander over the chintz sofa set beneath the window and the matching chair that was placed by the fire. There were two console tables, one by the chair and one by the sofa, and in the middle of the room was a desk. She went over to the desk, which had a number of pigeon holes down the side and across the top. On the desk was a large book, an inkstand, and a shaker of sand. In front of it was an inlaid chair.
Helena sat down and opened the book. It was in the form of a diary, but it held nothing useful, simply details of the work that needed to be done around the castle. The notes stopped just over three weeks before.
She turned her attention to the pigeon holes, but they revealed nothing more than sample menus, letters to and from tradesmen, and other household items. Then she opened the first drawer.
What did Effie find when she looked for some string? Helena wondered.
But a search of the drawers found nothing more than some household documents, some paper, a quill pen and a large bunch of keys, which she took out and fastened to her belt. There was nothing more of interest.
So what did Effie see? she asked herself. Why did it upset her? And where has it gone?
But perhaps Effie had seen nothing, and was simply nervous because she had looked through the housekeeper’s desk.
As Helena looked round the room she began to think that this must be the case. The chintz upholstery and the placid ticking of the clock were reassuring. Their very ordinariness reminded her that her aunt had been an ordinary woman, and that there must be an ordinary reason for her disappearance.
Castle of Secrets Page 4