‘Nonsense,’ said Helena reassuringly. ‘The dead don’t walk, Effie. There was nothing in the attic but a cat. Together we have made a very good job of this,’ she went on more cheerfully. ‘The room looks bright and welcoming.’
‘P’raps she’ll stop crying now, missis. P’raps she’ll walk in ’ere, not in the attic.’
As the thought clearly cheered her, Helena did not gainsay it.
‘Now, you must return to the kitchen. I’m sure Mrs Beal will be wanting you. I will finish here.’
Effie picked up her bucket and left the room.
As Helena put a few finishing touches to the room, she wondered what had happened to Lord Torkrow’s sister, thinking: How did she die? How long ago was it?
And where is she buried?
Helena joined Mrs Beal for dinner that evening, and as Mrs Beal dished out the mutton stew, she said: ‘I will be going to see Mrs Willis this afternoon about finding some more maids for the castle. How many do you think I will need?’
‘Take as many as you can find,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘There’s plenty of work to be done.’
‘I have made a start on the downstairs rooms already, opening up a sitting-room overlooking the front of the castle. Effie tells me it used to belong to his lordship’s sister-in-law. I saw her portrait in the gallery. She was very beautiful.’
‘Yes, she was, poor lady.’
‘It was a tragedy when she died.’
‘Master Richard went mad with grief,’ said Mrs Beal with a sigh. Then, recollecting herself, added: ‘Least said, soonest mended, I always say. You’re going to see Mrs Willis this afternoon?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’d better ask her to help you find some footmen, too. There’s going to be a lot of work fetching and carrying beforehand, and we’ll need someone to carry the drinks on the day.’
‘It’s all rather daunting,’ said Helena. ‘Did Mrs Carlisle find it so?’
‘Bless you no, she’d arranged a dozen balls for his lordship.’
‘If only I had her sister’s address, I could write to her and ask her for her advice.’
‘You wouldn’t want to bother her, not with her sister being so ill,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘And besides, you’ve no need to worry. It will all come right in the end.’
As Helena set out for the village after luncheon she was glad to leave the castle behind. She felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into its tangled world, but Lord Torkrow and his family had nothing to do with her. She had come to the castle for one reason and one reason only: she wanted to find her aunt.
The day was fine, with a weak sun shining out of a blue sky, and she was pleased to see that there was no threat of rain. It was three miles to the village, across the moors, so she set off at a brisk pace. Hardy sheep were grazing, and she was glad of their bleating, which broke the silence and made the walk less lonely.
As she approached the turning to Mary’s cottage, she decided to take it and pay Mary a call. She longed for someone to confide in, someone outside the castle, who was immune to its strange atmosphere and past. Perhaps Mary could shed some insight on to her aunt’s disappearance.
The rough track was dry, unlike the last time she had visited, when the rain had turned it to mud, and was much easier to walk on. She soon found herself outside the cottage, and knocked on the door. It was opened by the maid, but Helena quickly learnt that neither Mary nor her brother were at home, and that the maid did not know when they would be back.
Helena swallowed her disappointment, thanked the maid, asked for Mr and Miss Debbet to be told that she had called, and carried on to the village. As she approached, she passed a small cottage, and then a few more, scattered haphazardly across the harsh landscape. She passed an old woman, dressed in black, as she entered the village, and a serious-looking little boy who was carrying a large basket into a cottage.
Helena greeted them with a ‘Good afternoon,’ but they did not reply, instead favouring her with suspicious looks.
The village was larger than she had expected, and better favoured. It was sheltered from the prevailing wind by being built in a hollow of the moors, and it consisted of a collection of cottages and houses, with an inn at one end and a church at the other. Next to the church was a large, square stone building which Helena took to be the rectory. It was set back from the road, and separated from it by a low stone wall. There was a white painted gate which creaked as Helena opened it, and a stone path snaked between barren borders to the door.
Helena lifted the brass knocker, which fell with a satisfying clunk, and a minute later the door was opened by an elderly maid.
‘I am Mrs Reynolds, the new housekeeper at the castle,’ said Helena. ‘I’d like to see Mrs Willis.’
The maid showed her into the hall. It was well cared for, and Helena took pleasure in seeing a house she did not have the responsibility of cleaning. The living was perhaps not wealthy, but it seemed to keep the rector and his wife in some comfort. The hall was painted a muted green, and there was a rug on the polished floorboards, whilst a staircase led upwards on the left.
The maid returned. ‘Mrs Willis says, “Please come in.”’
‘Thank you,’ said Helena, as the maid helped her off with her cloak.
She went into the drawing-room. Whilst the hall had been plain, here there were pretensions of gentility. There was gold wallpaper on the walls, a brocade sofa, and an inlaid console table beneath the window. On it was a vase of fine porcelain, matched by two others of similar design on the mantelpiece. The candlesticks were of silver, and there was a good painting hanging above it. A square piano was set against the far wall, and a brocade-covered stool was set in front of it. A fire was burning in the grate, and the fire irons gleamed in the light of the flames.
Mrs Willis stood up. Her dress was simple yet well cut, and to Helena’s surprise, it was made of silk.
‘Mrs Reynolds, how very nice to meet you,’ she said in a cultured voice. ‘My husband and I heard there was to be a new housekeeper at the castle. It is not before time. I dread to think how his lordship has managed without one. Won’t you sit down?’
Helena thanked her and took a seat.
‘I have come to ask for your help,’ said Helena. ‘I will need some maids to assist me in the castle, and as you know the neighbourhood and the people I thought you might be able to help me find some suitable girls.’
‘Ah, yes, I received your note.’
‘When I wrote it, I needed only two girls, but as I now need more help, footmen as well as maids, I thought it better to come and see you in person. I understand that the two girls who worked at the castle under Mrs Carlisle left in a hurry. It is a great pity. It would have been much easier for me if they had remained,’ she said, hoping to learn more about it.
Mrs Willis’s face expressed her exasperation.
‘The people round here are very insular,’ she said. ‘They have their prejudices and their superstitions. They mutter and whisper about Lord Torkrow, poor man, as they would mutter and whisper about anyone who lived in a castle. And the stories they tell about the castle itself! You would think it was unsafe to spend half an hour within its walls, the way some of them talk!’
Helena was reassured by Mrs Willis’s disgusted manner: she, at least, did not appear to think ill of Lord Torkrow.
‘I suppose it is understandable,’ said Helena. ‘The girls heard crying in the attic. The footman believed it to be a cat, but the girls were convinced that something dreadful had happened.’
‘Exactly! That is just the sort of story I’m talking about. As if anything dreadful would happen.’
‘It was sparked by the housekeeper’s disappearance, I believe,’ said Helena. ‘I suppose an incident like that was bound to cause gossip. A servant does not usually leave without giving notice.’
‘There was nothing suspicious about it. The poor woman left for a very ordinary reason, to tend her sick sister.’
‘Did she not leave in the middl
e of the night? Or is that just another tale?’
‘No, that is true, and of course, that fuelled the talk, but again there was a sensible reason for it. There is a stage coach to London early in the morning. I imagine she wanted to make an early start.’
‘Ah, I didn’t know her sister lived in London,’ said Helena.
‘I don’t know that she does’ said Mrs Willis. ‘That is the stagecoach’s ultimate destination, but it stops a number of times on the way. Of course, Mrs Carlisle could also have gone north, in which case she would have caught the stagecoach to Edinburgh, which passes a little later.’
‘Have you heard from her?’ asked Helena, with more hope than confidence.
‘No. I did not know her very well. We saw each other at church; a very sensible woman, well spoken and an asset to the congregation. I helped her to find staff for the castle, but other than that I did not speak to her. I am only sorry I did not find her some girls with more common sense.’
‘Do you think they would return to the castle now that I am there?’ asked Helena. ‘It would be a great help to have girls who know their way about.’
‘Perhaps. There is little work round here. I will try to persuade them to come and see you, and if not then I will try to find you some other girls. You said that you needed more than two?’
‘Yes. His lordship means to go ahead with the costume ball, so I will need as much help as possible.’
‘It is to go ahead? Oh, I’m so pleased,’ she said with a spark of excitement in her eye. ‘My husband and I have already chosen our costumes. We are to go as King Henry VIII and Katharine of Aragon. I have the costumes left over from another ball,’ she explained. ‘My husband has put on weight since then, and I have spent the last few weeks letting his costume out. I am so glad my work will not go to waste.’
‘Are the balls generally large? I haven’t had time to look at the guest list yet,’ said Helena.
‘Oh, yes, everyone from the surrounding neighbourhood is invited. They all look forward to the ball. It is a big event, in fact it is the biggest event we have in this village. The castle is something to be seen when it is en fete. The light pours out of the windows, and then there is the music! The orchestra is always excellent. And the food! You don’t need me to tell you that Mrs Beal is an excellent cook, and on these occasions she always surpasses herself. Carriages roll up in front of the castle by the dozen, and everyone wears the most wonderful costumes. There is a great deal of imagination brought into play, and although there are always a few duplications, the local gentry for the most part try and find a more unusual character to portray.’
‘Miss Fairdean and her mother have already ordered their costumes. They were at the castle yesterday,’ Helena explained.
‘Yes, the Fairdeans always make a special effort where the castle is concerned. They will be having their costumes made in London, I expect, complete with wigs and jewels. They will be portraying royalty, I’ve no doubt. One year, Miss Fairdean dressed as Elizabeth I. With her red hair, she looked the part. Her mother must have spent a fortune on her dress. It was encrusted with pearls. I suppose she thought it was worth it. There was some talk that his lordship would marry Miss Fairdean – I believe his mother, as well as hers, wished it - but nothing has come of it. Miss Fairdean is not well liked in the neighbourhood,’ she went on. ‘She is very rude to her servants, and indeed to most of her neighbours. She seems to think she is above them. She said to me . . . ’ She stopped herself, as if remembering to whom she was speaking. ‘There was no call for it.’
Helena waited, hoping she would say more, but Mrs Willis was silent. Then, with the appearance of a woman turning her thoughts into new channels by an act of will, she continued.
‘We will be seeing you at church, I hope? His lordship never comes, but Mrs Carlisle used to attend regularly, as long as the weather was fine enough for her to walk. She was a great supporter of the church. It was a pity she was all alone in the world, with no one to miss her when she was gone.’
Helena felt a shock at the unexpected words. No one to miss her.
‘She had a niece, I believe?’ she said quickly. ‘Mrs Beal said Mrs Carlisle wrote to her niece regularly.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Mrs Willis slowly.
‘And then, of course, she had a sister,’ said Helena.
‘Oh, yes, her sister,’ said Mrs Willis dismissively.
Helena was disquieted. There was something decidedly odd about Mrs Willis’s manner.
The conversation moved on, but as Mrs Willis spoke about other parishioners, Helena watched her covertly. Strange stories came back to her, stories of people who disappeared mysteriously in remote places, innocent-seeming locals who were not what they appeared . . .
The chiming of the clock broke her thoughts, and she returned to her senses. Mrs Willis was now talking about the village girls in the most matter-of-fact way, and the idea of her being mixed up in a strange disappearance seemed ridiculous.
It seemed even more ridiculous when, a few minutes later, the Rev Mr Willis entered the room. He was a stout, kindly looking man with white whiskers, and the idea of him being mixed up in anything untoward seemed even more ridiculous than his wife’s involvement.
‘This is Mrs Reynolds,’ said Mrs Willis, performing the introductions. After a few minutes of polite conversation, she said: ‘I will do what I can for you in the village, and I will send any willing workers to see you at the castle.’
Helena thanked her then, having taken her leave of them, she reclaimed her outdoor clothes and set out.
The day had turned colder, but it was dry, and within the hour Helena found herself once more approaching the castle. She was pleased that she had made arrangements to acquire more staff, but disappointed that she had learnt nothing of use about her aunt.
She had almost reached the outer wall when a gleam of sunshine breaking through the clouds made her look up and she let out a startled cry as she saw there was someone on the battlements. From such a distance she could not be sure if it was a man or a woman, but she meant to find out.
She hurried inside and went swiftly up to the attic, but she could not find a staircase leading up to the roof. She went through the attic again, looking at the ceiling, and there, sure enough, in the corner of one room, was a small door. Tied to a handle in the middle of it was a piece of rope, and beneath it was a chair. She was about to stand on it and go through when she thought better of it, for she had no idea who was on the battlements or what they were doing there.
She was just wondering what to do when she heard footsteps above her and hid herself behind a screen. Through the gap around the hinges she could still see the room. A minute later there came a creaking sound as the small door opened and a leg appeared, waving round as it tried to find the chair. Another followed, and then a pair of breeches, and then . . . Dawkins.
He closed the door above him, then climbed down from the chair and put it against the wall before leaving the attic room. He was swaying as he walked, and Helena guessed what he had been doing, but she wanted to make sure. Waiting for his footsteps to die away, she replaced the chair, opened the door, and with some difficulty she climbed through.
She found herself on the battlements, with the wind whipping at her cloak and trying to pull her hair from its pins. Beneath her was the moor, grey and green in the dull light. Far off, she could see the village, with its collection of cottages and the church. She looked all round, wondering if there was any other human habitation nearby, but there was nothing except a few isolated cottages, Mary’s amongst them.
Turning her attention back to the battlements, she searched them, and soon found a large cache of bottles, cushioned by sodden blankets and resting in the lee of the wall. There were perhaps a hundred bottles of wine and port, and half of them were empty.
Castle of Secrets Page 11