The carriage rolled to a halt outside a small cottage. The coachman opened the door and let down the step. Helena climbed out. She was immediately hit by the wind, which tried to whip the bonnet from her head, and she held on to it, to prevent it blowing away. Her cloak was whipped around her ankles, and the sound of the wind battered her ears.
‘It is often blustery on the coast,’ he said, following her.
They went up to the door. As he lifted the knocker he looked all round, and Helena, too, was vigilant, knowing that, at any moment, Maria and Morton could appear.
The curtain moved a little and Helena caught sight of a face at the window. It was an elderly woman with an anxious look. As soon as the woman saw Lord Torkrow, however, her look of anxiety faded and was replaced with a smile. A minute later the door opened.
‘My lord,’ she said. ‘We did not expect to see you.’ Then her smile faded. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I think we had better talk inside,’ he said.
He stood back so that Helena could precede him. The woman gave her a curious look, but no more, and Helena found herself in a cosy hall. There was a staircase rising to her left, and ahead of her was a door leading to the back of the house. Beyond the staircase was another door, and it was through this that Helena was shown. She found herself in a whitewashed room, which was furnished with a blue sofa, blue curtains and a blue rug. Standing by the sofa, her knitting abandoned, was Aunt Hester.
‘Aunt Hester!’ said Helena, going forward and taking her hands.
‘My dear Helena!’ cried her aunt in astonishment. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to see you, and I arrived at the castle to find you had gone.’
‘My poor Helena. You went all that way for nothing. It was good of Lord Torkrow to bring you here,’ she said. She looked searchingly at Helena. ‘I can see from your face there is a lot you have to tell me, but now is not the time. I fear you bring bad news with you?’
‘We do,’ said Lord Torkrow. ‘Morton is on his way here. Where is Anna?’
Aunt Hester glanced at a door behind her, and Lord Torkrow went through. Helena followed him into a small room at the back of the house. It was brightly furnished, and there was a cheery fire in the grate. A woman and a little boy were playing on the rug in front of the fire, where the boy was lining up a row of toy soldiers. The woman looked up.
‘Simon!’ she exclaimed, jumping up in delight and embracing. ‘I am so glad to see you.’
As Helena witnessed the warmth between brother and sister, she thought that she had never known he could be so affectionate, and that to be loved by such a man would be something indeed.
Anna’s face became anxious. ‘My husband has found me?’
‘Yes, my dear, he has.’
‘I know it would happen,’ said Anna. ‘I am only grateful it took him so long. At least I have had time to regain my health.’
She looked at Helena.
Quickly, Lord Torkrow introduced Helena and explained her presence, then said: ‘There is no time to lose.’
Anna nodded, her expression grave.
‘We must go,’ she said. ‘Once we are out of the country we will be safe from him. I have a bag packed already. I have had it packed ever since I arrived. Come, George, it is time for us to go on our journey.’
‘To stay with my godmama?’ asked the little boy.
‘Yes, to stay with your godmama in Italy.’
‘I’m going on a ship,’ the boy said to Helena. ‘A big ship. It’s going to take me over the sea to a hot country where there are lots of flowers and we’re going to live by the sea. We can go out, not like here. Here we have to stay indoors.’
A shadow crossed his face.
‘But when we are in Italy, we will not have to hide any more,’ Anna told him.
She took him out of the room to put on his outdoor clothes.
‘You know what you do when he gets here?’ said Lord Torkrow to the Vances.
‘Yes, my lord, that we do. We’ll send him to the cemetery so that he can see the grave.’
Helena looked at Lord Torkrow questioningly.
‘I knew he would never let Anna go, so I had my stonemason make a headstone for her and my nephew,’ he said. ‘One night, we placed it in an out of the way corner in the graveyard. When her husband arrives, the Vances will tell him that she came here with the boy, but that she died soon afterwards and the boy followed her to the grave.’
‘Will he believe it?’
‘I think so. He beat them both badly, and it was snowing when they escaped. It is not unlikely that they would have caught a fever on their flight and, already weakened by the beating, have succumbed. It is, at all events, worth a try.’
Anna and George returned, ready for their journey. George was prattling happily about Italy as they all went out to the carriage.
Helena saw that Aunt Hester was dressed for a journey.
‘I am going with Anna, as her chaperon,’ she said, ‘but once I’ve seen her safely to her godmother’s house, I’ll return. Will you wait for me at the castle? Then I can tell you everything.’
‘Of course,’ said Helena.
She sat next to her aunt in the carriage. Anna sat opposite them, with Simon next to her, and little George on her knee.
‘There’s a ship sailing to Italy this evening,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve taken notice of their comings and goings, and I always know when the next ship will sail. I would have left soon anyway. I have regained my health, and I was only waiting to regain my strength completely before leaving.’
‘But you are strong enough for the journey?’ asked Simon in concern.
‘Yes. I have Mrs Carlisle with me. We will manage.’
The cry of the gulls became louder as they approached the sea. The wind stiffened and the carriage swayed from side to side. The streets became busier. Carts were heading for the dock, laden with sacks and barrels. Women in rough skirts and thick woollen shawls jostled seamen, who swore and cursed and spat. There was a smell of fish, overlaid with the pervading smell of salt, and there was a clamour of creaking rigging which mixed in with the clatter of wheels on cobblestones and the sound of sailors’ cries.
As they neared the water, their progress became much slower as Eldridge picked his way between carts and carriages, avoiding urchins and stray dogs, until he finally stopped by the shipping office.
The door opened and the step was let down. Simon climbed out first, looking round with alertness in case Maria had caught up with them. Anna followed, with George, then Helena stepped out with Aunt Hester.
A cry of ‘Anna!’ rent the air, and Helena looked round in horror, but it was not Maria. It was an elderly woman, who was waving to a young girl, another, different, Anna.
Helena breathed a sigh of relief, and they went into the office.
The arrangements were soon made. Anna’s ship was to sail with the evening tide. As they emerged once more on to the dock, they saw the ship not far off. Looking around all the time, they crossed the dock and reached the vessel.
As she set foot on the gangplank, Helena felt it sway in the breeze and she clutched the rope, provoking laughter from a sailor nearby. Regaining her dignity, she ran up the remainder of the gangplank and was relieved to be on the ship.
Interested in all she heard and saw, she accompanied the small party to Anna’s cabin. It was surprisingly well appointed, and George ran round it in delight.
‘Will you stay with me until I sail?’ Anna asked Simon.
‘Yes. There are some things I must see to, first, but I will not leave the ship.’
She glanced at Helena, then nodded and gave her attention to her son.
‘Will you join me?’ said Simon to Helena.
‘Of course,’ she said.
They did not go on deck; they would be too obvious should Maria arrive; but they stood outside the cabin, talking.
‘I want you to return to the castle,’ he said.
‘But would it
not be easier for me to stay with you? The ship sails in a few hours, and we could return together.’
‘I do not want you here. If Morton finds us, things could get ugly. I will not have you exposed to it. Take the carriage. Return to the castle. I will hire an equipage once the ship sets sail and join you later. And then we will have much to discuss.’
Her dismissal, and her wages, she thought, with a sinking feeling. Her time at the castle was drawing to its end.
‘Very good, my lord.’
Helena returned to the cabin to take her leave. She embraced Aunt Hester, wished Anna a safe journey, and then she left the ship. As she set foot on the gangplank she looked around the dock, but there was still no sign of Maria. Bracing herself for the swaying underfoot, she succeeded in reaching the dock without difficulty, and then she went over to the carriage.
‘We are to return to the castle,’ she said. ‘His lordship will follow.’
Eldridge nodded, then Helena climbed into the carriage and it pulled away, the horses’ hooves clattering on the cobblestones as they left the harbour.
Simon watched the carriage as it pulled away, and found himself wishing he was going with it. He wanted to see Anna safely on her way, but he wanted to be with Helena, too. He could finally acknowledge his feelings, now that he knew who she was, and he found they were even deeper than he had suspected. But to acknowledge them and to welcome them were two different things.
He returned to the cabin. Mrs Carlisle was playing with George, and Anna was watching them. She turned her head as he entered and said: ‘Has she gone?’
‘Yes. I have sent her back to the castle.’
‘I feel in need of a breath of air,’ said Anna.
‘You cannot go on deck, it is not safe.’
‘In the corridor, then. You will come with me?’
He agreed, and together they went into the corridor.
‘You like her,’ she said, when they were alone.
‘Yes. I do,’ he said.
He had never been able to keep anything from Anna, even when they had been children, for she had always known what he was thinking, and it was a relief to say the words out loud.
‘I am glad,’ she said with a smile. ‘You have suffered too much, Simon. I think you should marry her, and be happy at last.’
He shook his head.
‘Love does not bring happiness,’ he said, his mood darkening.
‘It brought happiness to Richard.’
‘It brought him torture!’ he returned.
‘I don’t understand you,’ she said, puzzled.
‘You did not see him as I did, Anna. It was I who had to carry him the news; it was I who had to tell him I’d killed his wife. It was I who destroyed his world.’
She touched his hand.
‘It was an accident, Simon. You cannot blame yourself.’
‘Can I not? If I had not returned to the castle when I did, she would still be alive.’
‘You could not know she would run out to greet you.’
‘For a moment . . . one moment . . . I thought she wanted to see me,’ he said, as he remembered his elation at seeing her, and seeing the smile on her lips. ‘But she thought it was Richard, returning from the Doyles. It was dark, the horse was startled . . . ’
‘You could not help it,’ she said gently. ‘No blame attached to you.’
‘I remember it all so clearly. It is etched on my memory. I can still see her running up to my horse and being knocked aside. I can see her falling, I can remember how I felt as I leapt from the saddle and tried to catch her, but it all happened so quickly, and before I knew what was happening she was lying on the ground with a trickle of blood wetting her hair. If there had not been a stone just there, where she had fallen, she might still be alive, but it was jagged and she hit her head . . . I can still remember my anguish when I knew she was dead.’
‘You loved her,’ said Anna quietly.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I simply thought I did. I picked her up and carried her inside, fancying my feelings the grief of love, but when I told Richard . . . when he understood she was dead . . . I saw the pit of hell open up in his eyes. I had never, until that moment, known what love was, but I knew it then, and it terrified me. My feelings had been but a pale reflection. I decided at that moment that I would never fall in love. I never wanted to open myself up to such pain.’
‘We cannot choose where or when we will love,’ she said softly.
‘I choose, and I have chosen.’
‘Then I pity you,’ she said sadly, ‘for if I found love, I would not let it pass me by.’
‘I cannot love her,’ he said, wrestling with himself.
‘You will not. That is a different thing. Don’t let Richard’s grief destroy you,’ she said, stroking his cheek. ‘You have been like a ghost for long enough. It is time for you to live again.’
But he only shook his head.
‘If I love her, one day I will lose her. I cannot bear that pain.’
Chapter Thirteen
Helena leant back against the squabs. She felt suddenly tired, as all the excitement of the day caught up with her: waking early, finding the secret room, begging Mary for help, finding out Mary’s true nature, discovering that Simon was not a monster, meeting Anna and her child, and finding her aunt.
She felt the tension that had been gripping her for the last few weeks fade away. Her muscles relaxed, and she felt at peace in a way she had not for a long time. Aunt Hester was not missing, or dead, she was safe. Helena recalled her aunt’s face, cheerful and healthy, and she smiled.
The carriage left the sea behind. The cry of the gulls faded, and the tang of salt grew less marked until it disappeared altogether. The view outside the window changed from blue to green, and Helena found her thoughts moving forwards again. In a few hours she would be back at the castle, and then she would resume her masquerade as the housekeeper. She thought of revealing the truth to Mrs Beal, but it would involve her in divulging secrets which were not hers to tell. She would have to play her part for a little while longer.
Would Simon let her stay until her aunt returned from Italy? she wondered. Aunt Hester had seemed to think so. And yet he might ask her to leave at once. She could not bear the thought of it. He had become a part of her life, and although he had often unsettled her as well as intrigued her, she could not bear the thought of being without him.
The carriage stopped to change horses. Helena alighted, and ordered a cold collation, for she was hungry after her exertions, then she was once more on her way.
It was not long before the carriage turned off the main thoroughfare and began to cross the moors. She was nearing the castle. She looked out of the window, tracing the landmarks of her first journey: the twisted tree, the dry stone wall . . . and then the castle came in sight. It looked less threatening than it had done when she had first arrived. Then, it had been unknown. Now, it was the place where she had lived for many weeks, and although it had held terrors, it had held pleasures, too. She remembered the warm kitchen, the beauty of the ballroom, the music, waltzing with Simon in the gallery . . .
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