“I’m going with you. Aunt Lavinia needs us.” Andromeda folded her arms and furrowed her brow.
“Me too,” Gemini added. They both glared at me ready for battle, for it would be no small expense.
“We will all go.” My agreement shocked them. Usually my sisters and I argued for hours when it came to making practical decisions and carting everyone to the wilds of Cornwall was utterly impractical.
They didn’t give me a second to change my mind. They immediately packed and we left for the Cornish coast within hours. I sent a note to our parents informing them Mary had drowned and we were going to be with Aunt Lavinia at Dartmoor’s End. Then I spent the entire journey focused on one question. How had Mary drowned?
Dartmoor’s End, England
“Miss Andrews, I don’t mean to be rude, but you have said all of this before.” Constable Poole slashed his dark brows at me from where he sat behind his desk. I didn’t have to see beneath his bushy mustache to know he frowned; indignant irritation had his back ramrod straight. He hadn’t bothered to stand when I entered his office for the third time today, but then, I hadn’t bothered to wait for his assistant to escort me in this time either.
“You may be hearing me, Constable, but you aren’t understanding me at all.” I paced toward him. “Mary was deathly afraid of the sea. She did not go swimming and drown.”
He stood, this time trying to quell my persistence with a disdainful stare. “Until I have specific evidence to prove otherwise, my conclusion of this matter remains as cited in my report.”
“What about her employer, Sean Killdaren? I’ve heard alarming stories about him and his brother, the Viscount of Blackmoor.”
Sean Killdaren had also snubbed Aunt Lavinia’s every attempt to speak with him, thus raising serious questions in my mind.
The constable flicked his hand as if I were a fly in his face. “Rumors only.”
“I’d hardly call one of them being suspect in the death of Lady Helen Kennedy a rumor,” I persisted. “What do you know of the case? Were you constable at the time?”
“Yes, an assistant. And there is nothing about the case that needs to concern you.”
“You don’t think it odd that while working for the Killdarens my cousin has suddenly disappeared?”
“Lady Helen died eight years ago. She did not die easy. I hardly see a connection with your cousin’s drowning.”
I threw my hands up. “You don’t know that she did drown! There is no body. And how can you expect to find a connection between Mary and Lady Helen if you aren’t investigating the matter?”
We glared at each other. After a week of hard travel and several days of searching, I knew little more about Mary’s death than I had upon receiving the telegram. Mary had supposedly drowned while swimming alone.
“Constable, you aren’t giving the facts of this case serious consideration. Apart from Mary’s fear of the sea, why would a woman go swimming alone in the chilly May water? Why has her body never washed ashore?”
“Since you’re asking me to spell it out for you, Miss Andrews, she may have deliberately drowned herself. And not all things the sea claims find their way to the shore. I can tell you this, though. After this long in the water, you don’t want her body to return to you. Now, I have a number of things left to do today. So unless you have evidence implicating someone in your cousin’s death, I suggest you refrain from wasting my time or spreading any more rumors. The Earl of Dartraven doesn’t take kindly to anyone who besmirches the reputations of his sons.”
Dizzied by anger, I grasped the edge of his desk. “So, their wealth rules the law here?”
His dark eyes glittered. “Woman, you try my patience. Shall I have you escorted out?”
“Unnecessary, sir. You’ll have your evidence.” I marched from his office, my heart and cheeks burning with ire. I didn’t know the least thing about investigating a crime, but I was certain something terrible had happened to Mary—and I refused to return to the inn where Andromeda and Gemini comforted Aunt Lavinia until I had more than Constable Poole’s obstinacy to report.
For the past six years as a journalist, I’d made it my business to read a great many newspapers, some concerning crime. With those in mind, I went directly to the mercantile store and perused the available publications. The Police Chronicles caught my gaze first. Glancing through the front page article, I found a detailed account of the investigation into the murder of a prominent business man in London. That should help me to investigate Mary’s death.
Noticing the clerk eye me with suspicion, I picked up The Crime Gazette and The London Report as well and made my way to the counter.
“Ya asked about that teacher a day or two ago, didn’t ya?” The clerk surprised me, for I’d given up on finding out about Mary from the villagers. I’d asked a number of people who only said that Mary had rarely visited the town.
My pulse raced with hoped. “Yes. Did you learn more about her disappearance?”
Her gaze darted between me and the newspapers I clutched, then her eyes grew wider than a king’s gold piece. “Yar one of those fancy newspaper reporters, aren’t ya. Had a few of them around years ago when Lady Helen was murdered. They were men, though.” She spoke as if being a woman wasn’t proper then she lowered her voice. “It’s the maze, I tell ya. My bet is that teacher went in there and never was seen again and the Killdaren doesn’t want folks to know.”
“The Killdaren?” I wondered what sort of man could evoke such awe—or was it fear?
“Mister Sean Killdaren. He’s the second son of the Earl of Dartraven by only a blink of an eye. Ye’ll know why folks call him the Killdaren rather than mister iffen you ever catch a glimpse of him.”
“Did someone see Mary go into the maze?”
Shrugging hard enough to bounce her sausage ringlets, she leaned on the counter. “Well, not first hand that I’ve heard, mind ya. But that would be a place anyone could disappear from. Iffen the sea had taken her seems like she’d have washed ashore like most things.”
The shop bell clanged and two women dressed in simple worn muslins entered. “Wouldn’t you say so, Berta?” The clerk addressed one of the women.
“What’s that, Camile?”
“That teacher they say drowned up at the castle. I betcha she wandered into the maze, I do.”
“Don’t know if it were the maze or the sea, and I don’t care to know.” She nodded to the other woman who’d entered with her. “Betsy, here, says that ol’ hag housekeeper who’s always running off the help is now trying to hire a downstairs maid. Imagine that. As if anyone would want to work for her. I’d have to be starvin’ to take on that job. All that work and nothin’ for it. Yer practically invisible when it comes to gettin’ anythin’ extra by working downstairs, too. No cast off gowns or tips from gentry with that thankless job. Why it’s worse than a scullery maid, I tell ya.”
“Wouldn’t get no tips, no how. No one dares to visit the Killdarens. Now the Wellworths are where ya need to be getting a position. My cousin said he made handfuls of shillings a day during the last hunting party, he did.” The other woman continued on with more about the hunting party, but I wasn’t listening. One word had stuck in my mind and an entire plan revolved itself around it.
Maid.
Chapter Two
My heart raced as if I were off to commit a crime. The path leading from the village cut along the edge of the wild sand dunes where dark shadows from the maritime forest lurked and shifted with the inland breeze. A chill stole through the warmth of the late afternoon sun, promising there would be a cold bite to the coming night. I pulled the edges of a worn cloak closer to my breasts. Minutes after leaving the mercantile store, I’d bought it and a ragged potato sack from an elderly woman selling herbs at the end of the street. After mussing my neat chignon, I now looked like a woman desperately needing work.
The walk between Dartmoor’s End and Killdaren’s castle took longer than I thought it would and only added to my frustr
ations. The area was so isolated that my skin crawled.
How could Constable Poole ever believe a woman would go swimming alone on this empty stretch of sand and sea? But he didn’t believe that, did he? He believed Mary had taken her own life.
She would never have done that. I knew it as surely as I knew myself. So why had Mary’s shoes and basket been found on this stretch of beach? What had happened?
The castle loomed ahead as I crested the rise of a dune. Even with the sun shining upon it, the stone walls were dark and begged me to ask what sinister secrets lay hidden in the shadows.
Like some mythological creature the Killdaren’s home was half manor-like and half castle-like in appearance. From the moment I’d arrived in Dartmoor’s End days ago and had seen the castle from afar, it had captivated me, as did the stories about the castle’s rarely seen owner, Sean Killdaren and his brother, Alexander, the Viscount of Blackmoor—a man who resided farther down the coast in Dragon’s Cove.
The brothers had nearly killed each other the same night Lady Helen Kennedy had been murdered and they hadn’t spoken to each other since. There had also been mutterings about a Dragon’s Curse plaguing the family, but none of the villagers wanted to say what that meant.
The Killdarens’ wealth and position had kept the twin sons of the family from a hangman’s noose once. As I made my way down the hill, following the craggy path to their land, I wondered if one of them had murdered again.
Once I reached the estate, an understanding of the vastness of the Killdarens’ fortune dawned. I passed an elaborate, two-story stable, large enough to be a manor house itself. Then I skirted the edge of the a massive formal garden, where dozens of statues and a riot of color from blooming phlox, pansies, rhododendron and gladiolas did little to ease my spirit. The sun glistening off the marble and showering the flowers reminded me of Mary. She loved flowers and sunlight. I could almost picture her in the gardens, her cheeks flushed with pleasure and her arms laden with blooms.
Cresting a knoll, I took in the full scope of the estate and saw that the darkness behind the gardens wasn’t the maritime forest, but a large, elaborate maze that eventually lost itself into a thick expanse of trees. I stopped and stared at the high hedges of the maze, seeing just how obscuring the looming green labyrinth was and I shivered. In just a few steps, a woman could disappear.
I moved on and saw an odd building jutting from the castle’s main structure. Three-storied and glass-domed, it cast a shadow over half of the garden, marring its beauty. No light, no matter how bright, could alter the building’s frightening façade. Dark gray stone walls were topped with sinister gargoyles and black curtains covered the encircling windows, shrouding it like a tomb.
A face flashed in the nearest window then was gone, but the sensation that someone continued to secretly watch me lingered. I hurried to the servants’ door and quickly rapped the knocker before I could change my mind. The people inside these walls were the last to see Mary alive, and I had to learn what they knew, even if I had to use deceit to do so.
The Killdarens’ affluence put them not only above the law, but also socially beyond any persons of my acquaintance. Why, even calling the intricately carved brass and mahogany door a servants’ entrance seemed ludicrous, for its grandness could grace the front of any opulent residence I’d ever entered.
The door opened with a yawning creak.
I don’t know exactly what I expected, but it wasn’t a jaunty smile and a twinkling gaze.
“And I thought me bonnie lived over the sea.” The look in the man’s eyes practically undressed me on the spot.
I stepped back, barely remembering to curb my admonishing response to such an improper and personal greeting. “Beg your pardon, sir, but I’m Cassie Andrews. I hear you are in need of a maid.”
He stared at me for a long moment before he called to someone inside. “Ma, you’ve a visitor.”
“Stuart Frye! Did you take any scones?” The sharp voice cut abrasively through the air.
“She’s all bark and no bite,” the man whispered, then winked as he bit into a scone. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Dressed in a worn cotton shirt and pants the color of old leather, he had a rugged appeal that went well with his familiar manner.
The woman’s voice from inside grew louder. “What did you say? No boy of mine had better be talking behind my back or he’ll end up in more trouble than he can handle.”
“Promise to be nice to the pretty maid and I’ll behave. She looks like a dose of pure sunshine dropped on our doorstep.”
Heat flagged my cheeks. How could he flirt so outlandishly with his mother right behind him?
Mrs. Frye appeared in the doorway, brandishing a formidable scowl and a wooden spoon. Her stone gray hair was twisted into a hard knot at the top of her head and pulled so tightly back from her face that I felt the pain of it in a glance. She wore a black uniform relieved only by the plain lines of a white apron and her pale face—a face which might have been pretty but for her icy sternness. She smacked her son on the shoulder with the spoon. “You keep those roving eyes to yourself.”
“Bake me scones and I’ll be nice.” He laughed and held up an entire handful of goodies as he brushed a kiss to the prickly woman’s cheek before strolling down the steps.
“Those scones are for Miss Prudence’s tea!”
“You tell her I stole them. Maybe that will get her to step a dainty foot outside, and bring Rebecca with her. It isn’t right to keep a child all locked up.”
Goodness! I jerked my gaze between the two of them, recognizing the name of the blind child Mary had come to teach.
“Don’t go exaggerating circumstances. Rebecca’s delicate and needs special care.”
“Not any more than Jamie, and look how well he turned out.”
I saw a crack in Mrs. Frye’s harsh armor. Her features softened, and for a brief moment she appeared almost motherly. “Whatever else you’ve done, you did right by your brother. Now stop wasting time.” She shot her gaze to me. “Well, missy, are you here for work?”
I nodded.
Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in close to my face. “You aren’t from around here, and you don’t look like a scullery maid. What trouble are you in?”
“No trouble, ma’am.” I crossed my fingers, hoping God would forgive me for lying. “My father’s ill and we’ve little money left. He lost his post as a vicar. I need work.”
“Humph. I don’t know if you’ll do or not. I won’t be putting up with no airs and no consorting. You must live here so you can be watched, and you’re forbidden from any wild celebrations with the villagers. Sneak out at night and you’ll be searching for a new post by morning.”
“Yes, ma’am. Please, ma’am. I need the work.”
“Be here at dawn tomorrow with your things.” She scowled and then slammed the door in my face. I stood on the step, blinking, wondering if I’d imagined the whole incident. Darkening shadows and a brisker wind soon convinced me I hadn’t. Upon leaving the castle grounds, I practically ran to Seafarer’s Inn, somewhat stunned but elated as well. I couldn’t believe I’d secured the post.
Unfortunately, when I told my family, they couldn’t believe it either and went immediately into hysterics that seemed to have no end.
Andromeda pressed her palm to my forehead. “My word, Cassie, has your grief driven you insane?”
“This is a disaster! A parlor maid? The scandal! I can’t believe you’ve done this.” Aunt Lavinia wailed as if the world had come to an end.
I drew a deep breath. “If everyone would calm down and think about this for a moment, all of you would realize this is the perfect answer. I’ll be able to speak with people who worked with Mary.”
“Don’t they hang spies when they catch them?” Gemini sounded entirely too curious about the matter.
“The gallows!” Aunt Lavinia fell back upon the sofa, looking as if she would faint as she held up her hand. “No. It’ll be worse than that. They’ll
brand you a fallen woman and cut off your hair. You’ll never be able to marry.”
Though I knew it to be utter nonsense, the image of me shorn and hanging from one of Killdaren’s Castle’s high stone turrets flitted across my mind. “Hush this insanity. Working as a maid is no less honorable than working as a governess. And should they discover I am searching for the truth about Mary, the worse that can happen is I’ll be dismissed. And what’s more, I’ve no desire to marry anyway. I want a career as a journalist.” I didn’t even know that myself until the words burst from me.
I had long resigned myself to spinsterhood, for surely no man could love a woman who dreamed of people’s deaths. But I hadn’t a set course for my future either, I hadn’t imagined doing anything other than what I had done every day for years. Now I realized I wanted to accomplish more than what my etiquette column offered.
“Not marry!” Aunt Lavinia gasped as if that was the most shocking thing she’d heard yet.
“You already are a journalist,” Andromeda said.
“Writing ‘Cassiopeia’s Corner’ hardly qualifies as being a journalist. A real journalist is one that discovers stories and writes about them.”
Andromeda grabbed my hand. “I didn’t know you were unhappy.”
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “I’m not. And this isn’t about me. It is about Mary. Somewhere behind the stone walls is the answer to what happened to her, and I won’t rest until I find it.”
“What if something bad did happen to Mary? Wouldn’t you be in danger?” Andromeda turned my way, her heart in her eyes. She’d said the first sane words since the discussion began.
“I’ll have Father’s pistol. I’ll be careful. Besides, all I am going to do is to scrub a few floors and ask a few questions. How hard or dangerous can that be?”
I slipped silently from the Seafarer’s Inn a little before dawn, tiptoeing out with a few of my belongings stuffed into the potato sack along with the pistol, something I prayed I wouldn’t need but was prepared to use. I didn’t wake my aunt and sisters. Another tearful barrage would do little to help either of us, so I left a note instead, telling them I would contact them as soon as possible. Despite my family’s misgivings, I did not think this to be a rash or deadly move, for unlike Mary, I entered Killdaren’s Castle armed and aware there might be danger lurking in its shadows.
Midnight Secrets Page 2