Mistress of the Moor: A gripping gothic romance mystery

by Abigail Clements

  I did my hair and dressed. Really, life would have been much easier had I had Letty to assist me. Dressing for a formal occasion was a two-handed job, but I managed it. The result, when I observed myself in the long mirror, was very pleasing.

  Dinner was at seven-thirty for eight o’clock, so at seven-twenty-five I went down to the withdrawing room, where I found Henry waiting, looking very elegant in his evening dress.

  ‘Hello, coz,’ he said. ‘Glad you made it. I say, you look an absolute stunner.’

  It was the same rather flippant Henry, giving no indication of the incident earlier in the day or whether or not he had seen me in the corridor when he stormed past. I wondered if, in fact, he knew that his father had been ill. He pulled out his watch.

  ‘They’ll be here soon,’ he said. ‘Can I get you a glass of sherry before they arrive?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I replied. As I have explained, I did not drink at all, though I was aware that, for the sake of politeness, I should have to take a little wine with my meal that evening.

  Roger, Dr. Harrison, and our four guests, resplendent in their regimental evening dress, arrived during the next few minutes. Fortunately, Roger was the first to arrive, so he was able to make the necessary introductions while Henry poured sherry for our guests. At that time I did not get a chance to speak to Dr. Harrison, so I had no means of knowing whether or not she still regarded me as responsible for the condition in which she had found Uncle Joshua that morning. As always on such occasions, the conversation was trivial.

  Promptly at eight o’clock, Barton opened the double doors leading on to the dining room and announced that dinner was served. One of our guests, a Colonel Willoughby, approached me.

  ‘Pardon me, ma’am,’ he said. ‘As senior officer present, may I claim the privilege of taking you into dinner?’ His voice sounded as if it would be much more at home on a barrack square than in a drawing room.

  ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ I replied, as he gallantly offered me his arm. ‘I would be honoured.’

  The polished mahogany table looked beautiful with its two flickering candelabra, which made the Georgian silver place settings sparkle against their dark background. The meal was served quietly and efficiently by Barton and his staff. The conversation centred mainly around flying machines, and I was quite surprised to find how much of it made sense to me, as a result, no doubt, of my labours of the last few days. Colonel Willoughby was most charming and courteous and attempted several times to draw me into the conversation. However, I did not wish to air my knowledge and I was still feeling somewhat fatigued, so I spent most of the meal, as indeed every good hostess should, listening attentively and seeing that my guests were provided for.

  As the meal drew to a close I rose and, speaking to Dr. Harrison for the first time, suggested that we withdraw and leave the gentlemen to their port wine and cigars. Coffee was awaiting us in the withdrawing room, and as I poured out two cups in silence, I wondered what on earth I was going to say to her. It was, however, Dr. Harrison who broke the silence and she did so in a most unexpected and welcome manner.

  ‘Miss Waldron,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered, wondering what could be coming.

  ‘Miss Waldron, I feel that I owe you an apology. Sir Joshua has acquainted me with the facts about this morning and I realize that I was wrong to speak to you in the manner in which I did. The only excuse I can offer is that I was extremely worried about my patient and very angry that he should have been brought to that condition. Please forgive me.’

  Under the circumstances, it was a very gracious apology. I felt I could not in conscience be less gracious in reply.

  ‘Please, doctor,’ I said, ‘think no more about it, I am quite aware that it was concern for my uncle that caused you to say what you did, and I should hate to think that you would reprove yourself on that count. As it happens, I had only just entered the room and was on my way to call you when you came in. What is much more important, and I know that you will agree, is how my uncle is now.’

  ‘He is as well as he ever will be,’ she replied. ‘What is most vital is to do all we can to see that nothing is done which could bring about any more of these attacks.’

  So it was all right. Uncle Josh was well and I was no longer suspected. I wondered if Uncle Josh had told Dr. Harrison that it was Henry, but as she did not volunteer any information in that direction, I did not pursue the point. Our conversation retrogressed into small talk of little or no consequence. Dr. Harrison, having made her apology, resumed her attitude of stoicism, and I was really quite relieved when the gentlemen had finished their cigars and joined us.

  As soon as it was polite to do so, I made my farewells and retired. Kittiwake was to fly the following morning at nine, and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep before that. I went upstairs, undressed, and fell into bed. I think I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  The following morning, Letty brought me my tea a little earlier than usual. She was in a state of great excitement. She told me that the servants had been informed of the impending flight and that Mr. Barton had obtained permission from Uncle Joshua for them all to go out onto the west lawn and witness the event.

  The west lawn covered a very large area about three acres in all. When I got there, having finished breakfast at about a quarter to nine, I found our military friends had already arrived. But as they seemed to be deep in conversation with Roger, I did not approach them.

  Barton, ever the despot below stairs, had taken command of his staff and had had benches brought out for them to sit on. They were assembling to the accompaniment of a great deal of noisy chatter. I noticed Letty among them, and I smiled at her when she caught my eye. To this she responded with a pert bob, obviously showing off to the two junior footmen who seemed to be vying for her attention. I glanced up at the house, and there I could see Uncle Joshua sitting at the window of his room with Dr. Harrison standing by his side. I waved up to him and he waved back to me. It seemed to be a very happy and excited gathering.

  Suddenly a cheer went up from where the servants were sitting and looking over toward the big barn, now standing with its massive doors wide open, I saw Kittiwake emerge, being pushed by Ormerod and our two grooms, one of whom was holding the tail end off the ground. I was watching this, thinking that it looked even more fragile than it had done in the barn, when a voice behind me spoke.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to wish us luck?’

  It was Roger. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and wore a tight-fitting helmet of the same material. Pushed up over his brow was an enormous pair of goggles.

  ‘Of course I am,’ I replied. ‘Good luck, Roger.’ Then I did an incredible thing, for which I can only plead the excitement of the moment. I kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  I could feel the colour rushing to my face. How could I have done such a thing? I was embarrassed and confused.

  ‘Thanks, I shall never shave again,’ he said, smiling flippantly.

  I felt dreadful. After all, I hardly knew the man, and most of what I did know I found quite objectionable.

  ‘I do beg your pardon,’ I said.

  ‘Please don’t apologize,’ he replied, laughing. ‘I enjoyed it.’

  The brute. He was obviously no gentleman, and I was about to tell him so, but he turned away and headed for his flying contraption, which by then Ormerod and his stalwarts had rolled to the far end of the lawn.

  Colonel Willoughby approached me.

  ‘Pardon me, Miss Waldron, but you seem to be alone here, and I wondered whether you would care to come and join us?’

  ‘How kind of you to ask,’ I replied. ‘But if you will excuse me, I think I would rather stay where I am.’ I don’t know why it was, but I wanted to be alone.

  ‘Just as you wish, ma’am,’ said the Colonel. ‘I think you might find these useful.’

  He offered me an enormous pair of field glasses.

  ‘Oh, but I couldn’t, w
hat are you going to do?’ I really believe that, as a class, our British Army officers are the most generous and thoughtful people in the world.

  ‘Always prepared for an emergency, got a spare pair, you know.’

  Colonel Willoughby left me. I put the glasses to my eyes and focused them carefully on Kittiwake. Roger had reached it by that time and was deep in conversation with Ormerod. Roger went to the cockpit and leaned inside of it for a few moments while Ormerod took up position just in front of the tail. The two grooms stood just in front of the wing on either side of the machine. They were both holding pieces of rope, each of which was attached to a triangular block of wood placed in front of each wheel. Roger came round to the front of the machine and seized hold of the propeller. He swung the propeller about four times, stepping back and away from it each time he did so. Then he went back and again leaned into the cockpit.

  There was a buzz of conversation and a giggle or two from where the servants were sitting and I heard a sharp word of reproof from Barton. They presumably thought that there was something wrong and that Kittiwake would not go. It gave me a sense of superiority to feel that I was probably the only lay person present who knew, albeit from my typewriting, that it was not supposed to go quite yet. The purpose of the first swings had been to draw fuel into the engine. Now, after Roger had switched on something called the magneto, the engine should start.

  Roger was back at the propeller. He gave a signal to Ormerod, who laid himself across the body, just in front of the tail. Then Roger took hold of the tip of the propeller and swung it downwards, again stepping away as he did this. It was well that he did, for this time, with a clatter and a bang and a large puff of smoke, the engine roared into life and the propeller disappeared into a whirling disk. Roger then ran around the wing and clambered into the cockpit, where he sat, now visible from only just above the waist. He pulled down his goggles and pulled up a scarf over his mouth, thus becoming completely unrecognisable. He leaned forward and did something which resulted in the roar of the motor increasing. Poor Ormerod, lying across the rear end and being shaken near to death I should think, lost his hat.

  Roger slowed the engine down and then raised his arm and waved it from side to side. Ormerod, who had his head turned in Roger’s direction, saw the signal and heaved himself off the tail while the two grooms, conscious that all eyes were upon them, pulled away the wooden blocks and ran behind the machine to join Ormerod.

  For a little while the only movement was the waggling of the rudder and the other moving parts which were on the wings and tail. Then Roger leaned forward, the engine noise rose to a crescendo, and slowly the Kittiwake started to roll forward across the lawn. Faster and faster it moved. First the tail lifted off the ground, and then the wheels bounced up and down again. I held my breath as they came off the ground again, but this time it was the real thing. Slowly the gap between Kittiwake and the lawn increased, a foot, ten feet, twenty feet, until it must have been a hundred feet. A great cheer went up from all of us. Kittiwake was flying.

  As I watched I thought how strange it was that this machine, which had looked so awkward and fragile standing on the ground, was now, now that it had entered the element for which it had been designed, a thing of grace and beauty. I peered through my field glasses and watched Roger as he turned the machine and headed toward us. How we all gasped as he swooped low over the lawn at an incredible speed. Someone said later that he must have been going at fifty miles an hour, though I found that a little hard to credit.

  Three or four times Kittiwake flew across the lawn. Finally it turned, far away to the right of us. As it came toward us, getting lower and lower, the engine was coughing and spluttering, in marked contrast to the steady roar which it had made before. Lower and lower, slower and slower it came until finally it touched down on the lawn. As it did this, Ormerod and the grooms rushed toward it and grabbed hold of the tips of the wings. The engine stopped, the propeller was still, and everyone cheered and ran towards Kittiwake, the servants heedless of Barton’s remonstrations.

  I was the only one who did not move. I stood where I was, thankful that all was well, that Roger was safe and that Uncle Joshua had had his triumph.

  I looked up at the house, and there was Uncle Joshua, waving away with his good arm, though to whom I do not know, for apart from myself, everyone was clustered round Kittiwake. They were slapping Roger on the back and cheering. Up there in the house beside Uncle Josh, Dr. Harrison stood impassive and unsmiling as ever. I felt that I must go to him. After all, this was really his day. So without more ado, I went into the house and up to his room.

  Uncle Joshua was delighted. He looked happier than I have ever seen him either before or since. Even Dr. Harrison announced gravely that it had been a most satisfactory morning. We looked out of the window as Kittiwake, under the watchful eye of Roger, was trundled back into the big barn. As the huge doors swung shut, Uncle Josh turned to me.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ he said. ‘You’ve done a great job. There was nothing but praise for your typewriting and for your charm as a hostess. I do so hope that you will never ever consider leaving Goathlands again. I want you to be happy here and to feel that this house is every bit as much your home as it was when your dear parents were alive. Promise me that you will stay.’

  The success of Kittiwake and the infectious joy of Uncle Joshua had acted on me like a heady wine. All the dark thoughts and worries of the previous days had vanished from my mind. I was happy at Goathlands. Here I was surrounded by well-loved things, familiar since childhood. Most important was Uncle Josh himself, who so obviously loved me and wanted me to stay.

  ‘I promise,’ I said, and I meant it. ‘But what about Henry? After all, Goathlands will be his one day, what does he think?’

  ‘I’m glad you asked me that,’ said Uncle Josh. ‘As you know, Henry and I do not always get on well together. In this, however, we are in one accord. It was, you may be surprised to learn, he who first suggested that I try and get you to come and stay with us. Nothing to do with the typewriting, of course, he did not know about that. I think that in his peculiar way he is rather fond of you.’

  The mention of Henry reminded me that I had not noticed him on the lawn during the flight. I mentioned this to Uncle Josh.

  ‘Well, you know Henry,’ he replied. ‘He was never interested in Kittiwake, and he told me that he had a long-standing appointment in Whitby this morning. He’ll be back in time for luncheon and to say farewell to our guests. But let us not bother about that. What are you going to do for the rest of the day?’

  ‘I,’ I said, coming to a sudden decision, ‘am going to take Honey out for a good stiff gallop across the moors as soon as our guests have gone.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Uncle Joshua. ‘How I wish I could come with you.’

  Before I could reply, Dr. Harrison interrupted.

  ‘Sir Joshua, I know Miss Waldron will not mind, but I am going to ask her to leave now. You have had enough excitement this morning to last you a week. You must rest now.’

  ‘Of course, doctor,’ I said. ‘Goodbye, Uncle, I’ll come and see you again tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Goodbye, my dear, give Honey an extra sugar lump from me. I’m sorry you can’t stay, but you see how she bullies me.’

  I left them. As I made my way to my room, I was feeling happy and contented. I would change before lunch, bid our guests farewell, and then take Honey out. I got to my room and rang for Letty. I told her to tell one of the grooms to have Honey ready for me at half past two.

  Strange, I thought, that Henry should have been the one to suggest that I come to Goathlands. Whenever I had contacted him he had assured me that my presence here was unnecessary. I supposed he must have had a change of mind.

  I went to my window and looked out.

  It was a lovely day.

  Chapter Eight

  Lunch was to be at one, so, as I had plenty of time, I decided to change and get ready for my outing before going down to
lunch. My riding habit was in fine black broadcloth, and I wore it over a heavy silk blouse that had an attached stock. After I had dressed, I stood for a moment and admired myself in the mirror. I have always felt that a riding habit is one of the most flattering outfits that a woman can ever wear.

  On my way down to lunch I met Henry in the hall.

  ‘Hello, coz,’ he greeted me. ‘Have you been riding?’

  ‘Not yet, Henry,’ I replied. ‘I’m not going out until two-thirty. Have you just got back?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry I was not able to be here for the circus this morning. How did everything go?’

  ‘Wonderfully, it was a great success,’ I answered. ‘Are you coming in to lunch?’

  ‘No thank you, I had a snack in Whitby,’ he said. ‘I would like to come up and have afternoon tea with you, if you don’t mind. We don’t seem to have had the chance for a chat since you arrived.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ I replied. ‘Why don’t you tell Letty that you will be coming.’

  ‘Thanks, coz, I’ll do that,’ said Henry.

  I left him and headed toward the dining room.

  Roger did not appear at luncheon. I supposed that he must have had a lot to do checking over Kittiwake after his triumph that morning, so I told Barton to arrange a packed lunch and send it over to the big barn. I was beginning to feel quite at home as mistress of Goathlands, and I was really enjoying the experience.

  After lunch, a groom brought one of Uncle Joshua’s horseless carriages to the front door. Barton, with his usual efficiency, had arranged this. I was in the process of saying goodbye to our guests when I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to return the field glasses to Colonel Willoughby. I asked him to wait while I sent for them but, charming man that he was, he insisted that I regard them as a hostess present and keep them for myself.

  I stood on the front steps and waved farewell as the noisy machine clattered and spluttered down the drive.

  Then I went inside. As I went upstairs the clock in the entrance hall was just chiming a quarter past two. I hurried to my rooms and put on my boots and riding topper. I got my riding whip from the wardrobe. Of course I never beat my horse, but it is impossible to ride side saddle without a whip. It fulfils the same functions as are performed by a gentleman’s right leg when riding astride, and without a whip you could never steer your mount.