Castle of Secrets (12 page)

He roused
himself.

‘Mrs
Reynolds,’ he said. ‘Some refreshments for my guests.’

‘Very good, my
lord.’

‘You have
managed to find a new housekeeper, I see,’ said Miss Fairdean, as
Helena
walked towards the door.

‘I have.’

‘At least this
one isn’t as ugly as the last one,’ said Miss Fairdean. ‘The last one was a
dreadful woman. She had a sour face, as though she’d been drinking vinegar. It
must have been a torment for you to look at her. Where the offices find such
frights is beyond me.’

Helena
felt her teeth clench,
and happening to glance in the mirror hanging by the door she noticed that Lord
Torkrow was watching her with a curious expression on his face. She quickly
smoothed her expression and went out of the room, but Miss Fairdean’s words
would not leave her. A sour face? thought
Helena
angrily. Her aunt was a beautiful
woman. She was lined with age and hard work, it was true, but beautiful
nonetheless.

She hurried
down to the kitchen.

‘Tea, please,
and cakes, Mrs Beal,’ she said, when she entered the kitchen. ‘We have
visitors.’

Mrs Beal
looked at her and then said, ‘Miss Fairdean?’

Helena
was surprised. ‘How did
you guess?’

‘She’s made
you angry, and there’s only one person round here that can anger a body so
soon. What was she saying?’

‘She made a
remark about Mrs Carlisle,’ said
Helena
bitterly.

‘Ah. She’s a
spoilt young woman,’ said Mrs Beal, as she set the kettle over the fire. ‘His
lordship’s parents wanted him to marry her, but he was having none of it. They
couldn’t understand it. But fair by name is not fair by nature, and I reckon
his lordship can tell the difference between the two.’

Mrs Beal set
cups and saucers on the tray, followed by the tea pot, milk jug and sugar bowl.
Helena
carried them upstairs to
the drawing-room. When she went in, a lively discussion was taking place.

‘Oh, do say
you’ll let it go ahead,’ said Miss Fairdean in an enticing voice. ‘The spring
won’t be the same without a costume ball. It is such a feature of the castle.
It is not such a very great amount of work, and besides, half of it must
already be done.’ She leant towards Lord Torkrow. ‘Do say it will go ahead.’

Lord Torkrow
turned to
Helena
.

‘Miss Fairdean
would like me to host a costume ball at the castle,’ he said. ‘Traditionally,
we have one here each spring. I decided to cancel it this year when my
housekeeper left, but perhaps it is not necessary. What do you think of the
idea?’

‘It is not my
place to say,’ said
Helena
,
surprised that he had asked her.

‘Really, how
very eccentric, asking the housekeeper,’ said Mrs Fairdean with a startled, and
not altogether pleased, expression.

‘It will be
Mrs Reynolds’s place to do the work,’ he said. ‘Why shouldn’t she have a say?’

‘My dear Lord
Torkrow, she is paid to do it,  as she is paid to do whatever your heart
desires.’

‘Whatever my
heart desires? If she can do that, then she is cheap at twice the price,’ he
said.

Miss Fairdean
looked confused, unable to understand his speech, and his words darkened the air.

‘It is for you
to decide, my lord,’
Helena
said.

‘Is it? I
think not. Not before I know something more about you. Have you ever organised
a costume ball before?’ He turned to his guests. ‘Mrs Reynolds comes to me with
three years experience of housekeeping, but she has never been in such a large
establishment. It takes a certain kind of woman to make a success of such a
venture.’

Helena
did not know why he was
behaving so strangely; whether he wanted to flurry her into saying something
that would reveal she was not a housekeeper, or whether he wanted to discomfit
his guests. His manner to them was polite, but there were hidden barbs beneath
the surface, and she suspected he did not like them. Mrs Fairdean had looked
uncomfortable at first, but now ignored his strange manner, as did her
daughter.

‘No, my lord,
I have not,’
Helena
replied.

‘What does
that signify?’ asked Miss Fairdean impatiently. ‘She can learn. Please, Simon,
let us have one,’ she went on in a wheedling voice. ‘I have thought of my costume
already.’

‘I suppose it
is very beautiful?’ he asked her.

Helena
was shocked to hear that
he spoke with barely concealed contempt, but Miss Fairdean did not seem to
notice.

‘It is,’ she
said coquettishly.

‘Then we must
not disappoint you. Mrs Reynolds, you will continue with the arrangements for
the costume ball. It will be held  at the start of next month. You will engage
any extra staff you need to help you. Miss Fairdean will delight us all with a
beautiful costume, and I . . . ’

‘Yes?’ said
Mrs Fairdean encouragingly.

‘I will come
as a crow.’

Miss Fairdean
looked startled, but then she carried on as though he had not said anything.

‘We must move
quickly, Mama. That sluggard of a seamstress must be made to work harder. She
is always dragging her heels, and making some excuse or other. She is idle,
like all of her kind. We will make her see she must work for her money. We will
go to
London
tomorrow and chivvy her.
There are gloves to buy, jewels to be set . . . ’

Helena
poured the tea whilst
they continued to talk about the ball, roundly abusing the seamstresses, wig
makers, milliners and shopkeepers who would provide them with everything they
needed. Lord Torkrow said nothing, but the Fairdeans did not seem to notice.
Helena
, having poured the tea,
returned to the kitchen.

‘I’ve just
learnt we’re to arrange a costume ball for the start of next month,’ she said.

‘Ah, so he’s
going ahead with it, is he?’ asked Mrs Beal. ‘I thought the Fairdeans wouldn’t
want him to cancel it, but I’m surprised he gave in to them so easily. He’s
never liked that sort of thing.’

‘When are we
to hold it?’ asked
Helena
.

‘On the
third,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘And a lot of work it will be. Did Mrs Willis say she
would find out some maids?’

‘I didn’t
speak to her,’ said
Helena
.
‘It was raining too heavily and I had to turn back. But I managed to send a
message to her.’ She didn’t mention Mary. She felt instinctively that the fewer
people who knew about Mary the better. She felt safer for having a place to run
to, should she need it. ‘What has been arranged so far?’ she asked.

‘The
invitations have all been written, and the guests have all very likely had
their costumes made. The ball’s held every year, it’s a big event hereabouts,
and everyone looks forward to it.’

‘The food will
not have been ordered?’

‘No. That’s
something that will have to be done, and done soon. We’ll need a sight of meat
and vegetables. And eggs, we must have plenty of eggs. There’ll be puddings to
make, and custards and meringues. Cream, too,’ she said. ‘Ah, well, the
shopkeepers are expecting it, that’s one thing in our favour, they’ll see to it
we have everything we need. A chance for them to make some money, it is, and
that’s always welcome.’

‘Who sees to
the wine?’ asked
Helena
.

Mrs Beal shook
her head.

‘Dawkins,’ she
said. That one word conveyed her dissatisfaction, and
Helena
guessed that he drank the wine he
was meant to guard.

‘He has the
key to the wine cellar?’ asked
Helena
.

‘One of them.
I keep the other one. I look in every week, to make sure that not too much has
gone missing.’

‘I’m surprised
his lordship does not want a butler.’

‘His
lordship’s lost heart, since . . . Ah, well, it was a long time ago, and he
never bothered to replace the butler when he left. “Dawkins can manage” he
said.’

Her tone
plainly said that Dawkins could not manage, but that she could do nothing about
the situation.

‘Now, about
the desserts . . . ’

They fell to
discussing the arrangements, until the bell rang again.

‘They’ll have
finished with the tea tray,’ said Mrs Beal.

Helena
returned to the
drawing-room, and to her surprise she found that Lord Torkrow’s visitors had
gone. Only the used tea cups and the hollows in the furniture showed they had
ever been there.

‘Mrs Reynolds.
Come in.’

The fire had
burnt down low, and its flames created odd patches of light across his body,
throwing one shoulder and one side of his face into relief. His forehead, chin
and cheek were lit brightly, and a gleam of gold was awakened in his eye. He
turned his face to hers, and she wondered why she had never noticed how fine
his cheeks were. They were like the rocks outside, sharp-angled, but with the
stone made smooth by the constant onslaught of the elements.

‘You have been
speaking to Mrs Beal about the ball?’ he asked.

‘Yes, my
lord.’

‘Good. She has
been here for many years, and knows what is required. Your predecessor had
already done much of the work. You will find her notes in the housekeeper’s
room, no doubt. You have spoken to Mrs Willis about finding some more maids?’

‘No, my lord.
I was driven back by the weather. But I managed to send her a note, asking her
to help me find two girls.’

‘You will need
more than two maids if the ball is to go ahead. You had better go and see her
tomorrow, and tell her of the change of plan.’

‘Yes, my
lord.’

He stood
there, saying nothing more, and
Helena
was conscious of a disturbing atmosphere in the room. It was
as though he was keeping himself on a tight rein, and she felt that if he let
the reins go, the power released would change her life for ever.

He considered
her intently, and then he surprised her by saying: ‘You were in the graveyard
last night.’

Her heart
jumped at the unexpected shift in the conversation. She wondered if he had seen
her, or if someone else had told him.

‘It’s a
strange place for a young woman to be after dark,’ he continued. ‘What were you
doing there?’

‘I went out
for a breath of air,’ she answered. ‘I did not know where I was going. I walked
across the courtyard and then onto the moor.’

‘And just
stumbled across the graveyard?’

She hesitated,
wondering what to say. It would be easier to let him think she had found it by
accident, but she wanted to say something, something that would help him, for
she knew that he had been in pain. And he was still in pain now. She could see
it etched across his face, in the lines around his mouth and by the haunted
look in his eyes.

She heard
herself saying: ‘I was drawn to it by the sound of someone crying.’ He went
pale, but gave no other sign that he had been the person crying by the grave.
She went on: ‘I wanted to comfort them. It is a desolate thing, to cry alone,
in the dark.’

His eyes
locked on to hers and she felt something pass between them.
Won’t he tell
me?
she wondered, without even knowing what it was she wanted him to say.
She only knew that he had a secret burden, and she felt she could help him, if
he would only let her.

With the
words, she no longer felt like a housekeeper talking to her employer, she felt
like a woman talking to a man. Even so, she was unprepared for his reaction. He
suddenly grasped her hand and, saying: ‘Come with me,’ he pulled her along
behind him, out of the room, up the broad, shallow stairs, so quickly that she
had to run to keep up with him; along the corridor and into the portrait
gallery. Then he let her go.

She looked
about her. A long line of Stormcrows hung on the wall. These were the men who
had built the castle. They were also the men who had given rise to the tales in
the village; superstitious nonsense most likely, arising from nothing more than
the family living in a castle, and coming and going at will. Or so she tried to
reassure herself.

The portraits
began many centuries before. There were maidens in wimples and men in doublet
and hose. There were cavaliers in silk and satin, and ladies in velvet and
lace. There were men in tailcoats and women in panniered gowns; family
portraits and wedding groups; old men and little children. She traced the
progression of family features, from the first Lord Torkrow to the man beside
her.

There were
several recent paintings of him. The first showed his family: his father and
mother with their three children, two boys and a girl. He and his brother
looked to be about the same age, whilst the girl appeared to be three or four
years younger. His brother was like their mother, with fair hair and blue eyes,
looking like a cherub, whilst he and his sister were dark-haired. His eyes
looked out at her and she was shaken by the change in them. The eyes in the
portrait were not haunted and secretive, as they were now, they were clear and
happy.