‘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.
He must have taken them when the butler left, and before Mrs Beal started checking the cellars. No wonder he tried to warn people away from the attics: he did not want anyone noticing his comings and goings, or deciding to take a turn on the battlements and discovering his secret store. And if anyone heard his footsteps, why, he could blame them on a ghost.
Had it also been Dawkins crying in the attic? she wonde
red. She must try to find out.
She took one last look at the view, which was splendid from such a high vantage point, and would be even better in summer under a blue sky, and then climbed back into the attic. She grasped the piece of rope and pulled the door shut behind her, then replaced the chair and went down to her room. Once there, she took off her cloak and stout shoes, peeling off her gloves before removing her bonnet.
She was going down to the housekeeper’s room when, passing the gallery, she had an urge to look at the portrait of Lord Torkrow’s sister-in-law again. She went in, and had almost reached the end of the gallery when she noticed something odd. There was an open door at the end where no door should be. Curious, she went forward, and then stopped suddenly, as she saw that Lord Torkrow was in the hidden room, looking at a portrait of a beautiful young woman: his sister-in-law.
Helena shrank back, then hurried from the gallery. There had been something in his face when he looked at his sister-in-law’s portrait that had cut her to the quick.
She was about to go into the housekeeper’s room when she changed her mind. She was tired after her exertions, and she went down to the kitchen. Mrs Beal was there, busy baking cakes.
‘Well, so you’re back, and cold, I’ll warrant,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘Effie, set the kettle over the fire. How did you get on with Mrs Willis?’ she asked.
‘Very well. She has promised to find me some help, and will send any likely workers to the castle.’
‘That’s one job done, then,’ said Mrs Beal.
The tea was made, and Mrs Beal poured it.
‘I think I’ll join you,’ she said. ‘I’ve some biscuits just come out of the over. You’ll have one with your tea?’
Helena thanked her. She was glad of something to eat and drink.
They fell to talking about the arrangements for the ball. Some of the suppliers had expressed doubts about being able to produce such large quantities of food, and Mrs Beal talked of alternatives whilst Helena gave her opinion.
‘And now, I had better tend to my own work,’ she said, as she finished her tea. ‘I need to sort through the linen and make sure there are enough sheets for those guests who are staying overnight. I am hoping they are clean and dry.’
‘Mrs Carlisle always took care of that. Clean, dry and smelling of lavender, they’ll be.’
Helena felt a pang as she thought of Aunt Hester, and she found she could almost smell the lavender.
‘Then I had better count them and make sure we have enough.’
Helena had just reassured herself that there would be enough clean linen for the overnight guests at the ball, and was about to retire for the night, when she was startled to find Effie waiting for her in the corridor.
‘Yes, Effie, what is it?’
‘Please, missis, it’s about the key to the attic,’ said Effie, twisting her apron in her big, clumsy hands.
‘Yes, Effie?’
‘I knows where I thinks it is, missis.’
Helena’s pulse quickened.
‘Mrs Carlisle, she kept some spare keys in the scullery, missus. I saw ’er with them once. She used to go in and out of the attic, quiet like.’
‘Quiet like, you say?’ asked Helena, wondering if her aunt could have suspected Dawkins of taking wine from the cellar, and if she had perhaps followed him.
‘Yes, missus. I saw her when I was doing the fires.’
‘But you don’t do the fires in the attic.’
‘I was doing them in the bedrooms, and I ’eard a noise. Manners – he was one of the footmen, missus, we used to ’ave ever so many footmen – he said to me, “It’s a ghost”, and he dared me to go ’ave a look.’
‘And do you mean to say you did it?’ asked Helena, looking at Effie with surprise.
‘No, missis. But later, when I saw Mrs Carlisle going up there, I thought, I’ll go after ’er and see if there’s a ghost, and if there is, she won’t let it ’urt me, and if there isn’t, I don’t need to be frightened of what Manners says to me no more.’
‘And did she go into the east wing?’ asked Helena. ‘Did she go into the locked attic?’
‘Yes, missus. That’s where the noises were coming from.’
‘And was it a ghost?’ asked Helena, hardly daring to breath.
‘Don’t know, missis. There were something in there, I ’eard it, but I don’t know what it was. Mrs Carlisle, she went in, and then about ten minutes later she come out again.’
‘Was there anyone with her? Dawkins, perhaps?’
‘No, missis, she were by ’erself.’
‘Did she seem agitated?’ asked Helena.
‘Don’t know, missis.’
‘Did she seem happy?’
‘Don’t know, missis.’
‘Did you see her face?’ asked Helena.
‘No. I runned down the stairs so she wouldn’t see me.’
‘Very well, thank you, Effie.’ She added casually: ‘Is Mrs Beal in the kitchen?’
‘No, missis, she’s gone to bed.’
‘No matter, I will speak to her tomorrow. I have a few spare minutes, I think I will come down and look for the key now,’ said Helena.
‘Yes, missis.’
As she went down to the scullery, Helena’s thoughts were racing. So her aunt had been into the east wing, and she had discovered something there. Was it Dawkins? But he had climbed out on to the battlements from the west wing. What else could it have been?
Could it have been Lord Torkrow’s brother? There was something about his brother, she was sure, something no one was telling her. She thought of Mrs Beal saying he had been driven mad with grief. What if he had literally been driven mad, and his family had confined him in the attic.
She thought of Miss Parkins. What if Miss Parkins was looking after his lordship’s brother? What if that was her role in the castle? Was that why Lord Torkrow let her remain? Or had her aunt, perhaps, been the one who was looking after him? Was that why she had disappeared? Had his mad brother killed her? Or had her aunt threatened to tell someone about him, because the madman had killed or injured someone else?
She had time for no more thoughts. Going into the scullery, she asked Effie to show her where the key was kept. She was determined to solve the mystery of the attic once and for all. Effie took her to a drawer at the back of the scullery. Helena opened it . . . and it was empty.
Helena stood staring at the empty drawer with disbelief.
‘It were there, missis. I saw it,’ said Effie.
‘Yes, I’m sure you did, Effie,’ said Helena soothingly.
But the key had nonetheless gone. Who had taken it? thought Helena. And why?
Chapter Eight
The following morning brought a letter to the castle from Caroline. It came as a welcome relief to Helena to know that she was not entirely cut off from the outside world. The atmosphere in the castle was claustrophobic, but Caroline’s letter brought the noise and bustle of Manchester back to her. She could see Caroline, in her mind’s eye, sitting at the cramped table beneath the window, with its view of the noisy street and its glimpse of the canal. She could see Caroline lifting her head, as she always did, and then resting it on her hand as she watched the bakers walking past with trays on their heads and ragged children playing, and dogs scavenging for food. There would be a restlessness about her, for Caroline was always restless inside. And when Caroline had finished the letter she would have thrown her cloak over her shoulders in a swirling movement, picked up her basket and gone out, threading her way purposefully between the street merchants and other shoppers, stopping to talk to neighbours, and sending the letter, before looking longingly in the windows of the milliners on her way home.
Helena examined the seal and was relieved to see that it had not been tampered with, so it seemed that the mail went from and came to the castle undisturbed. If Aunt Hester had written to her, then it seemed unlikely the letter had been interfered with.
She broke the seal and began to read.
> My dear friend.
Good. So Caroline had guessed something was wrong, and was writing in a guarded style.
I was very pleased to get your letter. What a pity you have heard nothing of H. I have had no news, either. I hope all is well and that we will soon hear something.
I have some news of my own. I secured the position with Mrs Long and I am writing to you from her home in Chester. She is not too demanding and she treats me with respect, which is the most I can hope for.
You, however, deserve more.
I have seen our friend G several times and I hope you will see him before long, too. I have not given him your direction, but if you wish to write to him, I’m sure a letter would be most welcome.
I will await your next letter with interest.
She included Mrs Long’s address, and signed the letter Caroline.
As Helena folded it and put it in her pocket, she found her thoughts returning to Mr Gradwell. Life with him would be safe. He would help her when needed, indeed, he would help her now if he knew of her troubles, though there was little help he could give. Yet she had no desire to hurry home and confide in him. Quite the reverse, she was glad of some time away from him, for it enabled her to think more clearly.
She tried to imagine what life would be like with him. She would be the mistress of her own home, with a maid and a cook to serve her. She would have new clothes to wear, and a carriage to ride in, and she would be able to spend her time visiting and shopping and inviting friends to supper, instead of working all day long. She would have the companionship of Mr Gradwell, and there would be trips to the theatre and to the museums, and in the summer there would be picnics and outings to the seaside. But although it seemed very inviting, her heart sank at the thought of it. Perhaps she was just tired. She would not think about it for the moment. There would be time enough to think about it when she had found her aunt.
She began to draw up a plan for cleaning the castle, in the hope that Mrs Willis would find her some willing helpers, and was rewarded for her hope by the arrival at the castle of seven girls and six men, shortly before ten o’clock. On asking them their names, she was pleased to learn that Sally and Martha, the two girls who had worked at the castle before, were among them.