The mask had given her courage, and she found she could say things to him that would have been unthinkable in her housekeeper’s clothes.
He raised his eyebrows, but replied: ‘You are wrong. She is. But she is also avaricious and she fancies herself as the mistress of a castle, so she hides her fear deep. If she ever found herself alone with me, she would repent her bargain. Whereas you . . .’
‘ . . . have my reputation to protect, and would never be alone with a gentleman,’ she said.
‘No?’ he asked. His eyes glittered, and she felt her own widen in response.
‘No,’ she said, though her breathing became shallow.
‘Perhaps you are wise. Temptation is a terrible thing. But you’re not eating,’ he said, abruptly changing the conversation.
He took a plate and began to put some of the choicest food on it.
‘I am not hungry,’ she said.
‘You must have something. I am your host. I insist. Try a sugared almond. They are very good.’
He picked one up and held it up to her lips. She took it into her mouth, tasting the sweet sugar and the nutty flavour, and alongside it she tasted the saltiness of his skin. She had an almost overwhelming urge to taste more, but she jerked her head away before she could give in to temptation.
‘I am looking forward to midnight,’ he said softly.
Helena thought with relief, I will not be here at midnight. When the rest of the guests unmask, I will be safely in the kitchen, dressed in my housekeeper’s clothes.
‘My lord, at last!’ came a voice at their side. ‘I have been looking for you everywhere. I am sure you remember that I promised to introduce you to my niece when last we met. Talia, make your curtsey to his lordship. She is staying with us for a while, your lordship, and we are very glad to have her with us. Such a good girl! Such pretty manners. Now, now, child, don’t blush.’
The poor young girl had gone scarlet, and was looking at Lord Torkrow with a mixture of fear and awe.
He replied politely: ‘Miss Winson. It is good of you to come. I hope you are enjoying your first costume ball.’
As the girl mumbled a reply, Helena slipped away and went into the ballroom. A young man dressed as a knight asked for her hand and led her to safety out on to the floor. She began to talk of the splendour of the castle and mentioned Mrs Carlisle, but her partner could shed no light on Mrs Carlisle’s disappearance. He was far more interested in trying to discover Helena’s identity. Helena parried his questions easily, but she did not learn anything of use.
She went out into the hall when the dance was over, hoping that she would learn more from his lordship’s female guests. They might have heard something from their own servants, or have made enquiries if they wanted to hire Mrs Carlisle themselves.
‘Lord Torkrow will never marry her,’ she heard a young woman saying. The young woman had a clumsy build, and was dressed unbecomingly as Joan of Arc. ‘She’s been setting her cap at his lordship for the last three years, but he’s never so much as looked at her. I cannot think why she wants to attract him. He makes me shiver. There’s something in his eyes – he’s a cold man.’
No, thought Helena, remembering the flash in his eye as he had fed her the almond. He’s far from cold.
‘He wasn’t so cold with his sister-in-law,’ said another woman who was dressed as Maid Marion.
‘Shhhh,’ said the Amazon next to her.
‘Why?’ asked Maid Marion belligerently. ‘I’m only saying what everyone knows.’
‘I don’t know it,’ said a young woman dressed as a Greek goddess.
‘Better not say anything more,’ said Nell Gwyn.
‘I want to know,’ said the goddess. ‘Was he in love with his sister-in-law? Is that what you mean? I never heard that.’
Helena recalled the expression she had seen on his face when she had seen him in the secret room, looking at his sister-in-law’s portrait.
‘Why do you think she was running out to meet him that night – the night she died - when he came home from a neighbouring ball? She couldn’t go to it with him, it would have made a scandal, but everyone knew they were in love with each other. She couldn’t wait to see him and she went to him the moment he returned to the castle. They were lovers. Everyone knows it.’
‘No!’ said the goddess.
‘Everyone knows no such thing,’ retorted Nell Gwyn. ‘It was a rumour, and nothing more. Some people have nothing better to do than to gossip about their neighbours.’
‘He fell in love with her when his brother brought her to the castle just before their wedding,’ went on Maid Marion, ignoring the interruption. ‘She came with her family. It was her father who’d arranged the match. They stayed for a week and at the end of the week she was married. But when she said “I do” to one brother, in her heart she was saying, “I do” to the other.’
‘Scandal and nonsense,’ said Nell Gwyn.
‘I heard that she was besotted with him, but that he would not look at her,’ piped up a buxom Viking. ‘She set her cap at him, but he ignored her, so she married the other brother to spite him.’
‘And I heard that he was madly in love with her, but that she was in love with her husband,’ said an Italian contessa.
‘Everyone —’ said the fairy, before stopping and looking at Helena.
All the women turned to look at her, finally realising there was an outsider amongst them.
‘Can you tell me where the ladies withdrawing room is?’ asked Helena.
‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said the goddess.
‘The balls used to be so well arranged when his lordship’s old housekeeper was here, but tonight I can find nothing I want. It is a pity she left in such a hurry. I wonder what became of her,’ said Helena.
‘Tempted away by higher wages,’ said the Viking promptly. ‘She went to Lady Abbinghale in London.’
‘I heard it was the Honourable Mrs Ingle,’ said Nell Gwyn, her interest caught.
‘No, it was Lady Abbinghale. She steals everyone’s servants. She stole Lord Camring’s chef. Paid the man double, and left Lord Camring with no one to cook for him when he entertained the Prince. So then what does Lord Camring do but steal his chef back again at treble his original wages. We’re slaves to our servants, and anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know what they’re talking about.’
‘The withdrawing room is at the end of the corridor, on the right,’ said a young woman who had previously said nothing, and who was dressed as Lady Macbeth.
Helena was disappointed in the answer, for now she had no excuse to remain, but she thanked Lady Macbeth and moved away. She went into the withdrawing-room in case anyone was watching her, and adjusted her hat, settling it more firmly on her head. It was very tall, and it had a tendency to slip to one side. As she secured it with a pin, she noticed that the woman next to her was dressed as Katharine of Aragon, and she remembered Mrs Willis saying that that would be her costume. More, she remembered Mrs Willis’s strange manner when she had visited her, and found herself wondering about the rector’s wife.
When Mrs Willis left the room, Helena followed her discreetly, and saw Mrs Willis going up the stairs as silently as a shadow. Helena reached the top, and caught a glimpse of Mrs Willis’s hem going along the corridor until she reached a room at the end. Mrs Willis stopped and looked round furtively, and Helena shrank back against the wall. Appearing satisfied that no one was following her, Mrs Willis slipped into the room.
Helena followed, wondering what she would find. She reached the door and turned the handle slowly, hoping it would not creak. There was a slight noise as the door started to swing open and immediately she stopped, inching it further open when there was no commotion from within. She finally opened it enough to see into the room, and what she saw shocked her. Mrs Willis was locked in a passionate embrace with a young Poseidon, a man who was clearly not her husband.
She hastily left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Mrs Willis was no
t all she seemed to be. If she was concealing a lover, could she possibly be concealing other things as well?
Helena’s thoughts were whirling and she felt in need of some time to think. She was passing the long gallery and slipped inside. It was far away from the bustle of the ballroom, and she welcomed its coolness. The dim light was soothing. Here there were no candles and no mirrors, only the soft moonlight coming in through the windows. It was coloured by the stained glass, making red and blue patterns on the floor.
She began to pace the length of the gallery, walking in and out of the pools of coloured light as she thought over everything she had seen and heard. She had not gone more than half way when she started, for there was a figure at the end. In the eerie light she could see no more than his silhouette, but she knew who he was at once, by a stirring of the air and a lift of something inside her. It was Lord Torkrow. She started to back away, but it was too late! He had heard her.
‘We meet again,’ he said, moving forward, his skin dappled red and then blue by the light. He looked down into her eyes. ‘I wonder, was it by accident or design?’
‘Forgive me, my lord, it was an accident,’ she said. ‘I did not know anyone was in here. I wanted to get away for a while. I did not mean to disturb you.’
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘I was ready to rejoin my guests.’
‘Then I must not prevent you,’ she said, although she felt a powerful force emanating from him, and found it hard to turn away.
‘I have changed my mind,’ he said. ‘It is time for the unmasking, and I am intrigued. Who are you?’
‘I cannot tell you yet,’ she prevaricated. ‘It is still five minutes to midnight. I will unmask in the ballroom at the appointed hour.’
‘Will you? Or will you disappear like a will-o’-the’wisp, never to be seen again?’
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘The idea is absurd.’
But, standing the in the long gallery, it did not seem absurd. The supernatural seemed to be all around them, from the dappled light to the strange atmosphere.
‘I am not so sure,’ he said. ‘I am beginning to think you are a creature from folk tale who will evaporate like the mist as midnight strikes, leaving me bereft, and I have a mind to discover your identity now, before it is too late.’
‘That would spoil the game entirely,’ she said, turning to go.
He caught her by the arm and said: ‘It is near enough the appointed time, and I will not be denied.’
So saying, he pulled off her mask. Its strings caught on her wig, and the mask, wig and hat came off together. She felt a surge of alarm and she had a desire to run away, but he was still holding her arm, and flight was impossible.
Her only hope lay in the dim light, but it was dashed as she saw recognition dawn in his eyes. For a long time, he just looked at her. And then he said again: ‘Who are you?’
Helena’s pulse jumped at the question. So he knew she wasn’t Mrs Reynolds! Or perhaps he did not know for certain; perhaps he just had doubts.
‘I know I should not have done it, but I could not resist. I heard the music and I was overcome with a longing to dance, and so I slipped upstairs and put on the costume I had been intending to wear for the servants’ ball,’ she said.
‘Then if you want to dance, you must dance.’
He slipped his hand round her waist and before she knew what was happening, they were waltzing, whirling in and out of the shadows whilst the light played strange tricks all around them. Was he a man or a monster? she wondered, as the faint strains of music drifted up from the minstrels’ gallery, like the wail of an unearthly creature baying in the dark.
‘Well? Was it worth it?’ he asked her, as they reached the end of the gallery.
‘I cannot answer that,’ she said, looking up at him and trying to read his thoughts.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I do not know yet what the consequences will be.’
‘So, disguising yourself does not trouble you unless there are consequences?’
‘That is not what I said.’
‘But it is what you meant. Was it worth the deception, to get what you wanted? Did the end justify the means?’
She felt that he was not talking to her about her disguise, but about something much more sinister, and she began to be frightened. She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast.
‘Just what would you do, if you felt there would not be any consequences? You did not hesitate to impersonate Elizabeth Reynolds. What else would you not hesitate to do?’
‘I don’t understand you,’ she said, feeling a rising tide of panic.
‘Would you lie . . . steal . . . kill?’
His fingers tightened round her wrist like a vise.
‘Let me go.’
With a strength born of desperation, she wrenched herself free, but he stood in front of her and would not let her pass.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded menacingly.
‘I am Elizabeth Reynolds.’
‘No, you are not Elizabeth Reynolds. She never arrived. A messenger came from York earlier this evening, saying that Mrs Reynolds had written to apologise for not taking up her position, because she had been ill, and was still not well enough to work. And so I ask you again, who are you? And what are you doing at Stormcrow Castle?’
For a brief moment she thought of telling him the truth, but it was too dangerous. If he had done away with her aunt, and if he knew she had come looking for her, then he would do away with her, too.
‘A friend,’ she said. ‘I’m a friend of Mrs Reynolds. She told me she would not be able to take up the position as she was not well, but she did not want to acquire a reputation for being unreliable with the registry office. I was looking for a position at the time, and so we agreed that I would take her place.’
He looked at her searchingly, and then his face twisted.
‘You are lying,’ he said roughly. ‘You will leave the castle first thing in the morning. The carriage will be at the door at eight o’clock. It will take you to the stage coach. And to make sure you go, I will put you on the stage coach myself. You will leave this neighbourhood, and you will not return. If you do, I will know how to deal with you.’
His eyes were hard, and in the candlelight they glittered like obsidian. He loomed over her, and she wondered what he would be capable of if he was crossed. But she would never find out, because she had no intention of remaining. She had learnt all she could at the castle.
‘Very well,’ she said. She thought of the coming journey, and realized that she had no money. ‘What of my wages?’ she asked.
‘Your wages?’ he returned incredulously.
‘I have worked for you faithfully, and my wages are owing,’ she said defiantly.
He looked as though he was about to make a cutting retort, but then thought better of it.
‘I will have them waiting for you in the morning,’ he said. ‘Make sure you are in the courtyard at five minutes to eight.’
‘I will be there.’
And with that she picked up her mask, hat and wig, then swept past him, out of the gallery. Once she was out of sight she gave in to an urge to flee, and she ran back to her room, closing and locking the door behind her.
Only then did she let out a deep breath. She was safe at last. She went over to the fire and knelt in front of it, wrapping her arms around herself. As she did so, she began to shiver with reaction to the frightening encounter. She had not known what he would say or do, and at one point she had been afraid that she might not even escape with her life. Thoughts whirled round her head – graveyards and ballrooms, castles and crypts – all was jumble and confusion.
The fire was hot, with flames leaping in the grate, but it did little to warm her. She was cold through and through. She glanced at the bed, and wondered if there was a hot brick in it. She went over to it and discovered, to her relief, that there was. She undressed and slipped her nightdress over her head, then climbed between the sheets, b
ut although she lay down and closed her eyes, Lord Torkrow aroused such conflicting emotions in her that she could not sleep.
At last she got out of bed and, throwing her shawl round her shoulders, she went over to the fire. Sitting beside it, she looked into the flames.
There was one chance more for her to learn something about her aunt. If she went to Mary and told her the truth, then perhaps Mary could tell her something.
The more she thought of it, the more the idea appealed to her. She would leave early, before the carriage was ready, for it would be better by far to be well away from the castle by the time he started looking for her. With Mary she would feel safe.
She went back to bed and at last she fell asleep, but vivid dreams gave her no rest. She was running through the castle, holding up the skirt of her medieval gown as she ran along the corridors, looking for something she could not find, her task made more difficult by a swirling mist. The mist parted, and she saw a door. She seemed to be moving in slow motion as she opened it, to reveal a large room with a four poster bed, hung with red curtains. A man and woman were embracing passionately by the bed. As Helena watched, the woman opened her eyes and turned towards her, smiling as the man kissed her throat. And then the woman's face changed, becoming her own, and as the man spun round, Helena saw it was Lord Torkrow.
Shocked, she closed the door and ran on down the corridor, but it was hung with cobwebs. She brushed them aside, but they became thicker and thicker as they went along, until she was flailing wildly in an effort to keep them away from her. They were in her hair and her mouth, and they were beginning to suffocate her. She fought them wildly . . . and woke up to find that she was wrestling with the sheets. She was panting with the exertion, and she lay still, until she heard a noise and realized what had woken her: it was Effie, scratching on the door.
She rose, bleary eyed and feeling unrefreshed, and let the scullery maid into the room. As Effie saw to the fire, Helena washed and dressed. She put on her warmest clothes and her stout shoes, then she went down to the kitchen. It was empty apart from Effie, who had finished seeing to the fires and who was busy washing dishes.