‘There will be no ball this evening until the work has been finished,’ she said briskly, becoming the housekeeper once again. ‘Manners, take the spare chairs to the attic,’ she said. ‘Dawkins, take the crockery and glasses down to the kitchen, and be quick about it. All the plates and glasses have to be washed. Martha, you will have to help Effie.’ Martha pulled a face. ‘It is no use looking like that, this should have been done hours ago.’
‘We couldn’t find you . . . ’ began Martha.
‘That is no reason not to get on with your work. I have had other things to see to,’ said Helena. ‘Now, quickly. This must all be done before Lord Torkrow returns. Have any of the guests been downstairs yet?’
‘No, not a one. Never get up early after a ball, that’s what their servants say. Up and down they’ve been, with trays, though.’
‘Good, it will make it easier for us to finish our work if they remain in their chambers. Once everything is finished, we can change for our ball.’
Talk of their own costume ball brightened the servants, and they became busy, clearing away the remnants of the previous night’s festivities. Spare furniture was returned to the attic, the tables were cleared, cloths were removed and spirited away, the floor was swept, odd wigs, gloves and shoes were put safely aside, and the room slowly began to return to normal.
The clock struck three. The overnight guests were now downstairs, and Helena explained to them that Lord Torkrow had been called away on urgent business, but that she had laid out a cold collation for them in the dining-room.
Some of them expressed their intention of leaving after the meal, whilst others intended to stay. They were subdued, however, and many of them were nursing sore heads and stomachs. After eating, those who did not leave the castle retired to their rooms.
Once more, the servants were free to devote their attentions to finishing clearing the ballroom, supper room, hall and minstrels’ gallery, which were littered with debris from the party, and it was seven o’clock before everything was restored to a semblance of its former state.
The remaining few guests were served supper on trays in their rooms, and then the day’s work was done.
‘Reckon we deserve our ball,’ said Martha.
‘You certainly do,’ said Helena. ‘A fiddler will be here in half an hour. I suggest you all go and put on your costumes, then assemble in the servants’ hall.’
As the servants dispersed, Helena went upstairs to change her dress. She did not put on her costume, having no taste for revelry, but simply changed into a clean dress. As she did so, she could not help remembering the previous night, when she had danced with Simon. As she thought of it, she remembered the feel of his fingers on hers, and the weight of his hand on her waist.
She pushed such thoughts aside and brushed her hair, then wrapped it into a neat chignon.
There was a scratching at the door, and Effie entered with a bucket of coal. She was sniffing, and when she put the bucket down, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
‘Leave that! Go and change, or you will be late for the ball,’ said Helena. ‘And make sure you wash first,’ she said, eyeing Effie’s hands dubiously.
‘Can’t go. Not invited,’ mumbled Effie.
‘What do you mean, you’re not invited? Of course you are!’ said Helena. ‘All the servants are invited.’
‘Dawkins says it’s not for scullery maids.’
‘What nonsense. And besides, you are not going as a scullery maid. What costume have you chosen?’
‘Haven’t got one.’
‘Did you not look in the chest?’
‘All the lass’s costumes’ve gone.’
Helena felt exasperated at the girl’s lack of initiative, but nevertheless she spoke kindly.
‘Then we had better look in the attic. There are chests of clothes up there. We are sure to find something to fit you. I think you should go as Cinderella. You spend your days among the cinders.’
Her humour did not make Effie smile. The girl looked more woebegone than ever.
‘I couldn’t, missis,’ said Effie. ‘Mrs Beal’d give me what for if I went through the things in the attic.’
‘Not if you are with me,’ said Helena.
Then, taking Effie firmly by the hand – the one the girl had not used for wiping her nose – she led her up to the attic and together they looked through an old trunk.
‘Now, what do you think of this?’ she asked, as she held out a panniered gown.
‘I couldn’t wear nothing like that. That’s for a lady,’ said Effie.
‘Tonight, you are a lady,’ said Helena. She picked up the dress, and led the girl downstairs again. ‘Now, you just have a wash.’
Effie needed a great deal of encouragement, but in the end she stripped down to her chemise. Helena breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was clean. Mrs Beal evidently took a motherly interest in the girl. Then Effie washed at Helena’s washstand, before putting on the gown. Helena helped her to fasten it, before turning Effie round so that she could see herself in the cheval glass.
‘You look beautiful,’ said Helena.
Effie looked at herself in amazement.
‘Like a real lady,’ she said, plucking at the dress in wonder.
‘Here,’ said Helena, handing her a wig. ‘You will be Lady . . . ’ she trailed away, then asked: ‘What is your favourite name?’
‘Charlotte,’ said Effie promptly.
‘Then tonight you will be Lady Charlotte. If anyone asks, you must give that as your name.’
Effie scratched her head, knocking her wig and giving it a lopsided appearance. Helena straightened it again and said: ‘No scratching.’
‘No, missis.’
‘Now, go downstairs, Lady Charlotte, and enjoy yourself.’
Effie walked out of the chamber, picking up the bucket of coal as she passed.
‘Not tonight, Effie. I will see to the fires,’ said Helena.
She took the bucket of coal and put it back on the hearth.
She waited for Effie to reach the end of the corridor, and then followed her, to make sure the other servants did not tease her, but she need not have worried. There was already a mood of jollity in the servants’ hall, and Effie was swept into a dance by a young man dressed as a pirate. Who he was, Helena did not know. One of the footmen, probably. There seemed to be an awful lot of them, and she guessed that some of the visiting servants and possibly some of the villagers had sneaked into the ball under cover of a costume, but as she did not want to remove every wig and mask to make sure, she decided to ignore it. A few extra tankards of ale would be drunk, and a few extra sandwiches eaten, but no harm would be done. In fact, some good might come out of it, because the villagers might lose some of their superstitious fear of Simon and the castle.
The fiddler was scraping his bow across his fiddle, and stamping his foot to provide a drum. Helena found herself caught round the waist, and was soon whirling round with the other dancers, not stopping until her partner released her to get a tankard of ale.
‘Well, this is fun and no mistake,’ said Mrs Beal, joining her at the side of the room. Mrs Beal was dressed, in rather unlikely fashion, as a nymph. ‘This dress is very tight,’ she complained, ‘but it was the only costume left.’ She surveyed the dancers. ‘Who’s the young girl in the panniered gown.’
‘That’s Effie,’ said Helena.
‘Why, bless my soul, the girl’s light on her feet. I never would have thought it. Just look at her!’
Effie was lifted from the floor by her partner, then dropped carefully back to the ground, where she twirled lightly around before swapping partners.
‘There’ll be some surprised faces when she takes her mask off,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘Is everyone here?’
‘Eldridge is not coming.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. He’s never been one for fun and games.’ She looked round again, then said: ‘I’d best encourage everyone to eat something. There’s a deal of
ale being drunk. We don’t want sore heads in the morning.’
Helena left the noise of the dance and went upstairs. She looked into the main rooms and made sure the fires were ablaze, for Lord Torkrow would be cold when he returned home.
The long case clock in the study struck ten o’clock.
He could be here soon, she thought. The ship sailed at seven o’clock.
She hoped that all had gone well, and that Anna and George had set sail, escaping England and Morton for ever.
She went over to the window and pulled back the curtains. The moon was high, and cast a silvery glow onto the world below. The stars were out, and it was a magical scene. The moors, which had once seemed threatening, now seemed serene.
The room overlooked the front of the castle, and she strained her eyes, hoping to see a speck in the distance, something moving, which could be a hired equipage, but she could see nothing. She sat on the window seat, with her knees pulled up in front of her and her arms wrapped round them. She was at last rewarded. In the distance, she caught sight of movement. Simon was coming!
He must not find her in his study. She had no right to wait for him. She must return to the ball.
She left the window seat and pulled the curtains, then went out into the hall. She was halfway across when one of the footmen, dressed as a cavalier emerged from the direction of the kitchen. His costume gave him a swagger, and it was not surprising, thought Helena. His bucket boots, with their deep turned-over tops, were made for swaggering, and so was the extravagant costume, with its doublet and breeches in bright blue satin, and its falling collar of white lace. He wore a short cloak, which he had thrown back over one of his shoulders in a careless attitude. Over his face he wore a black silk mask, and on his head was a wide-brimmed hat with an extravagant plume.
‘Are you taking the air?’ she asked him.
He raised his hand, and she saw that he was holding a pistol.
‘You have picked the wrong person to rob,’ she said, entering into the spirit of the masquerade. ‘I have no money.’
He said nothing, and something about his stance made her falter. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she had the unsettling thought that the pistol could be loaded.
‘You thought you were very clever,’ he said.
She felt a chill as she heard his voice. She had heard it before, in Mary’s cottage. The man before her was Morton. But what was he doing here? How did he get in?
She had no time to wonder. He was walking towards her.
She began to back away from him. There was a bell on the wall behind her. In the confusion of the evening its summons might be ignored, but it might be answered, if only she could reach it.
‘What do you want? How did you get here?’ she asked, hoping to distract him so that he would not see what she was doing.
‘You know what I want. I want my wife and son.’
‘Your wife and son are dead, killed by you and your cruelty. You can see their gravestone in Hull. They died shortly after they arrived there.’
‘I’ve already seen the gravestone. I’ve dug up the ground beneath it, too, and seen there was nothing there.’
‘What?’ gasped Helena, horrified that he would do such a thing.
‘There were no bodies. My wife and son are not dead. He’s hidden them somewhere, and you are going to tell me where.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Helena.
‘You were in Hull today.’
‘I was abandoned before I got there,’ she said. ‘Your sister – or should I say, mistress – left me at the inn.’
‘But you found your way there with Simon. Don’t bother to deny it. I saw his carriage leaving Hull with you inside. At the time I was more interested in finding my wife and child. But since following the false scent laid by my dear brother-in-law, then returning to the Vances to punish them for telling me lies, only to find they had fled in the meantime. I decided to visit the castle and find out what I want to know.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘Simon hasn’t changed his habits. The kitchen door was unlocked, and the servants’ costume ball was about to begin. A mask, a wig, and a cavalier’s clothes let me pass unnoticed. You’ve been elusive. I thought I would find you downstairs. But it seems you have lost your taste for dancing. You are waiting for Simon, I suppose. And I – I am waiting for an answer to my question. Where are my wife and child?’
‘You will never find them,’ she said.
He took off his mask and his face was hard.
‘Believe me, I will.’ He levelled his pistol. ‘Now where are they?’
‘You would do better to leave them alone. They do not want you,’ she returned.
‘They do not have a choice in the matter. They are my property. They belong to me.’
To her surprise, she heard Simon’s voice cut through the air, and she felt a wave of relief as she realized that he had arrived.
‘My housekeeper does not know where they are. I sent her home so that she would not be involved. I have put Anna and the boy beyond your reach, somewhere you will never find them. Now drop the pistol.’
Morton turned and levelled the pistol at Simon instead.
‘Not until you tell me where they are.’
‘That I will never do,’ said Simon, walking forward.
Morton cocked the pistol.
‘What good will it do to shoot me?’ asked Simon. ‘If you kill me, you will never find out what you want to know.’
‘I will never find out if you live. I know you, Simon. You’d rather die than see your precious sister resume her duties as my wife, so I might as well kill you,’ said Morton.
‘Then do it,’ said Simon.
‘No!’ cried Helena.
Morton turned the pistol back to her, but he spoke to Simon.
‘You might play with your life, but I’ll wager you won’t play with anyone else’s.’
‘You’re bluffing,’ said Simon. ‘You have only one shot in that pistol. If you shoot her, I will be on you, and I will make sure you pay for your crime.’
‘You’ve gambled with me often enough to know that I don’t bluff,’ said Morton. ‘Besides —’ He pulled a second pistol from his cloak ‘ — I have two pistols. One for her, and one for you. So tell me, Simon, are you willing to let her die? If you are, say nothing. If not, then tell me where Anna is. I’ll let her go, and you will have saved your housekeeper’s life. You might save Anna’s life as well, if you can reach her before me. No one has to die here tonight.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Helena.
Simon’s eyes turned to her, and she saw something in them she had not expected: she saw fear.
‘I cannot let him kill you,’ he said.
There came the sound of another pistol cocking, and all three of them stopped in surprise. Helena turned her head in the direction of the sound and saw that, standing behind Morton and almost invisible in the shadows, was Miss Parkins. And Miss Parkins was holding a pistol to his head.
‘You will never have my lady’s child,’ she said, and her voice was as dead as a sepulchre.
Morton recovered his composure.
‘If you pull the trigger, you will kill me, but not before I kill her,’ he said.
‘Do you think I care about her? A servant?’ said Miss Parkins. ‘I care about one thing, and one thing alone: the oath I swore to my lady. I promised her I would care for her children. It was I who nursed Miss Anna as she lay feverishly in the castle, brought low by your whippings, and when I saw what you had done to her, I swore that one day I would have the whipping of you.’
She stood there like an avenging demon, and Morton faltered. Helena saw it, and without thinking she knocked the pistol out of his raised hand. He lifted his other hand, but Simon was upon him and wresting the second pistol from him, sending it hurtling to the floor.
‘Curse you!’ said Morton, as Simon held him fast.
‘There will be no bloodshed here,’ said Simon to Mis
s Parkins. ‘Give me your weapon.’
She did not respond.
‘Anna is safe. Now give me the pistol.’
Slowly Miss Parkins handed it to him, and he put it in his pocket.
Helena breathed again. She was about to pick up the two dropped pistols when a voice came from the shadows: ‘Let him go.’
It was Maria.
Morton wrenched himself free of Simon and ran over to her. He was about to take the pistol she was holding out to him when there was a loud crack! and Helena turned to see that Miss Parkins was wielding a whip. The maid’s eyes were flaming and her expression was one of judgement. With one fluid movement, she unfurled the whip and sent it darting out like a demonic tongue. It wrapped itself around Maria’s wrist and Maria, shocked, jerked her hand in an attempt to break free. But the jerking motion caused the pistol to go off and everyone froze with shock.
And then Morton’s hands rose to his chest as a look of surprise spread across his face. When he removed his hands, they were covered in blood.
‘No!’ cried Maria, as he began to fall.
She caught him, and his weight dragged her to her knees.
Helena looked on in horror as Morton’s blood seeped across the flagstones.
‘Don’t leave me!’ said Maria.
‘Never thought . . . you . . . would be the one to kill me,’ he said to her in surprise.
Then his eyes closed, and Maria began to cry.
Helena stood rooted to the spot. It had all happened so quickly that she was still having difficulty in taking it in. It was only a few minutes since she had been sitting in the library, looking forward to Simons’ return, and now here she was in the hall, with Morton dead at her feet. Simon was rooted, too. But Miss Parkins was fully in command of herself.
She had the whip all ready, thought Helena, recalling Miss Parkins’s words: “When I saw what you had done to her, I swore that one day I would have the whipping of you.” She must have seen Morton arrive, and come to the hall prepared to carry out her threat.
‘Something must be done,’ said Miss Parkins.
Simon shook himself, as though clearing his head.
‘She must be charged with murder,’ said Miss Parkins, looking balefully at Maria.