She returned to the castle feeling tired, but happier than she had been for days.
Her happiness faded as she reached the courtyard however, for there, looking down at her from an upstairs window, was Miss Parkins. Seen in the distance, Miss Parkins looked like a statue, and even in the dim light, Helena felt sure the maid was watching her. She could feel the maid’s malignancy spreading out to cover her.
What is she doing at the castle? thought Helena. Does she really have a hold over Lord Torkrow? Does she know something to the detriment of his brother? Is that why he allows her to remain?
Helena walked on.
I might have an ally in Mary, she thought, but I have an enemy in Miss Parkins.
As she crossed the courtyard, she saw Lord Torkrow was just emerging from the front door. He was swathed in his black coat, which flapped around his ankles. She found him a conundrum. He treated her with hostility, yet he had shown her sudden gleams of friendship. He frequented graveyards at night, but once there, he was overcome with grief. He inspired fear in his neighbours, but respect in his servants.
As she looked at him, she thought to herself, Enemy or ally, which is he?
Chapter Six
Helena was just about to go in the side door when she heard the sound of wheels on gravel, and turning her head, she saw that a carriage was arriving at the castle. By the check in Lord Torkrow’s step, and by the fact that he was wearing his cloak, she guessed the visitors had not been expected. The carriage rolled to a halt. The coachman jumped down from the box and opened the door, and a beautifully slippered foot set itself on the step. A moment later, a young woman robed in an emerald cloak with a trim of swansdown emerged. She had flame red hair, which was elaborately coiffured, and which was topped by a hat with a large plume. She was followed out of the carriage by an older woman, who had the same brilliant hair, and who was dressed in an equally fashionable, if more matronly style, with an amber pelisse and turban.
Who are they? Helena wondered, as she paused to look at them.
From Lord Torkrow’s grimace she thought he was not pleased to see them, but he made them welcome nonetheless.
Helena slipped in the side door and went upstairs to remove her cloak. As she did so, she passed Miss Parkins on the landing. Miss Parkins was looking down at the party below.
‘He should have married her,’ said Miss Parkins suddenly.
Helena did not know if the maid was speaking to her, and so she did not reply.
‘His parents wished it,’ said Miss Parkins with a trace of bitterness. ‘Her parents wished it. It was a good match for both of them. If he had married her, he would have been on honeymoon when . . . ’
The sound of tinkling laughter came up from below, as the guests entered the hall. Miss Parkins seemed to recollect herself and she turned to Helena.
‘You will have to hurry. You will be wanted downstairs.’
‘Will you not be helping?’ asked Helena.
The maid’s gaze rested on Helena, making her squirm inwardly.
‘His lordship and I do not see eye to eye on the subject of Miss Fairdean. He will not require my presence.’
‘And Dawkins?’
‘Dawkins has gone on an errand for his lordship.’
‘Very well,’ said Helena.
Miss Parkins moved away, leaving a chill behind her, making Helena shiver.
Helena returned to her room, removing her cloak and tidying her hair. As she did so, she regarded herself in the cheval glass. She had a well-shaped face with fine eyes and was passably pretty; as pretty, perhaps, as Miss Fairdean, but there any similarity between them ended. Miss Fairdean’s hair was arranged in the most becoming coiffure, with small curls framing her face, whereas Helena’s chignon was scraped back from her face, with no curls to soften the style. Miss Fairdean’s cloak was made of velvet, and shimmered like an emerald, whereas Helena’s cloak was made of grey wool. Her dress, too was made of dark grey wool, and she found herself wondering what Miss Fairdean’s gown would be like.
Just for a moment she longed for beautiful clothes. She had never worn silk or satin; never possessed anything made out of velvet or lace; and never had a colour more interesting than dark blue. Miss Fairdean’s hair and fashionable clothes had brightened up the afternoon like a beacon, whereas her own appearance was as dreary as the weather.
Fortunately, she had no time to linger. She could do nothing about her dull appearance, and besides, she had work to do. She went downstairs. The bell was ringing in the drawing-room as she reached the hall, and she answered it promptly. She went in to see Miss Fairdean reclining elegantly on a chaise longue, her well-cut morning gown showing off her Rubenesque curves. She reminded Helena of a painting she had once seen in London, voluptuous and enticing, like a Venus come down to earth. Mrs Fairdean, who was still a handsome woman, sat beside her.
Helena’s eyes turned to Lord Torkrow, who was standing on the other side of the fireplace. His body was blocking the firelight, and cast a black shadow across the gold-damasked chair.
To her surprise, he was not looking at Miss Fairdean, he was looking at her. His eyes were fixed on her for fully a minute, as though committing her to memory. So long did he look, that Miss Fairdean and her mother looked, first at him, and then at Helena. They exchanged glances, and Miss Fairdean gave one exquisite shrug of her shoulder.
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.
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br /> ‘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.
Her gaze moved on until she stood in front of a portrait of the three children, fully grown, and dressed in the fashions of a few years previously. It was of the fair-haired son’s wedding day. Helena remembered what Mrs Beal had said, that Lord Torkrow had no need to marry because of his brother. She must have meant that, as he had an heir in his brother, and as his brother looked set to carry on the family line, Lord Torkrow had no need to marry to provide an heir. Helena looked at the portrait of the bride, who stood next to his brother. She was a beautiful young woman with soft fair hair, and she seemed happy.