What had happened to the brother? she wondered. Where was he now? Not at school, that much was clear. So where was he? And where was his wife?
‘Do you know what they call my family in the village?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘They call you Stormcrow.’
She turned towards him and she was preternaturally aware of him. Though not handsome, his face was striking, and she found her eyes tracing the lines of his forehead, nose and mouth. It was not prone to laughter as it had been in his portrait, and she wondered if it would ever be again.
‘Do you know why they call us that?’ he asked.
She shook her head.
‘Do you know what a stormcrow is?’
‘No.’
‘A stormcrow is a bird of ill omen,’ he said. ‘It brings bad news.’ He led her over to the first portrait. It was of a thin, sinewy man in middle age, with bright amber eyes.
‘This is the first earl. He brought the news of the Yorkist defeat at the Battle of Bosworth, back to his father. As you can see, he was a man with a thin face and bright eyes. As he rode across the moors to break the news, a storm followed him. A crow flying before the coming storm alighted on his shoulder, and they rode in through the gate together. When it was known what news he brought, an old man, playing on our name of Torkrow, quipped, Here they are, two stormcrows.’
They moved on.
‘That is the second earl,’ he said.
He stood behind her. He lifted his hand as they looked at the portrait, and for a moment, she thought he was going to rest it on her shoulder. She felt an awareness ripple through her in anticipation of his touch, but instead he gestured at the painting, and the lack of his touch left her feeling strangely empty.
‘Richard brought his father the news that his mother was dead, thrown by her palfrey,’ he continued. ‘“My son, you are a true stormcrow,” his father said.’
Helena looked up at the face of Richard, who was dressed fashionably for his era, in a slashed doublet and breeches. He looked carefree.
‘He had not earnt his nickname when this portrait was painted,’ she said.
‘No. He had no idea what was about to happen. He was still happy, then.’
He moved to the next portrait. The third earl Stormcrow was standing with his hands on his hips and with his legs wide apart, looking solid and secure. He was wearing a doublet that accentuated the width of his shoulders, with wide sleeves that billowed outwards, before being confined at his wrist.
‘He looks as though nothing can topple him, doesn’t he?’ asked Lord Torkrow, standing behind her. He was so close that she could feel his body heat, and she had a disturbing urge to lean backwards and feel his warmth envelop her, but she resisted the strange impulse.
‘What happened to him?’ asked Helena.
‘There was a fire, and the family house in York was razed to the ground. He brought the news to his mother, an old woman of ninety-nine, who had been making plans to celebrate her one hundredth birthday. The news caused his mother’s death, three hours before she would have achieved her ambition. Henry was ostracised for giving his mother the news, instead of letting her hear it through other means, after her birthday.’
He went on, telling her the story of each Stormcrow, and of how each one had earned his name, until at last they stood before his own family portrait.
‘And you?’ asked Helena. ‘How did you earn the name?’
He said nothing, and a profound silence engulfed them. Helena turned to look at him, and she saw that his face had gone white. His eyes, in contrast, were dark and hollow, and the rings around them were black. He was staring at the portrait, and she knew he was far away, back in the past. His hands had dropped to his side, and she saw that they were clenched into fists. He opened his mouth, and she thought he was going to speak, but then he turned and strode out of the gallery, leaving her alone.
She looked again at the portrait of the boy he had been, a happy, carefree child. But now he was a man sunk in mystery, and darkness wrapped itself around him like a shroud.
What had happened to him? she wondered. What tragedy had befallen him? What news had he carried? And how had he earnt his name?
Why did I do that? Simon asked himself as he descended the massive staircase and went into the library. Why did I try to make her understand?
He tried to settle to estate business, but he could not concentrate. He heard Helena’s light step as she followed his down the stairs and went into the housekeeper’s room. He picked up his quill, then threw it down and went out of the library, climbing the stairs two at a time, returning to the gallery and pacing to the end, then pressing the embossing on the wall and waiting impatiently for the secret door to open. It swung ponderously inwards, and he went inside.
The room was small and panelled. A window looked out on to the moor. An empty grate held blackened ashes. Above the fireplace hung a portrait. It was of a young woman, his brother’s bride. She was looking radiantly beautiful. She wore her fair hair loose, hanging round her shoulders in soft curls. Her muslin gown, with its high waist, revealed a slight figure with gentle curves. Her lips were pink, and her eyes were blue. She was standing in a garden, and the dew was on the roses.
He stood, lost in thought, until a sound disturbed him. Miss Parkins had entered the hidden room. She was the last person he wanted to see, especially here, now.
‘Did you wish to speak to me?’ he asked her coldly.
‘I understand you are to go ahead with the ball, my lord.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Do you think it wise? A masked ball can hide many secrets.’
‘I have made my decision. The ball will go ahead.’
‘Very good, my lord,’ she said, with a trace of insolence.
She walked over to him and stood beside him, looking at the portrait.
‘She was very beautiful,’ said Miss Parkins.
‘Yes, she was.’ He could not keep the wistfulness out of his voice.
‘Your brother chose well. He loved her dearly. Until you killed her.’
Chapter Seven
The following morning, Helena began to organize the castle in earnest. Unsettled by everything that had happened, she was glad to take refuge in physical labour. The library, drawing-room and dining-room were well cared for, so she decided to rescue a further room from its state of neglect. If there was to be a ball, then the castle must be brought back to life again. All thoughts of leaving quickly had left her, for she did not intend to go before she had had a chance to speak to Sally and Martha.
She chose a small sitting room that overlooked the front of the castle, and she began by removing the dust sheets, taking them off and folding them carefully so as not to disturb the dust that had settled on them. She was surprised to see that the furniture was of good quality, and delicate. Gold chairs in elegant styles were upholstered with red brocade, a padded sofa was covered in a matching brocade, and, as she removed the dust sheets from the floor, she discovered a flowered carpet. It had been a lady’s room, then, she thought, as she looked about her. Whose room had it been? Had it belonged to his lordship’s mother, or his sister-in-law?
She rang the bell, and whilst she waited for it to be answered, she began to dust the mantelpiece and other surfaces, revealing the beauty of the wood beneath.
The door opened and Effie entered hesitantly.
‘It’s all right, Effie, come in. I am preparing this room for use. I want you to light a fire here, and then I would like you to bring a bucket of water and wash the windows. Make sure Mrs Beal does not need you first.’
‘Yes, missis.’
Effie departed, but returned soon afterwards.
As they worked, Helena asked the girl about her family. Reluctantly at first, Effie began to speak, saying that she had been orphaned and that a cousin had found her work at the castle. Once or twice, Helena led the conversation round to Mrs Carlisle, but Effie became nervous when she did so, and so she talk
ed of other things. Gradually, though, she began to win the girl’s trust, and thought that, before many more days had passed, she might induce Effie to confide in her. That the girl knew something, she was convinced, though whether it was important remained to be seen.
By late afternoon, the room was looking cheerful. Helena had wound the ormolu clock, which was ticking on the mantelpiece, and polished the gilded mirrors. Effie had washed the windows, both inside and out, and they sparkled where they caught the light. The fire was crackling merrily in the grate.
‘It’s a pity there is no one to use it,’ said Helena to Effie, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Yes, missis.’
‘Whose room was it? Do you know?’
‘It was ’ers,’ said Effie, not very helpfully.
‘Was it used by Lord Torkrow’s mother?’
Effie did not reply.
‘Or his sister-in-law?’
Effie nodded.
‘She liked it ’ere.’
‘Does she live here now?’ asked Helena.
Effie dropped the poker with a clatter, and was clearly frightened.
‘Where is she, Effie?’ asked Helena. ‘Is she in the castle? Or on holiday?’
‘No, missis. She’s dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes, missis.’
‘Then the crying in the attic — ’ is not her, Helena was about to say, when Effie interrupted her.
‘Yes, missis, it’s ’er. Dawkins says she walks,’ said Effie.
‘Nonsense,’ said Helena reassuringly. ‘The dead don’t walk, Effie. There was nothing in the attic but a cat. Together we have made a very good job of this,’ she went on more cheerfully. ‘The room looks bright and welcoming.’
‘P’raps she’ll stop crying now, missis. P’raps she’ll walk in ’ere, not in the attic.’
As the thought clearly cheered her, Helena did not gainsay it.
‘Now, you must return to the kitchen. I’m sure Mrs Beal will be wanting you. I will finish here.’
Effie picked up her bucket and left the room.
As Helena put a few finishing touches to the room, she wondered what had happened to Lord Torkrow’s sister, thinking: How did she die? How long ago was it?
And where is she buried?
Helena joined Mrs Beal for dinner that evening, and as Mrs Beal dished out the mutton stew, she said: ‘I will be going to see Mrs Willis this afternoon about finding some more maids for the castle. How many do you think I will need?’
‘Take as many as you can find,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘There’s plenty of work to be done.’
‘I have made a start on the downstairs rooms already, opening up a sitting-room overlooking the front of the castle. Effie tells me it used to belong to his lordship’s sister-in-law. I saw her portrait in the gallery. She was very beautiful.’
‘Yes, she was, poor lady.’
‘It was a tragedy when she died.’
‘Master Richard went mad with grief,’ said Mrs Beal with a sigh. Then, recollecting herself, added: ‘Least said, soonest mended, I always say. You’re going to see Mrs Willis this afternoon?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’d better ask her to help you find some footmen, too. There’s going to be a lot of work fetching and carrying beforehand, and we’ll need someone to carry the drinks on the day.’
‘It’s all rather daunting,’ said Helena. ‘Did Mrs Carlisle find it so?’
‘Bless you no, she’d arranged a dozen balls for his lordship.’
‘If only I had her sister’s address, I could write to her and ask her for her advice.’
‘You wouldn’t want to bother her, not with her sister being so ill,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘And besides, you’ve no need to worry. It will all come right in the end.’
As Helena set out for the village after luncheon she was glad to leave the castle behind. She felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into its tangled world, but Lord Torkrow and his family had nothing to do with her. She had come to the castle for one reason and one reason only: she wanted to find her aunt.
The day was fine, with a weak sun shining out of a blue sky, and she was pleased to see that there was no threat of rain. It was three miles to the village, across the moors, so she set off at a brisk pace. Hardy sheep were grazing, and she was glad of their bleating, which broke the silence and made the walk less lonely.
As she approached the turning to Mary’s cottage, she decided to take it and pay Mary a call. She longed for someone to confide in, someone outside the castle, who was immune to its strange atmosphere and past. Perhaps Mary could shed some insight on to her aunt’s disappearance.
The rough track was dry, unlike the last time she had visited, when the rain had turned it to mud, and was much easier to walk on. She soon found herself outside the cottage, and knocked on the door. It was opened by the maid, but Helena quickly learnt that neither Mary nor her brother were at home, and that the maid did not know when they would be back.
Helena swallowed her disappointment, thanked the maid, asked for Mr and Miss Debbet to be told that she had called, and carried on to the village. As she approached, she passed a small cottage, and then a few more, scattered haphazardly across the harsh landscape. She passed an old woman, dressed in black, as she entered the village, and a serious-looking little boy who was carrying a large basket into a cottage.
Helena greeted them with a ‘Good afternoon,’ but they did not reply, instead favouring her with suspicious looks.
The village was larger than she had expected, and better favoured. It was sheltered from the prevailing wind by being built in a hollow of the moors, and it consisted of a collection of cottages and houses, with an inn at one end and a church at the other. Next to the church was a large, square stone building which Helena took to be the rectory. It was set back from the road, and separated from it by a low stone wall. There was a white painted gate which creaked as Helena opened it, and a stone path snaked between barren borders to the door.
Helena lifted the brass knocker, which fell with a satisfying clunk, and a minute later the door was opened by an elderly maid.
‘I am Mrs Reynolds, the new housekeeper at the castle,’ said Helena. ‘I’d like to see Mrs Willis.’
The maid showed her into the hall. It was well cared for, and Helena took pleasure in seeing a house she did not have the responsibility of cleaning. The living was perhaps not wealthy, but it seemed to keep the rector and his wife in some comfort. The hall was painted a muted green, and there was a rug on the polished floorboards, whilst a staircase led upwards on the left.
The maid returned. ‘Mrs Willis says, “Please come in.”’
‘Thank you,’ said Helena, as the maid helped her off with her cloak.
She went into the drawing-room. Whilst the hall had been plain, here there were pretensions of gentility. There was gold wallpaper on the walls, a brocade sofa, and an inlaid console table beneath the window. On it was a vase of fine porcelain, matched by two others of similar design on the mantelpiece. The candlesticks were of silver, and there was a good painting hanging above it. A square piano was set against the far wall, and a brocade-covered stool was set in front of it. A fire was burning in the grate, and the fire irons gleamed in the light of the flames.
Mrs Willis stood up. Her dress was simple yet well cut, and to Helena’s surprise, it was made of silk.
‘Mrs Reynolds, how very nice to meet you,’ she said in a cultured voice. ‘My husband and I heard there was to be a new housekeeper at the castle. It is not before time. I dread to think how his lordship has managed without one. Won’t you sit down?’
Helena thanked her and took a seat.
‘I have come to ask for your help,’ said Helena. ‘I will need some maids to assist me in the castle, and as you know the neighbourhood and the people I thought you might be able to help me find some suitable girls.’
‘Ah, yes, I received your note.’
&
nbsp; ‘When I wrote it, I needed only two girls, but as I now need more help, footmen as well as maids, I thought it better to come and see you in person. I understand that the two girls who worked at the castle under Mrs Carlisle left in a hurry. It is a great pity. It would have been much easier for me if they had remained,’ she said, hoping to learn more about it.
Mrs Willis’s face expressed her exasperation.
‘The people round here are very insular,’ she said. ‘They have their prejudices and their superstitions. They mutter and whisper about Lord Torkrow, poor man, as they would mutter and whisper about anyone who lived in a castle. And the stories they tell about the castle itself! You would think it was unsafe to spend half an hour within its walls, the way some of them talk!’
Helena was reassured by Mrs Willis’s disgusted manner: she, at least, did not appear to think ill of Lord Torkrow.
‘I suppose it is understandable,’ said Helena. ‘The girls heard crying in the attic. The footman believed it to be a cat, but the girls were convinced that something dreadful had happened.’
‘Exactly! That is just the sort of story I’m talking about. As if anything dreadful would happen.’
‘It was sparked by the housekeeper’s disappearance, I believe,’ said Helena. ‘I suppose an incident like that was bound to cause gossip. A servant does not usually leave without giving notice.’
‘There was nothing suspicious about it. The poor woman left for a very ordinary reason, to tend her sick sister.’
‘Did she not leave in the middle of the night? Or is that just another tale?’
‘No, that is true, and of course, that fuelled the talk, but again there was a sensible reason for it. There is a stage coach to London early in the morning. I imagine she wanted to make an early start.’