A Collector of Hearts (5 page)

Caroline laughed. “It
certainly does. I must admit I wish I had some of that tunnel vision myself.”

“It would make life much simpler,
would it not? Me, I have seen too much upheaval, in my own country and in the
country I have adopted.”

“And which country is that?”

“Cariastan. They gave me
asylum after the last war.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. She
had not known that. Or if her foster aunt and uncle mentioned it, she had
forgotten. “So you know the prince’s father then?”

“Not very well. He did not
live for long after my arrival. These are dark times in Cariastan. Political
infighting, and the lack of a proper leader since the old king died, without
leaving an heir apparent, has made it an unpleasant place to be. It is a pretty
little country, Miss Conrad. And the people, they try to remain cheerful,
through it all. Like Mrs Oakengate, they have an indomitable spirit.”

“I wonder why the prince
hasn’t made a claim on the throne,” said Caroline. “It seems to me – if you’ll
forgive me for saying so – that he should be there, not here, attending a
masked ball for Halloween.”

“That is what I have wondered.
But … you will forgive me for saying so and I hope that this will go no
further,” The Count bowed his head a little and lowered his voice. “He is not
the prince I would want for Cariastan.”

“Who knows?” said Caroline.
“Perhaps he will be like Henry the Fifth, and really come into his own when he
has taken the crown.”

“Ah, yes, he will go ‘once
more into the breach’, and lead Cariastan into the light, yes?”

“Let’s hope so.”

Caroline bid the Count
goodnight and went to find Mrs Oakengate, who was at the top of the stairs,
talking in animated tones to the prince. Blake stood at the bottom, watching
Caroline with his arms folded and his lips set in a grim line.

“What a pity we shan’t be
joining them in the morning,” said Mrs Oakengate, as Caroline helped her into
bed. “My days of horse riding are over. Did you see the prince making advances
at me?”

It was a surprise to
Caroline. “No, though I did notice he pays you great respect.”

“It isn’t respect, it’s
adoration. I think he is in love with me.”

Rather than scoff at the
idea that a man of thirty would be in love with a woman in her mid-sixties,
Caroline simply said, “You do?”

“Yes, he hardly leaves my
side. Of course his father was deeply in love with me, until he met the
chambermaid.”

“Did you know her? His first
wife?” Caroline knew that the prince had asked, but wondered if Mrs Oakengate
were being discreet. Not that she was known for discretion.

“She cleaned my room. How
could I possibly know her?”

“I’m sure you can tell the
prince much about his parents,” said Caroline, determined to press a little
further.

“About his father, yes. He
was a very handsome, charming man. Something of a playboy. Cariastan has
wonderful casinos, you know.
 
I don’t
know about his mother. The girl cleaned my room, so we were hardly on speaking
terms. Oh, she was pretty enough I suppose, from what I remember. But a
chambermaid and a prince? It was outrageous. More so I think than an actress
and a prince. At least I could have played the role of princess to perfection.
I daresay she saw him when he visited me and set her cap at him. Girls of that
class are always easy with their virtue and can be bought for very little.”

Caroline thought about the
Cariastan Heart offered up for services rendered and wisely said nothing.

“Oh bother,” said Mrs
Oakengate, “I appear to have left my spectacle case in the ballroom. Run and
fetch it, will you Caroline? Don’t bother me again tonight though. I’m
exhausted again.” She yawned to accentuate the point. “You can give them to me
in the morning.”

“Then I could fetch it in
the morning.” Caroline also felt very tired. She put it down to all the running
around she did for Mrs Oakengate.

“Caroline!”

“Sorry, of course, I’ll it
them right away.” The idea to fetch them in the morning had seemed like common
sense when she thought it. It was just a pity it came out sounding like
insolence.

As she made her way down to
the ballroom, Caroline wondered if she could ever learn to be the kind of
docile creature Mrs Oakengate favoured as a companion. She was not doing a very
good job of it so far. She wished she could be more like her Aunt Millie, who
was adept at holding her tongue. It was a skill Caroline had never learned,
even with Millie as a role model.

All the other guests had
gone to bed, and most of the gas lamps in the corridor had been lowered, just
allowing a dim glow by which people could find their way to one of the
bathrooms in the night if needs be. The flames of the lamps flickered, casting
shadows on the wall. Far away, in the back of the house, Caroline thought she
heard laughter, and guessed it came from the servants, relaxing after a busy
day caring for the guests. The noise quickly died down and the house fell into
total silence. As she neared the ballroom, she became acutely aware of every sound,
every flicker of the light. She heard a door slam somewhere behind her and
almost jumped out of her skin. “Pull yourself together, Caroline,” she
whispered.

She was relieved to see that
the ballroom lights were still lit, perhaps because the servants had not yet
finished clearing away. That gave her extra courage, as it meant someone would
be along soon. She went back to where Mrs Oakengate had been sitting, and found
her spectacle case on the small round table. Turning around to leave, Caroline
suddenly found the room pitched into darkness. The lamps were still lit, but
turned so low as to have very little impact on the surrounding area. The only
other light came from the hallway, which cast only a small crescent shaped
light near to the open door.
 

“Hello?” she said. “Is
anyone there?”

She felt afraid to move, in
case she tripped over something, but concentrated on the light near the door as
a target for which to aim. Suddenly she heard three loud thumps emanating up
from the floor.
 
A gust of wind blew one
of the curtains near to her, so that for a brief moment she saw the misty moon
shining on the glass, and something else. A faint outline on the glass as if
someone were looking in. Then the curtain closed again and all was in darkness.
She spun around, trying to see who or what was there, but then the lights came
back up again, and she saw that she was completely alone.

           
Her heart pounded, and she almost jumped out of her skin
when the butler Stephens entered the ballroom. “Are you alright, Miss Conrad?”

           
“Yes, yes, I er … Stephens all the lights just went out
in here.”

           
“Did they, Miss?”

           
“Yes, but they’re all separate, aren’t they? So they can
only be turned down one by one.”

           
“Unless one does it at the mains tap, Miss.”

           
“The mains tap? Where is that?”

           
“Why, it’s down in the cellar.”

           
“But surely turning off the mains would turn off all the
gaslights. The ones in the hall stayed on.”

           
“Not necessarily, Miss. There are several taps, serving
different parts of the house – I’m afraid I don’t understand much of it, but I
believe it’s to do with when extra rooms and wings were added late in the
nineteenth century. This ballroom is one of the newer rooms. We tend to switch
most of the taps when the house is locked up and there is only skeleton staff,
so that it saves on gas and helps prevents fire.”

           
Caroline slipped Mrs Oakengate’s spectacle case into the
pocket of her skirt and sat down on one of the seats. Stephens put dirty
glasses onto a tray, then went to a closet at the far end of the room and took
out a broom. He started to sweep the floor.

           
“Have you been here a long time, Stephens?”

           
“Since the young master’s grandfather was a baby, Miss,”
he said, pausing in his labours. “I was a young man myself then, not much more
than twelve years old. I came here as a footman.”

           
“So someone does live in this house then?”

           
“Oh yes, Miss. The master spends summers here and winters
abroad. The house is usually closed up for winter, but the master will hire it
out for parties such as this. It gives the house an airing, you see.”

           
“What does the master do? For a living I mean. Or is he
landed gentry?”

           
“Certainly not, Miss. The master’s family are self-made.
They own a chain of hotels.”

           
“What hotels?” Caroline felt her throat constrict,
awaiting his answer. She knew what it would be before he said it.

           
“Cassandra’s, Miss. They have hotels all over the world.”

           
“Including Cariastan?”

           
“Yes, I believe so, Miss. I’m afraid I don’t know them
all.”

           
“I imagine you’ve heard all the stories regarding Lady
Cassandra.”

           
“Oh yes, Miss. But I don’t want to give you nightmares.”

           
“I promise you I’m made of stronger stuff than that,
Stephens.”

           
“Well…” Stephens put down his tray. The gleam in his eyes
told Caroline she had touched upon a favourite subject of his. “I don’t like to
say too much in front of the younger servants. The girls are apt to be silly
about such things. In the old days we could barely keep a parlour maid for more
than a few months. They’d get it into their heads they’d seen Lady Cassandra
and that was it. They up and married the first man who came along, just to get
away from the place.”

           
“Oh dear. So what are the stories?”

           
“You probably heard on the first night here that Her
Ladyship was a witch who used to keep lover’s hearts in a box.”

           
“I did.”

           
“She was very much into the dark arts, as they say.
 
Mind you, there’s a lot of that in these
sleepy little villages, Miss. Even in this day and age people have their
superstitions. Anyway, when Lady Cassandra was eighteen she was said to be the
most beautiful woman in England, and made her debut in court. She was betrothed
to one of James the First’s courtiers, but he threw her over for another lady.
After that, they say her heart grew bitter and black, and she turned to
witchcraft. She used to lure young lovers to the house, then cut out their
hearts and keep them in a jewelled box, to deny them the happiness she was
denied. Some say that on Halloween, you could see the box moving, as the
captured hearts still beat and struggled to escape.”

           
Caroline laughed. “Edgar Allen Poe eat your heart out.
Pardon the pun!”

           
“No, I don’t believe in it either, Miss. But it makes a
good story for guests and tourists in the area. Sadly it doesn’t do much for
the parlour maid situation. They caught her, naturally, and she was burned at
the stake. No one ever knew just how many young lovers had suffered at her
hands. She took that secret with her.”

           
“Lady Cassandra clearly hasn’t frightened you off. Do you
have any family, Stephens?”

           
“I did, Miss. My wife dead ten years ago. She used to be
the cook here. A wonderful cook she was too. No one could bake an apple pie
like my Elsie.”

           
“You must miss her a lot. Do you have any children?”

           
Stephens seemed to stiffen slightly. He turned away and
picked up the tray full of glasses again. “I have a son, Miss.”

           
“Does he work here?”

           
“My son was never one for being in service. He wanted
more from life. More than his poor mother and myself could give him. He left
here at the age of fifteen and has had little to do with us since. Went off to
be an actor, of all things. Broke his mother’s heart, it did. Not that I’d say
anything like that in front of the guests here this week. But, well, Miss, it’s
not a proper job like the one you and I do, is it? Not even if it is meant to
be a bit of fun. If you’ll pardon me for suggesting you and I are of the same
class.”

“We’re both servants,
Stephens. At the beck and call of our masters, or in my case, a mistress.”

“Quite right, Miss. It seems
to me acting is just about swanning around pretending to be someone else. Not
that I don’t like to go the pictures sometimes and see a good film.”

“Has your son appeared in
many films?”

“He hasn’t appeared in any,
miss. He says he prefers the stage. Travels around with one of these small
companies, putting on Shakespeare in schools and parks, that sort of thing.”
Stephens looked at a point above Caroline’s head. “Ah, Master Blake.”

           
“Isn’t it a bit late for detective work?” asked Blake.
Caroline spun around in her chair to see him standing in the doorway. She
wondered how long he had been listening.

           
“The wheels of justice never sleep. Or something like
that,” said Caroline. Stephens gave a courtly bow and left them, taking the
tray of empty glasses with him. “There’s something odd going on here.”

           
“Really? Would you like me to be Watson to your Holmes
and listen to your deliberations?”