Castle of Secrets (15 page)

She had almost
reached the outer wall when a gleam of sunshine breaking through the clouds
made her look up and she let out a startled cry as she saw there was someone on
the battlements. From such a distance she could not be sure if it was a man or
a woman, but she meant to find out.

She hurried
inside and went swiftly up to the attic, but she could not find a staircase
leading up to the roof. She went through the attic again, looking at the
ceiling, and there, sure enough, in the corner of one room, was a small door.
Tied to a handle in the middle of it was a piece of rope, and beneath it was a
chair. She was about to stand on it and go through when she thought better of
it, for she had no idea who was on the battlements or what they were doing
there.

She was just
wondering what to do when she heard footsteps above her and hid herself behind
a screen. Through the gap around the hinges she could still see the room. A
minute later there came a creaking sound as the small door opened and a leg
appeared, waving round as it tried to find the chair. Another followed, and
then a pair of breeches, and then . . . Dawkins.

He closed the
door above him, then climbed down from the chair and put it against the wall
before leaving the attic room. He was swaying as he walked, and
Helena
guessed what he had been
doing, but she wanted to make sure. Waiting for his footsteps to die away, she
replaced the chair, opened the door, and with some difficulty she climbed
through.

She found
herself on the battlements, with the wind whipping at her cloak and trying to
pull her hair from its pins. Beneath her was the moor, grey and green in the
dull light. Far off, she could see the village, with its collection of cottages
and the church. She looked all round, wondering if there was any other human
habitation nearby, but there was nothing except a few isolated cottages, Mary’s
amongst them.

Turning her
attention back to the battlements, she searched them, and soon found a large
cache of bottles, cushioned by sodden blankets and resting in the lee of the
wall. There were perhaps a hundred bottles of wine and port, and half of them
were empty.

He must have
taken them when the butler left, and before Mrs Beal started checking the
cellars. No wonder he tried to warn people away from the attics: he did not
want anyone noticing his comings and goings, or deciding to take a turn on the
battlements and discovering his secret store. And if anyone heard his
footsteps, why, he could blame them on a ghost.

Had it also
been Dawkins crying in the attic? she wondered. She must try to find out.

She took one
last look at the view, which was splendid from such a high vantage point, and
would be even better in summer under a blue sky, and then climbed back into the
attic. She grasped the piece of rope and pulled the door shut behind her, then
replaced the chair and went down to her room. Once there, she took off her
cloak and stout shoes, peeling off her gloves before removing her bonnet.

She was going
down to the housekeeper’s room when, passing the gallery, she had an urge to
look at the portrait of Lord Torkrow’s sister-in-law again. She went in, and
had almost reached the end of the gallery when she noticed something odd. There
was an open door at the end where no door should be. Curious, she went forward,
and then stopped suddenly, as she saw that Lord Torkrow was in the hidden room,
looking at a portrait of a beautiful young woman: his sister-in-law.

Helena
shrank back, then hurried
from the gallery. There had been something in his face when he looked at his
sister-in-law’s portrait that had cut her to the quick.

She was about
to go into the housekeeper’s room when she changed her mind. She was tired
after her exertions, and she went down to the kitchen. Mrs Beal was there, busy
baking cakes.

‘Well, so
you’re back, and cold, I’ll warrant,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘Effie, set the kettle
over the fire. How did you get on with Mrs Willis?’ she asked.

‘Very well.
She has promised to find me some help, and will send any likely workers to the
castle.’

‘That’s one
job done, then,’ said Mrs Beal.

The tea was
made, and Mrs Beal poured it.

‘I think I’ll
join you,’ she said. ‘I’ve some biscuits just come out of the over. You’ll have
one with your tea?’

Helena
thanked her. She was glad
of something to eat and drink.

They fell to
talking about the arrangements for the ball. Some of the suppliers had
expressed doubts about being able to produce such large quantities of food, and
Mrs Beal talked of alternatives whilst
Helena
gave her opinion.

‘And now, I
had better tend to my own work,’ she said, as she finished her tea. ‘I need to
sort through the linen and make sure there are enough sheets for those guests
who are staying overnight. I am hoping they are clean and dry.’

‘Mrs Carlisle
always took care of that. Clean, dry and smelling of lavender, they’ll be.’

Helena
felt a pang as she
thought of Aunt Hester, and she found she could almost smell the lavender.

‘Then I had
better count them and make sure we have enough.’

Helena
had just reassured herself that
there would be enough clean linen for the overnight guests at the ball, and was
about to retire for the night, when she was startled to find Effie waiting for
her in the corridor.

‘Yes, Effie,
what is it?’

‘Please,
missis, it’s about the key to the attic,’ said Effie, twisting her apron in her
big, clumsy hands.

‘Yes, Effie?’

‘I knows where
I thinks it is, missis.’

Helena
’s pulse quickened.

‘Mrs Carlisle,
she kept some spare keys in the scullery, missus. I saw ’er with them once. She
used to go in and out of the attic, quiet like.’

‘Quiet like,
you say?’ asked
Helena
,
wondering if her aunt could have suspected Dawkins of taking wine from the
cellar, and if she had perhaps followed him.

‘Yes, missus.
I saw her when I was doing the fires.’

‘But you don’t
do the fires in the attic.’

‘I was doing
them in the bedrooms, and I ’eard a noise. Manners – he was one of the footmen,
missus, we used to ’ave ever so many footmen – he said to me, “It’s a ghost”,
and he dared me to go ’ave a look.’

‘And do you
mean to say you did it?’ asked
Helena
, looking at Effie with surprise.

‘No, missis.
But later, when I saw Mrs Carlisle going up there, I thought, I’ll go after ’er
and see if there’s a ghost, and if there is, she won’t let it ’urt me, and if
there isn’t, I don’t need to be frightened of what Manners says to me no more.’

‘And did she
go into the east wing?’ asked
Helena
. ‘Did she go into the locked attic?’

‘Yes, missus.
That’s where the noises were coming from.’

‘And was it a
ghost?’ asked
Helena
, hardly daring to breath.

‘Don’t know,
missis. There were something in there, I ’eard it, but I don’t know what it
was. Mrs Carlisle, she went in, and then about ten minutes later she come out
again.’

‘Was there
anyone with her? Dawkins, perhaps?’

‘No, missis,
she were by ’erself.’

‘Did she seem
agitated?’ asked
Helena
.

‘Don’t know,
missis.’

‘Did she seem
happy?’

‘Don’t know,
missis.’

‘Did you see
her face?’ asked
Helena
.

‘No. I runned
down the stairs so she wouldn’t see me.’

‘Very well,
thank you, Effie.’ She added casually: ‘Is Mrs Beal in the kitchen?’

‘No, missis,
she’s gone to bed.’

‘No matter, I
will speak to her tomorrow. I have a few spare minutes, I think I will come
down and look for the key now,’ said
Helena
.

‘Yes, missis.’

As she went
down to the scullery,
Helena
’s thoughts were racing. So her aunt had been into the east
wing, and she had discovered something there. Was it Dawkins? But he had
climbed out on to the battlements from the west wing. What else could it have
been?

Could it have
been Lord Torkrow’s brother? There was something about his brother, she was
sure, something no one was telling her. She thought of Mrs Beal saying he had
been driven mad with grief. What if he had literally been driven mad, and his
family had confined him in the attic.

She thought of
Miss Parkins. What if Miss Parkins was looking after his lordship’s brother?
What if that was her role in the castle? Was that why Lord Torkrow let her
remain? Or had her aunt, perhaps, been the one who was looking after him? Was
that why she had disappeared? Had his mad brother killed her? Or had her aunt
threatened to tell someone about him, because the madman had killed or injured
someone else?

She had time
for no more thoughts. Going into the scullery, she asked Effie to show her
where the key was kept. She was determined to solve the mystery of the attic
once and for all. Effie took her to a drawer at the back of the scullery.
Helena
opened it . . . and it
was empty.

Helena
stood staring at the
empty drawer with disbelief.

‘It were
there, missis. I saw it,’ said Effie.

‘Yes, I’m sure
you did, Effie,’ said
Helena
soothingly.

But the key
had nonetheless gone. Who had taken it? thought
Helena
. And why?

The following morning brought a
letter to the castle from Caroline. It came as a welcome relief to
Helena
to know that she was not
entirely cut off from the outside world. The atmosphere in the castle was
claustrophobic, but Caroline’s letter brought the noise and bustle of
Manchester
back to her. She could
see Caroline, in her mind’s eye, sitting at the cramped table beneath the
window, with its view of the noisy street and its glimpse of the canal. She
could see Caroline lifting her head, as she always did, and then resting it on
her hand as she watched the bakers walking past with trays on their heads and
ragged children playing, and dogs scavenging for food. There would be a
restlessness about her, for Caroline was always restless inside. And when
Caroline had finished the letter she would have thrown her cloak over her
shoulders in a swirling movement, picked up her basket and gone out, threading
her way purposefully between the street merchants and other shoppers, stopping
to talk to neighbours, and sending the letter, before looking longingly in the
windows of the milliners on her way home.

Helena
examined the seal and was
relieved to see that it had not been tampered with, so it seemed that the mail
went from and came to the castle undisturbed. If Aunt Hester had written to
her, then it seemed unlikely the letter had been interfered with.

She broke the
seal and began to read.

My dear
friend.

Good. So
Caroline had guessed something was wrong, and was writing in a guarded style.

I was very
pleased to get your letter. What a pity you have heard nothing of H. I have had
no news, either. I hope all is well and that we will soon hear something.

I have some
news of my own. I secured the position with Mrs Long and I am writing to you
from her home in
Chester
. She is not too demanding and she treats me with
respect, which is the most I can hope for.

You,
however, deserve more.

I have seen
our friend G several times and I hope you will see him before long, too. I have
not given him your direction, but if you wish to write to him, I’m sure a
letter would be most welcome.

I will
await your next letter with interest.

She included
Mrs Long’s address, and signed the letter
Caroline
.

As
Helena
folded it and put it in
her pocket, she found her thoughts returning to Mr Gradwell. Life with him
would be safe. He would help her when needed, indeed, he would help her now if
he knew of her troubles, though there was little help he could give. Yet she
had no desire to hurry home and confide in him. Quite the reverse, she was glad
of some time away from him, for it enabled her to think more clearly.

She tried to
imagine what life would be like with him. She would be the mistress of her own
home, with a maid and a cook to serve her. She would have new clothes to wear,
and a carriage to ride in, and she would be able to spend her time visiting and
shopping and inviting friends to supper, instead of working all day long. She
would have the companionship of Mr Gradwell, and there would be trips to the
theatre and to the museums, and in the summer there would be picnics and
outings to the seaside. But although it seemed very inviting, her heart sank at
the thought of it. Perhaps she was just tired. She would not think about it for
the moment. There would be time enough to think about it when she had found her
aunt.