Castle of Secrets (23 page)

‘But it is
what you meant. Was it worth the deception, to get what you wanted? Did the end
justify the means?’

She felt that
he was not talking to her about her disguise, but about something much more
sinister, and she began to be frightened. She tried to pull away from him, but
he held her fast.

‘Just what
would
you do, if you felt there would not be any consequences? You did not hesitate
to impersonate Elizabeth Reynolds. What else would you not hesitate to do?’

‘I don’t
understand you,’ she said, feeling a rising tide of panic.

‘Would you lie
. . . steal . . . kill?’

His fingers
tightened round her wrist like a vise.

‘Let me go.’

With a
strength born of desperation, she wrenched herself free, but he stood in front
of her and would not let her pass.

‘Who are you?’
he demanded menacingly.

‘I am
Elizabeth Reynolds.’

‘No, you are
not Elizabeth Reynolds. She never arrived. A messenger came from
York
earlier this evening,
saying that Mrs Reynolds had written to apologise for not taking up her
position, because she had been ill, and was still not well enough to work. And
so I ask you again, who are you? And what are you doing at
Stormcrow
Castle
?’

For a brief
moment she thought of telling him the truth, but it was too dangerous. If he
had done away with her aunt, and if he knew she had come looking for her, then
he would do away with her, too.

‘A friend,’
she said. ‘I’m a friend of Mrs Reynolds. She told me she would not be able to
take up the position as she was not well, but she did not want to acquire a
reputation for being unreliable with the registry office. I was looking for a
position at the time, and so we agreed that I would take her place.’

He looked at
her searchingly, and then his face twisted.

‘You are
lying,’ he said roughly. ‘You will leave the castle first thing in the morning.
The carriage will be at the door at
eight o’clock
. It will take you to the stage
coach. And to make sure you go, I will put you on the stage coach myself. You
will leave this neighbourhood, and you will not return. If you do, I will know
how to deal with you.’

His eyes were
hard, and in the candlelight they glittered like obsidian. He loomed over her,
and she wondered what he would be capable of if he was crossed. But she would
never find out, because she had no intention of remaining. She had learnt all
she could at the castle.

‘Very well,’
she said. She thought of the coming journey, and realized that she had no
money. ‘What of my wages?’ she asked.

‘Your wages?’
he returned incredulously.

‘I have worked
for you faithfully, and my wages are owing,’ she said defiantly.

He looked as
though he was about to make a cutting retort, but then thought better of it.

‘I will have
them waiting for you in the morning,’ he said. ‘Make sure you are in the
courtyard at five minutes to eight.’

‘I will be
there.’

And with that
she picked up her mask, hat and wig, then swept past him, out of the gallery.
Once she was out of sight she gave in to an urge to flee, and she ran back to
her room, closing and locking the door behind her.

Only then did
she let out a deep breath. She was safe at last. She went over to the fire and
knelt in front of it, wrapping her arms around herself. As she did so, she
began to shiver with reaction to the frightening encounter. She had not known
what he would say or do, and at one point she had been afraid that she might
not even escape with her life. Thoughts whirled round her head – graveyards and
ballrooms, castles and crypts – all was jumble and confusion.

The fire was
hot, with flames leaping in the grate, but it did little to warm her. She was
cold through and through. She glanced at the bed, and wondered if there was a
hot brick in it. She went over to it and discovered, to her relief, that there
was. She undressed and slipped her nightdress over her head, then climbed
between the sheets, but although she lay down and closed her eyes, Lord Torkrow
aroused such conflicting emotions in her that she could not sleep.

At last she
got out of bed and, throwing her shawl round her shoulders, she went over to
the fire. Sitting beside it, she looked into the flames.

There was one
chance more for her to learn something about her aunt. If she went to Mary and
told her the truth, then perhaps Mary could tell her something.

The more she
thought of it, the more the idea appealed to her. She would leave early, before
the carriage was ready, for it would be better by far to be well away from the
castle by the time he started looking for her. With Mary she would feel safe.

She
went back to bed and at last she fell asleep, but vivid dreams gave her no
rest. She was running through the castle, holding up the skirt of her medieval
gown as she ran along the corridors, looking for something she could not find,
her task made more difficult by a swirling mist. The mist parted, and she saw a
door. She seemed to be moving in slow motion as she opened it, to reveal a
large room with a four poster bed, hung with red curtains. A man and woman were
embracing passionately by the bed. As
Helena
watched, the woman
opened her eyes and turned towards her, smiling as the man kissed her throat.
And then the woman's face changed, becoming her own, and as the man spun round,
Helena
saw it was
Lord Torkrow.

Shocked,
she closed the door and ran on down the corridor, but it was hung with cobwebs.
She brushed them aside, but they became thicker and thicker as they went along,
until she was flailing wildly in an effort to keep them away from her. They
were in her hair and her mouth, and they were beginning to suffocate her. She
fought them wildly . . .  and woke up to find that she was wrestling with the
sheets. She was panting with the exertion, and she lay still, until she heard a
noise and realized what had woken her: it was Effie, scratching on the door.

She rose,
bleary eyed and feeling unrefreshed, and let the scullery maid into the room.
As Effie saw to the fire,
Helena
washed and dressed. She put on her warmest clothes and her
stout shoes, then she went down to the kitchen. It was empty apart from Effie,
who had finished seeing to the fires and who was busy washing dishes.

‘Where is Mrs
Beal?’ asked
Helena
.

‘She’s seeing
to the clearing up,’ said Effie.

Helena
felt sorry to be leaving
Mrs Beal to so much work. If things had been otherwise she would have overseen
the servants as they returned the spare furniture to the attic and instructed
them as they cleared the rooms, but she could not linger.

She helped
herself to some rolls and chocolate, then sat by the fire to break her fast.

When she had
done, she wrapped some food up for the journey: a piece of chicken, some bread
and cheese, a slice of pie and a bottle of water; then she went upstairs and
packed her few possessions. She checked the drawers and wardrobe to make sure
that nothing had been forgotten, and looked under the bed, then closed her
valise and set it by the door.

She glanced at
the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly
half past seven
.

Throwing her
cloak over her shoulders, she put on her bonnet and pulled on her gloves then,
picking up her valise went swiftly down the back stairs. She had hoped to see
Mrs Beal before she left, but time was moving on and she did not want to risk
looking for her in case she bumped into Lord Torkrow.

She opened the
side door carefully and looked out. There was no one about. She went out,
closing the door behind her.

She hurried
across the courtyard, looking over her shoulder as she did so to make sure she
was not being followed. She had a dread of seeing Lord Torkrow or Miss Parkins
standing at one of the windows, watching her, and she scanned them nervously,
but, to her relief, there was no one there.

Her gaze
reached the gallery window . . . and her heart almost stopped, for she was
suddenly reminded of the fact that the castle was symmetrical. Every room had
its counterpart.

So the
galleries must be symmetrical, and the hidden room in the portrait gallery must
have its counterpart in the long gallery.

There was
another secret room.

The enormity of the revelation froze
her for a moment then, turning on her heel, she ran back to the castle. In the
side door she went, up the stairs, along the corridor and into the long
gallery. She walked along its length, her footsteps sounding loud to her ears,
despite her attempts to walk quietly, and it was with relief that she reached
the end. She dropped her valise, and then began to feel the wainscoting,
running both hands across it. There must be a way of opening it, and she
guessed it must have something to do with the embossing. She pressed the
flowers and turned the grapes, and as she did so, she called out softly: ‘Aunt
Hester! Aunt Hester! It’s me, Helena!’

But there was
no reply.

She pushed the
centre of a small flower, and it gave. She heard a click, and then a door in
the panelling swung open. She took a deep breath and went in.

She found
herself in a small room. There was a window to the west, but the grey light of
morning did little to illuminate the chamber. The air was stale, and she
wrinkled her nose against it. She stood motionless whilst her eyes adjusted to
the dim light and then went forwards. As she did so, she saw that the room was
empty, except for some blankets on the floor in the corner. There were no
pictures on the walls, and the floor was bare.

She went over
to the blankets, which had been arranged to make a bed. She crouched down next
to them and turned them over, then she sat back, shocked, as she saw that, in
between the folds was a piece of plaited lavender. She picked it up with
trembling fingers. So her aunt had been here!

She shook the
blankets, hoping to find another clue, and something fell out. It was a wooden
soldier. She picked it up and examined it. It had been painted but the paint
was coming off. It was evidently a much-loved and much-used child’s toy. But
what had a child been doing in this room, and what had Aunt Hester been doing
with him?

Could the
child have been playing here, and could Aunt Hester have been looking after
him? But why would anyone make a child play in a  cramped, gloomy apartment?
And what child could it be? Lord Torkrow had never married.

But his
brother had . . .

A sliver of
fear crawled down her back. Every dark thing she had ever heard about Lord
Torkrow and every unsettling thing she had experienced since entering the
castle, returned to haunt her. Had he been responsible for her aunt’s
disappearance, and perhaps worse besides?

What had her
aunt been doing in the secret room? Tending to the child? Or protecting him?
Because if Lord Torkrow’s brother had been the older of the two, and if he had
had a son, then the boy was the true heir of
Stormcrow
Castle
. . .

Helena
left the room, closing
the door behind her. There was a click, and then it merged into the wall.

She abandoned
her plan to leave the neighbourhood, for she knew she could not ignore what she
had found. She feared that a terrible crime had been perpetrated at the castle,
but who to tell?

Her mind went
back to the costume ball, and the man dressed as Harlequin: Sir Hugh Greer, the
local Justice of the Peace.

Helena
made up her mind to visit
him and lay the facts before him: that her aunt had gone missing, and that she
had found evidence of her aunt and a child having been kept in a secret room in
the castle.

He would know
what to do.

She did not
know where to find him, so first she must go to Mary’s cottage, for Mary would
know where to find him, and might even lend
Helena
the trap to take her there.

She picked up
her valise and went down the stairs, moving cautiously. It was nearing
eight o’clock
. She could hear the sound
of the carriage being brought round. The crunching of the gravel under the
wheels was like the sound of bones, and a new fear assailed her. She had
delayed so long that, if she set off on foot, she feared she would soon be caught
because Lord Torkrow would overtake her in the carriage.

A quick glance
out of the front door showed her that he had not yet appeared, and hurrying
through the hall, she reached the carriage before he came in sight. Its black
body seemed ominous, and she was afraid of climbing inside, to be swallowed by
the red interior, but she mastered her dread as Eldridge climbed down from the
box.