Castle of Secrets (5 page)

‘It’s an early
start for you,’ said
Helena
, trying to put the girl at ease.

Effie dropped
the poker with a clatter.

‘Sorry,
missis, I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to,’ she said, grabbing at the
poker.

‘It’s all
right,’ said
Helena
, wondering how many more
times she was going to have to soothe the girl.
You knew my aunt
, she
longed to say, but instead she went on: ‘It must be confusing for you to have a
new housekeeper in the castle. Perhaps you did not expect to find me still in
bed. I am usually awake early, but I had a tiring day yesterday. Mrs Carlisle,
my predecessor,  was an early riser, I suppose?’ she enquired casually.

‘Yes, missis.
Always up early she was. “There’s no use lying abed when there’s work to be
done,” she used to say.’

‘Quite right,
too. There is plenty to do in the castle. You must be busy all day long.’

‘Yes, missis.
There’s fires to be lit and there’s that many steps, it’s ’ard work.’

‘Mrs Carlisle
must have been sorry to leave the castle. She took a pride in her job, I
believe.’

‘Very
particular, Mrs Carlisle was. The flowers ’ad to be fresh in summer. Very
particular about ’er flowers, was Mrs Carlisle. I mustn’t move anything on ’er
desk, and I mustn’t go through the drawers.’

‘Did you used
to go through the drawers?’
Helena
asked in surprise.

Effie dropped
the poker.

‘I were only
looking for some string,’ she said, but she seemed nervous, and
Helena
wondered if she was
speaking the truth. ‘My stockings were falling down. Mrs Carlisle said I needed
garters, she showed me ’ow to make ’em.’

‘Of course,’
said
Helena
. ‘Did you find anything
interesting when you were looking for the string?’ she asked nonchalantly.

‘Very
particular about her pens, she was. Mended ’em ’erself. Didn’t want no one
touching her pens,’ said Effie obliquely, picking up the poker and hanging it
back on its stand, then she took a piece of newspaper from the top of the
bucket of coals and crumpled it vigorously before laying it in the grate.

Helena
’s eyes were drawn to the
girl’s hands. They were large and strong, and as they picked up another piece
of newspaper and crushed it,
Helena
found herself wondering what else the girl’s hands could
crush.

Changing the
subject, she said: ‘It must have been a shock to you when Mrs Carlisle left so
suddenly.’

‘I didn’t know
she was going,’ said Effie. ‘She said nothing to me, just went. One day she was
here and the next day she wasn’t.’

‘Do you know
why she had to leave?’
Helena
asked.

Effie sat back
on her heels and rolled up a sheet of newspaper, winding it round her hand and
knotting it before laying it on top of the crumpled paper.

‘Do you?’
asked
Helena
patiently.

Effie glanced
over her shoulder and seemed reluctant to speak.

‘I believe her
sister was ill?’
Helena
prompted her.

‘That’s what
he said.’

Helena
had the feeling she was
concealing something.

‘And did you
believe him?’

‘It’s not my
place, missis, if master says it, then it must be true.’

‘Ah, yes. Do
you like him? The master?’

‘I reckon.’

But the girl’s
open manner had disappeared, and once she had finished lighting the fire she
wiped her hands on her black-streaked apron, then picking up the bucket she
left the room.

Helena
was left with much to
think about. As she removed her nightgown and washed in the hot water, she
thought that Effie had not told her everything she knew. But, if she stayed at
the castle an extra day, there would be another morning, and another
conversation whilst Effie lit the fire.

She dressed
quickly, glad of her thick woollen gown and woollen stockings. She brushed her
hair and fastened it into a neat chignon, then, picking up her candle, she went
down to the kitchen, following the route she had used on the previous day. As
she went through the door into the servants’ quarters, she once again had the unnerving
feeling that she was being followed, but when she turned round there was no one
there.

She quickened
her step and was relieved to gain the sanctuary of the kitchen, where she found
Mrs Beal baking bread. The smell of it filled the room and made
Helena
realise how hungry she
was.

‘Effie, set
the kettle over the fire,’ Mrs Beal said. Then, to
Helena
, she said: ‘You’ll have some rolls?
They’re freshly baked.’

Helena
looked at in the
newly-baked rolls that were set on the dresser, laid out on a clean cloth. With
their golden tops, they looked appetising.

‘Yes, please.’

Mrs Beal set
jars of home made jam and honey on a table in the corner of the kitchen, and
put out cups, saucers and plates. She added a mound of freshly churned butter
to the table and a jar of frothing milk. Soon a bowl of sugar and a pot of tea
joined the rest.

‘I’m ready for
a bit of something myself,’ said Mrs Beal.

‘I see you
have finished the fires,’ said
Helena
to Effie, hoping to reassure the girl, so that the next time
they met, she would be agreeable to talking.

Mrs Beal
answered for her.

‘Yes, she does
the fires in the mornings, but his lordship doesn’t want anyone in the library
except the housekeeper and Miss Parkins, so she left a bucket of coal outside,
as she always does. His lordship’s told you you’re to keep the library clean
yourself?’

‘Yes, he has.
Miss Parkins does not see to it, then?’

‘Miss Parkins
doesn’t see to a lot, from what I can see.’

‘I am not
quite sure what Miss Parkins’s position is in the castle,’ said
Helena
, gently probing, as Mrs
Beal poured out the tea.

‘That makes
two of us,’ said Mrs Beal. ‘I wouldn’t have much to do with her, if I were you.
She comes down here from time to time, but I won’t have anyone interfering in
my kitchen. She looks at you sometimes . . . well, I’ve said enough.’

As
Helena
ate her rolls and drank
her tea, the conversation turned to the idleness of dairy maids and the
impossibility of running the kitchen adequately without any kitchen maids.

‘In the old
days, there were seven people working in the kitchen: Mrs Barnstaple, the cook;
me as her assistant; three kitchen maids and two scullery maids. Mind, we had a
castle full of people to feed. His lordship and Master Richard. . . ’ She
tailed away, then finished: ‘ . . . we’ll not see those days back again.’

Helena
tried to encourage her to
say more, being sure there had been something important left unsaid, but Mrs
Beal would not be drawn.

‘Thank you for
breakfast,’ said
Helena
,
when she had finished her meal. ‘And now, I had better see to his lordship’s
fire.’

Taking up her
candle, she left the kitchen, and then the servants’ quarters, behind her, and
emerged into the hall. A faint grey light could be seen coming through the
windows. Outside, the sun was rising and it would soon be daylight.

She found the
bucket of coal outside the library. Picking it up, she went in, but she was
taken aback to see Lord Torkrow sitting behind the desk, looking at some
papers. She had not expected him to rise so early, and she wished she had
knocked.

He looked up
as she stood there in the doorway. As she felt his eyes run over her, she was
conscious of a sudden unease, and again she wondered if he had been fooled by
her deception, or if he knew that she was not who she claimed to be. She told
herself there was no way he could know. Even so, she felt anxious, for there
was something about the way he was looking at her . . .

‘I’m sorry,’
she said. ‘I thought the room was empty.’

‘You may see
to the fire,’ he replied.

She walked
across the room, conscious of his eyes on her, and then poured coal onto the
small flames.

‘Tell me, how do
you find the castle, now that you have had an opportunity to see it in
daylight?’ he asked.

She was
surprised by his question, for it was not the sort of thing that most earls
would ask their servants. She replied: ‘I find it  . . . interesting.’

‘You do not
find it too remote?’ he queried.

‘No, my lord.’

‘That is
surprising. Most people are disinclined to work in such an isolated spot. It
preys on their nerves. The loneliness becomes oppressive. After a time, they
find themselves imagining things.’

There seemed
to be something behind his words. Was he warning her about something, or was he
trying to find out if she had heard anything unusual?

‘I have no
difficulty in working here,’ she said.

‘Perhaps you
are used to the moors?’

‘I have never
seen them before. I think they are beautiful,’ she added.

‘You think so?
I used to think so, once.’ His voice dropped and his eyes fell to the desk. He
was not seeing the desk, thought
Helena
, he was seeing something far away, and she wondered why he
no longer liked his surroundings. He roused himself. ‘If you are not used to
the moors, then you perhaps grew up in gentler climes?’

‘Yes, my lord.
I grew up by the sea, in
Cornwall
,’ she told him.

His eyes
narrowed. ‘You do not speak with a Cornish accent,’ he remarked.

‘I left
Cornwall
many years ago, when I
was fifteen.’

‘Ah, I see.
Then why did you leave?’

‘My father
died, and my mother took me to live in
Manchester
. . . ’ She trailed away, suddenly
conscious of the fact that Mrs Reynolds might have mentioned her abode. She
felt herself colouring and hoped he would not notice, or that he would put her
sudden flush down to the heat of the fire, but instead she was disturbed to see
him turning questioning eyes towards her, as if to say,
Now what were you
about to tell me?
She began to think that his questions were more than a
passing curiosity in a new servant; they were designed to find out if she was
really Mrs Reynolds.

‘And do you
like
Manchester
?’ he asked.

‘It is my
home,’ she said, ‘but no, I do not like it.’

‘I am
surprised. You are young. I thought you would enjoy the liveliness of a city.
It must seem very quiet here by comparison.’

‘It seems
peaceful,’ she said. ‘I like the quiet.’

‘And when did
you go into service?’ he asked, returning to his earlier theme.

She was about
to say, ‘A year ago,’ when she realised that Mrs Reynolds might have been in
service for far longer.

‘Well?’ he
asked.

‘I cannot
recall exactly.’

There was a
silence. Then he said: ‘In your letter, you stated that you had been a
housekeeper for three years.’ He shot her a sudden glance, and said, ‘You do
not have the look of a servant.’

She felt her
heart beating more quickly.

‘My father was
a gentleman,’ she said, ‘and I was raised to be a lady. But he fell on hard
times and our circumstances changed, so I had no choice but to earn a living.’

He said
nothing, and she wondered what was going through his mind. Unwillingly,
Helena
found herself remembering
some of the things her aunt had said about the man in front of her.
Afraid
of him in the village, they are. The stories they tell! It’s always the same in
these remote places, but I’ve seen nothing amiss. He’s not an easy master, but
I’ll say this for him, he’s fair
.

She only hoped
her aunt had been right.

At last he
said: ‘And now you are keeping house in a castle. Not many people wish to work
in such a large establishment, especially with so few servants. What is your
opinion of the castle, now that you have seen it?’

She looked
round the large room.

‘I think it
has been neglected, but it is a beautiful building, and with hard work, I think
it will be possible to bring it back to life.’

‘You are an
optimist, I see. Hard work will go some way to making it brighter, but hard
work has its limits and will not remove the draughts.’

‘Large fires
and carefully placed screens can do much to limit their effect,’ she said
thoughtfully, wondering how best the disadvantages of such an old building
could be overcome.