The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel (9 page)

“
May I be excused?” I asked, rising to my feet.

“
Well, if all you’re going to do is mope around the place, you might as well be.” He leaned back and stretched out in his chair as I made my way to the door. Then just as I was about to turn the handle he called “But there’s one thing that should bring a smile to your face, little wife. My cousin is coming back for the funeral. You can resume your little assignations much sooner than planned.”

I did not dignify his remark with a response. I merely slipped out of the library and ran all the way back to my room, determined not to leave it again until the funeral.

*

Mervyn did indeed return to Willow Castle for the funeral. I heard the carriage draw up and went straight down to meet it, heedless of the chilly April downpour. As soon as he descended the steps he threw his arms around me.

“Oh, Rebecca,” he breathed. “I am so sorry for your loss. I could see how much your Mama meant to you.”

He ushered me inside before I could get completely soaked. We only had a little time before the funeral was due to begin, but we made the most of it. As we took a hasty cup of chocolate together I learned that he had travelled non-stop, day and night to get back from Liverpool in time. I thanked him profusely.

“I would not have missed it,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to think of you standing at the graveside without a friendly face nearby. Comfort was never a strong point of Montague’s.”

At once I could hear Mama’s voice in my head, counselling me not to say anything disloyal about my husband. I did not need to, not to Mervyn. He knew me, he knew his cousin and my demeanour said all that needed to be said.

“How did it happen?” Mervyn asked gently. “Montague’s telegram said only that she had died, but it made no mention of the circumstances. I’ll understand if you do not wish to talk about it, I’m just surprised. She seemed to be in fine form when I saw her last.” I saw him trying hard not to smile slightly as he added “Apart from the occasional headache.”

I could not quite smile, but I felt my heart lighten for a moment. “It was very sudden,” I told him. “There was an accident in the Blue Dining Room, the ceiling fell in. Mama saw it and it seems to have given her such a shock that she went quite out of her wits. By the time I got to her she was reaching out of her bedroom window for something unseen, and before I could-” I broke off, stifling a sob. Mervyn pulled me to him and kept me close until he felt me relax and allow my tears to flow.

“Sssshh,” he soothed. “No need to say if you don’t want to. I can guess the rest. You poor girl.”

So we sat together, Mervyn holding me as I cried, until it was time to go down to the chapel where Mama’s coffin was waiting, wanting only the service and interment for her to be gone from my life forever.

*

The funeral tea was a small affair - smaller by one than my wedding had been since Mama was not there. Dr Bagshawe joined us, of course, having performed the service and committed Mama’s body to the sodden ground in the castle’s little churchyard. It seemed as if the usual positions were reversed, for where Mervyn and I had usually conversed and let Sir Montague sit aloof, now it was my husband and Dr Bagshawe who chatted of the roads, of Castleton, of the need for a new roof for the parish church. Mervyn and I sat in silence. For the most part I was lost in my thoughts, but now and then I would raise my eyes and he would meet my gaze and I would feel comforted to know that at least there was still someone in this world who cared for me.

Just like our wedding breakfast, the funeral tea had been laid out in the Withy Chamber. The side table was heaped with cold meats and pickles, slices of cake and bread and butter. With a malicious smile, Sir Montague fetched me a plate piled high with more food than I had eaten in the past week put together. He set it in front of me and urged solicitously that I should keep my strength up, suggesting that he would not let me leave until I had finished everything he had put before me. The look I gave him in return was one of undisguised hatred. I wished with all my heart that the Devil would return to the Withy Chamber that very moment and devour my husband in a single bite.

*

I could barely sleep that night, even with the aid of laudanum. Sir Montague had attempted to come to my bed, no doubt relishing the prospect of flaunting his ownership of me in front of Mervyn, or of enjoying my sorrow, or both. I could not submit as a good wife should. Before I knew what I was doing I was screaming, warning him not to lay a finger on me, not to come near me. I had hurled my pair of silver-backed hairbrushes at him, sending him dashing from the room. As one of them glanced off his shoulder, he shouted for Mrs Chapman to come and help restrain me.

“
She seems somewhat overwrought,” he informed the housekeeper as she bustled in to pin me down and keep me in place until I stopped shrieking and writhing. “We must only hope that it’s not the seed of her mother’s madness.” With that he vanished, apparently content to slake his evil humour rather than his lust.

I lay in the darkness, tossing and turning, listening to the wind whistling across the valley outside. I could not help but be tormented by the thought of Mama, deep in the earth, cold and confined and dead. I thought of all the times I had hated her and all the times I had loved her. I thought of all the times I had wondered what life would be like without her then dismissed the thought because I simply couldn’t imagine it.

When at last I could stand it no longer, I got up and lit the lamp by my bedside. I guessed that it was well past midnight, into the small hours. I threw on my wrapper, took the lamp in one hand and set off through the darkened corridors. My fears of Lady Angela’s ghost or devilish apparitions were gone. There was too much pain in my mind and my soul to allow any room for such fantastical imaginings. I wended my way through the passageways until I came to the room where I knew Mervyn slept. Screwing up my courage, I rapped upon the door. My heart pounded as I waited for it to open.

When it did, I saw Mervyn’s tired, handsome face staring out in confusion, his eyes dazzled by the dim light of my lamp so that he could not see who it was.

“Mervyn!” I whispered. “It’s me. I’m sorry to wake you, but -”

“
Rebecca? Good God, come in at once!” He opened the door fully and hustled me inside, glancing up and down the dark corridor to see if I was being pursued. “Are you alright? Is something the matter? Is it my cousin?”

I hesitated. I had not thought this far ahead, I did not know how to put my thoughts into words. “I’m sorry,” I began. “I should not have disturbed you. It’s just… I couldn’t sleep, and I can’t be alone, and you will leave in the morning and I shall have to stand there beside Sir Montague waving you off and then I’ll be alone again and I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it, I need you to be here!” I felt the tears start again and the knot of anxiety and pain in my stomach pulled tighter as I finally gave voice to my fears. Mervyn pulled me close and held me tight, stroking my hair and making gentle shushing noises as my words abandoned me and I cried.

He led me across the small room, the same one he had occupied growing up, and sat me down on the bed while he drew up a chair for himself. We sat with our heads together, my hands in his, while I calmed myself enough to tell him everything. I poured out all the things I had never told anyone before – the monotonous routine of life with Mama and the great pressure to live up to her standards and expectations, the hopes I had cherished when I learned I was to be married, the indignities and neglect I had had from Sir Montague. Through gulping sobs I told Mervyn what my husband had said about Mama selling me to him and how I knew that could not be true but feared that it was. I told him how Sir Montague had seen the attraction between Mervyn and myself and had mocked me for it. I told him how Sir Montague had tried to come to my room that night but I had driven him out and he had called me mad.

“
Darling Rebecca,” he sighed. “I wish that coming to Willow Castle had brought you a little more joy. I wish that there was something I could do to make your life here more bearable.”

“
I shall manage, I suppose,” I said. “Mama always said that if I dedicated myself to behaving well, I should find that I could face anything in life with grace and equanimity. But it would help if I knew I would see you from time to time. I know I have no right to ask it of you-”

“
No right?” Mervyn broke in. “Rebecca, don’t say that! You have every right! I love you. You have a perfect right to ask anything you want of me.”

“
I am married to your cousin,” I groaned. “It is not right for me to talk to you this way. I shouldn’t even be here, if I were to be caught-”

“
Rebecca, listen to me. I love you. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, I love you. I have no desire to make your life more difficult and I understand that you are married to Montague and dependent on him. At present, I have nothing to offer you. I am nowhere near financially secure enough to support the two of us, and I would not put you in any danger by incurring my cousin’s wrath. All I can give you is the certainty that you are loved, deeply and truly loved, and that I will do all I can to visit you as often as I may.” Mervyn gently took my face in his hands and gazed intently into my eyes. “And if your husband ever hurts you, get a message to me by any means and I will return immediately and shoot him dead.”

Then he bent his head and leaned in towards me and I felt the soft touch of his lips upon mine, a warm caress that was utterly unlike anything I had ever experienced. His arms were around me, I leaned back upon the bed and felt him follow. Through his thin nightshirt I could feel the strong muscles of his arms and back, his chest pressing against mine. He buried his face in my long dark hair and I breathed in the scent of his cologne, an earthy musk cut through with a clean, bracing dash of lemon. Then he kissed me again and my lips parted under his, welcoming the tip of his tongue to explore my own. My blood was shot through with fire, I clung to him like a wanton and pushed my body hard against him. I felt him respond then check himself.

“Rebecca,” he panted, breaking away from me, “we must stop. I am sorry. I should not have kissed you. You have suffered a great loss and people often act strangely at times like this. It is not right that I should encourage you to compromise yourself, especially as you might regret it later. And as much as I dislike him, I would think less of myself were I to play a part in cuckolding Montague. I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I nodded, sitting up on the edge of the bed and setting my nightdress to rights. I got to my feet, preparing to leave, but Mervyn caught my hand.

“I do love you, though,” he said earnestly. “Never forget that.”

“
I know,” I replied. “And I love you. Thank you.” With that I bent down and kissed him briefly, pulling away before we could be enticed into resuming the passionate embrace that we had struggled to break. I stole out of Mervyn’s room and was safely back in my own bed long before Sarah arrived at daybreak to light the fire.

*

By the time I awoke, having finally managed to sleep for a few hours, Mervyn was already gone – but so, to my surprise, was Sir Montague.

“
The Master said not to wake you, My Lady, it being so early when they left” Sarah mumbled respectfully as she brought me a pot of chocolate in bed. “He has urgent business in town and will be back in two days.”

“
Thank you, Sarah,” I replied. I sat back on my pillows, sipping my chocolate, and considered my situation. For the first time I was alone in Willow Castle. No mother, no husband, just a handful of servants who barely noticed my comings and goings. I was finally at liberty, if only for a couple of days, to do exactly as I pleased.

8
Secrets

“
I am going out, Mrs Chapman. I shall be back in time for dinner.”

I did not break my stride as I glided down the stairs, walking straight past Mrs Chapman and throwing the words back over my shoulder as I fastened my cape and made my exit. Her acknowledgement of my words was drowned out by the dull thud of the heavy oak door as it thudded shut behind me. I crossed the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath my thick boots, and heaved the wrought iron gate open just enough to squeeze through.

The moment I was beyond the gates, I felt as though a weight had been lifted from me. I flung my arms wide and drew a deep, deep breath of clean, cold Peak air. Mam Tor lay before me in all its bleak beauty, the road to Castleton in one direction and a footpath leading up over the crest of the hill in the other. I had planned to walk towards Castleton and turn back a safe distance away from the town, since I was in deep mourning and should not be seen walking alone. Instead I found my steps turning away from the road, leading me onto the muddy footpath. I felt my feet sink in slightly with every step, the mud sucking on my boots as I lifted my feet again. My petticoats grew a little heavier as they gathered a layer of dirt at the bottom.

I thought of Mama and how horrified she would have been, seeing me tramping doggedly through the muck like this. Then I remembered that she would never see the state of my boots and that I would never need to clean them myself again. Upon my return I would simply have Sarah unlace them and they would disappear to the boot room, and I would not see them again until they were clean and polished. If I climbed dykes and stiles and tore my dress, it would be mended. If I climbed a tree and then leapt out of it straight into a muddy puddle, or chose to drag myself through a hedge backwards, I could still go home and have my garments cleaned and repaired and no-one would care enough about me to judge my behaviour. Even if one of the servants chose to inform Sir Montague, I doubted he would be in the least bit interested in my eccentricities as long as they remained as innocent as a little rambling. It was a strange sort of freedom, the kind that was born out of my Mama’s absence and my husband’s antipathy, yet it was the first freedom I had ever known.

Rambling alone over the Tor, I had my first chance to take stock of the events of the past few days. Mama’s burial, Sir Montague’s harsh words, my thrilling, guilt-laden moment with Mervyn… It all seemed as improbable and disorienting as a dream, yet at the same time it felt more real than anything I had ever experienced before.

Invigorated by the chilly air and the weak April sun I cast off my sedate, ladylike pace. I began to gallop along the muddy path, my heart pounding as my feet thundered on the ground. When the track came to an end, I kept on running. I picked up my skirts and hurtled across the grass, my heart lurching whenever I skidded on a patch of loose shale and nearly took a tumble. My bonnet blew backwards as the wind roared in my face, and nothing but the ribbon under my chin prevented it from being carried away entirely.

At last I ran out of breath and collapsed in a heap on the ground. The grass was cold and clammy, too early in the year for such exploits, but as I lay on my back and stared up at the vast emptiness of the white sky, I could not regret it. To be here, abandoning myself to nature for the first time, was worth a little discomfort. How long I lay there I do not know, but I watched as dark grey clouds began to gather in the distance and advance inexorably upon the Hope Valley. Suddenly the sky growled with far-off thunder and I realised that I had only a little time to get back to the Castle before the latest rainstorm began.

I did not quite make it. I was within sight of the gates when the fat, silvery raindrops began to fall, and by the time I had dashed across the drive my clothes were damp and little rivulets were running down my face. I hauled on the doorbell. When Mrs Chapman answered I strolled in serenely. As I had anticipated, she said nothing about the state of me other than telling me that she would send Sarah to help me change.

“Will you be wanting dinner in your room, My Lady?” she enquired.

I checked my immediate response. Emboldened by my new sense of freedom, I decided that until my husband came home Willow Castle would be truly mine. I would dine as the mistress of this place should dine.

“Not tonight, Mrs Chapman,” I informed her. “Tonight I shall dine in the Withy Chamber.”

*

That night, despite the laudanum, I found myself wakeful again. My supplies were limited and I did not want to increase the amount I took, but the current dose seemed to have little effect on me now. I lay staring into the darkness for a while, listening to the usual soundscape of the Valley – hooting owls, the occasional flutter of wings from a passing bat, distant vixens’ screeches. As I did so I became increasingly convinced that I could hear something out of the ordinary… music. I was certain that it was there, just on the edge of my hearing, a sombre, stately gavotte. But where on earth could it be coming from?

I got up and crossed the room to the fireplace, where I fumbled for a match to light my bedside candle. I threw on a shawl and my slippers and once again I eased my door open and pattered down the silent stone corridors, following the sound of this unseen orchestra.

The sound guided me towards the centre of the castle, straight to the door to the Withy Chamber. As I stood at the closed door I knew that the music was not simply imagination on my part, for it was clearly audible and had grown louder as I approached the room from whence it came. Has Sir Montague returned during the night? I wondered. Did I somehow fail to hear him return, and now he is hosting some strange nocturnal revel? But for whom?

I had expected to be greeted by the sight of dancers and musicians when I opened the door, perhaps even blinded by the blaze of a multitude of candles befitting a party. Instead, I squinted into the darkness. The only light in the Chamber was from a single candelabra on the table at which I had dined earlier, in the centre of the room. The music filled the air. A tall, slender man stood silhouetted in the candlelight, his fingers flying over the stem of a violin, but there was no sign of his fellow musicians. As he caught sight of me he stopped playing, bringing the sound of the unseen chamber orchestra to an end, and laid his instrument down.

“Lady Rebecca,” he cried, covering the floor with long strides to take seize my hand. I let him take it, expecting him to lay his lips on my fingers, but instead he turned it over and placed a burning kiss in my palm. “I have longed to meet you.”

I was dumbstruck for a moment, unable to do anything but stare. He was an odd-looking man, handsome in an unnerving way. His features were regular and his hair was thick, dark, a little long. It was his eyes that unsettled me. His gaze bored deep into me, inscrutable, like the eyes of a goat.

“I am delighted to meet you, Sir,” I replied, formally courteous, and gave him a polite curtsey. “I am sorry we are unable to be properly introduced, but won’t you tell me who you are? Are you a friend of my husband’s?”

He had not yet released my fingers from his cold grasp. He fixed me with his strange eyes and replied “Not of your husband’s, My Lady, no. But I have been acquainted with many other gentlemen of this illustrious family, all the way back to Sir Carvell.” The stranger laughed at my confused face. “Pretty little fool,” he chuckled. “Weren’t you listening to all those stories? Haven’t you spent the past month fantasising about the ill-fated Chastain brides driven mad by the cursed Withy Chamber?”

At last I realised what he was telling me. I did not know whether this was a joke, a nightmare or some genuine loathsome visitation. All I knew was that I wished to be back upstairs in the safety of my bed. I pulled my hand back but his grip was tight and he would not let me go.

“
You have figured it out,” the Devil grinned. “I congratulate you.”

“
Am I dead?” I asked in hushed tones. “Or about to die?”

“
The former, certainly not,” he replied. “The latter is beyond my control at this point. Your soul is not currently mine to take, therefore you may content yourself. This visit is an overdue social call to make the acquaintance of the new Lady Chastain. Nothing more. Nothing less. Might I persuade you to take a glass of wine with me?”

Apprehension gripped me. Can it be a good idea to drink with the Devil? I wondered. Would I not be taking a great risk? I knew that I was still a little unused to wine, since we had never been able to afford it in the house in Lisson Grove. It still went to my head easily, and I recalled an old saying of Mama’s about taking a long spoon to sup with the Devil. While her saying was figurative, I was convinced that had she realised I would one day find myself in this situation in reality, she would have advised me against partaking of anything he had to offer.

After a moment’s indecision I made up my mind. Mama had not always been correct, and she was no longer here. I allowed the Devil to lead me over to the table and fill my glass with a deep red vintage. Candlelight glimmered through the crystal as I lifted the glass to my lips. The wine spread smoothly across my tongue, rich and bitter as a ripe pomegranate. The sharp tang of alcohol caught my throat.

“
My condolences upon your marriage, Lady Rebecca,” he said, draining and refilling his own glass.

“
You mean congratulations, surely?” The warmth of the wine flowed through my veins.

“
Do you think congratulations are in order?” he smirked at me, reminding me for a moment of my beloved Mervyn. “From what I know of your husband, I would stand by my original offer of condolences.”

I smirked back. “Hmm. You may be right. Thank you.”

“Such a pity that a marriage made for its pecuniary advantages did not yield a decent set of jewels for you.”

I shrugged. “There are other things in life,” I said.

“What, such as love, happiness, a home of one’s own?” The Devil chuckled. “I can offer you the Chastain family jewels, you know. All you need do is play me for them.”

With courage I did not know I possessed, I looked the Devil straight in the eye. “They’re not yours to gamble with,” I remarked. “You lost them to Sir Carvell. I am hardly likely to play against you for something this family already owns.”

We exchanged a smile and he raised his glass to me. “Touché, Lady Rebecca, touché. Yet while the Chastains own the jewels, they do not currently know where they are to be found. I do, since I was the one who left them there. Would you like them back?”

With a wave of his slim hand he conjured an apparition before my eyes, a translucent vision of a dazzling emerald pendant.

“Can’t you just see this around your neck, My Lady?” The vision changed, becoming an ornately-wrought hand mirror. I could see my pale face, my thick braid of dark hair, the ivory linen of my nightgown. As I continued to look, I saw the pendant materialise at my throat. “Look at the way the gold warms your skin,” the Devil whispered, his voice as soft as a lover’s. “See how the emerald itself glows upon you, the way it brings out the sparkle of your eyes.”

I was tempted, I admit, by the image of such a beautiful object. Yet it was not the thought of the pendant’s glamour or value that made me accept his challenge. It was the fact that the pendant was only mine by rights because I was a Chastain bride, and in that moment I knew with an overwhelming clarity that I was married to the wrong Chastain. I saw my life with Sir Montague stretching out in front of me, my life as an unwanted, ignored wife. The best I could hope was that I would have children and that they would be more like me than life their father. Even then, I could see abandonment waiting in my future as they departed for school and later for their own lives. I thought of Mervyn, who had admitted his love for me but who could not be my lover, who must surely give up on this hopeless love someday and find a woman who was free to be his. The spectacular stone at the heart of the pendant seemed to shine with the venomous green of my envy; envy of Sir Montague’s freedom to treat me as he pleased, of Mervyn’s freedom to move on and found a life on an equal, reciprocal love, of the freedom Mama had once had to make her own mistakes rather than the mistakes she had been pushed into by a sense of responsibility and obligation. In truth, I did not care whether I retrieved the pendant or not. Whether it ever lay round my neck was of no import. All I knew was that I could not stand to be the modest, dutiful woman I had been raised to be for one minute longer.

“Since you challenged me, I name the game,” I said, my voice clear and steady in the stillness of the night. “Not cards. Chess.”

“
Very well,” the Devil replied. “And what shall you stake against the location of the jewels.”

“
If I win, you shall return the jewels to me. That means you must ensure that I have them in my hand, here in this very room, and that I am free to own them and wear them hereafter. If I lose, the jewels shall be yours.”

He shook his head. “I fear the jewels mean less to me than they would to you, Lady Rebecca,” he said. “You must offer me something of equal value.”

“Such as?”

“
Traditionally you would stake your soul,” he mused nonchalantly. “Though I would be willing to accept a lesser stake. A night in your bed, for instance.”

I hesitated for a moment. Then I thought of the strange usage I already endured at Sir Montague’s hands. The Devil himself could scarcely be less appealing. Besides, I reasoned, if all Sir Montague cares about it being able to use me at will, this is surely the best revenge I could have upon him.