She turned
towards the door . . . and jumped, as she saw Miss Parkins standing there.
She
moves like a cat
, thought
Helena
, unnerved by Miss Parkins’s silent approach.
Miss Parkins
was standing with her hands folded in front of her and she looked at
Helena
with expressionless eyes.
‘Miss
Parkins,’ said
Helena
,
feeling that she must speak. ‘Did you want to see me about something?’
‘I wanted to
inform you that the door into the attic has been broken, but I see you have
already discovered it,’ said Miss Parkins, watching her. ‘Do you know what
happened?’
‘Yes,’ said
Helena
, standing up to her. ‘One
of the maids thought she heard a cat in here, and I ordered the footmen to
break the lock. I was concerned that the animal might be trapped.’
‘That is
strange. Dawkins believed he heard a cat in there several weeks ago.’
‘It must have
crawled back in.’
Helena
could tell that Miss
Parkins did not believe her, but did not say so. Instead, it was as though they
were playing some deadly game.
‘And did you
find it?’ asked Miss Parkins.
‘No. I believe
it must have climbed out again without our help.’
‘So there was
no need to break the lock.’
‘I did not
know that at the time.’ There was an awkward silence, then
Helena
said, ‘I must not keep
you.’
‘You are not
keeping me,’ said Miss Parkins.
‘Then you must
excuse me. I have work to do.’
Miss Parkins
did not move out of the way. Instead she said: ‘There was no mention of you
destroying property in your previous positions.’
‘I can see no
point in discussing the matter further,’ said
Helena
, unwilling to be drawn into a
conversation about her supposed previous positions. ‘If his lordship wishes to
take the cost of repairing the lock from my wages, then I am sure he will do
so.’
She did not
ask Miss Parkins to leave again, she simply walked past her. She could feel
Miss Parkins’s eyes on her, but she resisted the urge to look back . . .
until Miss Parkins spoke again, just as she reached the landing.
‘I found a
pile of handkerchiefs in the cupboard in your room,’ she said. ‘I expected to
find them embroidered with your initials, ER, but instead they were embroidered
with the initial C.’
Helena
’s throat constricted. She
had forgotten to lock her door when she had gone downstairs for breakfast, and she
was glad her back was to Miss Parkins, so that Miss Parkins would not see the
consternation that swept across her face.
Taking a
moment to gather herself, she turned round and said: ‘Do you make a habit of
going into other people’s rooms and going through their cupboards?’
‘I feared it
might be damp,’ said Miss Parkins. ‘I did not want your clothes to become
mildewed.’
‘It is not
your job to see to damp cupboards. That is my preserve,’ said
Helena
.
‘I help his
lordship in any way I can. Mrs Carlisle was also pleased to have my assistance.
I am surprised you do not feel the same way. But you have not told me why your
handkerchiefs bear the initial C.’
Helena
had had time to think,
and a simple solution to the problem presented itself as her aunt’s initial was
also C.
‘They are not
my handkerchiefs. I found them in the cupboard. They must have belonged to the
previous housekeeper.’
‘How very
singular,’ said Miss Parkins, in a voice devoid of emotion.
‘In what way?’
asked
Helena
, suddenly apprehensive.
A malicious
gleam of triumph entered Miss Parkins’s eye.
‘Mrs Carlisle
did not occupy that room.’
Helena
felt as though the floor
had suddenly given way beneath her.
‘I thought . .
. that is, I assumed . . . that she had the bed chamber I now occupy.’
‘No, she did
not. So if she had had any handkerchiefs they would not have been in that
room.’
‘Perhaps she
had just had them laundered,’ said
Helena
, thinking quickly, ‘and one of the maids returned them to
the wrong room by mistake.’
‘Strange that
the maid should return them to a room with no fire, and no sheets on the bed,’
said Miss Parkins.
Helena
felt as though she was a
mouse who had been caught by a particularly malignant cat.
‘Perhaps she
went into the room to air it, and then forgot to reclaim the handkerchiefs when
she left,’
Helena
said.
‘Mrs Carlisle
was not a great believer in instructing the maids to air the rooms,’ said Miss
Parkins.
‘Oh, yes — ’
said
Helena
, about to say that her
aunt had been a great believer in fresh air. She recovered herself quickly. ‘— she
must have been. The room smelt fresh, not as though it had been shut up. Any
good housekeeper knows the value of opening the windows when the weather is
fine.’
Miss Parkins
stared at her, and
Helena
felt an urge to squirm. She was held, mesmerised, by Miss Parkins’s strange
eyes, and she found herself wondering if she had ever seen Miss Parkins blink.
‘Do you have a
forwarding address? Then I can send them on to her,’ said
Helena
, trying to turn the
situation to her advantage.
‘No. I have no
address.’
That is a
pity. Then it seems I will have to keep them.’
‘Perhaps you
can use them yourself,’ said Miss Parkins.
‘I do not
believe I would wish to do so,’ said
Helena
, conscious of the fact that she had one such handkerchief
tucked up her sleeve at that very moment. ‘Now, Miss Parkins, I am very busy,
and I will bid you good day.’
Helena
turned and once more
walked out onto the landing. As she did so, Miss Parkins said: ‘The castle is a
strange place. It has seen many strange things. No doubt, it will see many
more.’
Helena
did not look back, but
felt uneasy as she went downstairs. Was it a threat? she wondered. Or was it a
warning? Either way, she felt she must be on her guard.
Preparing the castle for the ball was
hard work, but by and by, it began to take on a brighter air. The hall was
clean and fresh, the downstairs rooms were dusted and the ballroom was ready.
She and Mrs Beal were putting the finishing touches to the supper menu for the
night of the ball.
‘Of course,
the balls aren’t nearly as big as they were in her late ladyship’s time. She
had a lot of society friends and they came from all over:
London
,
Edinburgh
and
Paris
. Very good to the servants, she was,
her ladyship. “The servants must have their fun as well”, she used to say. The
day after the ball the family would be up late, and they’d have a bit of a
sandwich for lunch. Then we’d lay out a cold supper for them in the dining-room
at
six
o’clock
and
they’d help themselves. We had our own ball then, and didn’t have to touch a
bit of housework til the following morning — A Solomon Grundy for the centre of
the table?’ she asked, breaking off in mid sentence to suggest a dish for the
ball.
‘Yes, that
will look impressive,’ said
Helena
.
Mrs Beal wrote
it down.
‘There were
ever so many of us,’ she said, reminiscing again. ‘Mr Vance the butler – a very
stately gentleman he was – kept everyone in order, and there were the outside
staff, too, stable boys, grooms – and didn’t they just chase the maids! – and
coachmen, all dressed up.’
‘The servants
dressed up, too?’ asked
Helena
, surprised.
‘Yes. It was
our own costume ball. Many a maid’s been a queen on ball night. There were
pirates and monks – Mr Vance was once Julius Caesar. “Oh, Julius, seize her!”
said one of the grooms, a cheeky young monkey, when Mr Vance was trying to
pluck up the courage to dance with the housekeeper – I was just the kitchen
maid then. Well, Mr Vance, he went bright red, but he did it all the same,
seized her, that is, and the two of them whirled round the room. He married her
in the end, and the two of them are living in
Hull
.’
‘We might get
up some kind of dance on the night after the ball ourselves,’ said Mrs Beal.
‘Nothing so grand, but it might persuade the maids to stay if they think
there’s some fun to be had from time to time. I’ve still got the costumes,
packed away in a tea chest.’
‘I will speak
to Lord Torkrow and see if he will allow it,’
Helena
said.
When they had
agreed the final menu, she said: ‘Where are the costumes? If his lordship
approves of the ball, I will ask the maids to help me sort through them and see
if they need washing or mending. They can choose what they will wear, and it
will help me to motivate them to work hard. Some of them are prone to stop and
gossip the minute my back is turned.’
‘They’re in
the last pantry,’ said Mrs Beal. She took a key off a chain round her waist and
handed it to
Helena
.
‘I will go and
make sure the moths haven’t attacked them, before I mention it,’ said
Helena
. ‘Disappointed hopes will
lead to less work, not more.’
Mrs Beal
agreed.
‘I’ve to go to
the dairy, but you can give the key back to me when I return.’
Helena
took the key and went
through the first pantry and into a smaller one. After going through five
similar rooms, each with its own purpose, she came to one that was empty apart
from a large tea chest. She knelt down and opened the chest. There was a musty
smell as she lifted the lid, but she saw that the costumes were in good
condition. She took out a medieval gown made of dark red velvet. Beneath it was
a gold mask. She picked it up and an idea came to her. If she wore it on the
night of the ball, then she could pass unnoticed amongst Lord Torkrow’s guests.
She had been getting nowhere in her quest to find her aunt, but if she could
talk to the neighbouring gentry she might learn something. They would not
confide in a housekeeper, but would have no hesitation in talking to a woman
they took to be their social equal. One of them might have seen her aunt board
the stagecoach if they had been returning home after a night of carousing, and
Helena
might learn, at least, if
her aunt had gone north or south.
She closed the
chest, resolving to return and take the medieval gown up to her room later,
together with the hat, mask and shoes that went with it. If she mixed them in
with a pile of freshly-laundered sheets, then no one would see what she was
doing.
As she stood
up, she noticed that a small door led out of the pantry, opposite the door
through which she had come. It was only two and a half feet high, and she was
curious as to its purpose. She tried the handle, and the door opened. It led
into a low passageway. It was dark inside. She looked around the pantry,
finding a candle and tinder box in a drawer. Lighting the candle, she knelt
down and peered into the tunnel. It smelled dank. The floor was made of
hard-packed earth, and as she put out her hand to feel it, she discovered it
was damp.
She did not
want to go through, but she could not ignore what she had found, so, pushing
the candle in front of her, she began to crawl through the tunnel. She felt the
damp seeping through her dress, and her knees were cold. She looked over her
shoulder, wondering if she should close the door, for it would look strange if
anyone entered the room, but she had a fear of being shut in. Besides, the light
was a help, both to her eyes and her nerves.
She went on,
shivering as the dank walls closed about her and watching the candle flame
anxiously as it flickered and spurted in the gloom.
She had not
gone far, however, when the roof began to raise, and before long she could
stand up. She walked for some distance before she found her way blocked by
another door. She tried to open it, but it was heavy, and it was not until she
set her shoulder to it that she felt it give. She pushed with all her might and
slowly it opened. She went through and found herself in a mausoleum. The
desolate place made her shiver, and the candle flickered with the trembling of
her hand.
In the corners
of the stone edifice were leaf skeletons, dry and brittle and decayed with age.
Dust lay thickly on the floor, and spiders’ webs hung from the stone ceiling.
In the centre of the mausoleum was a tomb.
Helena
went forward and examined
it. The stone figure of a man lay on the tomb with his feet on a lion. He was
dressed in stone armour and a stone sword was at his side. He was,
Helena
guessed, one of Lord
Torkrow’s ancestors.