Castle of Secrets by Amanda Grange Read Free Book Online Page B

lord,
very good, my lord,’ said Dawkins, bowing, before heading towards the door.
    Summoning her
courage, Helena spoke to the earl as he
passed.
    ‘Might I speak
to you, my lord?’ she asked.
    He turned
towards her, and she wondered what he was thinking. Nothing very pleasant, if
his expression was any guide. His mouth was grim, and his deep-set eyes looked
haggard.
    ‘Well?’ he
demanded.
    ‘It is about
the maids, my lord. I understand there used to be some working here. I do not
believe I can keep the castle clean without help. There is a great deal of 
dusting and polishing to be done, to say nothing of the floors to be washed.
Mrs Carlisle had some housemaids to help her, I understand.’
    He looked at
her as though weighing his words and then said: ‘And so you would like me to
appoint some?’
    ‘I could take
care of that, my lord, if I had permission to employ, perhaps, two girls.’
    ‘Very well.
You may walk in to the village on Friday. See to it, Mrs Reynolds, but don’t
disturb me with this matter again.’
    ‘Very good, my
lord.’
    He strode past
her, and went into the library.
    Perhaps Martha
and Sally could shed new light on her aunt’s sudden departure, she thought . .
. and perhaps they could tell her more about the crying in the attic.
    For some
reason the tale had disturbed her. It had only been the sound of a cat. And
even if it had, by any chance, been a human being, it would not have been Aunt
Hester. Helena could not remember Aunt
Hester ever crying.
    But a small
voice asked her: what if it had been Aunt Hester? What if Aunt Hester
had had some bad news, and had left the castle accordingly?
    She found that
she was walking towards the stairs, almost without her own volition, and she
knew she would have no peace until she had been to the attic, to see if,
perhaps, there might be any evidence that her aunt had been there. Now was a
good time, for there was no chance of encountering Dawkins, who was on an
errand for Lord Torkrow.
    Lifting the
hem of her skirt, she mounted the stairs, going up to the second floor and then
looking for the steps that led to the attic. She found them at last, tucked
away in a corner. They formed a narrow spiral staircase, lit by arrow slits in
the walls.
    She went up as
fast as she safely could, and finally reached the top. To her left was a row of
windows, and from them she could see the moors stretching out before her, their
undulating hills and hummocks a dull green against the grey sky. Set in their
midst, the castle was isolated and cut off, and she was forcefully reminded of
the fact that it was a long back to town, and civilization. Anything could
happen in the castle, and no one would ever know . . .
    She turned her
attention back to the task in hand. She saw a long corridor on either side of
her, from which various doors opened off. At the end of each corridor was a
heavy oak door, the doors to the east and west wings, she supposed.
    Dawkins had
said the crying came from the east wing, and, glancing at the dim sun that
shone weakly through a rent in the clouds to get her bearings, she chose the
east door. She tried to open it, but it was locked.
    She began to
try the keys. One by one, she tried them all, but none of them fitted. She
listened at the door, but could hear nothing, so she knocked on the door, and
called out, but there was no reply.
    There is no
one there ,
she thought. The attic is disused. The crying was nothing more than a cat,
and the animal escaped weeks ago .
    But a need to
get into the east wing and see for herself had taken hold of her, and she went
into the large attic room that was nearest to the east wing, hoping that there
might be a way through. It was a vast space, and draughts swirled around her.
It was full of old pieces of furniture, a selection of childhood toys and
assorted broken chairs, tables and household objects. The floorboards were
bare. She went into the corners, but there was no sign of a door, or a way into
the east