Midnight Secrets (3 page)

The Killdarens’ wealth and position had kept the twin sons of the family from a hangman’s noose once. As I made my way down the hill, following the craggy path to their land, I wondered if one of them had murdered again.

Once I reached the estate, an understanding of the vastness of the Killdarens’ fortune dawned. I passed an elaborate, two-story stable, large enough to be a manor house itself. Then I skirted the edge of the a massive formal garden, where dozens of statues and a riot of color from blooming phlox, pansies, rhododendron and gladiolas did little to ease my spirit. The sun glistening off the marble and showering the flowers reminded me of Mary. She loved flowers and sunlight. I could almost picture her in the gardens, her cheeks flushed with pleasure and her arms laden with blooms.

Cresting a knoll, I took in the full scope of the estate and saw that the darkness behind the gardens wasn’t the maritime forest, but a large, elaborate maze that eventually lost itself into a thick expanse of trees. I stopped and stared at the high hedges of the maze, seeing just how obscuring the looming green labyrinth was and I shivered. In just a few steps, a woman
could
disappear.

I moved on and saw an odd building jutting from the castle’s main structure. Three-storied and glass-domed, it cast a shadow over half of the garden, marring its beauty. No light, no matter how bright, could alter the building’s frightening façade. Dark gray stone walls were topped with sinister gargoyles and black curtains covered the encircling windows, shrouding it like a tomb.

A face flashed in the nearest window then was gone, but the sensation that someone continued to secretly watch me lingered. I hurried to the servants’ door and quickly rapped the knocker before I could change my mind. The people inside these walls were the last to see Mary alive, and I had to learn what they knew, even if I had to use deceit to do so.

The Killdarens’ affluence put them not only above the law, but also socially beyond any persons of my acquaintance. Why, even calling the intricately carved brass and mahogany door a servants’ entrance seemed ludicrous, for its grandness could grace the front of any opulent residence I’d ever entered.

The door opened with a yawning creak.

I don’t know exactly what I expected, but it wasn’t a jaunty smile and a twinkling gaze.

“And I thought me bonnie lived over the sea.” The look in the man’s eyes practically undressed me on the spot.

I stepped back, barely remembering to curb my admonishing response to such an improper and personal greeting. “Beg your pardon, sir, but I’m Cassie Andrews. I hear you are in need of a maid.”

He stared at me for a long moment before he called to someone inside. “Ma, you’ve a visitor.”

“Stuart Frye! Did you take any scones?” The sharp voice cut abrasively through the air.

“She’s all bark and no bite,” the man whispered, then winked as he bit into a scone. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Dressed in a worn cotton shirt and pants the color of old leather, he had a rugged appeal that went well with his familiar manner.

The woman’s voice from inside grew louder. “What did you say? No boy of mine had better be talking behind my back or he’ll end up in more trouble than he can handle.”

“Promise to be nice to the pretty maid and I’ll behave. She looks like a dose of pure sunshine dropped on our doorstep.”

Heat flagged my cheeks. How could he flirt so outlandishly with his mother right behind him?

Mrs. Frye appeared in the doorway, brandishing a formidable scowl and a wooden spoon. Her stone gray hair was twisted into a hard knot at the top of her head and pulled so tightly back from her face that I felt the pain of it in a glance. She wore a black uniform relieved only by the plain lines of a white apron and her pale face—a face which might have been pretty but for her icy sternness. She smacked her son on the shoulder with the spoon. “You keep those roving eyes to yourself.”

“Bake me scones and I’ll be nice.” He laughed and held up an entire handful of goodies as he brushed a kiss to the prickly woman’s cheek before strolling down the steps.

“Those scones are for Miss Prudence’s tea!”

“You tell her I stole them. Maybe that will get her to step a dainty foot outside, and bring Rebecca with her. It isn’t right to keep a child all locked up.”

Goodness! I jerked my gaze between the two of them, recognizing the name of the blind child Mary had come to teach.

“Don’t go exaggerating circumstances. Rebecca’s delicate and needs special care.”

“Not any more than Jamie, and look how well he turned out.”

I saw a crack in Mrs. Frye’s harsh armor. Her features softened, and for a brief moment she appeared almost motherly. “Whatever else you’ve done, you did right by your brother. Now stop wasting time.” She shot her gaze to me. “Well, missy, are you here for work?”

I nodded.

Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in close to my face. “You aren’t from around here, and you don’t look like a scullery maid. What trouble are you in?”

“No trouble, ma’am.” I crossed my fingers, hoping God would forgive me for lying. “My father’s ill and we’ve little money left. He lost his post as a vicar. I need work.”

“Humph. I don’t know if you’ll do or not. I won’t be putting up with no airs and no consorting. You must live here so you can be watched, and you’re forbidden from any wild celebrations with the villagers. Sneak out at night and you’ll be searching for a new post by morning.”

“Yes, ma’am. Please, ma’am. I need the work.”

“Be here at dawn tomorrow with your things.” She scowled and then slammed the door in my face. I stood on the step, blinking, wondering if I’d imagined the whole incident. Darkening shadows and a brisker wind soon convinced me I hadn’t. Upon leaving the castle grounds, I practically ran to Seafarer’s Inn, somewhat stunned but elated as well. I couldn’t believe I’d secured the post.

Unfortunately, when I told my family, they couldn’t believe it either and went immediately into hysterics that seemed to have no end.

Andromeda pressed her palm to my forehead. “My word, Cassie, has your grief driven you insane?”

“This is a disaster! A parlor maid? The scandal! I can’t believe you’ve done this.” Aunt Lavinia wailed as if the world had come to an end.

I drew a deep breath. “If everyone would calm down and think about this for a moment, all of you would realize this is the perfect answer. I’ll be able to speak with people who worked with Mary.”

“Don’t they hang spies when they catch them?” Gemini sounded entirely too curious about the matter.

“The gallows!” Aunt Lavinia fell back upon the sofa, looking as if she would faint as she held up her hand. “No. It’ll be worse than that. They’ll brand you a fallen woman and cut off your hair. You’ll never be able to marry.”

Though I knew it to be utter nonsense, the image of me shorn and hanging from one of Killdaren’s Castle’s high stone turrets flitted across my mind. “Hush this insanity. Working as a maid is no less honorable than working as a governess. And should they discover I am searching for the truth about Mary, the worse that can happen is I’ll be dismissed. And what’s more, I’ve no desire to marry anyway. I want a career as a journalist.” I didn’t even know that myself until the words burst from me.

I had long resigned myself to spinsterhood, for surely no man could love a woman who dreamed of people’s deaths. But I hadn’t a set course for my future either, I hadn’t imagined doing anything other than what I had done every day for years. Now I realized I wanted to accomplish more than what my etiquette column offered.

“Not marry!” Aunt Lavinia gasped as if that was the most shocking thing she’d heard yet.

“You already are a journalist,” Andromeda said.

“Writing ‘Cassiopeia’s Corner’ hardly qualifies as being a journalist. A real journalist is one that discovers stories and writes about them.”

Andromeda grabbed my hand. “I didn’t know you were unhappy.”

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “I’m not. And this isn’t about me. It is about Mary. Somewhere behind the stone walls is the answer to what happened to her, and I won’t rest until I find it.”

“What if something bad did happen to Mary? Wouldn’t you be in danger?” Andromeda turned my way, her heart in her eyes. She’d said the first sane words since the discussion began.

“I’ll have Father’s pistol. I’ll be careful. Besides, all I am going to do is to scrub a few floors and ask a few questions. How hard or dangerous can that be?”

I slipped silently from the Seafarer’s Inn a little before dawn, tiptoeing out with a few of my belongings stuffed into the potato sack along with the pistol, something I prayed I wouldn’t need but was prepared to use. I didn’t wake my aunt and sisters. Another tearful barrage would do little to help either of us, so I left a note instead, telling them I would contact them as soon as possible. Despite my family’s misgivings, I did not think this to be a rash or deadly move, for unlike Mary, I entered Killdaren’s Castle armed and aware there might be danger lurking in its shadows.

As I made my way in the dawn’s glowing light, a strange anticipation for discovering what lay beyond the castle’s stone walls fluttered inside me and filled me with guilt. How could I find excitement in investigating my cousin’s death? It was not a very flattering observation and made me want to ignore the practical and starkly honest conscience I’d always heeded.

Thankfully, I soon crested the sand dunes separating the seaside inn from the view of the castle and paused to breathe deeply of the salty air. The sun rose like a fiery god from the wavy, blue horizon. Tangy sea breezes tugged at my knotted chignon and whipped at the skirts of the homespun wool dress I had purchased from one of the inn’s maids last night. The early morning mists and the sound of the sea wrapped around me, tightening the sorrow squeezing my heart. I reached into my pocket and rubbed the pheasant shell, wondering if Mary had had her matching shell with her when she disappeared. I knew she’d brought it to Cornwall from a letter she’d written earlier this year.

“Mary, are you out there?” I whispered softly.

Arcing overhead, a gull cried a sharp, plaintive note as if answering me before diving to the right and drawing my gaze toward my destination. This morning, the pinkish-gold hues of dawn painted the gray stone walls and cast an eerie beauty over the castle’s forbidding façade, almost making me doubt I had seen a face in the window yesterday afternoon. Almost, but not quite. Nothing could brighten the darkness of the maze or the looming presence of the stone gargoyles. I kept my gaze focused on the back door, determined to ignore the urge to run knotting my stomach.

Before I could knock, the door flung open. Mrs. Frye stood there with her hands planted on her hips. “You’re late!”

I glanced at the rising sun. “I apologize, ma’am.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? You’ve chores that need doing. Impoverished vicar’s daughter or not, you’ll get no special treatment here. Your only time off will be half-days Sunday, so you can rightly serve the Lord’s commands. Otherwise, there’ll be no lazing about.”

Apparently dawn meant before the light of day and not minutes after.

“Yes, ma’am.” I followed her stiff-backed march into the castle, where the size of the rooms and the height of the ceilings completely swallowed me. An arched doorway joined two kitchens that stretched like a sea of order and cleanliness. Not a speck marred the shine of the wood floor, not a spoon, dish, or knife lay out of place and the copper pots gleamed like mirrors.

Mrs. Frye didn’t pause, but moved faster. “The cook, Mrs. Murphy, will be returning from the market soon. Once you and Bridget finish the dining room, you can both assist with the cooking.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I drew a deep breath and drank in my fill of the hominess. Beneath the smell of fresh scones filling a silver platter on the counter, the welcoming scents of lemon, beeswax and dried spices lingered in the air.

“Besides your assigned duties, you’ll do as the upstairs maids and Nurse Tolley ask. They mainly take care of Miss Prudence and her daughter, Rebecca.” She took the staircase from the kitchens. “You’re to use the servants’ stairs at all times. The only time you are anywhere in the house other than in the kitchens and your room is if you’re cleaning. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” We rounded landing after landing until we reached the top floor. The Killdarens were Irish and I kept looking for some bit of Celtic antiquity to show. Though immaculately clean and made of rich, dark wood, the walls of the servants’ stairwell were completely bare, and no sounds beyond the brush of our skirts and our muffled steps could be heard. The household seemed unnaturally quiet, almost eerily so. It was like tiptoeing through a graveyard.

“You’ll share a room with Bridget, the other downstairs maid. Breakfast for the servants is thirty minutes before sun up. You missed it this morning, so there’ll be no meal until later. I’ll give you five minutes to settle your things and then I expect you downstairs.”

“I’ll hurry, ma’am.”

“See that you do.” She turned to face me and her apparently perpetual scowl deepened. She didn’t like what she saw. “You’ll need to cover that yellow hair with a mob cap in order to be decent.”

I slid my fingers over my chignon, wondering what about my hair was indecent.

“I have fresh uniform dresses in the storage closet, though nothing as small as you. After the chores are done this evening, we’ll find two that you can take in. I expect you to be wearing one first thing in the morning. Above all other rules, there are two you must adhere implicitly to. You’re to make no noise, and once in your room at night, you’re to stay there until morning. I’ll not have any roaming about. The Killdaren sleeps during the daytime and is busy during the night. No one is to disturb him, ever. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nearly bit my tongue to keep from asking why. What manner of man slept when all others were awake?

Mrs. Frye left after giving an additional warning not to waste another moment. I hurriedly unpacked my sack, taking time to hide the pistol and my crime publications under the thin, lumpy mattress. The room contained no frills, but was amply furnished with two small cot-like beds, a desk and chair, a washstand and mirror, and a small wardrobe. It reminded me of Mrs. Frye—serviceable, impeccably clean and no character beyond what was necessary to be functional.