‘Miss Harper?’
Violet frowned in her sleep. The voice in her dream seemed to be coming from a distance, but she had no idea what it was doing there. It was a woman’s voice, though she didn’t recognise it, repeating her name over and over, though that made no sense either. In her dream, she was out alone on the moors, desperately trying to find shelter as towers of snow piled up higher and deeper around her, imprisoning her behind their thick, white, impenetrable walls. She was lost and afraid, without any hope of rescue...
‘Miss Harper?’
A hand touched her shoulder this time and she jolted awake with a start.
‘Where am I?’ She looked around, but whoever had woken her was holding their candle directly in front of her face and all she could see was a bright orange glow.
‘Amberton Castle.’ It was the voice from her dream, though it sounded distinctly less than welcoming. ‘I’m Mrs Gargrave, the housekeeper.’
‘Oh...yes, of course. I remember.’
She sat up, squinting into the candlelight. Had she really fallen asleep? After pacing the room for what seemed like an eternity, she’d eventually curled up beneath a dustsheet on one of the old armchairs, though she hadn’t expected to sleep. Between the encroaching cold and the fading light, she hadn’t thought it possible to sleep in such an eerie-looking icebox of a room, but clearly she had. After all the anticipation and tension of the past few days, she must have been more tired than she’d realised. Judging by the darkness, not to mention the ache in her neck, she must have been there for a few hours, too.
‘We spoke in the hall earlier, I think? You said you’d arranged luncheon.’
‘I had.’ There was an indignant-sounding sniff. ‘Cook prepared a special meal to celebrate your marriage. Against master’s orders, I might add, but we wanted to welcome you properly. It’s all ruined now, though.’
‘Oh.’ She wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t as if she’d intended to get herself locked in a tower. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...’
‘In any case, your room’s almost ready.’
‘My room?’ She scrambled quickly to her feet, dimly making out the features of a gaunt-looking woman in late middle age. ‘I thought Captain Amberton said this was my room.’
‘He’s had a change of heart.’
Heart? Somehow she doubted that. He’d have to grow a heart before he could change it and it was hard to imagine the brute who’d locked her up having any kind of conscience. Still, whatever the reason for her release, she wasn’t going to dispute it.
‘I’m relieved to hear that. I was afraid I was going to be trapped here all night.’
‘It’s a disgrace!’ The housekeeper gave another loud sniff. ‘There was a time when this house was renowned for its hospitality. When his mother was alive things were done properly, but it’s been nothing but decline ever since. I don’t know why I stay sometimes...’
‘But I’m sure my new room will be very comfortable.’ Violet gestured towards the door encouragingly. Mrs Gargrave seemed to be warming to her subject and if she was going to listen, then she preferred to do it some place warmer. ‘Shall we?’
‘Aye. Very well.’ The housekeeper looked disappointed to be interrupted mid-flow. ‘This way.’
Violet followed her gratefully out of the tower, relieved to find herself back in the wood-panelled corridor. It seemed to stretch the full length of the house, with at least ten doors on one side and a long banister and yet more stairs on the other. Mrs Gargrave led her towards them and then up to another landing, almost identical to the one below.
‘I see they didn’t exaggerate, then.’ The housekeeper threw a quick glance over her shoulder as they approached one of the doors.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘About your height. You’re even smaller than they said.’
Violet faltered mid-step. Just for once she wished she could meet someone who didn’t feel the need to either stare or make some comment about her height when they met her, as if she were somehow unaware of it, like a child to be critiqued and belittled, not a woman with feelings. There was only one person who’d ever treated her as if he hadn’t noticed and she was in no mood to think charitably of him. As for everyone else, she’d had enough. She’d spent her whole life being judged for her height and she wasn’t going to tolerate it any longer. It wasn’t as if she could do anything about it.
‘I may be small, Mrs Gargrave, but at least I have the manners not to comment on somebody else’s appearance. If I didn’t, I might say you look like you’ve swallowed a lemon.’
The shoulders in front of her stiffened perceptibly. ‘Well, I’m sure I didn’t mean any offence, but you can’t pretend it’s not noticeable.’
‘I wouldn’t try to pretend. Neither can I grow any more.’
‘Aye, well.’ There was a third sniff. ‘Here’s your room, then.’
Violet approached the door with a new and invigorating feeling of triumph. There! At least she’d stood up for herself that time, just as she’d tried to stand up for herself earlier. She wasn’t going to be criticised by Mrs Gargrave any more than she was going to be intimidated by Captain Amberton, though she didn’t exactly feel as if she’d bested him. On the contrary, she’d got herself locked in a tower. For all his talk of protecting her, deep down he was no better than her father, assuming that she’d simply do what she was told.
At least he’d finally relented and let her out again. That was one small victory. Now she just had to stand firm and keep on refusing to marry him. Her capture was a setback, not the end to her hopes of freedom. Even if her reputation was ruined, she could still find her own way in the world. Once he realised that she wasn’t going to give in then he’d have to let her go. Either that or the month would expire. Not that she’d be there for so long, surely. Once Ianthe found out where she was then she and her husband Robert would come to her rescue for certain... She only hoped it wouldn’t take them too long.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that it took her a moment to realise that she was inside a new room, a cosy, candlelit chamber decorated in tones of cream and pale yellow, with a few solitary sticks of furniture and a large bay window overlooking what she presumed was the back of the house. A fire was already roaring in the grate, illuminating a curtained and canopied four-poster bed, where a maid was busily turning down the covers.
‘This is my bedroom?’ Violet looked around in amazement, half suspecting it to be some kind of trick. It was hard to imagine a greater contrast to the room she’d just left. Or to her old bedroom in Whitby for that matter. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘I won’t have it said that we don’t know how to look after guests.’ The housekeeper folded her arms emphatically. ‘No matter how badly the master behaves. Or anyone else, for that matter.’
‘It’s all ready, Mrs Gargrave.’ The maid, a curly-haired girl in her teens, bobbed a curtsy in front of them.
‘Very good, Eliza. Now I expect that Miss Harper would like some tea. Isn’t that so, Miss Harper?’
‘Very much, thank you, but might I ask, where is Captain Amberton?’
‘In the drawing room, though I doubt he’s in any fit state to be seen. He usually isn’t in the evenings. Martin, that’s his manservant, looks after him.’
‘Is that the man who was with him earlier?’
‘Aye. He came back from Canada with him. Some kind of retainer from the army, apparently, though he keeps pretty much to himself. He deals with the worst of the captain’s behaviour, though he won’t have a word said against him.’
‘Why not?’
‘You’d have to ask him. Or the master, though I wouldn’t advise it, not tonight. You’d do best to keep to your room, miss.’
‘You mean he’s been drinking?’ Violet wrinkled her brow in distaste. ‘I thought he had earlier.’
‘Aye, well.’ The housekeeper’s expression wavered slightly, as if she were about to say something and then changed her mind. ‘As to that, I couldn’t say. He’s the master and an Amberton, whatever else he is. I won’t be accused of disloyalty, no matter how much he deserves it. Now, as you can see, I’ve unpacked your bag.’
‘Thank you...’ Violet glanced across to the dresser ‘...but I’ve no intention of staying here beyond tonight.’
The older woman drew herself upright, sucking in a long breath as if she were trying to lift her ribcage as high as possible. ‘I was told the wedding was still going ahead.’
‘Then I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. I’ve no intention of marrying anyone, especially not Captain Amberton. I intend to return to Whitby as soon as possible.’
‘Without a chaperon again, I suppose?’
Violet regarded the housekeeper steadily. Judging by her tone, Mrs Gargrave held her at least partially responsible for her own situation. Well, the old Violet might have accepted that, might have shrunk inside herself at the implied accusation. The new Violet wasn’t going to shrink from anything any more.
‘Why do I get the feeling you don’t approve of me, Mrs Gargrave?’
‘It’s not my place to have an opinion.’
‘Really?’ She lifted an eyebrow sceptically. She had the distinct impression that the housekeeper had a great deal of opinions, most of them negative. ‘But if I wanted to know? If I asked you what you thought of me?’
‘Very well, then, since you asked, I don’t approve of any woman who flouts her father’s wishes and runs away from home on her own. It’s a disgrace! In my day, girls did as they were told.’
‘I see. Then it might interest you to know that I’ve spent twenty-three years doing almost everything I was told.’
‘That’s as may be...’
‘I went out once a week in my father’s company. I had no other family, very few acquaintance and even fewer friends. I was told what to do, where to go, what to wear and even what to eat. Now I believe I’ve earned the right to make a few decisions of my own, including who I do or don’t want to marry.’
‘It’s still not right for an unmarried woman to stay in a house with an unmarried man on her own.’
‘Maybe not, but that was hardly by choice. I was brought here against my will by a man who insists that I marry him despite my repeated refusals. I would have thought you’d be more shocked by that than my so-called disobedience.’
‘Well.’ Mrs Gargrave pulled her shoulders back. ‘Like I said, it’s none of my business. I’ve told him what I think of his behaviour, for all the good it’ll do, and now I’ve told you what I think of yours. In my book you’re as bad as each other. I’ve done my part to make you comfortable and I won’t have it said that I didn’t. The rest is between the two of you. I shan’t be dragged into anything sordid.’
‘How charitable of you, Mrs Gargrave.’ Violet felt seized with the unlikely desire to laugh. The housekeeper’s flinty expression clearly suggested that she thought her some kind of harlot. It was the first time in her life she’d been criticised for loose morals and the feeling was strangely liberating. ‘As long as your conscience is clear.’
They were prevented from saying anything more as the door opened again and Eliza came back into the room bearing a tray laden with tea and sandwiches.
‘There now.’ The housekeeper gave one last resounding sniff as the maid deposited the tray on a table. ‘If there’s anything else you need, ring the bell. Eliza here will see to you. Goodnight, Miss Harper.’
‘Goodnight, Mrs Gargrave.’ Violet inclined her head with exaggerated politeness. ‘I’m very grateful. To you, too, Eliza.’
She stood, smiling and motionless until the door closed behind them, then scurried across to the tea tray, tucking into the sandwiches and gulping the tea down with relish. She hadn’t eaten anything all day and her empty stomach had been making gurgling sounds all the way upstairs.
Satiated at last, she made her way to the nightstand, poured some water into a basin and scrubbed her face and neck vigorously. That felt better. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel the least bit tired any more. Quite the opposite, she felt restored and reinvigorated, and now she was free she had absolutely no intention of staying where she was told, no matter what Mrs Gargrave suggested. As long as she avoided the drawing room, what better time to explore the house than when everyone else was in bed? It might be useful to work out an escape route.
Before she did anything, however, it was best to be prepared. Quickly, she rummaged in the dresser for her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders on top of her other clothes. She still hadn’t removed her cloak and she didn’t intend to just yet. She wouldn’t put it past Captain Amberton to lock her up again if he found her and this time she intended to stay warm, even if it meant wearing all her clothes at once. Finally she picked up a candle and opened the door, listening at the crack for a few seconds before stealing out into the corridor.
The house seemed to echo with silence as she crept along the landing, down the first flight of stairs and back to the main staircase. Heart beating erratically, she waited at the top of the banisters for a few moments, straining her ears, but there were no sounds, not as much as a faint murmur of voices in the background.
A tingle of apprehension ran down her spine. If she hadn’t know better, she would have thought the entire place abandoned. In the near darkness, it looked full of mysterious shapes and shadows that made her want to rush headlong back to the safety of her room, but that was what the old, timid Violet would do. The new Violet steeled her nerve instead and made her way determinedly down the staircase to the front door. As she’d expected, it was locked.
She turned around, resting the back of her head against the wood as she surveyed the great hall. The fire in the grate was low, so that only half of the room was illuminated, the rest of it shrouded in an eerie, uncanny gloom.
Or was it? She took a few steps forward, screwing her eyes up to be certain. There was one other source of light, a thin orange glow emanating from beneath one of the doors that led off from the hall. It was the room Captain Amberton had stormed out of earlier, just before he’d dragged her upstairs. Was that the drawing room? She put her candle down on the central table and tiptoed towards it, pressing her ear against the wood. Silence. Was he inside? Mrs Gargrave had said so, but then it was possible that he’d gone to bed in the meantime. Failing that, he might have fallen asleep. She felt a sudden overpowering urge to find out, to see the inside of the monster’s lair, if not the monster himself.
Cautiously she wrapped her fingers around the door handle and twisted, ignoring the voice of common sense that told her to walk, if not run, away as she opened the door and peered nervously around the edge, letting out a breath of relief as she did so. The room appeared to be empty, though it was nothing at all like she would have expected, far more inviting than a monster’s lair, albeit with a distinctly masculine feel, with walls of gleaming mahogany wood, half-a-dozen burgundy leather armchairs, two green-velvet sofas and deep crimson-coloured rugs and curtains.
Intrigued, she took a few steps inside. The fashion for trinkets seemed to have completely passed the room by. There were no extraneous ornaments, nor as much as a lace doily in sight, just two large sideboards on which stood an impressive selection of bottles, empty glasses and books. The only decorations were a few paintings dotted around the walls, mostly of horses, and one landscape, a view of Whitby Bay, hanging over the still furiously roaring fire.
That was when she caught sight of him, sprawled in an armchair by the fireside, one booted foot propped up on a stool with the other stretched out in front of him, his chiselled features half-obscured by the sweeping locks of his unkempt dark hair. She froze instantly, afraid that he might have heard her, though by the regular rise and fall of his chest, he was fast asleep.
She waited a few moments to be sure before moving closer, slowly and steadily, hardly able to believe her own daring. For some reason, she wanted a closer look. Now that his anger had dissipated, temporarily at least, he looked strikingly handsome again, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by the pungent aroma of cigar smoke and whisky that filled the air around him.
Her foot bumped against an empty decanter lying beside his chair and she frowned down into his face. It was still recognisably that of the charming young officer she’d met five years before, only slightly more weatherbeaten, with lines etched into his forehead and between his thick brows that she didn’t remember—too many, as if his burdens had increased tenfold since then. But then, a lot had happened in the meantime. His banishment, the loss of his father and brother, his injury... Were they lines of dissipation or of grief?
‘Ah, Miss Harper.’ His voice was so low it was almost a growl. ‘My reluctant fiancée. Taking a good look?’