Read Online Castle of Secrets by Amanda Grange - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Grange
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left again yesterday.’
‘Briefly, yes.
But the castle keeps drawing me back. It is not fond of letting its inhabitants
go.’ He looked deep into her eyes once more, and his words sounded like a
warning. ‘One way or another, it finds a way to keep them.’
He fell
silent, and Helena stood there, unable to
pass, but unwilling to disturb him. He had become lost in thought, and his eyes
were fixed on the floor. After a minute he roused himself.
‘You must tell
me what you think of the book when you have read it,’ he said, dropping his arm
so that she could pass. ‘We are not unlike the knights of old, you and I. We,
too, have monsters to fight.’
Helena was unsettled. What
monsters did Lord Torkrow have to fight? Were they real or imagined? And what
of her aunt? How did she fit into all this? Where was she? With a sick sister Helena knew nothing about? Or
had something happened to her?
He seemed to
be oblivious of her presence, for he had sunk into his own thoughts, and Helena quietly left the room.
She went upstairs, taking her book into her bedroom. As she put it on the
table, she wondered if her aunt had sat at that very table writing her letters.
If only the table could talk, what tales might it tell?
Aunt Hester , she thought, why did
you not tell me you were leaving the castle? If you did leave it . . . Did the
castle find a way to keep you, too? Are you being held here against your will?
Aunt
Hester, where are you?
Simon scarcely noticed the door
closing. He was lost in his thoughts, seeing the past, when the castle had
flourished. It had been full of noise and colour when his parents had been
alive, until . . .
Strange how
the sight of the daffodils had taken him back to that time, their bright yellow
and green reminding him that there were colours beyond the stone, oak and metal
of the castle.
How soft they
had seemed, how fragile, as she had been soft and fragile . .
He brought his
thoughts back to the present with difficulty. The sight of the flowers had
taken him aback and he had lowered his guard, but that was not something he
could afford to do, not until he was sure that she really was Mrs Reynolds, and
not even then. She was his housekeeper and nothing more. The secrets of the
castle were not for her.
It was evening. Having dined with Mrs
Beal, Helena was sitting by the fire
in her room. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the black night. She was
leafing through Le Morte d’Arthur , looking at the illustrations, which
were beautifully done. It was as she looked at a picture of a man with a candle
that a thought struck her. In the absence of a key to the east wing of the
attic, she might be able to find out if anyone was in there by going out into
the grounds and seeing if there was a light in the window. It was still early,
not yet seven
o’clock , and
she decided to go before it was too late.
She laid aside
her book, uncurled herself from the chair and put on her cloak and heavy shoes.
She tied her bonnet under her chin, pulled on her gloves then went down the
stairs.
She slipped
out of a side door, and walked across the lawn, which was silvered by the moon.
She walked away from the castle, so that she could see the windows clearly when
she looked back. When she felt she had gone far enough she turned and looked
up, but they were dark. There was not a glimmer of light anywhere. She had
been hoping to see something, but there was nothing.
She was just
about to go back inside when she caught sight of a lantern bobbing along in the
distance. Her senses were immediately alert. Who would be going out with a
lantern at this time of night? And where were they going? She hesitated. A part
of her wanted to ignore it, but curiosity won over caution, and she began to
cautiously follow.
The light
disappeared briefly and Helena realized that whoever had been carrying it had gone through
the archway in the outer wall. She followed quickly, taking care to stay well
back so that she
‘Briefly, yes.
But the castle keeps drawing me back. It is not fond of letting its inhabitants
go.’ He looked deep into her eyes once more, and his words sounded like a
warning. ‘One way or another, it finds a way to keep them.’
He fell
silent, and Helena stood there, unable to
pass, but unwilling to disturb him. He had become lost in thought, and his eyes
were fixed on the floor. After a minute he roused himself.
‘You must tell
me what you think of the book when you have read it,’ he said, dropping his arm
so that she could pass. ‘We are not unlike the knights of old, you and I. We,
too, have monsters to fight.’
Helena was unsettled. What
monsters did Lord Torkrow have to fight? Were they real or imagined? And what
of her aunt? How did she fit into all this? Where was she? With a sick sister Helena knew nothing about? Or
had something happened to her?
He seemed to
be oblivious of her presence, for he had sunk into his own thoughts, and Helena quietly left the room.
She went upstairs, taking her book into her bedroom. As she put it on the
table, she wondered if her aunt had sat at that very table writing her letters.
If only the table could talk, what tales might it tell?
Aunt Hester , she thought, why did
you not tell me you were leaving the castle? If you did leave it . . . Did the
castle find a way to keep you, too? Are you being held here against your will?
Aunt
Hester, where are you?
Simon scarcely noticed the door
closing. He was lost in his thoughts, seeing the past, when the castle had
flourished. It had been full of noise and colour when his parents had been
alive, until . . .
Strange how
the sight of the daffodils had taken him back to that time, their bright yellow
and green reminding him that there were colours beyond the stone, oak and metal
of the castle.
How soft they
had seemed, how fragile, as she had been soft and fragile . .
He brought his
thoughts back to the present with difficulty. The sight of the flowers had
taken him aback and he had lowered his guard, but that was not something he
could afford to do, not until he was sure that she really was Mrs Reynolds, and
not even then. She was his housekeeper and nothing more. The secrets of the
castle were not for her.
It was evening. Having dined with Mrs
Beal, Helena was sitting by the fire
in her room. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the black night. She was
leafing through Le Morte d’Arthur , looking at the illustrations, which
were beautifully done. It was as she looked at a picture of a man with a candle
that a thought struck her. In the absence of a key to the east wing of the
attic, she might be able to find out if anyone was in there by going out into
the grounds and seeing if there was a light in the window. It was still early,
not yet seven
o’clock , and
she decided to go before it was too late.
She laid aside
her book, uncurled herself from the chair and put on her cloak and heavy shoes.
She tied her bonnet under her chin, pulled on her gloves then went down the
stairs.
She slipped
out of a side door, and walked across the lawn, which was silvered by the moon.
She walked away from the castle, so that she could see the windows clearly when
she looked back. When she felt she had gone far enough she turned and looked
up, but they were dark. There was not a glimmer of light anywhere. She had
been hoping to see something, but there was nothing.
She was just
about to go back inside when she caught sight of a lantern bobbing along in the
distance. Her senses were immediately alert. Who would be going out with a
lantern at this time of night? And where were they going? She hesitated. A part
of her wanted to ignore it, but curiosity won over caution, and she began to
cautiously follow.
The light
disappeared briefly and Helena realized that whoever had been carrying it had gone through
the archway in the outer wall. She followed quickly, taking care to stay well
back so that she
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