Frost Hollow Hall (6 page)

Will held out his hand. ‘Let’s see it then.’

‘It’s at home.’

Will pulled a face.

‘It is!’ I said. ‘I in’t daft enough to carry it round with me! People’d reckon I’d nicked it!’

‘Fair enough,’ he said, still looking unsure. ‘But what does this ring prove?’

‘At first I thought he was an angel come to take me to heaven. But then I didn’t die. And now I’ve found the ring, and, well, I reckon it’s a sign.’

‘Of what?’

I felt uncertain myself, saying it out loud. ‘Kit saved me for a reason. And now he wants me to help him.’

‘How can you help him? He’s dead!’

I shook my head. ‘Not quite, not properly. He’s not at peace, anyway.’

‘You been reading those penny dreadfuls again?’ said Will. ‘Messages from beyond the grave and all that?’

He did have a point.

‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ I said. ‘He says there’s a truth to be revealed and until that’s done, then his spirit won’t rest.’

Will went silent and looked at the sky. Eventually he said, ‘Come on, we’d better get going. I said I’d only be an hour, and this snow’s getting heavier.’

‘Don’t you dare walk away!’ I cried, grabbing his arm. ‘You promised you’d listen!’

He shook me off. ‘But it doesn’t add up.’

‘Why not? Yesterday, you said there’d been talk of a ghost up here.’

‘
Inside
the house, yes. But it could just be servants’ gossip. I’ve heard nothing about ghosts being
outside.
And certainly no one mentioned the lake.’

We glared at each other.

Then Will said, ‘This is all too strange, Tilly. We need to leave it be.’

‘You’re scared, in’t you?’

‘Don’t be daft,’ he snapped.

‘Then listen to me. It’s a queer story, how Kit Barrington came to die in that lake. No one knows what
really
happened. But he’s unhappy and he needs my help. And the date on the grave might just be the start of it.’

‘How do you know all this?’

My insides went fluttery. I hoped it didn’t show in my face. ‘He comes to me in my dreams. He’s desperate.’

And he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Only I didn’t think it’d help to say this.

Will scratched his head and took a great deep breath like he was suddenly weary of it all. I wished I’d brought the blasted ring to show him. It might have proved I was telling the truth.

‘You’re the only person I’ve told this to,’ I said. ‘No one else will listen.’

Will met my eye. Then he turned to look at the stone angel. ‘You know my uncle Bert, the stone cutter?’

I did. And I wondered where this was heading.

‘Well, he told me about graves. See that there?’ He pointed to the flowers in the angel’s hands. One of the heads was broken at the stem and hung down limply. ‘It’s s’posed to be like that. It means he died too young, too suddenly – cut down in his youth, and all.’

‘So do you believe me?’ I said. ‘That Kit Barrington needs my help?

Will put his cap back on. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

But he’d stopped smirking, at least, and I felt so overcome that my eyes filled with tears.

‘You think I’m mad,’ I sniffed.

‘I always have done,’ he said. ‘And you’ll have your work cut out trying to solve this business. But I reckon you’re right to start here at the Hall. There’s something about this place . . .’

I knew what he meant.

‘I bet someone here knows more than they’re letting on,’ he said.

‘But Kit’s family loved him. You only got to look at this gravestone.’

The snow was falling thickly now. It was a job to see beyond the hedges, or to the path beyond.

Suddenly, close by, a dog barked.

‘Someone’s coming!’ hissed Will. ‘Quick! Follow me!’

We didn’t get far.

As we stepped back out onto the path, our way was blocked by a rough-looking man with a big stick in his hand. An enormous black dog growled at his side. I sensed Will freeze up beside me.

‘Well, well, well,’ said the man, and spat something solid into the snow. ‘Two tykes from the village paying their respects. In’t that touching? We’ll have to see if it softens his Lordship’s heart.’

Grabbing us both by the scruff of our necks, he marched us in the direction of the Hall.

10

Hot Water

Despite Will’s cussing, the man kept a firm grip on us all the way down the path. I stayed quiet. The dog nosed around our ankles and would’ve sunk its teeth in at a moment’s bidding, but it didn’t scare me. Because as we walked, this queer, calm feeling came over me, like I’d been tied with an invisible thread and someone at the Hall was on the other end of it, reeling me in. There was no going back.

We went downhill until a high wall rose up before us. There we stopped in front of a doorway. The man pushed it open with his elbow.

‘Get in there,’ he grunted.

We stumbled into a dim courtyard, lit only by a few lamps at the windows. I guessed dusk wasn’t that far off, but the great buildings themselves seemed to block out what daylight was left. As my eyes got used to the gloom, I saw railings and steps leading down below ground.

‘Down ’ere. Both of you. And don’t move!’

The man flung us forward. We tumbled down the flight of steps. I landed on my knees at the bottom, and found myself facing yet another doorway. Will was stood a few feet away, rubbing his hands and muttering under his breath. The man and his dog had gone.

‘You all right, Tilly?’

My knees stung as I stood up. ‘Think so. Where’s
he
gone to then?’

‘To fetch Lord Barrington, I reckon,’ said Will. ‘We’re for it; you know that, don’t you?’

I could handle a thrashing, if that’s what he meant. I bet my ma hit harder than most men, anyway. I squared my shoulders and smoothed down my frock. If this was my chance to meet Lord Barrington then I wanted to look neat, at least.

The door flew open. But it wasn’t Lord Barrington, not in the slightest. It was a woman. She was tall with hair piled high on her head, wearing full skirts and a wide-shouldered blouse. A great bunch of keys hung at her hip.

‘Will Potter,’ said a voice I knew from somewhere. ‘Delivering meat is one thing, but roaming the estate is quite another. And twice in two days! This is trespassing of the highest order . . .’

Her words trailed off as she saw me.

‘
You
again,’ she said.

Staring back at me was the same pinched face I’d seen here on Sunday. She was the housekeeper, Mrs Jessop. And she didn’t seem any friendlier today.

I spoke before Will got the chance. ‘We took the wrong path, that’s all.’

‘You’d do well to lose that tone, young lady,’ she said, eyeing me coldly.

‘Please excuse Tilly, Mrs Jessop,’ said Will. ‘She don’t always know her manners.’

I jabbed him in the ribs.

‘Ouch!’

Mrs Jessop raised her hand for silence. ‘Both of you listen carefully. You won’t be whipped because his Lordship is leaving shortly on business. Though if it were down to me, I’d have you flogged right away.’

‘So we in’t seeing him, then?’ I said, spirits sinking. I’d been hoping for a quick peek, at least.

She glared at me. ‘No, you are not! You’ll be working your punishment instead. I’m one maid down since Gracie Waite is sick in bed.’

‘Gracie’s sick?’ said Will. ‘Is she badly?’

So he knew this
Gracie
person too. I bet she was another simpering half-wit. They seemed drawn to Will Potter like flies.

‘It’s nothing to concern yourself with,’ said Mrs Jessop.

‘Right. Well then. I’ve got to get back to the village. Reckon I’m already late,’ said Will, looking worried of a sudden.

But the idea of working here thrilled me. What a chance this was! I’d get to see inside Kit’s home, to meet people who’d known him. Heck, my plan to get closer to the real Kit Barrington was turning out better than I’d hoped.

I fixed Will with such a look he apologised at once. ‘Beg pardon, Mrs Jessop,’ he muttered. ‘Didn’t mean to sound off.’

‘And you’d do well to stay quiet,’ she said. ‘First trespassing, and now trying to shirk punishment. What on earth would your father say?’

He looked up sharply. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

‘Won’t I? This sort of behaviour hardly looks good for his business. Maybe we’ll have to go elsewhere for our meat.’

‘Please. Don’t say that.’ His voice was tight. ‘You’re our best, most finest customer. Her Ladyship’s ordered from us for years.’

‘Will . . .’ I tried to stop him but he shrugged me off.

‘We need the custom! I’ll do anything! Please!’

Mrs Jessop raised her hand. This time Will was having none of it.

‘It weren’t me!
She
made me come here with her stupid ideas!’

I realised then that he was pointing right at me.

‘Why you filthy low-down worm!’ I said and went to wallop him. He stepped back just in time, so my fist whizzed past his ear.

‘Enough! The pair of you!’ Mrs Jessop cried.

Shooting each other the darkest of looks, we shifted apart, and right then I was glad of Mrs Jessop, since I’d have throttled him otherwise.

Damn Will Potter! Why the heck did I tell him anything?

‘All right,’ she said to Will. ‘You can clean out the hens.’

He nodded eagerly.

‘They’ll peck at you, and they haven’t been cleaned out in days,’ she added, wryly.

His face fell just a little. The sight of him being handed a pail and sent back up the steps made me feel much better. Chicken muck was just what he deserved.

‘And you can wipe that smirk off your face,’ Mrs Jessop said to me. ‘You’re going to the kitchens.’

She pulled me into the light and shut the door behind us.

As I stepped inside the Hall, all thoughts of Will vanished. My heart began to pound. Here I was in Kit’s house. Any minute I’d see the people who had cooked his meals, made up his fires. Any one of them might know something, even Mrs Jessop. But I had to be careful and not speak out of turn. Any questions could wait; I was in enough trouble already.

‘Keep up, I haven’t got all day,’ Mrs Jessop called over her shoulder.

I quickened my pace and looked about me. We were walking down a flagstone passageway, where gas jets flared on the walls and little high windows showed the falling snow outside. Many doors went off the passage: a laundry room full of drying clothes, a still room where someone was pouring ale into jugs, and a larger room full of gleaming glass and silver, with a fire burning in the grate. We stopped at this doorway. A man in a smart black suit was dusting glasses and placing them on a tray with great care. From the way Mrs Jessop addressed him, I guessed he was someone important. It was certainly different from how she spoke to me.

‘Mr Phelps, this young lady will be scrubbing the pots from luncheon, and there’s a boy outside doing the chickens.’ Mrs Jessop pushed me forward. ‘Tilly, this is Mr Phelps, the butler. He’s in charge here.’

Mr Phelps looked me over. ‘Extra hands, eh? Goodness, what luck! And where did you find them, Mrs Jessop?’

‘Up to no good, that’s where I found them. Wandering about like this was some sort of pleasure gardens, not a private estate.’

‘There’s nothing an honest day’s work can’t put straight,’ said Mr Phelps, frowning. ‘And we’ve plenty to do here.’

Mrs Jessop gave a curt nod. ‘Any bother and the strap’s where we always keep it.’ I must’ve looked like a startled rabbit because Mr Phelps gave me a tiny wink, then went back to his polishing.

‘Right you are, Mrs J., right you are,’ he said.

Back out in the passageway, we carried on through a set of glass doors and the heat of the kitchen hit me. A maid passed us carrying armfuls of plates. Up ahead, voices were shouting, ‘More ice, over here,’ and ‘Watch your back,’ and then ‘Clean that fat up, won’t you, before we break our necks.’ The clattering of pans and slamming of doors deafened me. Mrs Jessop stood aside as the same maid came back past, this time with a basket of vegetables. She had sleek brown hair, most of which was hidden by her cap. I was struck by how pretty she was.

‘Thank you, Mrs Jessop,’ she said politely.

‘I’m sorry you’re having to work down here today, Dorcas,’ said Mrs Jessop. ‘It’s not fitting for a head housemaid, but there we are.’

Then we followed her into the big kitchen itself.

The heat was stifling. Pans and kettles steamed away on a massive black range, and the opening and shutting of oven doors wafted even more hot air about the room. The space was huge and brightly lit, with a high ceiling and more little windows. A vast dresser stacked with basins and jugs covered an entire wall. The maid had joined another girl in a white pinafore. Together, they were sorting through the vegetables. The giant table and great tall ceiling seemed to dwarf them both. This space looked made for twenty kitchen hands, not just two.

We went up to a small woman in a waist apron who appeared to be the cook. She moved about like a whirlwind, though she stopped mid-clatter when she saw us.

‘This is Tilly,’ said Mrs Jessop. ‘She’s standing in for Gracie. Let her go when it’s our suppertime.’

Cook looked me up and down.

‘Scullery,’ she said and pointed to a door off the back of the kitchen. ‘Get your hands washed and I’ll be in to show you what’s what.’

I looked to Mrs Jessop but she was already making for the door.
What an odd way of walking
, I thought, watching her straight back and swaying skirts.
Her feet could be on castors. Her keys don’t jangle at all.

After the kitchen, the scullery felt cool and quiet. Cook folded her arms and looked at me.

‘Now then missy, I’ve seen you before. You’re the girl Will brought in on Sunday, in’t you?’

I kept my eyes down.

‘Well, you look recovered, thankfully. But honestly, can’t you get enough of this place?’

I wasn’t sure quite what to say.

‘What was you up to this time, then?’

‘Nothing much,’ I said.

‘Oh come on, out with it. I in’t got all day!’ she said, but in a kindly way.