Nell (24 page)

How often had Mr Beresford stood here of a night, having terrified the bed’s occupant into hysterics? Perhaps even while Eden Jarrow sat reading her a story, unknowing that his brother-in-law, masked and bewigged in a nightgown belonging no doubt to his late wife, stood listening in the shadows. The thought brought her out in goose bumps.

Or had he waited here, after the little girl had swallowed the evil potion he had ordered, and called to her in a semblance of her mother’s voice? Called to her to come.
Come, my love. Come and find Mama’s treasure.

Nell’s blood froze. It was true. Hetty had not dreamed it. Only she was either sleepwalking or half asleep, drugged with laudanum. She would be in no case either to recognise the fraud or to fight it. Up she would get, wandering in the night, following the voice and the beckoning finger, searching, searching—in the hopes that she would finally remember. And to crown it all, today he had burdened her with a horrible lie about her father, alongside a truth.

She became aware of violent movement behind the curtain, and the shrieking protest of Duggan.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m taking these disgusting sheets off the bed!’ responded the housekeeper in a suitably irate voice.
‘You’ll take them right this minute, and get yourself down to the laundry, do you hear me?’

‘I won’t do any such! Put them sheets back again, I say!’

‘You’ll do as I tell you, or Miss Faraday won’t be the only one to be walking out the door of this castle today!’

There was a silence. Nell held her breath, looking swiftly down to the child. Henrietta’s black eyes were trained up at her governess, ablaze with unholy glee. Nell could not in all conscience blame her. She put a finger to her mouth and received a conspiratorial grin from her charge. It was plain that there was little amiss with Henrietta’s mind!

Hasty footsteps were followed immediately by the slamming of a door. Seconds later, Mrs Whyte’s face peered round the edge of the bed curtains.

‘She’s gone.’

Nell gave way to weak laughter as she pushed Hetty out of their hiding place and followed her back into the room. ‘What a tartar you are, Mrs Whyte!’

The housekeeper looked gratified. ‘If I’ve put her off the scent, that’ll do us for the moment. But you’d best remove from here before she ups and smells a rat.’

‘I see she didn’t take the sheets,’ Nell said drily, finding the bedclothes awry and the sheets thrown all anyhow into the middle of the floor. Hetty was gazing at them in bewilderment.

But Mrs Whyte was already at the door. Cautiously she opened it, peering up and down the corridor. She beckoned. ‘All clear. What do you mean to do?’

‘I will take Hetty to the parlour. No one will think to look for us there, and there is something I want to show her.’

‘I’d best get back. We don’t want Keston wondering
where I’ve got to. You’ll find me in the kitchens if you need me.’

Holding Henrietta firmly by the hand, Nell followed the housekeeper to the main staircase, where they parted company. She slipped into the parlour, and looked worriedly down at her charge. But it was plain that Hetty had done a volte-face. From black despair, she had shot into alt, riding high on all the excitement. Her plump cheeks were flushed and her black eyes fairly sparkling.

Thanking heaven for her established influence that had made Hetty take her at her word, Nell ushered her to the portrait above the mantel. She pointed to the necklace, abandoning all attempt to tread warily. Only bluntness would serve her now.

‘Is this the treasure, Hetty?’

Henrietta stared up at the picture, a deep frown forming between her brows. ‘Not the treasure. Is a picture.’

‘Yes, but is it a picture of the treasure? Does it look like your mama’s treasure?’

The child nodded solemnly. Nell’s pulses leaped into life. She had been right! The necklace was indeed their goal. Excitement rose in her to match the child’s. It had to be the original! Why else would they have put Hetty through all that determined searching? It made no sense at all otherwise.

Beresford must know that they were the true emeralds, for Mrs Whyte had assured her that he would have been the one to sell the jewels. Had he and Julietta set out to deceive Eden into believing the real emeralds were lost in order to put him off the scent? Or was it Julietta who had, in the madness that possessed her, attempted to conceal them?

A horrid thought sent a shiver down Nell’s spine. What a motive for murder! If Julietta had hidden the
jewels, not from her husband, but from her brother—then everything fell into place. It not only solved this mystery, but also the dilemma that was torturing Eden. Her breath caught. It had become imperative to find the necklace.

Could she push Hetty through the next stage? In her drugged mind, she had sought for the thing without result. And suffered agonies of frustration. Could she remember it now, without the spectre of her dead mother pursuing her?

Nell sought in her mind for some method that might help the girl to break through the waywardness of her memory. Make a game of it? But how?

She glanced down and found Henrietta watching her gravely. Was there a hint of apprehension in the dark eyes? She
could
not put her through any more hell! Besides, she decided ruefully, if she tried to push her, there was no doubt Hetty would create a song and dance. A song and dance?

Inspiration hit and she seized the child’s hands. ‘Let’s sing a song, Hetty.’

The child frowned. ‘Don’t know any song.’

‘It does not matter. We are going to make one up. We’ll sing a song about the treasure. Listen!’ She caught at the first rhythmic tune she could find, and swiftly put simple words to it.

‘See, Hetty? We can put the treasure anywhere we like. Come on, sing with me.’ She repeated the song,
beginning to move in a circular motion, stepping in time with the song. It took several attempts, and Nell had to caper with energy and sing as brightly as she dared without becoming loud enough to be heard all over the castle. But at last Hetty became caught up in the song.

Once she had the child participating, Nell put the treasure somewhere else.
‘The treasure is in the schoolroom.’
Then it went to the kitchen. It travelled through a series of rooms, and then Nell put it in the window, the desk and the candlestick. Henrietta began to introduce her own inventions, which was exactly what Nell wanted.

Almost Nell lost sight of the object, for the game became so much fun to Hetty that it warmed her to see the child lost in enjoyment at last. The dancing slowed, and the song became a competition, each throwing out a single place for the treasure in turn, using just the one line. They finished up sitting on the carpeted floor, the treasure veering wildly to the most unlikely places.

‘Treasure’s in the water jug,’ challenged Henrietta.

‘The treasure’s in the chamber pot,’ countered Nell, making Hetty roll about with mirth. When she had recovered, she thought for some time before her eyes lit with triumph.

‘Treasure’s in the pudding!’

‘Yum, yum,’ said Nell. ‘The treasure’s in the cake.’

‘In the pudding!’

‘No, you can’t have pudding again. Think of something else.’

‘Treasure’s in the…in the beef!’

‘Oh, very good. Hmm, now let’s see. The treasure is in the bone.’

Hetty brightened at the new trend. ‘Treasure’s in the leg.’

‘Oh, dear, what else? I know, the treasure is in the foot.’

‘In the toe.’

‘In the arm, then.’

‘In the hand.’

‘How about in the finger?’

Henrietta gave a sudden gasp, and her black eyes widened. Nell’s heart skipped a beat. She dared not speak. The child’s gaze left hers and settled upon her own hands. She cupped her fingers as if in prayer. And then her deep voice came, shocked almost into a whisper.

‘In the hands. I ’member! Treasure’s
in the hands
.’

‘Oh, well done, Hetty!’

The child beamed, the dark eyes shining. ‘In the hands. I ’member. Mama showed me. Treasure’s in the hands.’

Nell’s heartbeat quickened, but she held her excitement back. She must not frighten the child, nor force the memory. But,
what hands
? She schooled her countenance to normality, catching at the little girl’s own hands.

‘That’s wonderful, Hetty! You do remember. Now, let’s see if we can find out where the hands are.’

The child’s brow suddenly lowered. ‘I know where.’

‘How stupid of me,’ said Nell quickly. ‘Will you tell me then?’

‘On the lady,’ said Hetty scornfully.

‘Oh, I
see
,’ said Nell, just as if she did. She adopted a musing tone. ‘Now I wonder which lady she is.’

The frown intensified. ‘Don’t ’member.’

Nell curbed a natural impatience. She tried another tack. ‘Does the lady have a name?’

‘Course she does. Like yours.’

‘You mean she is called Nell?’

‘N-ooo.’

‘Helen?’

The child shifted her shoulders. It was plain that this point eluded her. But they had made progress. She gathered the little girl into a close embrace.

‘Aren’t you the clever one?’

The child returned her hug with enthusiasm, and Nell’s heart warmed. Even as she crooned, however, her mind was racing. Where did they go from here? Should she approach Lord Jarrow with this? A stab at her heart reminded her of his last words. No, she could not go to him. Not yet. He was likely seething in his turret study. Unless he had truly arranged for her departure? If so, someone must have been searching for her. Well, she was not yet ready to be found.

And Duggan, no doubt, would be looking for Hetty. Then let her look! Nell would take the child with her, and seek refuge with the housekeeper until his lordship’s temper should have had time to cool.

Mrs Whyte was found to be fidgeting in the kitchens, unable to settle to her work. It was evident that she had begun upon her preparations for dinner, for a collection of vegetables had been randomly thrown on the large table, ready for chopping, and to one side was a basin of flour and a hunk of butter on a platter. The housekeeper waved a vague hand.

‘I thought to make a pastry for a pie, but I can’t think what I need. My brain seems to have frozen.’

Nell had no time to waste on frivolities. ‘Never mind that. Hetty has recalled where the treasure is hidden.’

The housekeeper stared at the child. ‘Treasure? Mercy me, I didn’t know there was any such!’

‘Is Mama’s treasure,’ piped up Henrietta.

A wildly enquiring eye found Nell’s, and she nodded. ‘Yes, it is the one Hetty’s mama wears in the portrait.’

Mrs Whyte sat down plump upon a kitchen chair, closing her lips with obvious difficulty upon exclamations that she could not make before the child. Nell bent a meaningful eye upon her, with the object of making her understand more than the words that came out of her mouth.

‘I think this may be
real
treasure, Mrs Whyte, and so it is most important that we help Hetty to find it.’

The housekeeper gasped outright, clasping a hand to her plump bosom. ‘Lordy! Do you say so, indeed?’

‘Mama showed me,’ announced Hetty proudly.

‘She did?’ asked Mrs Whyte. ‘When?’

‘When she not dead. She comed in the night and she show me. Down the stairs.’

Alert, Nell seized on this new information. ‘Which stairs, my love?’

‘Round ones.’

‘She means one of the towers, I expect.’ The housekeeper had gone a trifle pale. ‘Do you say she’s been trying to go down those horrid winding stairs in the middle of the night?’

Nell quickly brushed past this, not wishing the child to recall the circumstances of her fruitless drugged searches. ‘It does not matter now, Mrs Whyte. Only think, if you please. Hetty says the treasure is in the hands and on the lady.’

‘In the hands and on the lady?’ echoed the housekeeper blankly.

‘Just so,’ agreed Nell with a swift little smile. ‘But Hetty cannot quite recall the lady’s name. She thinks it is like mine—on the order of Nell or Helen.’

For a moment Mrs Whyte sat in puzzled silence. And then her eyes popped. ‘Eleanor!’

Henrietta jumped excitedly. ‘Nellenor! Nellenor hands.’

‘Is there an Eleanor?’

Mrs Whyte rose from her chair. ‘Was, my dear. One of the Jarrow ancestors. I know there’s supposed to be a statue of her lying on one of the tombs in the crypt.’

‘Crip!’ cried Hetty. ‘Nellenor got the treasure. She’s in the crip!’

Nell’s heart skipped a beat. The mystery was unravelling. If what she suspected proved true, Mr Beresford had a good deal of explaining to do. She dared not begin to contemplate how Lord Jarrow would take it. Soft, she counselled herself. It might still be that Henrietta was mistaken. She did what she might to control the rise of mingled apprehension and excitement in the flurry in her veins.

‘Where is this crypt?’

‘Why, below stairs, ma’am,’ said Mrs Whyte, and shivered. ‘Horrid place it is! Damp and gloomy—full as it can hold of rats, I should think. It’s under the stables and the laundry on the far side.’

‘How does one reach it?’

‘Usual way is to go through the courtyard to the laundry—’

Nell cut her short. ‘That’s no use. We must not be seen.’

Mrs Whyte grabbed her arm. ‘You ain’t thinking of going down there?’

‘I don’t see that I have a choice.’

‘I come, Miss Fallyday?’

Nell took the child’s hand. ‘Of course, Hetty. I need you to show me where to find Eleanor’s hands.’

But the housekeeper set her arms akimbo. ‘I won’t let you go, either of you! It’s a nasty, smelly hole and no light to speak of.’

‘Then we shall take a candle.’ Nell laid a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. ‘Mrs Whyte, you must recognize that I have gone too far to back out now. Come, tell me how to get there without being seen.’

Mrs Whyte shook her head. ‘I’d best come with you. It ain’t safe down there.’

Nell rejected this with firmness. ‘It will be thought odd if we are all found to be absent. You must stay here and pretend ignorance if anyone asks after Hetty or myself.’