Chapter 5
In which a castle is in need of a new mistress
Ordinarily, one must trust one’s senses. Yet sometimes they can be misleading, especially if the subtle enchantments of Diplomacy are employed.
— from Lady Avely’s Guide to Guile and Peril
Judith inclined her head. “And you must be Trebellow?”
Trebellow rose from his bow, once more achieving his great height. “Indeed, I am Castle Lanyon’s butler. Please, come this way to the Blue Drawing Room, ma’am, and I will command some refreshments for you. We are pleased to welcome you to your new abode.”
Judith was glad to hear it, for she was growing hungry again after her long journey. The huge butler turned, revealing a high arched entryway with doors going off in every direction. He took the one in the far-right corner, and Judith followed, with Ltn Greene bringing up the rear.
Leading the way through long, dark corridors, Trebellow continued to speak in the softened vowels of a Cornishman. “The Royal Steward wrote to say that you were coming a week ago—” he paused to let the reproof sink in “—so we have prepared a room for you. I hope you will find it satisfactory.”
“I am certain I will,” she said, though the warren of passageways was already confusing.
At least the dreadful feeling at the front door had receded as she moved further away from it.
Perhaps Trebellow had put a Defence spell on the anterior of the castle, which might account for the heavy feeling there.
In the wake of the butler’s wide shoulders and massive form, she could not wonder at Ltn Greene’s hint that the fellow might be Gifted in Impacting.
He looked as if he could throw a boulder even without the Gift.
Trebellow thrust a door open. As he stood aside, the close corridor opened up into what could only be the Blue Drawing Room.
The walls were painted a lovely cool blue, set off with white accents and high ceilings that gave it a spacious feeling, and hung with heavy curtains in blue and gold.
Yet the room felt cold, with the fire unlit.
The windows, Judith observed in astonishment, were dirty, and the mantelpiece dusty.
She carefully sank onto one of the settees, mindful of Marigold in her pocket, while Ltn Greene stood nearby to attention.
Trebellow bowed again. “I will send the housekeeper in with a tray.” His gaze weighed Judith’s plain silk gown and simple mobcap, and something lightened in his regard. “I confess to a gladness in your arrival, ma’am. The castle has long been in need of a new mistress.”
She nodded in acknowledgment, relieved that her butler did not show the same hostility as Cador had done. “I will rely upon your guidance as I go forward, Mr Trebellow.”
“Of course.” He paused. “With that in mind, please do not be put off by Mrs Ulrich, the housekeeper, with her gloomy air. She has been wasting away, with nothing to do. It will be well that you give her a direction for her energies.”
Nothing to do? Surely the housekeeper would have plenty to occupy her in this extensive keep.
Judith eyed the dusty mantlepiece. She could hear some sort of prevarication in the butler’s voice, but she did not question him further.
There was plenty of time to meet this Mrs Ulrich and ask the woman herself.
As Trebellow left, Ltn Greene widened his eyes in amusement.
“Yes, you have a melancholic housekeeper! Your castle is complete! I warn you that she is suitably clad all in black, like a mournful crow.” He grinned and gave a short bow.
“Shall I leave you now, ma’am? Or do you wish me to assist you with your enquiries? ”
Judith considered: it might be useful to have an extra pair of eyes and ears, but Ltn Greene’s uniform would put the occupants on edge. And his offer was not as innocent as it seemed, for he was likely intending to spy on her for his captain.
“You may go. Thank you for your escort, and please tell Drumpellier that I will return in three days, whether he sends for me or not.”
Ltn Greene bowed his head, a twinkle in his eye. “I will count it as a pleasure to come to fetch you.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “Take some bread from the kitchen before you leave, now.”
He clicked his heels together and left.
Half-expecting a gothic figure much like Ltn Greene had described, Judith was therefore surprised with Mrs Ulrich stalked into the room bearing a tea tray.
The housekeeper was a stately, slender woman, clad in black, it was true, but more like an elegant heron than a crow.
She had silver hair, gracefully pulled back in a bun, and green eyes that were nonetheless deeply shadowed.
The contents of her tea tray matched her unfriendly expression: a pot of already cold tea, and a plate of old plum cake, dry and unappetising.
“Marchioness,” she uttered, laying the tray down at Judith’s side. “Welcome to Castle Lanyon.”
The sentiment was a lie, but it wouldn’t take a Gift to hear it. The housekeeper took a step back, put her hands behind her, and looked down her nose at Judith.
“Er, thank you.” Judith eyed the stale cake, wishing she had the nerve to ask for some of the famous cream that abounded on the isle, or at least some butter.
But she dared not under the scornful eye of her new housekeeper.
Ulrich was a German name, wasn’t it? This woman appeared to think she was descended from a royal line.
In fact, Judith was starting to feel she ought to retreat from the castle, forsake any claims to it, and leave the field entirely.
She wondered that Trebellow and the lieutenant had described this woman as gloomy: she didn’t seem depressed, simply hostile.
She was suddenly disheartened. How could she possibly become the mistress to this pile? It was overweening pride to think that she, with her humble origins, could become a Marchioness: pure folly. The blue walls of the drawing room were abruptly icy.
Judith drew a steadying breath. Resolutely, she picked up the teapot and poured. Cold tea was still tea. She shook off her sudden plunge into gloom.
“Mrs Ulrich,” she said firmly. “I hope we are to deal well together. Perhaps we can meet tomorrow, and you can explain to me how you run the place.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” said Mrs Ulrich austerely, while implying that such a thing was not in the realm of possibility.
Judith persevered, as she selected a piece of crumbling plum cake. “How many rooms do you keep open?”
“Four only, ma’am. Now including the master bedroom that you will occupy.”
“And how many rooms are in the castle?”
“One hundred and twenty-one, ma’am.”
Judith’s mouth fell open, and she quickly snapped it shut again. “Good Lord. I can see why you keep them under covers. Does that include the fallen tower that I saw from the shore?”
“No, ma’am. Those rooms have long been abandoned, after a lightning storm many years ago. They are beyond help, well open to the elements.”
“Indeed.” Judith wondered if that tower was the location of the haunted cellars, but she did not want to betray her interest. Instead, she turned her questions to another urgent matter: the circumstances of Sgt Finlay’s death.
She needed to gather as much information as possible to present to Captain Drumpellier, even if she had the strong sense that Mrs Ulrich did not like answering questions.
“I wonder if you could tell me, Mrs Ulrich,” she said carefully, “if you saw anything strange around the castle three nights ago. I’ve heard that a soldier died nearby that night.”
Mrs Ulrich’s green eyes hardened. “He was found on the mainland, ma’am.”
“Yes, but he used to visit the castle, did he not?”
“I suppose so.”
It was a strange answer, and Judith raised her brows. Mrs Ulrich pinned her gaze to the blue wallpaper and did not elaborate.
Judith ignored the feeling that she was treading on dangerous ground. “Were you on duty that afternoon?”
There was a pause. “Yes, ma’am.”
A note of dissonance sounded in the aloof voice. Judith frowned. “Or perhaps you retired early?”
“No, ma’am. I was on duty, as I am every day.”
The line was delivered with stinging condescension, but Judith could hear the hollow bell of untruth underneath.
She sighed, taking another sip of cold tea.
This was exactly the sort of thing she feared.
Everyone she spoke to had some sort of secret, obscuring the real matter at hand.
Looking at the straight shoulders and lifted nose of the housekeeper, however, she could not imagine the dignified Mrs Ulrich deigning to come to blows with a British soldier or having any reason to be rid of him.
In fact, Judith was aware of some sympathy for the poor woman: in charge of this sprawling, ancient castle, with very little help, and no real purpose to it.
Well, all that was about to change.
“If you should hear anything, I would be grateful if you could inform me. I do not like to think there is any mystery about this soldier’s death.”
“No, ma’am.”
“And we shall have to clean this castle up a bit, for I will be expecting guests before long.”
“Guests, ma’am?”
“My son and daughter, at the very least.” Perhaps better not to mention the prospect of bats just yet. Judith took another bite of stale plum cake. She was chewing it determinedly, and about to dismiss Mrs Ulrich, when a commotion came at the door.
A young woman hurried in. She wore green cambric, well-tailored in a modish style that suited her trim figure.
Her brown hair was neatly tied back to show a rather striking face, with strong eyebrows and a firm, wide mouth.
Her expression currently showed a degree of surprise and interest at Judith’s arrival.
She came to a halt and dropped a low curtsy. “Marchioness! Is it indeed Lady Avely?”
Judith nodded, though the title was ill-fitting, especially under Mrs Ulrich’s sceptical eye. “And who may I have the pleasure of addressing?”