Golden Rain

by Douglas Clark

  “Facts at last, Mr Masters?”

  “As promised, sir. It is a letter written by Miss Holland to her mother who received it on the day of her daughter’s death. In it, Miss Holland revealed that she had some wonderful news which she knew would delight her mother.”

  “What news?”

  “The news was unspecified, sir, but Miss Holland obviously regarded it as so momentous that she had intended to visit her mother to impart it in person. Perhaps you would care to read the letter yourself?”

  Gilchrist held out his hand and the court attendant carried the letter across to him. He spent a minute or so reading the neat, legible writing, and then turned to his jury and read the relevant passage to them. Then he turned back to Masters, who continued his statement.

  “I have produced this letter, sir, on behalf of Mrs Holland and as an indication to you of the frame of mind of the deceased only a day or so before her death.”

  “Quite. I should be very interested to know what the momentous news was. Are you sure you are in no position to enlighten me?”

  “Mrs Holland confesses she has no inkling, and I would suggest that if the deceased was too thrilled with her news to tell it to her own mother in a letter, then she could well have kept it a secret from others until the appropriate time came.”

  “You’ve had no time to investigate this?”

  “I have not yet had time even to visit the School House, sir. But I did learn of the existence of this letter, and its contents caused me to believe that Miss Holland did not take her own life.”

  “I accept that it is a strong pointer to support the opinion you have been so insistent on.”

  Masters bowed his head slightly as if in acknowledgment of the fact that Gilchrist had dismissed the idea of suicide. Then he spoke again.

  “Fact number two, sir, is Miss Holland’s wide knowledge of the biological science.”

  “How does that affect the issue?”

  “Her academic qualifications enabled her to teach, to a high level, subjects concerning plants and plant life. She was in fact a botanist. She would, I suggest, be able to identify laburnum seeds and would be very well aware of their toxic qualities.”

  Gilchrist sat back from his writing and eyed Masters keenly. “I am beginning to be very interested, Superintendent.”

  “Thank you, sir. Fact number three is that nowhere in the school grounds is there a laburnum tree. I imagine the absence of such a tree was a deliberate precaution on the part of those who laid out and planted the school’s flora many years ago.”

  “What significance do you attach to such an absence, Mr Masters?”

  “Simply that if there are no laburnum trees in or near the school, sir, then the seeds must have been carried there by somebody for some purpose.”

  “Go on.”

  “I find it hard to envisage the headmistress of Bramthorpe deliberately setting out to locate a laburnum tree and to collect the seeds.”

  “Perhaps for tutorial purposes?”

  “You may be right, sir, but there are reasons why I would question that. Miss Holland has been described to me as a meticulous headmistress. I cannot see a woman who has charge of three hundred girls and who knows the potential danger of laburnum seeds introducing them to her school. Even were she to do so, so conscientious a woman would make immediate provision for their destruction after use, or for their keeping to be so safe that all possibility of accident can be discounted. But, sir, I venture to suggest that a woman such as Miss Holland would not keep dangerous seeds for several months . . .”

  “Several months, Mr Masters? How can you suggest such a time?”

  “Whilst I admit this period is pure supposition, if one considers the growing season of the laburnum . . . The court has heard how its flowers appear relatively early in the year, in May and June. By July the seed pods have formed. By August they have ripened. By September they have fallen and are gone, sir, lost in long grass, carried off by birds, eaten by slugs . . . certainly not there for easy collecting in great numbers.”

  “I take the point, Mr Masters.”

  “In that case, sir, may I suggest that in the light of how little we know of this case, as yet, it would be premature to return a verdict of accidental death or of suicide? Miss Holland was too knowledgeable to suggest the former without positive proof of accident, and too stable and happy to suggest the latter.”

  “I have one question, Mr Masters.”

  Masters waited.

  “You have led the court to believe that you are of the opinion that Miss Holland did not collect the laburnum seeds herself. What are we to assume from that?”

  “I am obliged—for the purposes of my investigation—to bear in mind the strong possibility that they were collected and carried to the School House, at some time previous to the hour at which Miss Holland was poisoned, by another person. I must also consider that a degree of malice was the cause of . . .”

  Gilchrist held up his hand.

  “I’ll stop you there, Mr Masters. As you will know, a Coroner’s jury cannot now bring in a specific criminal charge, so it would be as well if the members were to consider what you have said so far without learning details of what must be, at this stage, merely your working hypothesis.”

  “I had finished what I wished to say to the court, sir. As you know, my investigation has not yet started, so I can give no evidence which suggests categorically that there will be a criminal case to answer. All I am seeking to do is to help the court not to arrive at what may be an incorrect verdict simply because we have not so far had an opportunity to make our inquiries.”

  “You would prefer a verdict that would leave you free to pursue your investigations?”

  “If you find it possible, sir.”

  Masters returned to his seat.

  “Just the hammer,” said Green. “He can’t tie us down now.”

  A few minutes later an open verdict was returned.

  *

  Hildidge said: “I heard most of what you had to say.”

  Masters, sitting with Green, opposite to the local Chief Superintendent in his office, asked: “You came along for the show?”

  “Lovegrove radioed in when he knew you were appearing. He was in a bit of a tizzy, so I went across to listen. It’s so close by that I only missed a minute or two.”

  “Why should he be worried?” asked Green.

  “I was, too, to begin with.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought Mr Masters might be setting out to make us look a proper load of Charlies.”

  Masters stretched his legs. “Nothing was further from my mind. I took the decision last night—to take the stand this morning—and I came over here early to meet Lovegrove and let him know and to discuss the matter. But he was not here. I asked for you too, sir, to let you know, but I was told you were discussing the safety arrangements for the town bonfire with the Bramthorpe P.R.O.”

  “I’m pleased I was. If you’d told me of your intentions I’d have been obliged to let Lovegrove know. As it was, I could truthfully claim I knew nothing about it and couldn’t be considered guilty of non-cooperation.”

  “He accused you of that?” asked Green.

  “He suspects me of it. The fact that we brought you here hasn’t helped our relationship.”

  “Never mind,” said Green. “Discover there are a few dogs gone missing. That should keep him busy.”

  “As I had no opportunity to consult with Lovegrove,” said Masters, “I literally had to appear.”

  “I know,” said Hildidge. “But Lovegrove would never have seen the paradox. He was content to say there were, apparently, no means, opportunities or motives, but he couldn’t accept that there was every reason to suppose it was neither suicide nor accident. I’m pleased you put it to the coroner. I wouldn’t have wanted Dr Gilchrist to have come out of it with egg on his face. He’s not the sort to forget—had he brought in suicide or accident and you proved different—that he’d based the wrong f
indings on Lovegrove’s negative evidence.”

  “So everybody except Lovegrove is happy,” said Green. “It’s too bad about him.”

  “I liked the point,” said Hildidge, “when you hinted that if somebody else had collected those seeds it couldn’t have been an accident.”

  “I hope I didn’t overdo it. But you see, sir, I was obsessed by the thought that only a botany mistress would collect laburnum seeds in the normal course of events. Nobody else would. Or if they would, I couldn’t imagine why they should. And Miss Holland was the one and only botany mistress around. So anybody else picking them up and carrying them to the School House must have a funny reason for doing so.”

  “You didn’t overplay it. Gilchrist got it. That’s all that matters. Now what?”

  “To work,” said Masters. “We have one or two enquiries to make.”

  Hildidge smiled. “I’ll bet. You’re the type that can make bricks without straw. Lord knows what you manage when somebody delivers you a few bales to play with.”

  “We make corn-dollies,” said Green. “We’ll let you have one for your sideboard.”

  *

  As they sat at lunch, eating devilled kidneys, Green said: “It was a good show you put up this morning, George. The only question is, how are we going to follow it?”

  “So far, I must admit, I’ve concentrated so much on that damned inquest that I’m not at all sure how I want to proceed. So, we’ll cast our bread.”

  “Where?”

  “How about in two directions to begin with? You and I can see the school secretary to see if there’s anything we should know about Miss Holland that Sir Thomas and Mrs Gibson haven’t told us. What I mean is, they obviously thought the sun shone out of her. Would an employee take the same view?”

  “On the principle that no man is a hero to his batman?”

  “Quite. And in the same context, Reed and Berger can locate some of the senior girls—the sensible ones—and see what they thought of her. I suggest they talk to the school captain and one or two other prefects to get their views. Between us we might turn something up.”

  Green turned to the sergeants. “Watch it, you two. Some of these eighteen-year-olds are hot stuff and the type that goes to schools like Bramthorpe isn’t as inhibited as you might think.”

  Berger grinned. “Jealous?”

  “Why not? I’d rather get into a huddle with a few top-class bits of capurtle than some school secretary.”

  “She may be a smasher.”

  “Let’s hope so,” retorted Green.

  As it was Thursday, a day on which there was no afternoon school, the sergeants had to accompany Masters and Green to get the names and addresses of the prefects from the secretary.

  The large double gates at the downhill end of the school were open. Reed drove the Rover through them onto the concrete. Masters walked towards the first of the doors in his wing of the school. Green caught him up. “There’s a bell on the post.”

  “And also two very discreet notices. ‘Secretary’ and ‘Out of bounds to pupils’.”

  “Peculiar, that. The kids have to go through the two middle doors.”

  “To hang up their coats and to change into house-shoes.”

  “Houseshoes?”

  “Little, light, indoor shoes. Establishments like this don’t allow three hundred girls to clomp around in their outdoor, wooden-soled wedges. Too noisy, too dirty and too dangerous.”

  “I suppose you had to wear houseshoes?”

  “Most definitely. And they weren’t allowed to have black soles.”

  “Why not?”

  “Black soles mark oak blocks and terrazzo—the way kids kick and dance about.”

  Green grunted and stuck out a stubby forefinger to press the bell. They heard no sound of ringing, but after a moment or two they sensed movement and then the door was opened.

  “I would like to speak to the school secretary, please,” said Masters.

  “Speaking. And I know who you are. I saw you at the inquest this morning.”

  “You were there, Miss . . .?”

  “Freeman. Yes, I was there. Miss Bulmer—she’s the deputy headmistress—told me to go along with Mrs Gibson, just in case, you know.”

  “Very thoughtful of Miss Bulmer,” replied Masters. “This is Detective Chief Inspector Green. He and I would like to talk to you. Sergeant Reed and Sergeant Berger would like some names and addresses from you.”

  “You’d better come in, then.”

  There had obviously been changes in the structure and the use of this area of the school. There were modern skirting-boards and lights, patently newish flush doors and, indeed, what Masters took to be false, lower ceilings.

  He looked about him as they followed Miss Freeman. She was a big woman, heavily built. He judged she was the type that had to be careful what she ate if she wasn’t to run to fat. As it was, her legs and hands were pudgy and her cheeks well-rounded. Her hair was still brown for the most part, but it was greying at the temples. Her eyes gave an impression of bewildered kindness. He guessed the death of the headmistress had knocked her off her perch and left her—temporarily, at least—somewhat aimless.

  “Oh yes,” she said when he remarked that there appeared to have been alterations made. “In the old days the school used to have all sorts of odd classes like Housewifery and Home Management. We still do cookery, of course, but in the old days they used to teach the senior girls how to bath babies and all that sort of thing. They used big dolls and those awful old zinc baths. And household accounts and all sorts of sewing like drawn-thread work and samplers. Tatting even. When I first came here I found a box full of tatting shuttles.

  “Anyhow, a new domestic science area was opened up in the top wing years before the war, and all those horrible old black gas stoves and laundry sinks were taken out down here. That was at the time when the school first got a secretary. Before my time, of course. But to the right there you’ll see the dining room and beyond it the kitchen. That was the old cookery room.”

  “Pretty small for three hundred kids,” said Green.

  “It’s not for three hundred. All the boarders have lunch in their own houses. Most of the other girls go home for lunch. This dining room is only for long-distance travellers and school teams on match days.”

  “I see. Sorry.”

  “I’m just around to the left here, below the steps. They go up to the library and the cloakrooms. There are a lot of steps about, you’ll find, because we are built on the side of a hill.”

  Masters made no effort to interrupt Miss Freeman, guessing that the chance to talk was what she needed most at this time. Even Green didn’t seem bored.

  “And it was at that time that the headmistress first got a school study—as well as the one in her house. It’s just along here.” She moved past the end of the corridor leading to the cloakrooms. “It’s a suite, really. I was told there used to be two rooms here for really little girls—a sort of preparatory division—not for boarders, of course. But you could only get into the back room through the front one. And it is that back one which is now the school study. They gave it its own little corridor, you see, by taking off a bit of the front room. The rest of the room was divided into two. The bit that overlooks the quad is the head’s private cloakroom, and the rest is the book store—because it didn’t have to have any windows, you see.”

  As she finished speaking she led them down the little corridor and opened the study door. It was big for a study, perhaps, but must have been very small for a schoolroom. The two long multi-paned windows looked out onto the perfectly cut grass of the quad. Opposite the door was an open fireplace. Miss Holland obviously liked this behind her desk chair. The light from the windows came in over the left-hand end of her desk, so that she sat facing the door.

  She also sat facing the school clock.

  It was a handsome piece of workmanship, hanging on the wall. A long drop-case clock, electric, with two faces. The upper one was normal enou
gh. The lower one was a bright brass disc of the same size, but it had no hands. It was divided into twenty-four hours, but was pierced by a great many holes to take small brass pegs.

  “What on earth is that?” asked Green. “It looks like an automated crib board.”

  “It controls all the clocks and bells in the school. It is the master, and all the clocks keep exactly the same time as this. So if there’s a power cut or something, the only one that has to be put right is this. The pegs are to set off the bells at the right time for changing periods. They can be changed, you see, but they never were. Every period was just three-quarters of an hour, and they stopped and started at the same time every day. But you can see there were no lessons on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday afternoons, or Sundays, of course.”

  “You mean that thing controls for a full week?”

  “It has to, otherwise we’d be for ever switching it on and off, or bells would be ringing in an empty school. No, we only ever switch off for holidays.”

  “I see. It’s a nice room.”

  “Yes. And in normal times it always has cut flowers or bowls of bulbs. I get them from the head groundsman.”

  Masters stood by the window. “Miss Freeman, I would like to ask you just a few questions, but first I would like my sergeants to have the addresses I mentioned. How many houses are there? Not boarding houses, but school divisions?”

  “Four.”

  “Thank you. Could we have the names and addresses of the school captain—if that is what the head girl is called—and those of the four house captains, too?”

  “I’m not sure that I ought to . . .”

  “Love,” said Green, as though he had anticipated this protest, “we have the right to search every file, drawer, cupboard or whatever in the school. To confiscate every piece of paper in it. To take the roof off, if necessary. Now you wouldn’t want it all to turn that drastic, would you?”

  “No. Of course not.”