Miss Bulmer nodded. “You’ve made your point.”
“I’d just like to add that not one of the three mistresses would have proof. In fact, just the contrary, in your case. But the suspicions of the other two—with no absolute proof—would, I feel sure, make you want to agree to a further investigation.”
“You’re right. I suppose I am so jealous of the school’s reputation that the thought of a murder investigation which touches it—however lightly—is anathema to me.”
Berger was about to reply when the front doorbell rang.
“That’ll be the Chief. Shall I let him in?”
Mrs Gibson, who had been sitting quietly listening to the conversation and taking it all in without contributing much, said: “Would you? I’m getting really nervous of going to the door after dark. I don’t know why. I never used to be like that.”
“Shock, love,” said Reed, getting to his feet. “It’s natural, and it sometimes takes a while to come out.”
A minute later he was back with Masters and Green.
“How are you, Mrs G?” said Green heartily. “Got quite a party here to keep you chirpy.”
“I’m nicely, thank you.”
“Good. Here’s our boss to see you.”
Masters had been introduced, by Reed, to Miss Bulmer. Now he turned to the housekeeper. “There are just one or two questions I’d like to ask you. And Miss Bulmer, too. A stroke of luck, her being here. Shall we all sit down? Berger, bring in a chair from another room, would you?”
“From the dining room,” said Mrs Gibson. “That’s opposite here. And don’t knock the paintwork. It was only redecorated a month ago.”
When they were finally settled, Masters said: “I understand, Mrs Gibson, that Tuesday was your day off.”
“Always.”
“Good. Was that fact widely known? I mean, besides yourself and Miss Holland, did anybody else know that you were away on Tuesdays—hail, rain or shine?”
“We never kept it a secret, if that’s what you mean. Why should we?”
“Please don’t think I’m accusing you of anything. I’m merely seeking information.”
“I don’t know who would know.”
“I knew,” said Miss Bulmer. “I cannot tell you how or why I knew or even when I learned that Mrs Gibson took Tuesdays. But I think it safe to say that every member of the staff would know. It was one of those things one learns in a community such as ours. An unimportant detail that just gets about through being mentioned in conversation.”
“Miss Freeman knew, of course,” said Mrs Gibson. “She came to the house so often, she’d be bound to know.”
“Would such information filter through to the girls? Miss Bulmer, you could probably tell me.”
“I would say the odds are that it would. Quite how, I don’t know. The grapevine, I suppose.”
“Because in Mrs Gibson’s absence two senior girls would be called upon to make coffee for the Governors should a board meeting he held on a Tuesday?”
“That could well be one of the sources. There may be others. You see, everybody was aware of Mrs Gibson’s presence. Not that any of us saw her all that often, but she was known to be here, in the background, looking after Miss Holland. And believe me, Mr Masters, if you had ever met our late headmistress, you would know that she was well cared for. She had that air about her. A lovely-looking woman, in her prime, with everything about her just right. Not prim. She looked well fed—not because she was plump, but because she looked a picture of health. She was well turned out. Not because she spent a fortune on clothes, but because those she had were well chosen and well cared for. Of course she had the happy knack of being able to work through a hard day and to emerge at the end of it looking as she had done at nine o’clock in the morning. The rest of us finish a day with our hair awry, chalk on our fingers and in our nails, probably with a tear in our gowns where we’ve caught them on some protuberance, exhausted with putting over our lessons and sore-footed through standing to teach through long periods. Miss Holland was different. One just knew, by looking at her, that she had the back-up forces to care for her. That she hadn’t had to go home to housework the night before, and she wouldn’t have to go home to housework tonight either. That is how Mrs Gibson looked after her and put her out on parade each day. It was a point nobody could have missed.”
“There’s a glowing tribute for you, Mrs G.,” said Green. “Unsolicited testimonial.”
“We did our best, and we were very happy doing it.”
“I’m sure you were,” said Masters. “Now, another question. Presumably you went out at times other than for the whole day on Tuesdays?”
“To shop you mean?”
“I was thinking more of your social activities. In the evenings. Did you ever go to the cinema or a church guild or anything like that after dinner at night?”
“Oh, quite often. Not to the pictures or church, but I went out to visit my friends or they came here. Mostly I went out. When Miss Holland didn’t need me I was free to go any night.”
“Would anybody other than Miss Holland know when you were going out to visit your friends?”
“I don’t see how they could.”
Masters looked round sharply as Miss Bulmer opened her mouth and made a sound as though she were about to speak and had then decided against it.
“Yes, Miss Bulmer?”
“I have no wish to contradict Mrs Gibson, but I was aware of the fact that most Thursday evenings she went over to Groombridge. She and the matron were friends. . . .”
“That’s right,” agreed Mrs Gibson. “But it wasn’t regular. Not absolutely. I used to pop over to see Matron—she lives in Groombridge, you see, though she’s matron for all three houses—but I didn’t go if Miss Holland was entertaining for instance.”
“I see,” said Masters. “But would the visits be regular enough for somebody who knew, say, that Miss Holland was going out to dinner, to be sure you would be out of the house, too?”
“I suppose they would, really.”
“Thank you.”
“But it depends who you mean by somebody?”
“I suppose I mean everybody. All the girls in Groombridge, for example. They must have noticed you coming and going between their house and here.”
“And in the other two houses,” said Reed. “All the back windows look this way across the playing field. There can’t be many people use that path at any time, let alone in the evening when the whole place is locked up. So Mrs Gibson’s comings and goings could easily be noted.”
Mrs Gibson asked: “What has all this got to do with Miss Holland being dead? Little things that I did, like going to see Matron? Are you telling me I helped to kill her?”
“Emphatically not,” said Masters sternly, to the surprise of Reed and Berger. “I shall get cross if you start thinking anything of the kind. I am asking questions. I am not accusing or suspecting you. You heard what Miss Bulmer said about the way you cared for Miss Holland. Everybody must know that you would never do anything to displease her, let alone harm her. I expect, even, that she was glad you went over to visit the matron.”
“She was.”
“There you are then.”
“She said it was good for two old fogeys like her and me to get out of the house as often as we could.” Mrs Gibson could scarcely finish what she said because of the tears that started to flow. “Two old fogeys like us . . . But she didn’t live to be old . . .”
“Come on, love,” said Green, moving over to put an arm round the housekeeper’s shoulder. “You heard what Mr Masters said. You don’t want him to get cross with you. Or me. So come on. Sergeant Berger will get you a glass of sherry.” He nodded to the sergeant, who went off to do his bidding. “Here you are now. Use my hanky. That little thing of yours is no earthly. It looks as if it had been out in a thunderstorm already. Come on. Stop crying and dry the tears.”
As Green comforted the housekeeper, Masters asked Miss Bulmer: “Once the board
ers finish school or games and get back to their houses, are they confined for the rest of the evening until bedtime?”
“There is no short answer to that question.”
“Supply me with a long one, then.”
“In theory, all the girls in the boarding houses are supposed to remain within the school bounds at all times except for excursions for which mistresses are responsible, or outings for which special leave is asked and granted. That gives the school authorities the whip hand, and is necessary because we are in loco parentis at all times of the day and night.
“As I said, that is in theory. In practice, Miss Holland relaxed her own regulations. Rightly, in my view, she pointed out that in a school which has both day girls and boarders, the day girls get privileges which, if we adhered strictly to our rules, boarders would not enjoy. The parents of day girls take them out and about and, particularly in the case of the senior girls, allow them a great freedom of unsupervised movement. They have boyfriends and go to discos and so on. To be deprived of this freedom in this day and age, would be a source of discontent among our boarders. So, Miss Holland introduced what she called her ‘blind-eye’ supervision clause.
“Put at its simplest, this clause means that all boarders who are not engaged in school team matches are free after lunch on Saturdays throughout the year. But reporting-back times are earlier in the winter, particularly for the younger girls. They have to be back by half-past five in winter, half-past eight in summer. Older girls are allowed out until nine in winter, ten in summer. Those who come home late are not allowed out the next week.”
“Saturdays are the only days they are allowed out?”
“No. After lunch on Sundays, too. But in winter everybody must be back in time for evening chapel. In summer—because so many parents visit on a Sunday—these rules are relaxed at the discretion of the housemistress.
“At other times—that is on ordinary weekdays—senior girls have Tuesday afternoons free, juniors have Thursday afternoons free. In the winter terms, nobody gets out in the evenings except in chaperoned parties. In the summer terms, tennis and athletics and swimming are allowed after prep.”
“In the school grounds?”
“Oh yes. We have all the facilities here. I have only given you a brief outline of our free time activities, but you must realise that all the school’s clubs and societies meet, at their various times, within the school bounds. Life-saving classes for instance are on Wednesday evenings for the seniors. The juniors do their saving between the end of chapel and lunch on Sundays. Play rehearsals are put in at all sorts of odd times, including Saturday evenings. The same with music.
“So, though the place may sound like a prison, Miss Holland had established a system which gave our boarders a great deal of freedom.” She smiled at Masters. “So many things have to be thought of in a girls’ school. Take Matron as a case in point. Can you imagine the trouble she has in supervising the shampooing of a hundred and fifty heads of hair every week? To say nothing of ensuring that some little Misses are not dodging the column over the daily tub?”
Masters shrugged. “Complicated,” he said.
“It sounds it when one tries to describe it. But Miss Holland’s blind-eye clause really helped with discipline among the boarders. Because of it, there were privileges the girls could lose if they did not toe the line. Very few of them were naughty.”
“So discipline was strict and punishments were few?”
“That is a slightly different question, but in the main you are right. Miss Holland had very precise views on punishments.”
“I heard she had introduced a punishment book.”
“Ah, yes! That was for a specific, domestic reason, but it played a part in her philosophy. She insisted that we distinguish very clearly between punishments for misbehaviour and those for bad work. For the former she instituted the punishment book you mentioned. For the latter, the detention book.”
“I hadn’t heard of that.”
“Detention was the more serious matter. Misbehaviour had really to merit punishment and that, when set, had to take the form of extra written work closely connected with the curriculum. But Miss Holland was not keen on this.”
“Why?”
“She took the view that every young person was mischievous to a greater or lesser degree. Any teacher worth her salt should be able to recognise this and to deal with it by force of character rather than by resorting to impositions. She recognised there would be times when even the best teacher might fail—hence the punishment book. But when it came to bad work, then she became really concerned. She obliged mistresses to discover why the work was bad. Was it because something had been badly taught and the pupil didn’t understand it? Was the girl herself not up to the work being taught and set? Had the girl merely skimped her prep? If so, why? Was she worried, or ill, or diverted in some way?”
“In other words, a reason had to be found.”
“Quite. Then, if the bad work was really the girl’s own fault—with no extenuating circumstances—it was brought home to her that the school would not accept it, that mistresses were not going to waste time in teaching, setting and marking work which the girl was too idle to do.”
“Detention?”
“A lot of extra work, in school, on her half day. Supervised by the duty mistress. But worse than that—and here the seriousness came into it—a score of three detentions in any one term could lead to parents being requested to remove the girl in question. Certainly, if the bad work continued into a second term, the girl would be required to go. So you see, the detention book was an important document, with each entry supported by written reasons for the detention and notes on the investigation into the causes of the bad work. The result was that we had a very sound discipline under Miss Holland, but the punishments available to us were comparatively rarely used.”
“It sounds most enlightened. A benevolent dictatorship, in fact. Were any girls ever expelled?”
“Yes. In Miss Holland’s first year there was a certain amount of weeding out. But there has been no need for it recently. You see, Mr Masters, no girl was punished if she genuinely could not do her work. If that happened, we kept her back a year to allow her to catch up. It almost invariably worked and the girl in question was always happier at being given the chance to cope.”
Masters said: “I would like to see the detention book.”
“For any particular reason?”
“Nosiness. I’ve seen the punishment book.”
“Miss Holland kept the detention book locked away in her study.”
“Here, in the house study?”
“Yes. It was too important to leave in school.”
“Excellent. I shall be able to see it before I go. Thank you, Miss Bulmer. You’ve been a mine of information.”
“You mean I’ve helped you?”
“Most assuredly.” Before the deputy headmistress could press him further, he turned to Green who was sitting close to Mrs Gibson. They were smoking and chatting, and the storm of grief seemed to be safely over. “How are we doing now?” he asked.
“We’re all right, it’s them others,” said Green laconically.
“Good. Now, Mrs Gibson, please don’t get upset, but we’re going to inspect your kitchen.”
“You what? You’re not suggesting there’s anything wrong with my kitchen! If you are, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Perhaps. But nevertheless I’d like my sergeant to inspect your cupboards.”
“What for?”
“We shall know that if we find anything.”
“You won’t find anything that isn’t sweet and good.”
“I’m not saying we shall. But just in case we do, would you like to be present? And you, Miss Bulmer? To befriend Mrs Gibson and—almost—as an independent witness?”
Miss Bulmer got to her feet. “I feel it would be right for me to be present.”
“Excellent. Shall we go? Lead on, please, Mrs Gibson, but please t
ouch nothing. Just answer questions.”
“This sounds exceedingly serious,” said Miss Bulmer.
“Come on, love,” Green urged her. “Use your nous. We’ve got to examine the house carefully. Where better to start than the kitchen, since it was something she ate that killed Miss Holland?”
Miss Bulmer drew herself up as though to indicate that—even if only temporarily—the school premises, including this house, were her property, and she would like this to be recognised and policemen not to address her as “love”. Her attitude didn’t get through to Green, who continued: “Trust the Super not to cause unnecessary trouble or distress. If he says search the kitchen, he has a good reason for doing so.”
“What does he hope to find?”
“Hope? Or expect?”
“The latter.”
“You’d be surprised. At least I expect I shall.”
Mrs Gibson led them to the kitchen door and pressed the switch. A tube on the ceiling flickered, waned momentarily and then sprang to full life to show a room which, though basically old, had been modernised quite recently with all the units and gadgets that—according to standpoint—make life easier or more complicated and expensive.
“Nice,” said Green. “Who chose the colours, Mrs G? White, almond green and chestnut. Tasteful.”
“What is it you want to see?” asked Mrs Gibson, obviously in no mood to respond further to Green’s joshing.
“The cupboard in which you keep all your supplies of spices, gravy browning and such like, please.”
Mrs Gibson snorted. “You’ll find nothing there that shouldn’t be there.”
Golden Rain Page 13
