Your Secret Friend (Timothy Herring)

by Gladys Mitchell

  “I should hate you to betray P.-B.’s confidence, so the answer is still the same,” said Alison firmly.

  “A pity. A great pity, as the cowboy said when he tried to rope a steer and strangled the boss. My revelations would have turned your lustrous eyes to shooting stars.”

  “I prefer them as they are,” said Alison.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hallowe’en

  Time passed. The third week in September became the last week in October. Watched with covert interest and excitement by seven pairs of eyes, April Bounty continued, so far as her health was concerned, to flourish like the green bay tree. It was noticeable that her tongue had lost its sarcastic bite and that, from her lips, unkind nicknames had become a thing of the past, but of her immediate demise there was no sign at all. The spell, it seemed, had failed.

  “Three boos for Sandra! She’s mucked up the curse,” said Gillian. “I vote we blackball her out of the gang. I’ll be the leader, if you like.”

  “You?” said Sandra contemptuously. “Anyway, if anybody mucked it up, it was Veronica. She turned yellow and wouldn’t say the words or stick the pins in.”

  “We’ve got to give it time,” said Connie Moosedeer. “You British are so impatient. You’re like babies. My tribe will wait for months, maybe for years, before they’ll give up and begin to think nothing is going to happen. It was a good spell, and it’s sure to work in the end.”

  “If it doesn’t, we’ll try another,” said the leader, eyeing the forthcoming Gillian with dislike.

  “We can’t go to that house again,” said Stephanie. “The workmen are all over it. When we were out for a ramble with Miss Betts to pick autumn leaves and berries, Mavis and I managed to sneak away up that lane and have a look. The house is being all done up and the garden’s been dug over and everything.”

  Little Monkshood, in fact, was rapidly becoming ready for occupation. On the morning of the day when the school was preparing for its Hallowe’en celebrations, Alison received a letter from Timothy. She had seen nothing of him since the beginning of the term. He had divided his time between his own home and the hotel at Peterminster from which he visited Little Monkshood to see how the work was progressing, but he did not go there at week-ends, during which work stopped. He wrote:

  “Glad to be able to tell you—although I daresay you may have noticed it for yourself—that Little Monkshood will be ready if you’d care to move in before Christmas. The house has been wired for electricity and piped water is laid on. We’ve done much better than I expected, and I do hope you’ll like the place when it’s finished. Don’t be afraid to complain to us if you find anything that doesn’t please you, so it might be an idea to go along at any time now to give the alterations the once-over and see what you think.

  “You’ll find the undercroft very cold, but we’ve kept coal fires going in the solar and the second chamber, so those should be all right, but if you prefer not to move in until the spring it might be more comfortable for you. Anyway, I’ve left you a couple of electric fires which you can switch on when you go to look things over.”

  He sent his kind regards to Simon, under that name, and remained hers sincerely. Alison threw the letter on to the common room fire, although why it had upset her she would have found difficult to explain. Meanwhile, there were the horrors of Hallowe’en to be faced, for although Miss Pomfret-Brown did not insist upon staff attendance in the hall on this Walpurgis Night, the senior staff thought it a duty and the junior staff an obligation (on the strength of catching the boss’s eye) to be present.

  Sandra, fearful of losing her authority over the non-success of the spell, called a special meeting of the coven immediately after tea.

  “I ’m not going to mess about with turnip lanterns and bobbing for apples in a bowl of water,” she told her followers. “This is the night when graves give up their dead. I dare any of you who aren’t afraid of ghosts to come with me to the churchyard. Any offers?”

  “Witches, yes. Ghosts, no,” said Connie Moosedeer. “And if you call me a coward I shall sock you, Sandra Davidson.”

  “Suppose nobody wants to go with you, Sandra? said the timid Veronica. “shall you go there alone?”

  “You bet!” said Gillian scornfully. “She’s only calling for help because she funks to go by herself.”

  “Oh, yes?” said Sandra dangerously. “Well, is anybody coming with me?”

  “We’ll be missed from the hall,” said Mavis. “Besides, there’s always a special supper at Hallowe’en.”

  “There’s always a special pig inside your beastly fat stomach,” retorted the leader. “All right, then. If you’re all such suck-babies, I will go there by myself.”

  “Hark who’s talking!” said Gillian.

  “You’d have to go at midnight if you were to see anything,” said Stephanie, “and I shouldn’t think even a lunatic like you would want to be all by yourself in a churchyard at midnight, especially at Hallowe’en.”

  Feeling that her prestige was beginning to be undermined, Sandra said boastfully.

  “You’ll see. The only thing is that, if I go alone, you won’t believe me. You’re all afraid, so you think I’m afraid, too. Well, I’m not. What proof do you want that I’ve been?”

  “There isn’t any proof,” said Connie Moosedeer.

  “Please don’t go, Sandra,” said Veronica. “But—if you do, I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, don’t be such an ass, Veronica,” said Gillian. “You’re only trying to show off.”

  “She’s worth the lot of you, anyway,” said Sandra. She linked her arm in that of the selfless one. “Come on, Veronica. Let’s plan.”

  Gillian followed them with burning eyes.

  “I bet they don’t go anywhere near the churchyard,” she said.

  “I vote we follow them when they go out, and see how far they get.”

  “If Sandra says she’ll go, she will go,” said Connie, “but I bet Veronica calls it off at the last minute. She’s chicken. Anyway, you can count me out.”

  “And me,” said Mavis. “I’m not going to miss Hallowe’en supper, even if she does call me a pig. There’s going to be chicken sandwiches and a real claret-cup, so I heard some of the Fifth saying.”

  “I’m not going, either,” said Stephanie. “It’s much too cold, and we’d be expelled for sure if we were caught.”

  “All right, I’ll go after her by myself,” said Gillian.

  “Says you!” observed Mavis. “When was your name Sandra Davidson?”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Caroline, “if you promise we won’t go into the actual churchyard.”

  “We won’t need to. Sandra won’t go anywhere near the churchyard. You’ll see. She’ll just go as far as the front gates and hang about a bit, and then come back.”

  “Well, if you’re really going, we’ll cover up for you if we can,” said Connie generously. “I only hope it isn’t Marchmont who spots you’re not at supper.”

  “Oh, we shan’t miss supper,” said Gillian. “We shall simply jump out on Sandra and Veronica and scare them into a fit.”

  It was unlikely in the extreme that Alison would miss the delinquents. Having put in an appearance at the revels for the best part of an hour, she retired to her room and, having changed her party glad-rags for a tweed costume and a heavy coat, she slipped out of the house to meet Simon. On that particular afternoon school lessons ended at three and she had waylaid him as he was preparing to leave for his rooms in the village.

  “I know you don’t approve of my living at Little Monkshood,” she said, “but I heard this morning that it’s almost ready for habitation. Will you get some cocktail snacks and a bottle of something—anything you like—and meet me there for an hour at about half-past seven this evening? I do want you to be the first to be with me for a house-warming, and then I’ll give an official one for the senior staff nearer Christmas.”

  “Must it be tonight? Wouldn’t it be better to go in daylig
ht tomorrow?”

  “Anything to get away from the Hallowe’en party for a bit. That’s why I want to go tonight.”

  “Oh, I see. Very well, then. Can you drink advocaat?”

  “Get that for yourself and some madeira for me.”

  “You drank advocaat at Vere’s birthday party, didn’t you?”

  “That’s not to say I like it.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Very well. At about half-past seven, then.”

  Having posted his letter in Peterminster, Timothy stayed the night at the George, intending to pay another visit to Little Monkshood after tea on the following day in the hope that curiosity would take Alison to see it at the earliest opportunity. He deduced that this would be some time after lessons finished for the day and school tea was over.

  He had a couple of keys to the newly hung, sturdy, nail-studded front door at the top of the outside stair, and these he intended to hand over at the first opportunity, preferably personally. He drove in the gathering dark to the house, let himself in, switched on the electric fire and a light in the solar, and seated himself in the window recess. He intended to give her until about seven o’clock. After that, knowing nothing about the Hallowe’en party, he decided that she would not be likely to venture forth, and so he would drop the keys in at the school secretary’s office and return to the George for the night.

  It occurred to him, at the end of a quarter of an hour, that, as the key she had to the now bricked-up ground-floor entrance was useless, and she had, as yet, no other, it was in the highest degree unlikely that she would turn up. On the other hand, if she had not visited Little Monkshood for some time, she might not realise that she could no longer get in without the new key. Then he remembered that the electric light, shining out through the uncurtained window, would show her that someone was there. He had no desire to go and sit in his car, for the night, although fine, was chilly. He shook out the newspaper he had bought in Peterminster and made himself as comfortable as he could manage on the broad oak window-seat.

  He had reached the house at half-past six. By seven o’clock he had read the paper. He then took out a ball-point and settled down to work out the crossword. Not knowing the mentality and personal idiosyncrasies of the setter, this took him some little time, and when next he looked at his watch it showed twenty minutes past the hour. It seemed useless to wait any longer. He switched off the light and the fire, made his way to the only door which now, between the great hall and the kitchen, gave egress from the house, descended the outside staircase and was soon edging his car into the lane and on to the Dorchester road, half hoping he might meet Alison on the way.

  He had almost reached the church, a bare half-mile from the school, when his headlights picked out a solitary man carrying a couple of baskets. He slowed down to pass him, for the road was narrow, and recognised Simon. He pulled up and offered him a lift.

  “It’s very good of you,” said Simon. “These bottles are rather heavy.”

  “Hop in. How far do you want to go?”

  “I’m going to Little Monkshood. Miss—er—Miss Pallis has invited me to drink to its health or something. She says it’s ready for occupation.”

  “Yes, she would have had my letter this morning. I’ve just come from there, so she hasn’t arrived yet. How will she be coming? On foot?”

  “Oh, yes, there’s no other way, as she hasn’t a car.”

  “Well, what about turning round, going to the school, and picking her up? Save her a three-mile walk, what?” Timothy was uncertain whether he would prefer to see Alison in Simon’s company or not at all.

  “That’s very kind of you,” said Simon. They saw Alison as she was leaving the school gates.

  “You must come in and have a drink, Tim,” she said, when the car drew up outside Little Monkshood. “We shan’t stay long. I just wanted Simon to be the first one to see the house. Is it really finished?”

  “Near enough. You can bring in the furniture and fittings as soon as you like. By the way, here are the new keys, so now you can let yourself in, and feel that you’re really the owner. No, I won’t come in. Never drink when you’re driving. Don’t hurry. The car will wait.”

  They stayed barely half-an-hour. Timothy gathered that it was not a very cheerful house-warming. He could sense Simon’s resentment and could sympathise with it. He felt somewhat frustrated himself, and was thankful when they dropped Simon in the village and he was driving Alison back to the school.

  “I’m sorry to have been an involuntary gate-crasher,” he said. “I take it that I intruded upon what was meant to be a tête-à-tête.”

  “It was nice to get a lift,” said Alison evasively. “Have you had your dinner?”

  “No, but I’ve plenty of time. It won’t take me ten minutes to get back to the George.”

  “Come in to school and eat a Hallowe’en supper.”

  “You don’t mean you’re a truant from the revels?”

  “Well, I wasn’t absent for long, and I’m not on duty this evening, anyway.”

  “Wasn’t your Simon invited? I thought he was a member of the staff.”

  “He could have come if he’d wanted to, but he doesn’t care for our social occasions, and I can’t say I blame him. Girls merry-making in the mass are rather grim.”

  “Not to me. I can’t wait to renew my acquaintance with Miss Promfret-Brown. Did you know her name was Sabrina?”

  “What are you talking about? Slow down. We’re almost at the school gates.”

  Timothy stopped the car.

  “It’s a fact,” he said solemnly. “She used to sit with my father under the glassie, cool, translucent wave, in twisted braids of lilies knitting the loose train of her amber-dropping hair. Oh, sorry! I forgot you don’t like quotations from the classics—or isn’t Gerald Gould a classic?”

  “That’s an unmannerly, uncalled-for question, and I think you’re rather beastly. I know I gave myself away, but nobody except you would cast it up at me.”

  “Why have you been avoiding me since you came back from Corfu?”

  “I haven’t been avoiding you, and Corfu would have nothing to do with it if I had.”

  “Oh, dear! Didn’t it come up to expectations? I’m sorry about that.”

  “Are you coming in to supper, or are you not?”

  “On second thoughts, not, but I’ll drive you up to the front door, and kiss the wall’s hole.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dear me! Short on Milton and unfamiliar with Shakespeare! Where can you have been brought up?”

  “Your name isn’t Pyramus!”

  “No, it’s Phisbe. Joke, Lower Fourth for the use of.”

  He turned the car in at the school gates and drove at a funereal five miles an hour up to the front door.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Herring, and thank you for bringing me home,” she said, primly, a hint of laughter in her voice. Timothy got out, went round to her side of the car and opened the door for her. Ceremoniously he handed her out. Much less ceremoniously, but with sincerity, he said, “If only you’d have a bit of sense!” She thought it might be better not to ask him what he meant, but discovered that she needed all her self-discipline to keep the question from being spoken. Timothy watched her mount the well-lighted steps, then he climbed back into the driving-seat and backed the car to the open gates at the end of the drive.

  Alison was about to push open the front door—it was not shut fast until ten—when it was opened by a couple of small girls.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” she enquired, her school-mistress eye taking in the fact that, although their overcoats barely concealed the fact that they were in party frocks, they had changed into stout brown-leather walking-shoes.

  “Oh, we—er . . .”began Caroline.

  “We got hot, and thought we’d get some fresh air, Miss Pallis,” said the less abashed and more resourceful Gillian.

  “Oh, yes? Well, it doesn’t need walking-shoes to
stand on top of the steps outside the front door, but I’m glad to see that you’re well wrapped up. That was very sensible of you. Now, take a few good breaths, and then inside with you. If you get hot again, I would recommend a cooling-off process in your form-room, where you might care to write me an essay on Hallowe’en: its origin and superstitions.”

  “Oh, Miss Pallis!”

  “Well, get along with you this time, and no more nonsense. You won’t see any more ghosts in the garden than you will in the building—not as many, perhaps, if half the stories about the Purfleet ancestors are true. Is supper over?”

  “No, Miss Pallis.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll enjoy it. Now take off those outdoor lendings and back to the ballroom with you.”

  A combination of circumstances had caused Sandra to put forward the time of her visit to the churchyard. On Hallowe’en Night, as a very special concession, and as it was half-term, the Fifth and Sixth were allowed to stay up until after midnight if they wished to do so. That meant that there would be seniors about until, probably, one o’clock in the morning. Added to that, the front door would be locked, and as the only other means of admittance which was reputed to be safe was by way of one of the terrace windows, of which the catch could be pushed back with the blade of a penknife, Sandra changed her plan, as there might be mistresses and the resented Sixth about as All Saints Day came in.

  Sandra explained all this to the trembling Veronica and the sceptical Gillian and Caroline.

  “So we’re going at eight and I daresay we’ll be back in time for supper, so you needn’t save us any,” she concluded. At ten minutes to seven she pulled Veronica out of a queue which was about to bob for apples.

  “Sneak up to the cloakroom and put on your overcoat and outdoor shoes,” she muttered. “Zero hour! As soon as you’re ready, meet me at the front door. In all this row, nobody will notice us leaving, if we slip out quickly.”

  “Oh, but, Sandra, I’m ever so sorry, but I can’t go with you.”

  “You dirty little stinker! Why not?”

  “It isn’t my fault,” said the wretched Veronica. “Sally Fenwick asked me to go into supper with her, and you know she’s our form prefect, so I couldn’t say no, could I? All the seniors ask a junior to sit with them at supper on Hallowe’en—you know that!—and then we have to pull their chestnuts off the hot-plate for them afterwards. Hasn’t anybody asked you?”