“I know how to make jam tarts and shortbread, but I’m not really good at dinners yet. Except shepherd’s pie; that’s easy and I’ve watched Mummy make it hundreds of times. We always have it on Mondays.”
“So did our family. Why don’t we search the pantry and the fridge to see what we can round up? I’ll do my part by putting on a pinny and handing you things. What about you, Ellie?” Phil looked at me inquiringly.
“You two make a fine team. Isn’t there some old saying about too many cooks? I’ll go upstairs and read, but it will be my pleasure to sample the results. That is, if you’re prepared to share with slackers.”
“There’s Rosemary and Tosca as well. How many potatoes would that be? And could we use a tin of corned beef for the meat if nothing else presents itself?”
“I don’t see why not—Mummy is a great one for improvising. I’d like to stay,” said Gillian, “but I have to get back. I only had permission from Mrs. Battle to leave for an hour.”
“I’ll phone her, if you like, and explain we’ll starve down here without your assistance,” Phil offered.
The door opened, propelling me into the middle of the kitchen.
“Goodness!” Tosca landed neatly on the one and only chair. “I had to escape before that woman sends me jumping out the window. I would like to pull off her big nose and see how she likes that!”
“Rosemary is very unhappy.” Phil had the corned beef in her hands, along with a tin of peas. “I think we need to let part of what she says go over our heads and give her some healing time. That may sound preachy but—”
“You are a nice person, unlike the sinner who is me,” quipped Tosca equably. “Ellie”—she crossed her legs in super-advanced yoga technique—“I forgot to tell you Miss Critchley came when I was sitting outside and asked me to tell you she will meet you in the parking area tomorrow at noon, for you to go out for lunch with your little cousin and her friend.”
“Thank you.” I avoided looking at Gillian, concerned that she would be hurt by not being included, but the purpose of our outing was to try and discover why she was so nervy.
“I hope you enjoyed your day out.” Tosca eyed Gillian’s apple but did not ask for it. “I had a happy time, especially when I was in Boots, asking the lady at the counter what stop-smoking aids they sold, and who should be standing behind me but a doctor. The loveliest man—very good-looking in a country gentleman way. Like a tree you know will not topple in a storm. We got talking. So nice! And now I have a date for tomorrow night.”
“Really?” This was not the moment for me to look at Phil.
“Dinner with the ruggedly handsome doctor. And I think perhaps he can turn my mind off smoking for good. What a good thing I brought with me my naughtiest little black dress!”
The tins of corned beef and peas hit the floor with a dull thud. Before I could finish jumping, the door was shoved open and Rosemary stuck a furious nose into the kitchen. “Two more damn kids have showed up to see you, Ellie: Ariel Hopkins and Carolyn Fisher-Jones, they say. I caught Miss Granny Specs sneaking up the stairs. I expect the other one followed her up and they’re still nosing around.”
“Ariel wouldn’t sneak,” I answered hotly. “She’d be looking for me in my bedroom, expecting me to be holed up with a book.” Or more likely trying to think like a detective, I thought, as I headed out in the hall to find the two girls sitting on the bottom stair.
“Sorry,” I told them. “Perhaps you’d better come back another time, Rosemary is in a foul mood and out for the blood of English girls.”
“Of course,” agreed Carolyn. “By the way, Mrs. Haskell, that clock on the landing is wrong.”
“Nothing of the sort,” bellowed Rosemary from the sitting room. “It’s exactly to time.”
12
After taking a long hot bath, I phoned Ben before bed. All was going well, he told me cheerfully, but he couldn’t remember what day he was supposed to take Tam to the dentist. My pocket calendar was in my handbag, which I hurried to fetch from the bedroom. I am one of those people who can’t find the one thing I’m looking for in all those pockets that are supposedly useful for keeping everything organized without digging out everything else. In this case it was my keys, a packet of tissue, my compact mirror, and several pieces of paper that were probably old shopping lists. Having spilled these onto the table by the phone, I finally located the calendar and gave Ben the time of Tam’s appointment on Thursday. After a chat with each of the children—who fortunately did not seem to be missing me desperately—I hung up and gathered up the clutter without paying much attention.
Getting into bed, I lay staring at the ceiling long after it was too dark to see more than the shadow of the fluted light fixture. Thoughts kept crisscrossing each other, most of them regarding Gillian. I hoped she had found a confidante in Phil.
They had served up a really tasty version of shepherd’s pie, along with the tinned peas and carrots enlivened by a hint of mint. Ben, who is no cooking snob, would have approved of their enterprise. Even Rosemary begrudgingly conceded it was better than last night’s pizza. Tosca had toyed with her portion, pretending at times to smoke her fork. Intermittently I had seen that beleaguered look on Gillian’s face and my heart had ached for her.
What fear gripped her? Was Matron worried about her? And if so, how much comfort would she be? The woman wasn’t well liked, that much was clear. She appeared hard, and yet didn’t her long friendship with Ms. Chips say something positive about her? What was behind the incident of the motorcycle and Gillian? Did Aiden Loverly really suspect her of stealing the Loverly Cup, or had he selected her as a scapegoat because he had seen her as vulnerable on her visits to the Hall?
A snippet of information popped into my head: Dorcas telling me she’d learned from Ms. Chips that Mrs. Brown’s migraine might have been caused by Lady Loverly’s discovery that a brooch was missing, a brooch received from her husband on their honeymoon. What if Aiden Loverly had stolen it himself? Tosca had indicated that he gambled. Perhaps he was in trouble—as she was—with the loan sharks. I pictured the brooch bursting with diamonds and Aiden craftily feigning outrage at Gillian in front of witnesses. And if he had taken the brooch, why not the Loverly Cup, using his girlfriend Mrs. Frenton as his accomplice? In addition to the financial motive, might he not resent the grandmother who had failed to provide a more salubrious setting than Tingwell for his art and antiques business? Perhaps a good part of his merchandise had been sneaked out of the Hall over the years without her ladyship’s seeming to notice. But if she were truly fond of that brooch, this might be the time for her to take action.
Turning on my side, I willed myself to sleep. At some point before midnight I dozed off, to wake to the sound of clothes tumbling around in a dryer. Struggling to sit up, I realized that what I was hearing was my heart thudding. I must have had a nightmare; indeed, the vestiges of horror still clung to my mind: someone creeping stealthily up the stairs and along the landing, silence as if the whole house stopped breathing, and then more footsteps to the accompaniment of creaking boards before the sound of a door—the front door—closing. It took several heart-pounding moments to realize I was being a petrified fool. Any one of the other three women in the house could have come up, then gone downstairs for a drink or something to nibble on, and it could as easily have been the sitting room door as the front one.
Settling back down, I dozed off. A shaft of moonlight cut through the gap in the curtains, allowing me to see the bedside clock. I’d slept longer than it seemed because it was now almost two in the morning. I got up to close the curtains, knowing the room needed to be as dark as possible if I was to get back to sleep. The curtains did not want to adjust; I pushed and tugged, with the result that the rod came down in a flurry of fabric. Suddenly I was looking out into the night. There shouldn’t have been anything of interest to see in the moonlight, other than the charcoal shapes of trees, but there was … . A chill crept down my back. A figure was creeping around th
e side of the house. It didn’t seem likely to be the Gray Nun unless she had given up wearing her habit. I would have welcomed a glimpse of a gauzy veil, but late-night lurkers must be accepted as they are.
It took only moments for me to scramble into the clothes I had set out for the morning, shove my feet into my shoes, and hurry on tiptoe across the landing, down the stairs, and out the front door. No hint of the day’s warmth lingered in the air. It was damply cool with a hint of future rain. That was no reason to shiver; I wasn’t planning to knit or do crossword puzzles. I should count myself lucky that whoever was out there might provide a break in the case. Suddenly I remembered Shirley and Miriam’s reason for breaking the rules and going down the Dribbly Drop. If the person who had taken the Loverly Cup had heard that they thought it might be hidden in the stone bench, she—or he—might be heading for the ruins with the idea of hiding it somewhere safer. Mentally kicking myself for not having already checked out this possible hiding place, I turned the corner of the side of the house under my window.
Real life is not nearly as much fun as reading about an intrepid—if slightly stupid—heroine bent on pre-dawn pursuits. My age was against me. One needs to be no older than nineteen for such adventures. Also, I didn’t look the part. I should have been wearing a cloak that billowed behind me, with my hair unraveled from its plait to frame my face in mystery. My progress was slowed when I stubbed my toe on a hidden tree root. Hobbling on, I saw no one and was about to head for the Dribbly Drop when a voice out of nowhere exclaimed fiercely, “You’d scare the life out of anyone, you would!”
There went Mrs. Malloy again. Being used to these mental interruptions by now, I accepted that she had taken up residence in my head; doubtless before long I would be the one told to go because she had squatter’s rights. What did scare the life out of me was the pressure of a hand placed on my shoulder. A seriously big shudder moment, this! I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My voice box must have needed a new battery. Really, I should remember to replace them every six months as per manufacturer’s instructions.
“Sometimes you worry me,” Mrs. Malloy continued irritably. “Going around in a daze, lost in your own little world! Oh, well”—sounding increasingly huffy—“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at the lack of welcome; it was clear from the start you wanted to hog this case all to yourself. Still, I’d have thought I’d get some sort of welcome after coming all this way. And at a great deal of inconvenience, let me add—seeing as how I had to beg a lift to the station with Mr. Cross down the road—him as always wants something in return and turns awkward when you kick him in the shins, or a bit higher if possible.”
I turned slowly, like one of those stiff mechanical figures that revolve under glass domes. This couldn’t be happening … but it was! There she was in the flesh, wearing one of her taffeta cocktail frocks and a hat she had bought at St. Anselm’s Christmas bazaar. A dozen God-fearing pink flamingoes had given their lives for that hat.
“You might try looking pleased to see me, Mrs. H!”
“I am, but you did give me the most awful fright. Why on earth are you wandering around outside the house?”
She heaved a pained sigh. “I was looking for an unlatched window. Being the sensitive sort, I didn’t want to go ringing the doorbell at this hour and waking the whole household.”
“The front door’s never locked because the key can never be found when needed, and no one seems to worry about breaking and entering.”
“I’d have thought as that would have changed once the cup was stolen. But never mind that. What about the headmistress? With a name like Battle, I picture her as having a face like the back of a bus.”
“Such was your opinion when I was at her flat,” I mused and, on seeing her startled look, explained about all the talking she had done in the last couple of days.
“Well, I must say it’s good to know I wasn’t left behind entirely.”
“Not a chance!”
Her damson lips curved in a pleased smile and her iridescent eye shadow gave a much-needed sparkle; that her rouge had faded was no doubt due to the rigors of travel.
“Let’s go inside.” I preceded her into the hall. “You must be worn out.”
“Like I told Melody and her new hubby, it didn’t feel right leaving you to risk life and limb while I sat looking at their wedding photos, especially when I wasn’t in most of them—not liking to upstage the bride. And much to my surprise, they understood the position perfectly. You could say they couldn’t get me out of me own house fast enough. Went on about how they liked the idea of being able to watch what they liked on the telly without feeling they was being pushy. But I wasn’t born yesterday. Them two is middle-aged and in love. It’s a giddy time in their lives, and there they are at the seaside—aching to run barefoot through the sand without me following behind with the picnic basket.” She sighed sentimentally as she ensconced herself in Rosemary’s chair and accepted the gin and tonic I handed her. “Let Melody and her Bill be dreamers, Mrs. H. I still like to think of love as being the ever-after sort.”
“I wonder if Philippa Boswell feels the same way.”
“Who?”
I explained, giving the whole sorry story of my connection to her and the guilt that had consumed me for years. This took time, and when I paused my watch showed it was nearly three in the morning.
“Well, you should’ve told me,” she said kindly. “That way I’d have understood, instead of feeling hurt when you’d have them fits of staring into space instead of asking if I felt up to doing a round with the feather duster after a late night at bingo. And next to me, you should have shared your burden with Mr. H; now’s there’s a man wouldn’t ask his lady love to get up to tricks as would shock the vicar out of his pulpit, like my third husband did till I brought him up short with me fist. Still, what’s most important is for you to tell this young woman how you acted the coward and leave it to her whether she wants to hug and make up or clobber you over the head with a frying pan. In the meantime, you’d best fill me in with what else has been going on.”
Egged on by Mrs. Malloy’s eager and insightful questions, I poured out all that I could remember of the conversations and accompanying observations of the previous two days. An hour ticked away.
“Seems to me,” Mrs. Malloy announced at length, “that this missing Loverly Cup is only a small piece of what’s wrong around here. There’s another worm in the apple, so to speak. I know that sounds silly, Mrs. H, but I feel it in me bones!”
I was about to say my emotional antennae told me the same thing when the sitting room door was flung open and Rosemary stormed in upon us as if she were still the dorm prefect, righteously determined on catching anyone out of bed in the middle of the night. What a shame for her, if not Mrs. Battle, that she had not been hot on the trail earlier!
“What’s all this?” She flung an arm in Mrs. Malloy’s direction, popping a button off her bulky quilted dressing gown in the process. “I was roused from the first good night’s sleep I’ve had in ages by the sound of talking. Why is this person here, Ellie? It’s against all rules to bring anyone unconnected with St. Roberta’s inside these walls.”
I hedged. “She arrived very late.”
“Or you could say early,” inserted Mrs. Malloy brightly. I’d provided a sufficiently detailed description of Rosemary for her to know what she was up against. “Of course it wasn’t me plan to show up in the wee hours, but the trains didn’t work out like I would have wished. Three changes, with the lav out of order on two of them. There I was standing with me legs crossed till I thought I couldn’t take it no more, and me with a weak bladder.” This was the first I’d heard of this ailment, and I had to give her points on seeing Rosemary’s face.
“I’m not interested in your … health problems.”
“Tosca and I weren’t particularly keen to hear about your missing pale-blue silk knickers,” I said, “but hopefully it relieved your mind to talk about them. Now, what
were you saying?” I turned to Mrs. Malloy as Rosemary sank into a chair. “I should have asked you sooner about your journey, but in the joy of our reunion that got overlooked.”
“Well, the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak, was when I got to Tingwell—a nasty grubby-looking place from what I saw—and found I’d missed the last bus to bring me the rest of the way. So I crossed the road to this café—a bit nervous-like, in case it was frequented by the wrong sort. But as I was sitting over a nice cup of tea, counting the coppers in me purse to see if I’d enough for a taxi, this nice couple—he was a good deal older than her but not bad-looking for a man of his age. Anyway, the upshot is—”
“It’s been long enough coming!” growled Rosemary.
I, on the other hand, inwardly applauded the cozily rambling manner Mrs. Malloy had adopted; it allowed me time to think up a reason for her making the journey to see me in the first place. Regrettably, my mind blinked and went out. I didn’t come up with one that would enable me to spend time with her when I was supposedly in retreat from my everyday life.
“Their car had broken down, you see, and with no garage open they’d rung up some friends as live in Lower Swan-Upping to come and get them. They’d soon be along, would Frank and Marge, said Mr. and Mrs. Whatsit, and seeing as how they thought it risky for me get in a taxi—what with Tingwell being the grim place it is—I accepted their kind offer of a lift.”
“No objections from Frank and Marge?” Rosemary inquired, with what passed at a pinch for interest.
“Couldn’t have been nicer! We had to pass their house on the way to the school, and they asked if I’d like to pop in for a drink. Well, I didn’t see how I could refuse, what with them being so kind. And, as tends to happen, one g and t led to another—”
Goodbye, Ms. Chips Page 19
