Goodbye, Ms. Chips

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Rosemary likes gin and tonic,” I said encouragingly.

  “—and of course it wouldn’t have done for Frank to drive under the influence. Besides, he’d fallen asleep, as did the rest of us after a bit. If a dog across the road hadn’t started barking, my guess is we’d still be sacked out.”

  “At least you arrived safely, that’s the important thing.” I couldn’t blame Rosemary for glaring at me. I did sound fatuous, but the moment was at hand and I didn’t have an idea how to prevent Mrs. Malloy from being sent packing. “By the way”—I managed to stall a moment longer—“where is your luggage?”

  “On the step outside. You didn’t notice and I didn’t like to ask you to fetch it in when you looked so tired; always thinking of others, that’s me.” Mrs. Malloy was back to her own self. Rosemary eyed her narrowly.

  “I’ve got it!” she crowed in triumph. “I know who you are now!”

  “Kind of you to say so.” Mrs. Malloy’s haughty nod was worthy of a duchess handed a damp package of sausages by a blushing gawker who wanted to make a gesture but didn’t have a bunch of flowers. Disdainful, but mindful of the requirement to be kind to the little people.

  “You’re the aunt!”

  “I’m the what?” Mrs. Malloy’s painted eyebrows shot up an inch.

  Aha! I thought. Here lay a possibility!

  “Ellie’s reason for seeking refuge at the Chaplain’s House”—Rosemary jabbed a finger in my direction—“having worn herself out tending to your every ache and ailment.”

  The eyebrows skyrocketed.

  I leaped off the couch and skimmed across the room to perch on the arm of Mrs. Malloy’s chair. “Now then, Aunt Petal”—gripping her hands—“you know you mustn’t upset yourself. It’s bad for your lumbago and the vertigo … and that twitch the doctor can’t explain.”

  “For God’s sake don’t remind her of the weak bladder!”

  “Please be quiet, Rosemary,” I begged. “Can’t you see she’s in no fit state to be harangued? The journey could have killed her!”

  “She looks healthy as a horse to me.”

  “Petal?” Mrs. Malloy murmured.

  “Bewildered, you see.” I glowered up at Rosemary’s looming figure. “She’ll be in no state to return home for days … possibly weeks.”

  “Can’t you get it through your thick skull that you’ve been had?”

  “Kindly keep your voice down. Shouting causes her vision to blur, and you’ll be the one leading her around by the hand while I’m frantically trying to find Dr. Roberts!”

  “She’s clearly a malingerer!” Rosemary sucked in a vicious breath.

  “That’s all part of me illness.” Mrs. Malloy slipped valiantly into the role thrust upon her. “Remind me again, Ellie, about how we’re related? I’m feeling a little muzzy; it’s me corns playing up again.”

  “You were always such a dear family friend, Mummy said you wouldn’t mind if I called you Aunt Petal.” I patted her shoulder. “So when you began having your little health problems, I insisted on taking care of you.”

  “Sounds to me like you’ve done some complaining to that lamppost standing there!”

  “You mustn’t think that, dear. It’s true I was ready for a teensy rest, but I explained all that before I left and you told me you understood. What went wrong, Aunty? Did Ben forget to bring you breakfast in bed? Did the children become a little too rowdy without me there to explain you need lots of nice peace and quiet?”

  “I got to missing you something fierce.” Mrs. Malloy choked on a realistic sob.

  “My heart bleeds!” Rosemary flung up her hands. “But staying here is out! For starters, Mrs. Battle would never agree to it!”

  “Oh, I think she may when I explain the circumstances.” The important one being, I thought, that Mrs. Malloy was my detecting partner. Two heads would be better than one for recovering the Loverly Cup.

  Before Rosemary could recover her equilibrium, Tosca appeared in our midst wearing a doleful expression at odds with her lime-green satin negligee and the exotic appeal of her tumbled dark hair and near-black eyes.

  “Hello.” She eyed Mrs. Malloy hopefully. “You must be a new girl. I don’t suppose you smoke?”

  “No, but that isn’t to say I won’t if it’s a requirement.”

  “Oh, Aunt Petal!” I chuckled delightedly. “You’re going to be the life and soul of our little group!”

  Let Rosemary put that in her pipe and choke on it! “I’m off back to bed,” she snapped, “and if any more people show up, tell them to set up camp beds outside. I need my sleep.” She left, closing the door behind her with something close to a slam, and moments later Tosca drifted out in her wake.

  “What about bed for you?” I suggested to Mrs. Malloy, but she assured me, as so often happened, she was prey to the dreaded second wind.

  “Why don’t we go down to the ruins now and check out that stone bench those two girls thought could be a hiding place for the cup?”

  Feeling wide awake myself and sadly aware that instead of snoozing outdoors that afternoon I should have been on the case, I agreed, and we set off through a light drizzle.

  Even on the finest dry day, there was a dangerous-looking gloss to the dark surface of the steps going down the Dribbly Drop. Always the slow trickles of green water, waiting to be lapped up by the gelatinous creatures—part lizard, part jellyfish—that Susan, Ann, and I had been convinced hid, watchful and slyly blinking, in the tufts of grass between the bushes at the top.

  “It might be a good idea to take off your shoes,” I felt compelled to advise.

  “Not on your Nellie! I’ve been wearing heels this high since I was four.”

  I decided against arguing. The look she gave me couldn’t have been fiercer if I’d suggested she take off all her clothes in the middle of Oxford Circus. But in the interests of saving her from her folly, I went ahead of her, one slow step at a time. Then, half a dozen steps from the bottom, I saw a dark shape huddled on the ground. I knew, of course, that it was a person, but my mind strove to believe it was some other object—perhaps a black plastic bag filled with garden refuse, left there by Mr. Mossop to be collected later when it was quite full. I could feel Mrs. Malloy’s hand on my shoulder, her face pressed close to mine as we stood frozen, peering in dreadful disbelief.

  I did not feel the ground beneath me as we knelt beside the contorted figure. There was movement, a slow-motion turning from side to back, and we were looking into Ms. Chips’s eyes. I felt a faint stirring of hope when she drew a shallow breath and her lips parted. There was more: recognition in the eyes that met mine. “My nose mended, as you saw.” The faintest of smiles crossed her face. “But my heart never did. Loved him so dearly … grateful for the time we had together.” Silence. Then another murmur I couldn’t catch.

  “‘Will,’ I think that was it, and then ‘my’ …” said Mrs. Malloy, “but so hard to hear.”

  There could be no confirmation or denial of this. Ms. Chips had left us—to be reunited, I could only hope, with the man she had loved and lost so long ago.

  13

  I didn’t stumble out onto the landing and into the bathroom until five past eleven, and that after about three hours of sleep. Even a lot of sloshing with cold water and a snappy brushing of my hair couldn’t stir my interest in descending the stairs. Mrs. Malloy had stayed with poor Ms. Chips, while I’d gone and phoned the police. After their arrival and that of the medical people, we endured a brief questioning as to how we had found her when setting out on an early morning walk. They didn’t appear to find anything significant in her last words and clearly regarded the event as a tragic accident—which had to be the case, of course. The question was, Why had Ms. Chips been out in the grounds in the early hours of the morning? But even that was not difficult to explain. She had always been an active woman and, upon seeing her dorm charges well settled for the night, might have felt like taking a brief stroll. Or—the sudden thought occurred—what if she had l
earned from her friend Matron of Miriam and Shirley’s reason for going down the Dribbly Drop and had gone too, as Mrs. Malloy and I had intended, to check out the stone bench?

  My need to talk to Ben was strong. I left my bedroom and went to the telephone on its table under the big plastic clock that was so unsuited to the rest of the decor. As I hung up, lucky to catch Ben as he was heading out the door to Abigail’s, I noticed my mirror compact on the table, where I must have left it when digging in my handbag for the details of Tam’s dental appointment. I then saw that the inappropriate clock had shifted, so that the twelve and six were decidedly off-kilter. Rather than merely straighten it, which might scrape the paint, I lifted it off its nail on the wall and found myself looking into a niche that was larger than the ones in the hall and the sitting room. Why cover it—let alone with something so unsuitable?

  The answer was right there in front of me. The Loverly Cup gleamed like boxed starlight. Should I march it straight up to school and hand it over to Mrs. Battle or endeavor first to find who had put it here?

  I had replaced the clock and was stepping back when my foot turned, causing me to stumble forward on one knee and brace myself on the floor. No more than an inch from my hand was a thin silver chain. When I picked it up and stood erect, I saw that the little ring in the center held a small flat cat charm. I turned it over. It was engraved with the word, or name, CARROTS.

  On legs that felt even woollier than when I’d got out of bed, I went and sat on the top stair. Gillian had told me at the Middletons’ that she had a cat named Carrots. Gillian had been at the Chaplain’s House yesterday; she might well have gone upstairs before I got back and dropped the charm while making a phone call. But why wouldn’t she have used the phone downstairs? Memory came of waking in the night and hearing someone creep across the landing and down the stairs. What if it hadn’t been one of the other residents, as I had convinced myself? What if Gillian had slipped out of the dorm, as Ariel had done the previous night, and hidden the cup behind the clock? If so, why the risky urgency? Obviously, wherever she had previously hidden it no longer seemed safe.

  I had mentioned out-of-place objects in my talk to the Home Skills class. Gillian had been there. What if she remembered hearing, perhaps from Ruth Middleton, that an inappropriate clock covered the niche on the landing at the Chaplain’s House? Ruth had mentioned the niches to me. I pictured Ms. Chips looking at that wall and deciding that, charming though the niche might be, what was needed above the telephone was a clock. Perhaps the plastic one was intended to be temporary and a more suitable replacement had not been found. I could almost hear Ruth explaining this to Gillian. I swallowed hard. Why hadn’t Gillian made an excuse to go upstairs yesterday—perhaps to use the bathroom—instead of running the risk of a middle-of-the-night visit? I pictured her face as she had sat talking to Philippa. She had looked happy at that moment. I had to believe that was real and all the rest nonsensical speculation.

  Returning to my bedroom, I placed the chain and charm in the side pocket of my handbag before returning my mirror compact to the middle section. Then I went downstairs to find Mrs. Malloy in the kitchen, which was at least two sizes too small for her, making a pot of tea.

  “If we’re to stay more than a couple of days”—she handed me a slice of toast—“we’ll have to get this kitchen enlarged. You can’t expect your aunty in her poor state of health”—eyeing me severely—“to be banging elbows into cupboards.”

  “You’re going to get better rapidly.” I sat down on the stool and took the cup of tea she handed me. “We’ll say we’ve talked to Dr. Roberts and the advice you’ve been previously given is all wrong. You need to be more active—get out and about more. How did you sleep, such as it was?” She knew I wasn’t yet ready to talk about Ms. Chips.

  “All right. How about you?”

  “Not bad. I like that Tosca. Nice of her to help me make up the pull-out couch in the study across the hall. And Phil couldn’t have been more pleasant when I saw her some fifteen minutes ago. Funny thing is”—she leaned against the cooker with her cup—“I have this feeling that I’ve seen her somewhere before, but all I can grab on to is a snatch of song from that advert as used to be on the telly for Happy Splash Kiddy Shampoo.”

  “She does have pretty curly hair.”

  “Shiny like a child’s. Yes, that could be it. Being the romantic you are, Mrs. H, I’m guessing you’re wondering if she came down here hoping to connect with the old boyfriend.”

  “It’s been close on twenty years, but she certainly did seem upset when Tosca said she’s going out to dinner this evening with Dr. Roberts.”

  “Understandable nostalgia. I get moony sometimes thinking about me third husband, and he’d have fed me to the lions at the zoo if it would have got him a free ride on the elephant.”

  “Brian Roberts is the nicest man.”

  “So was Mr. Machiavelli, I expect, when you met him on a good day.” Mrs. Malloy fortified herself with another cup of tea. “A pity, when the other two ladies are so nice, that Rosemary’s got to be so unpleasant.”

  “Phil thinks she’s very unhappy.”

  “And you and me could be a mite kinder, Mrs. H, especially after what’s happened.” It was finally said. “But as I used to tell my George when he was a little lad, being a churchgoer would be a lot easier if the pews was more comfy. So for now I’ll leave it to others to polish their halos—not that I’m saying Phil is a prig. I can see why you said everyone liked her at school.”

  “It would be wonderful if she could gain Gillian’s trust and find out what’s making her so unhappy.” Having looked at my watch, I scrambled off my stool. “We’ve got to get moving. Unless Dorcas feels it wouldn’t be right to take off for lunch, she’s meeting us in the parking area at eleven-thirty and it’s gone twenty past.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “I told you right before we went to bed that Mrs. Battle has given me permission to take Ariel and Carolyn Fisher-Jones to lunch.”

  “How am I supposed to remember what’s said to me when I’m half dead?” Her face flushed under her rouge. “Sorry!”

  “Don’t feel guilty. You didn’t know Ms. Chips. And you don’t have to come if you’d rather stay here and bond with Rosemary.”

  “She’s gone out, Tosca’s having a lie-in, and Philippa went up to the school to see if she could give Matron a hand with comforting girls who are in shock over what’s happened. She’s got a way with her, that young woman, and I don’t doubt kiddies take to her in a big way. As for me, I’m not going to stay behind twiddling me thumbs when the right question from me could get this Carolyn to tell us something that’ll put all the pieces together. It’s just as I don’t like going out looking unpresentable! Now, where did I put me hat?”

  Luckily it wasn’t in the sitting room. She conceded, as she picked up her handbag, that it wouldn’t be fair to keep Dorcas waiting by going into the study to look for it, especially when she’d come to remember putting her suitcase on top of something pink.

  My hope, as we headed out the door, was that those flamingoes had lived happy, fulfilled lives, seeing as death had not done them proud. I was wearing a navy cotton dress that lacked style, but whatever I’d had on could not have lived up to Mrs. Malloy’s green and bronze shot-silk ensemble.

  “I don’t know what you were going on about,” I told her, as we went around the side of the school building to where the half dozen cars were parked. “You’re far too glam to be seen with the likes of me.”

  “Kind of you to say, Mrs. H. Like I said to me sister Melody when she came down to breakfast in a nightie that looked like something the cat wouldn’t even consider dragging in, we can’t all be into haute couture.”

  “Very true.”

  “What about Mrs. Battle? Shouldn’t we have a quick word with her about me being here?”

  “We’ll do that on our return.” The question of whether or not I should reveal that I’d found the L
overly Cup hung heavily upon me, dulled only by the memory of watching Ms. Chips, the woman I had long thought of as my nemesis, die. But I couldn’t keep the information from Mrs. Malloy. I told her about finding the cup hidden in the niche behind the unlikely clock, the discovery of the cat charm and chain on the floor, and my belief that the movements I’d heard on the landing and heading up and downstairs in the middle of the night had not belonged to anyone staying in the house. She would undoubtedly have asked when I intended to report my find to Mrs. Battle, but I’d only just finished when we saw Dorcas coming toward us.

  My heart warmed at the sight of the soldierly figure marching our way, a strand of ginger hair escaping from its clip onto her forehead, the freckles sharply in evidence against her pale complexion. No fashion sense, this dear friend—but I wouldn’t have changed an inch of her. Understandably, she was astonished at seeing Mrs. Malloy but shook hands with typically warm enthusiasm. The two of them had always rubbed along very nicely, their affection for the children forming a strong bond.

  “Dreadful, this business of Ms. Chips.” Mrs. Malloy couldn’t have sounded kinder.

  “Can’t take it in yet.” Dorcas reached for her handkerchief and gave a resounding blow. “Frightful shock for the school, from Mrs. Battle down to the smallest first former. Heard several of the girls talking about filling a basket with signed lacrosse balls in lieu of flowers. Regret I wasn’t blessed to get to know Chippy better. Frightfully good egg! Heart goes out to you and Ellie, being the ones to find her. School’s at sixes and sevens. Sensible of Mrs. Battle to relax the class schedule, so the girls can spend more time in the common room talking over their memories and trying to come to grips—” Choking up completely, Dorcas waved a hand. The gesture of someone who had said all there was to be said.

  “Are Ariel and Carolyn up to coming out to lunch?” I asked.

  “Best thing for them, to get off the premises for a while. Final morning bell about to ring. You’ll hear the stampede to the refectory from out here. Always bangers and mash on Tuesdays and Spotted Dick for afters. Generally goes down well.”