“I should think so,” said Mrs. Malloy approvingly. “Nothing like good old-fashioned grub to warm the cockles. Not but you’ll be glad to get away for an hour or so yourself, I’m sure.”
Dorcas looked abashed. “Sorry, Ellie! Should be made of sterner stuff, but don’t feel up to it. Forgive me if I don’t tag along.”
“Are you sure it wouldn’t help?”
“Always so kind—both of you—but wouldn’t do even had things been different. Idea is to get Carolyn to open up about Gillian—and whatever else she knows. Less likely to happen with one of her teachers sitting there.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed reluctantly.
“Well, Miss Critchley, you make sure you get a good helping of them sausages; especially in times of trouble, it don’t do not to take care of yourself. Now, what about transportation?” Mrs. Malloy surveyed the parking area as if expecting a chauffeur complete with cap to materialize three feet away.
“There’s a bus stop.” I brought her back to reality. “We can reach it by going across Lilypad Lane to the main road. It’s only a few yards from the convent ruins.”
“Won’t hear of it. Take my spare set of keys.” Digging into her pocket, Dorcas handed them over. “Sorry the car’s such an old bucket. The thing is to talk to her, jolly her along. Got a heart of gold but inclined to be touchy if you press her too hard. Good-oh! Here come the girls now!”
Ariel came toward us as one accompanying a funeral procession on foot, her sober face exactly right for her coronet of tightly plaited hair and prim spectacles. Carolyn followed sedately. Seen close up, her look of bred-in-the-bone refinement was even more apparent. I pictured the ancestral home with the strict but kindly nanny and the parents that dressed for dinner even when it was just the family, the pony in the paddock, the tennis court, the visits to museums and art galleries. The mother would play the cello and the father collect first editions. A different world from Gillian’s. And yet Carolyn had befriended her.
“Mrs. Malloy!” Ariel interrupted the exchange of greetings. “When did you get here? Oh, it is good to see you, especially in light of the tragedy! Ellie, did you know she was coming?”
“A middle-of-the-night surprise. Why don’t the two of you get in the backseat of Miss Critchley’s car and Carolyn can come in front with me?”
Both girls looked at Dorcas, who wished them an enjoyable lunch, saying she would toddle along. My plan was to drive to the café where Ruth and I had eaten on the previous day, although I thought it too cramped and brightly lit for a confidential conversation. On the other hand, with only an hour at our disposal before classes resumed, I didn’t want to waste time looking for somewhere more suitable. Fortunately, we came upon a small hotel within a mile of the school that Ariel informed me had a nice restaurant. One of those somber ones with beams and dark wallpaper, just the sort of place for people in mourning.
“Isn’t that right, Carolyn?” She leaned forward with a bounce that unnerved the car into stalling halfway up the drive. “You said they served the best roast beef and Yorkshire pudding when Lady Loverly brought you here for your birthday?”
“It does have a good reputation.” Carolyn spoke in barely a whisper.
I made a decision. “Girls,” I said, “I know you’re hurting, but I don’t think Ms. Chips would want you to spend this time cast down in gloom. A much better tribute to her would be for us to all try and be cheerful by way of recognizing that life, every minute of it, is too precious to be wasted.”
“You’re right,” murmured both girls in unison.
“Fish is what I’ve been fancying,” said Mrs. Malloy.
“They do an excellent grilled trout.” Carolyn’s voice had risen to a normal level.
“Then let’s waste no time going inside.” Parking the car, I nipped out smartly before Mrs. Malloy could say trout would only do if served with herbed butter and baby brussels sprouts. She has her moments of posing as a gourmet. The girls followed, and we entered an austerely lit reception area, to be ushered by an elderly man, whose hunched posture in no way diminished his dignity, into a wainscoted dining room hung with claret velvet draperies. Once seated, we were handed menus the size of fire screens and left to make our selections. One or two of the other diners glanced our way, but no one was within eavesdropping distance. Our meals arrived piping hot and fragrant. I had joined Mrs. Malloy in ordering trout, and the girls each had the roast beef.
“I pity those left to make do with sausage and mash.” Ariel spooned horseradish onto her plate. “This is heaven.” She looked awkward but forged on. “There’s even a harp in that far corner, Carolyn.”
“So I see.”
“Do you play?” I asked.
“The harp?” Carolyn laid down her fork and tucked back a strand of flaxen hair. “No, but my mother does, along with the cello. I never got on with any musical instrument.”
“You’ve got a lovely voice to make up for that,” said Ariel loyally. “I don’t understand why Mr. Middleton picked Elizabeth Anderson to sing the school song at the celebration of the new gymnasium, especially when Gillian will be playing the accompaniment and you’re her best friend.”
“I’d rather sit and listen, especially when Gillian’s at the piano. It’s as though she goes somewhere I want to follow.”
“Sort of like the Pied Piper?” Mrs. Malloy cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes, but … he wasn’t nice, was he? And Gillian is,” Carolyn replied sadly. “She’d never do anything nasty to anyone, which makes it especially mean of Deirdre to pick on her the way she does.”
“Deirdre’s the class bully,” explained Ariel, who had made excellent inroads into her roast beef and Yorkshire pud.
“She showed her fangs in the Home Skills class,” I said.
“I was putting Mrs. Malloy in the picture, Ellie.”
“Ta, love.” An appreciative nod from that lady. “It’s always a handicap not being in on a case from the beginning, but I don’t want you thinking Mrs. H is out to hog the limelight, what with St. Roberta’s being her old school and Miss Critchley her friend.”
Carolyn looked from Mrs. Malloy to me. “I hope you’re not upset that Ariel told me you’re here because of the Loverly Cup. Although that doesn’t seem very important now, does it?”
“Not so much,” I agreed. “But you will keep the information to yourself? Mrs. Battle would rather it wasn’t generally known among the girls.”
“I promise not to breathe a word; but if you suspect Gillian you’re wrong. She’d never take anything that didn’t belong to her. The girls saying she had to leave her old school because of being caught stealing are just going along with hateful rumors.” Carolyn’s face flushed. “You did ask me out to lunch because you want to talk about her?”
“I hadn’t heard about the rumors. But I think Aiden Loverly must have got wind of them and accused Gillian of moving on to steal the Loverly Cup when he cornered her outside the Middletons’ house on Sunday.”
“His source could have been his girlfriend, Mrs. Frenton.” Ariel cocked her head to one side and assumed a speculative expression. “But she doesn’t seem a vicious talebearer. Then again, I didn’t want to suspect any of the nice characters of treachery when I read False Friend at Falcon Abbey.”
“I think I missed that one.” Mrs. Malloy sounded aggrieved, perhaps because she was thinking of Ms. Chips.
“From what I’ve seen of Gillian”—I’d had trouble eating more than a few bites—“it’s clear something’s troubling her.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s done anything wrong.” Carolyn’s voice trembled. “She didn’t want to come to St. Roberta’s. She’s not the boarding-school type. The first few weeks were torture for her. She couldn’t sleep. That’s why her mother mailed her the binky.”
“Come again?” Mrs. Malloy looked up sharply.
Ariel took up the tale. “What’s left of Gillian’s baby shawl, not much more than a scrap. That sneak Deirdre took it from un
der Gillian’s mattress a few days ago and made a huge thing of it, saying there had to be something seriously wrong with a fourteen-year-old who needed such a thing. She said Gillian probably sucked her thumb as well when she thought no one was looking.” Ariel was panting, either from fury or too much horseradish.
Carolyn spoke more mildly, but her face flushed. “Deirdre claimed she hadn’t singled out Gillian’s mattress; she had been conducting a dorm search for the Loverly Cup and anyone who really cared for St. Roberta’s would be doing their part looking everywhere they could think of.”
“There wasn’t any arguing that.” Ariel scowled.
“Finding a good hiding place would have been an issue.” I avoided Mrs. Malloy’s eyes but guessed she was vividly picturing the niche on the landing at the Chaplain’s House and the damning evidence of the cat charm with Carrots engraved on the back. “Carolyn,” I said, “do you know if Aiden Loverly had anything against Gillian, in addition to the rumors about why she left her old school?” Not that rumor alone wouldn’t have been sufficient, I was forced to admit to myself.
Carolyn stared down at her hands before meeting my eyes. “It’s all nonsense on his part. He phoned me Sunday afternoon, all upset. Apparently, when she was getting ready for church, Lady Loverly looked in her jewelry case for a brooch and couldn’t find it. And Aiden remembered that the weekend before, when Gillian came with me to the Hall, he saw her outside Godmother’s bedroom door with what he said was a peculiar look on her face. But of course that doesn’t mean anything. She goes into a kind of trance when she’s thinking about her music, and he probably startled her. If she had been in the bedroom it would be because Godmother had sent her up to get something for her. She is always leaving her glasses or watch upstairs and suddenly wanting them. I told him he shouldn’t be so sickeningly suspicious.”
“Good for you, Carolyn!” Ariel pushed aside her empty plate. “I expect Lady Loverly forgot to put the brooch back in her jewelry box the last time she wore it.”
“That’s what I told Aiden.” Carolyn bit her lip. “But he wasn’t convinced. He said the new maid described Gillian as a sneaky, vengeful kid. Her name’s Luanne Wyles. She used to work at the school before Mr. Bumbleton got her sacked for cheek, as he called it. I thought that unfair because she did seem really nice. Godmother says she’s a breath of fresh air about the place. Mrs. Brown is splendid though rather gloomy. But I don’t understand why Luanne would speak so hatefully of Gillian.” Her voice petered out.
Mrs. Malloy waved away the hovering waiter. “Do some of the girls—like this Deirdre, for instance—resent Gillian because her great-aunt is on staff?”
“I don’t see why they would. It’s not as though she gets any special treatment. I told Matron about the binky incident, hoping she’d talk to Gillian to make her feel better, and she did just the opposite. I hate that woman!” Vehemence flared in the blue-gray eyes. “She told Gillian earlier in the term that she would break her parents’ hearts if she didn’t make the most of her opportunities, especially with Mr. Middleton being set on helping her achieve great things in music.”
“We can’t all be the warm fuzzy sort,” said Mrs. Malloy judiciously.
I looked at my watch. It was time to head back to St. Roberta’s. The waiter expressed regret when we declined to view the sweets trolley. Ariel said nobly that treacle pudding should be reserved for happier occasions.
“We’ll sort things out for Gillian.” I spoke with more optimism than confidence.
“That would be wonderful. We need something good to happen, after poor Ms. Chips,” responded Carolyn with a determined smile.
“I keep wondering what took her outdoors so early.” Ariel sat, chin cupped in her hands, eyes wide behind her spectacles. “I wonder if she caught a fleeting glimpse from her window of the Gray Nun descending the Dribbly Drop and hurried in pursuit. Miriam and Shirley both have sisters in our class, who say they remain adamant that they spotted a ghostly figure on Sunday afternoon before Shirley took her tumble.”
“Wonder if them steps is cursed?” There was a quiver of hastily suppressed excitement in Mrs. Malloy’s voice, but I didn’t get to observe her face because I was rooting through my handbag for my purse in anticipation of paying the bill. Naturally, out came a number of superfluous items, including a couple of pens and my compact mirror. “Don’t go leaving that on the table.” A beringed finger came pointing my way. “You know how upset you’ll be if you go losing it for good one day, seeing as how it was a present from your mum.”
“It is elegant.” Ariel smiled kindly at me as I looked up. “I think I’ll collect compacts when I’m grown up.”
“Yours is a Marie Chantal, isn’t it?” Carolyn surprised me by saying.
“I’m impressed.”
“Is it?” asked Ariel.
“Yes.” I turned the compact over. “Here’s the signature on the back.”
“My godmother has several.” Carolyn flushed under Ariel and Mrs. Malloy’s admiring looks. “That’s how I knew. Thank you very much for lunch, Mrs. Haskell. It was a great treat.”
The drive back to the school took next to no time, and we decanted under a glorious blue sky as the bell announced the start of afternoon classes. After heading across the parking area with Carolyn, Ariel turned back to give me an unexpected hug, during which she whispered in my ear.
“Ellie, you do believe Ms. Chips’s death was an accident?”
“Of course!” I locked the car door and put the key in my bag. “Why?”
Carolyn, after a momentary hesitation, continued toward the school. Seeing this, Ariel drew back from me and spoke in a normal level voice. “I woke up in the middle of the night; I looked at my watch, and it was four-thirty. Gillian wasn’t in her bed, Ellie. She has the one next to mine, and though she’d tried to make it look as if she were there—by rolling up a blanket under the bedclothes—I wasn’t fooled, because I tiptoed over to make sure she was sleeping soundly and leaned down really close. I was thinking of making my own escape and coming to see you as I did the other night.”
“You think Ms. Chips might also have discovered Gillian’s absence, perhaps spotted her from a window moving about the grounds, and gone hurrying after her?” I was picturing it all too horribly. Gillian hiding when she saw Ms. Chips crossing the lawn from the school and then stealthily moving forward to give the woman a fatal shove when she reached the top of the Dribbly Drop.
Carolyn added a wave to the one she had just given before disappearing through the entrance door.
“I don’t believe it,” said Mrs. Malloy vehemently. “Without so much as having set eyes on this Gillian, it’s clear to me that someone’s out to make it look like she’s the villain of this piece, either out of sheer spite or to cover up for themselves.”
Ariel stood looking uncertain. “Some of the girls are saying she’s unbalanced. If that’s true, and Ms. Chips surprised her—well, she might have panicked without meaning to kill her. I don’t want to think it … .”
“But it all seems to fit, don’t it?” Mrs. Malloy replied smugly.
“Yes, I see what you mean.” Ariel drew in a relieved breath. “I suppose I’d better get after Carolyn, or she might think we’re talking about her. This situation could make even the sanest person paranoid!”
“Well, you keep your head on straight. And your eyes and ears open!” Mrs. M called after her as she ran toward the school. I stood wondering if Ms. Chips would one day rival the Gray Nun as a haunting figure created out of hearsay and muddled thinking. Suddenly and quite fiercely, I knew I would do all in my power to save her from that chillingly ridiculous fate.
“I’m right about Gillian’s innocence!” Mrs. Malloy took my arm, something she only did when feeling chummily superior. “That dropped chain with the cat charm. It’s all too obvious! And that business of the clock. It must have struck someone else as out of place before you ever got sight of it, and that person, after listening to, or may be about, your talk to
the Home Skills class, decided you just might take a look behind that clock, and wouldn’t it be nice if you was to find the Loverly Cup in the niche and something left behind to show it was Gillian as put it there?”
I said that sounded possible. What I didn’t say was that she’d triggered a memory that fitted her theory, but I wasn’t ready to accept such a poisonous idea, let alone share it with Mrs. Malloy. I wanted to be wrong and had the feeling she would speedily decide I wasn’t.
“I’ll be interested to meet Gillian’s great-aunt.” She let go of my arm to pat her hair in a sudden sharp little breeze. “Sounds stiff and starchy, like the matrons in books. Can’t say from what you’ve told me that I’d want her coming at me with a thermometer.”
“Some people don’t have the knack of being likable.” I had my moments of striving to be fair, and given my concern—make that, my hope—that I was wrong about Gillian’s tormenter, this was one of them.
“Don’t give me that, Mrs. H. Our job is to look for the worst in people, not search every nook and cranny for redeeming qualities.”
“I thought objectivity was the name of the game.”
“If that’s the case, it’s not looking all that good for Miss Gillian, is it?”
I ignored this and said we should march ourselves into the headmistress’s office. With this valorous intent in mind we entered the reception hall, where Mrs. Malloy drew up short to stand absorbing the moment, as she put it.
“Hold me arm, Mrs. H! I don’t know as I can stay steady on me feet, what with this being me girlhood fantasies come to life. Roxie at St. Roberta’s, sounds just right for a storybook!”
“You wouldn’t like wearing the uniform,” I pointed out.
“I don’t know about that! It might be fun to make those stuffy gents’ eyes pop.” She pointed to the portraits on the staircase wall. “Who are the old goats?”
Goodbye, Ms. Chips Page 21
