Goodbye, Ms. Chips

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Untrue.” The brevity of the reply revealed her sorrow.

  “Have to hope she can be helped.” Dorcas endeavored to sound bracing.

  “And there’s another thing. When Carolyn was leaving the Chaplain’s House after visiting yesterday, she said that the clock on the landing was wrong. That wasn’t so when it came to the time, which is what I thought she meant. I’m sure now she was trying to direct my attention to the fact that it did not fit in with the general décor, with the hope I would look behind it and find the niche. Then, when she hid the cap during the night, she left the clock askew to prompt a second inspection. I wasn’t awfully quick on the uptake. But the penny did finally drop. And I also found the charm left to implicate Gillian.”

  “Marilyn hung the clock there because the niche was chipped around the exterior. Otherwise she would have put a clock on the telephone table,” said Lady Loverly. “She was looking around for just the right sort, but thought that the present one, being the right size to cover the opening, would do for the time being. I remember she talked about it when I visited the Chaplain’s House to view her changes.”

  “May I leave Carolyn for you to deal with, from this point on? I think that might be a better alternative than my making an official report to Mrs. Battle, especially at this distressing time.” I addressed Aiden as well as her ladyship. “Unless she should decide to move the cup—and I don’t see why she would—you will find it where I have told you.”

  “The poor sad girl.” Lady Loverly suddenly looked very old. “Her home life has not been all that happy—parents at constant odds with each other—although unfortunately a lot of children contend with that sort of thing without going off the rails. Carolyn’s maternal grandmother was my dearest friend, and for that reason I have done my best for the child, while regrettably never taking to her as I should. She must be made to see she has to face the consequences of her actions, return the cup to Mrs. Battle with full apologies, and take whatever punishment that results.”

  “I’ll see to it, Granny.” Aiden crossed to her chair and again kissed her cheek. “But I’m not hopeful Carolyn will change her spots; she likes herself too well the way she is. Is it any consolation, my dear, that Diane Frenton has at last agreed to marry me and wants very much to meet the other woman in my life?”

  Lady Loverly patted his shoulder and then said briskly, “Ah, here comes Luanne with the tea tray, and your little friend with her. Ariel, dear child, would you move the magazines on that table so Luanne can set down the tray? I do hope you won’t object to joining the old fogies now we are done with our chat.”

  “As an only child I’m quite used to being the only young person in adult company,” Ariel responded primly. “I do, however, appreciate your concern, Lady Loverly.”

  “The cocoa’s in the white pot and the tea should be brewed by now.” Luanne stood importantly to attention. “As for the sandwiches, there’s some egg and cheese and the rest are tomato and cress.”

  “Very nice, dear.” Lady Loverly drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Have you gone up to Mrs. Brown to see how she’s doing? She was even quieter than usual today.”

  “She made it clear that she wanted an early night.”

  “I’ll go up to her. She won’t refuse to see her golden boy.” Aiden moved to the door. “Long may I continue to flatter myself.”

  “Ooh, he is an imp, your ladyship!” Luanne giggled delightedly to an accompaniment from Ariel. Dorcas was eyeing the sandwiches hopefully.

  Her ladyship and Dorcas chose tea and I joined Ariel in taking the cocoa. The sandwiches were passed and agreed to be most welcome. There was also a plate of chocolate biscuits that could not be ignored; neither could the silence. A feeling of unease I’d felt earlier in the evening was back in full force, and I had a strong sense that I was not the only one affected. It was our hostess who picked up the thread of conversation.

  “Perhaps some of you would be interested in seeing the ancestral portraits. In recent times the Loverly family members have behaved themselves for the most part and have not been above polishing their image. The story of the Gray Nun and her sacrificial death is the stuff of legend and over the centuries has been encouraged in preference to the truth.”

  “Which was?” Ariel sat forward eagerly, spectacles shining.

  “Human nature without the heroics. King Henry the Eighth’s soldiers did strip the convent of its treasures, and the girl did flee with the gold chalice, but as the willing partner of the bridegroom from whom she had been wrenched at the altar by her parents. A man of humble birth by the name of Lubcock.”

  “Not to be ashamed of,” said Dorcas.

  Ariel considered this. “The name would be all right for a butler.”

  “He aimed higher.” Lady Loverly spread a tasseled lap rug over her knees. “His bride came from the landed gentry, and they had money with which to set up in style—after selling the jewel-encrusted chalice. The couple went to London, where they won royal favor by becoming pillars of the new Protestant church, and in due course he received a knighthood from Queen Elizabeth the First. As the story goes, she was enchanted on hearing of his reunion with his nun bride (although one supposes he kept mum about the theft of the chalice), saying, You are a lover to charm the heart of a queen, and so it shall be recognized. Kneel, Aiden Lubcock. Arise, Sir Aiden Loverly. Nearly twenty years later the family—there were numerous children—returned to this area and made the Hall their country estate. By then the legend was fully established, and Lord and Lady Loverly found it in their best interests not to disavow it.”

  “How thrillingly romantic!” Ariel helped herself to a tomato and cress sandwich, the better to absorb the essence of the story.

  “Fascinating lives they led years ago!” Dorcas thumped a fist on her knee. “Real story would make the better play.”

  “The Gray Nun’s parents sound a real pair of fuddy-duddies,” Ariel grumbled through the sandwich. “I’d like to see Dad and Betty try and stick me in a convent because I was keen on a boy they didn’t like.”

  I consoled her. “Today you’d be taken to a therapist.”

  “We’ve been quite open about the story for a long time now,” said her ladyship, “but most people cleave to the fictional version. There have been any number of Aidens since the first one. Several of whom have also been adventurers, but”—she reached for her teacup and smiled—“not necessarily wicked, I hope.”

  Aiden returned to the room and gracefully resettled himself on the chair he had vacated.

  “Lady Loverly’s been telling us the real story of the Gray Nun,” Ariel informed him.

  “For goodness’ sake.” He helped himself to a biscuit. “Don’t spill the beans to Mrs. Frenton until I’ve have had the chance to tell her myself that no one around here remembers that our name was once Lubcock. It does rather take the gilt off the gingerbread.” He turned to his grandmother. “I found Mrs. Brown awake but in an odd mood.”

  “Tense?”

  “Less than usual, but she said that she may have to go away for a while. Has she said anything to you?”

  Lady Loverly seemed to be fighting back tears. “That woman has been my constant companion for years. She saw me through my difficulties when your grandfather’s drinking grew worse, but I have never managed to discover her hidden sorrow.” Her ladyship reached into the side of her skirt but couldn’t find a pocket, let alone a handkerchief.

  I opened my bag and handed her a tissue. She really seemed a dear. Dorcas twitched an eyebrow in my direction, indicating that it might be time to return to St. Roberta’s. Looking at my watch, I decided she was right. There was little time to be lost if Ariel was to make curfew without panting up the stairs and skating along the parquet floor to her dorm.

  Our parting from the Loverly grandmother and grandson was affable. Aiden, I had to admit, had improved on acquaintance. Seeing that Dorcas looked tired, I offered to drive and proceeded cautiously out onto the road. It was still rai
ning, although not quite as hard as on our arrival. I checked with Ariel that she was wearing her seat belt.

  “Yes, Mother,” Ariel chirruped from behind me, then added soberly, “Lady Loverly is a lamb, isn’t she? It was sweet of her to tell us her family history. The reason I was glad to go in search of Luanne was that I wanted to ask if she had made—as Carolyn claimed—the comment about Gillian being vindictive and sly or however it went. And guess what? Luanne said she had been talking about Carolyn, whom she’d decided early on was a little witch. Apparently Carolyn was in a foul mood on one weekend visit, because her ladyship wouldn’t take her to a movie, and went into the kitchen, picked up a quite valuable milk jug, and dropped it—splat—on the quarry tiles, and then said Luanne had done it in a fit of temper. Luckily, her ladyship believed Luanne’s version, having sized up Carolyn long before.”

  “Have to hope she can be brought round.” Dorcas sighed. “Regret to say I suspected Mrs. Mossop of taking the Loverly Cup. Saw her in the corridor the afternoon it was taken. Poor woman looked like she was afraid the hand of the law would clamp down on her shoulder at any minute.”

  “Really?” I kept my eyes steadfastly on the road. “I thought you were afraid Gillian was the thief.”

  “Thought crossed my mind later on. Never bought it.”

  “I wonder if Carolyn planned it or acted on impulse.”

  “Oh, bother!” said Ariel. “I hoped I’d got in ahead of you. It struck me when we were at lunch that the more Carolyn stuck up for Gillian, the guiltier she made her seem. When I got back to school, I sought out Elizabeth Anderson and got her take as a former best friend. And she explained what had brought about the end of their friendship.”

  “Her getting the role in the school play.”

  “Exactly! So I’m sure you’ve twigged why Carolyn turned on Gillian.”

  “Help me out.” I was navigating a corner.

  “That once again—as she will have seen it—she was robbed of her place in the spotlight because Mr. Middleton chose Elizabeth to sing the school song at the celebration of the new gymnasium. But in this case it was Gillian she blamed … for not getting Mr. Middleton to choose her. I’m just guessing about this part, Ellie, but it seems to fit, doesn’t it?”

  “My guess,” I said, “it’s that Carolyn was more emotionally invested in Gillian than she may have been in Elizabeth—that this time it was more of a schoolgirl crush than a regular friendship. Therefore, the sense of betrayal and subsequent bitterness was greater and more requiring of punishment.” I thought of Rosemary and the resentment that had lingered all these years as a result of her schoolgirl crush on Ms. Chips.

  We drove past a tall bristling hedge that looked as though its purpose was to keep the inmates from getting out. It would be a relief to get back to the Chaplain’s House. Mrs. Malloy might be in bed after her previous late night, but I hoped not. It would be good to talk to her about poor Mrs. Brown.

  “Her ladyship does have a gift for making the past come alive. And there is nothing like a good story for taking the mind off other things.”

  “It was finishing False Friend at Falcon Abbey. That opened my eyes,” Ariel said loftily. “The main character is a girl named Zoë. She’s twelve, which of course is an impressionable age. But I found it far-fetched, the more I got into the story, that she was so stuck on this girl she thought was her best friend that she absolutely refused to believe all the evidence of villainy staring her in the face.”

  “Who’d believe Carolyn was so mixed up?” Dorcas sighed heavily. “Can’t climb a rope to save her life, but nothing in that.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And here we are, back safe and sound at St. Roberta’s.” Having parked the car as close to the building as possible, I got out, head bent against the rain, and waited for the other two to join me. “Let’s make a dash for it before we all get soaked to the skin.”

  Despite our speed, we were decidedly damp when we entered the reception hall. Rising from a chair by the staircase was a woman who identified herself as Mrs. Battle’s secretary.

  “You’re five minutes late.” Her admonishing voice coordinated well with her stern features. She ignored Dorcas entirely, but she did thrust an umbrella at me with the admonition not to forget to return it. Receiving a huffy look from my young relative, who had undoubtedly hoped I would stay for a chat, I headed out the door with the umbrella and hurried down the soggy slope of lawn to the Chaplain’s House. The wind, which had picked up while I was inside, grappled at my clothing and would have made off with the brolly had I not hung on to it for dear life. It also made a snatch at the front door when I tugged at it. Again I narrowly came off as the victor, stepping into the hall to stand shivering and dripping puddles on the floor Mrs. Mossop had cleaned that afternoon.

  “Come on up and get yourself dry,” ordered Mrs. Malloy from the landing.

  Stowing the brolly in the stand, I headed up the stairs. “I’ve a lot to tell you,” I told her, as I followed her into my bedroom. Her head was crowned with purple rollers, but she hadn’t removed her makeup. For this I was glad; right now—given the way my mind was working, I needed the blessedly familiar. It hadn’t been easy to tell Lady Loverly that she had harbored a serpent in her bosom.

  “Into your bedroom, Mrs. H, and pop on your nice warm dressing gown.” Mrs. Malloy sounded like the beloved nanny I’d never had.

  “I only have this skimpy thing!” I plucked it from the hook behind the door. “This is summer, remember?”

  “Well, it’ll have to do, won’t it?” Nanny didn’t appreciate backchat. “I can’t turn the seasons round to please meself or you. There’s no need to be awkward, whatever you’ve been through. Let’s have it, Mrs. H. What went down with Lady Loverly at the Hall?”

  I began telling her as I stood stripping off.

  “Left me in the dark all day about that compact mirror, didn’t you?” She sounded justifiably annoyed, while pleased with herself at the same time.

  “I wasn’t sure of my ground. Was I just looking for a way to avoid Gillian’s being the guilty party?”

  “Some people learn quicker than others that it don’t do to let the emotions take over when you’re a private detective. Sit yourself down and continue spilling the beans while I pour us both a stiff thimbleful of the brandy I had the sense to bring with me.” She pointed at the bottle on the bedside table.

  Meekly I did as I was told, ending with my request that Lady Loverly and her not-quite-as-detestable-as-I-had-thought grandson deal with Carolyn and the return of the cup.

  “Well, then, now we know that Carolyn’s a right little bugger, let’s hope she gets turned around, although somehow I doubt it. With that sort, everyone is always wrong but them, and that’s a hard thing to change because they just don’t get it. There’s more I can tell you roundabout the subject.” Mrs. Malloy poured brandy for herself into the rose-patterned teacup set out on the dresser as a decorative accessory.

  “Go on!” I handed her the floor, along with a good part of the bed.

  “I went over to see Mrs. Mossop when I thought she and the hubby would be done with supper. Now, I’m not one to flatter meself that I can charm the birds off the trees, but I got the feeling soon as I met that poor downtrodden woman that I could get her to open up to me. She asked me if I’d like to sit out in her little garden.”

  “Out of earshot of you-know-who?”

  “I speak as I find, Mrs. H. I’ve got to say as there was nothing about the grunt he gave me when Mrs. Mossop introduced us that a reasonable person could take offense to, and don’t you go saying there’s always two ways of taking a grunt because it will distract me this late in the evening. Point is, it was clear from the word go as how Mrs. Mossop has been needing someone to confide in for a donkey’s age. And recent events has brought her to the boiling point. She told me she’s got a sister that’s had a problem with drink most of her life. There was a husband once upon a time, but he left her and the children don’t want to kn
ow. As a result, she ended up homeless, living on the streets in Tingwell these past few months.”

  “How very sad!”

  “Mrs. Mossop wanted to take her in, just until she could look around for an alternative home, but the hubby wouldn’t hear of it. Said Mrs. Battle and the Board of Governors wouldn’t approve, and he was probably right. Anyway, on the Monday afternoon when the Loverly Cup went missing, Mrs. Mossop had been cleaning inside the trophy cabinet.”

  I nodded. “So Mrs. Battle told me.”

  Mrs. Malloy bridled at the interruption. “Well, what you won’t have been told is that Mrs. Mossop looked out the window and saw her sister crossing the school grounds dressed practically in rags with a shawl over her head.”

  “Sightings of the Gray Nun,” I said. “The girls who were caught by Mr. Mossop on the Dribbly Drop on Sunday afternoon claimed to have seen a veiled figure lurking in the ruins.”

  “Whose story is this?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Scared of what the hubby would do if he caught sight of her sister, Mrs. Mossop rushed outside the building, clear forgetting to close the cabinet, let alone lock it. After some panicked talking, she thought she’d persuaded Alice—I think that’s her name—to go to a shelter and get back in touch. All of a tremble, as she put it, she went back inside to find the Loverly Cup gone. She wanted to tell Mrs. Battle the truth but was terrified of Mr. Mossop’s reaction.”

  “As for the sister, did she really leave as agreed or hide out in the ruins?”

  “That’s where she’s been, all right. Lucky the weather was good until this evening. Mrs. Mossop didn’t realize till she heard what those girls had been saying about seeing the Gray Nun down below the Dribbly Drop. Since then she’s been taking food down to her on the sly and praying he won’t find out. Now she’s talking about leaving him and getting a little flat with her sister if she promises to get help for her problem. And here’s to hoping it works out.” Mrs. Malloy took a look at my glass, saw I’d hardly touched my brandy, poured herself another shot, and plonked down again on the bed beside me.