Goodbye, Ms. Chips

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Clive was concerned that he must have struck you as distracted when talking to you yesterday evening.”

  I smiled. “He had just come down the apple tree after rescuing Harpsichord.”

  “Yet again.” She returned my smile, but it did not reach her eyes. “He saw something when he was at the top that bothered him. It shouldn’t have … and he wasn’t quite sure why it did. But he said he felt a prickly feeling go down his spine, and that’s not like my brother.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s going to sound petty and spiteful. And do bear in mind that neither Clive nor I are overly fond of Wilma Johnson. We never have been since hearing via the grapevine that she accidentally—as she claims—informed Marilyn’s bridegroom’s mother that there were family mental problems and thereby ensured the end of the marriage. Anyway, this time Harpsichord had climbed almost to the top of the tree, and when Clive reached for her he saw Wilma prowling around the landing next door, adjusting pictures on the wall, shifting ornaments on a table, stroking a bench cushion. Of course these small actions could have been her way of expressing affection for Marilyn, coupled with grief at her loss, but Clive said she turned around so that she faced his way for a moment and he saw this look of—sounds awful to repeat—horrible complacency on her face.”

  I had seen her stroking the sofa too, and a feeling of revulsion had seized me, along with an inexplicable unease.

  “Is there something else, Ruth?”

  She stood rubbing her folded arms. “Gillian came down half an hour ago and said she was going to school to see Matron—she didn’t say Aunt Wilma. Naturally, I said I would take her in the car, but I felt I should wait until Clive got back from his walk, in case he wanted to go and see Mrs. Brown immediately. Gillian said she understood. I went into the kitchen to get her some breakfast but when I came to tell her it was ready she was gone.”

  “She would have taken the bus.”

  “It leaves from the other side of the green and will take her to the stop just beyond the ruins, across from Lilypad Lane on the main road. Ellie, I know it’s silly to be worried—”

  “Why?”

  “Gillian said that for once in her life she had to stop being a coward and confront the truth; if she didn’t she’d regret it for the rest of her life. I thought she meant she was going to have it out with Wilma about never having wanted to come to St. Roberta, but as the minutes tick by I’m not so sure that’s all there is to it.”

  “I’ll go after her,” I said.

  “And I’ll come with you.” She followed me to the door.

  “It shouldn’t take two of us. I think you need to be here when your brother returns.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I promise you I’ll find Gillian and make sure Matron doesn’t give her a bad time.”

  Once in the car, I struggled to relax. Ruth was understandably on edge after Mrs. Brown’s letter and leaping ahead to the worst of scenarios. But the last thing Gillian needed was a seriously unpleasant encounter with her great-aunt, during which she would find herself labeled self-centered and ungrateful. I liked both Middletons. Ben would too. Perhaps we could persuade them to visit us at Merlin’s Court one weekend, bringing Gillian with them … .

  The car was on its best behavior as I drove to the bus stop where Gillian would disembark. My hope was to catch up with her before she reached the school, let alone Matron’s office. I would explain how concerned Ruth was on her behalf and—but I didn’t get much further with these thoughts. Deciding to park in Lilypad Lane and check the time listings on the bus stop, I climbed out, tossed the keys in my handbag, and was about to turn in the direction of the main road when I heard a muffled cry coming from the ruins. I’m not much of a runner, but I must have broken a world record reaching the roofless refectory. Belatedly, I was remembering Mrs. Malloy repeating the words I had striven to catch during Ms. Chips’s final moments. “Will … my.” This filled the situation. But what if she had been trying to say Wilma?

  On entering I saw no one; rain and heavy cloud cover had darkened the refectory to an unearthly gloom. The cry came again, and I located the source of the sound—the corner giving onto the steps leading down into the crypt—and I heard Matron’s voice.

  “Very well, you miserable child, we’ll take a breather before I drag you below and leave you to rot. No one goes there, and certainly not to look for you. They’ll decide you ran away: hitchhiked and ended up like other runaway girls, buried in some ditch or woodland.”

  “I did run away—or was going to, the night before last. I was talking to Philippa Boswell at the Chaplain’s House when I suddenly made up my mind. Mrs. Haskell advised me to phone Mum and Dad, but I knew they’d try to talk me into staying, whereas if I showed up on the doorstep and explained how miserable I’ve been since Carolyn turned on me, they wouldn’t make me go back. I’ve still got my birthday money for train fare, and if I left early I’d have time to walk to the station.”

  “How resourceful you sound for a girl who can’t sleep without the remnant of her baby blanket!”

  “I thought it only fair to leave a note in your office,” Gillian continued, in a voice that sounded as though it had been recorded. “I’d written it earlier. But just when I was ready to go, I saw a shadow cross the dorm and climb into bed. It was Carolyn. I had to wait until I felt sure she was back asleep before I could get up.”

  “I wish you’d broken your ankle in the dark, the way I did out on the moor all those years ago.” What chilled me was how matter-of-factly this was said, a woman completley absorbed by self. It clicked that she had relished talking to me about her relationship with Ms. Chips. I had been an unexpected audience, one who would hopefully see she was the one who had been hard done by and misjudged.

  “When I opened your office door, I could hear you and Ms. Chips talking in the San. She was telling you that she had left most of her money for scholarships for St. Roberta’s students with special abilities. I didn’t hear your reply, but I caught a glimpse of your face. You looked so angry it made me feel sick, so I left, taking the note with me.”

  “Marilyn got up and looked out the window.” Matron laughed unpleasantly. “I expect she couldn’t face me. Turning back, she said someone was outside, crossing the grounds, and she would go after whoever it was. I said I wouldn’t think of letting my lifelong friend go out alone. What if it were some lowlife, perhaps the person Shirley and Miriam had twittered about seeing near the ruins? Unthinkable to let dear Marilyn take such a risk. Was I hoping she would head toward the Dribbly Drop? I really can’t be sure what I was thinking. I was deeply hurt, more so even than when she first came into her legacy and I was so sure she would want me to have the house I had rented in Cygnet’s Way and buy it outright for me. But she didn’t. She offered to let me have what she obviously considered a sizable down payment, but there would still have been a mortgage. How could she be so selfish?”

  “I saw you both—just two people, really—coming after me, so I hid in the bushes close to the Dribbly Drop. Then the moon came out and I saw Ms. Chips standing at the top, and you”—Gillian’s voice quivered—“I saw you push her and then go down the steps.”

  “I had to check on her condition. It was the least a friend could do. I felt for a pulse and couldn’t find one. I was sure she was dead. Which I imagine was also your assumption.”

  “Yes.”

  “But as she wasn’t when found by that Ellie Haskell and her vulgar crony, I suppose I wanted it so much I convinced myself. This is why it doesn’t do to trust friends or relatives. These pearls of wisdom would stand you in good stead if you lived to absorb them, but I knew, the moment you got off that bus, that you had to die without further loss of time. I’ve been worried in case you did see what happened and might decide to talk. Even though it’s doubtful you’d be believed, given your unbalanced state, my new-found happiness is being impinged upon. Had you already confided in the meddlesome Middletons, you wouldn’t be here alon
e. So no need to bother about them. And if you’d spilled the beans to anyone before going to them, the police would already have questioned me. How fortunate I’d come out for a stroll, so I could think about my new house! Perhaps if Marilyn had told me she had left it to me, I might not have been so upset, but she didn’t, so there—or, I should say here—we are. And it is now time to make our descent to the crypt. There’s no point in fighting me. I am far stronger than you—at least that’s one advantage of having a stocky build.”

  “You were only able to drag me in here because you caught me by surprise. I’ll scream. Someone’s bound to hear.”

  “Remember, you already did and no one has rushed to the rescue.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I said conversationally.

  Either Matron or Gillian gasped. They emerged from the gloom, the older woman’s hand around the young girl’s throat.

  “Oh, it’s you!” Her voice was loaded with contempt, the pebble eyes blackly visible in the gloom. “Before you can get to us, I’ll have dragged her backward and hurled her down the stairs. They’re three times the length of the Dribbly Drop, and with luck she’ll bounce the best part of the way. To think I wanted to help her, to give her the chance at a fine education, and this is the thanks I get. But let’s look on the bright side. She finally has good reason to be miserable.”

  I stood there with something in my hands. While listening to the distressing conversation, I had remembered the lacrosse ball in my handbag, the one Elizabeth Anderson had asked me and the other residents of the Chaplain’s House to sign in remembrance of Ms. Chips. Could I, who had hidden out in the little sewing room above the San because I was so miserably inept at games, throw that ball at Matron without felling Gillian instead? I raised my arm and let it fly—and amazingly I made contact, hitting the right place on the right face. I heard a scream, Matron toppled, and Gillian raced to my side.

  Later I was informed by a member of Her Majesty’s police that I was being considered for a citation. Breaking an assailant’s nose is satisfactory in itself, but breaking it in three places was a triumph.

  17

  The next day, Dorcas, Mrs. Malloy, and I were to return to Merlin’s Court. I was waiting for them in the parking area when I saw Rosemary stowing a suitcase in the boot of her Mercedes. Her scowl on noticing me was hardly complimentary.

  “Oh, God, it’s you. And I was hoping to get away without further goodbyes. Not that seeing the last of Tosca wasn’t one of the highlights of my life. Mark my words, she’ll be back to smoking again the minute someone blows a puff in her face. I expect that’s why our country doctor dumped her after half a date.” Slamming the boot shut, she had the grace to look awkward. “There’s no need to look at me that way! I admit it was a sad way for Ms. Chips to go, and I’m sorry. Really sorry. She was a good egg. Deep down I’ve always known that. But I’ve a lot on my mind, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Do you think you should be taking off?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” She straightened up to loom over me.

  “The police may want to talk with us some more.”

  “I wasn’t a witness to anything, remember. So with or without your blessing, I’m off.”

  “I’m sure your family and Laurence will be glad to have you home.” My attempt at sounding soothing won me no points. She stood with arms folded, her feet shifting as if eager to kick something, preferably a wheel of the Mercedes.

  “Do you want to hear something that will make you smirk, Ellie? Well, here goes! I didn’t come to the Chaplain’s House worn out from my wonderful life. The truth is, Gerald lost his job due to downsizing, we’re faced with selling the house and taking Nichola and Sheridan out of private school, and to make everything even more perfect, my marriage is on the rocks!”

  “Rosemary, I’m so sorry.”

  “That makes two of us. I went to see that acquaintance in Tingwell, before you arrived Sunday, because Gerald’s been offered a job there at a pittance of his former salary. I wanted to take a look at the place and see if I could survive in a similar house—the size of a box, all mod cons excluded. After seeing the grim reality and picturing drug dealers and drunks on every corner, I thought there was no chance in hell! But now I know that murder can happen anywhere, maybe I’ll reconsider.”

  “Good luck,” I said, as she climbed into her car.

  “I’ll need it.” She stuck her head out the window. “Gerald’s furious with me for what he calls my lack of emotional support. I thought he’d get over it if I went away, but he hasn’t phoned. Guess I’ll have to turn on the wifely charm.”

  “Do that!” I encouraged. It was starting to rain again.

  She started the engine. “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Want a laugh? It was Mrs. Mossop’s vagrant sister who pinched my blue silk knickers. Well, at least she preferred mine to yours or Tosca’s, and who can begrudge the woman for creeping into the house when no one was around and helping herself to a change of underwear, without coming off like an ogress. Take care, Ellie. You’re not such a bad old stick, and neither for that matter is your Aunt Petal.” With a nonchalant wave, she went off down the drive, and feeling surprisingly lighter in heart I looked toward the Chaplain’s House, to see Dorcas and Mrs. Malloy coming toward me.

  The luggage was already stowed in the boot. I was going home to Ben and the children. Dorcas would drive, with me seated beside her. Mrs. Malloy and Ariel, who’d been given permission by Tom and Betty to stay with us for a week or so, would ride in the rear.

  The plan was to return with Ariel for the ceremonial opening of the new gymnasium. Gillian, who had also gone home to her family, would be back to play a recital in honor of Ms. Chips. Earlier that day, the Loverly Cup would be handed over to this year’s lacrosse champions; her ladyship had cheerfully agreed to continue the tradition of making the presentation. Aiden Loverly was officially engaged to Diane Frenton. And Mrs. Brown had gathered the housekeeping reins back into her hands, while conceding that Luanne might one day successfully take over. The Middletons I fully hoped and expected to see again. As for Mrs. Battle, she had made an announcement that pleased me very much: in honor of a hope that Ms. Chips had voiced, the little mending room was to be designated in future as a retreat for any girl who felt the need to snuggle down by herself for a few hours.

  Getting everything right every time might have been beyond the likes of Saint Roberta, had she ever existed—which according to Ariel’s research was seriously in doubt. My return to my old school had brought home to me that I didn’t want to be a saint or experience the heights of adventure, as the Gray Nun had done, but instead face up to past failures; that was my way to get out from under my dark cloud of guilt. Gillian had already faced the most frightening adversity of all: herself.

  As Dorcas drove through the countryside with her usual sensitivity to other drivers and her car’s idiosyncrasies, I longed to be seated in the garden at Merlin’s Court, listening to the sparrow ensemble trilling away on a branch above my head, while Ben lay on the grass tossing daisies at me and the children occupied themselves in being healthily naughty one minute and reasonably good the next.

  Without saying anything, Dorcas stopped in front of Miss Chips’s house. In the past few days, I had faced the fact that some exteriors don’t accurately reveal what is going on inside. Ms. Chips’s house was an exception: a dwelling whose outside was an honest reflection of its interior. A house that had seen happiness and sorrow and was the more real because of that.

  The first thing the children would ask me when I arrived home was what I learned by going back to school. The answer would be simple and wonderfully consoling. I’d tell them I now knew what I wanted to be when I was fully grown up: someone who did not let heartache prevent her from living and loving to the full. A woman who touched other lives and made a difference without fanfare … so that it might be years before those affected truly realized her impact.

  When D
orcas slowly pulled away from the curb, Mrs. Malloy offered Ariel a toffee, which was graciously accepted. I leaned out of the window for one last look at the house and whispered, “Goodbye, Ms. Chips.”

  ALSO IN THE ELLIE HASKELL SERIES BY DOROTHY CANNELL

  The Thin Woman

  The Widow’s Club

  Mum’s the Word

  Femmes Fatal

  How to Murder Your Mother-in-Law

  How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams

  The Spring Cleaning Murders

  The Trouble with Harriet

  Bridesmaids Revisited

  The Importance of Being Ernestine

  Withering Heights

  Praise for Dorothy Cannell’s WITHERING HEIGHTS

  “Cannell is a master of subtle wit and humorous asides that lift her cozies to great heights. Before the influx of writers trying to out-humor Janet Evanovich, there was Dorothy Cannell. Long may she write!”

  —Library Journal

  “A veritable meringue of a book, light and crisp and airy, but with enough of a puzzle to engage as well as entertain the reader.”

  —The Denver Post

  “It is the absurd predicaments of her central characters that readers find themselves recalling, and Cannell is cunning at devising outlandish situations for them.”

  —Chicago Sun-Times

  “Witty…a funny, entertaining puzzler.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Archly literate and witty, with a soft center.”