Laurels Are Poison mb-14

by Gladys Mitchell

  ‘So we do meet at Philippi,’ she observed, getting up and giving Deborah her hand. ‘Those poor children,’ she continued, withdrawing her skinny claw from Deborah’s grasp, and waving it towards the three students, who, looking scared and uncomfortable, were occupying chairs about the room, ‘have come up today instead of tomorrow, to see whether the College has room for them. What they’re to do with themselves for twenty-four hours I can’t think, and neither can they. At least…’

  With what seemed devilish omniscience she intercepted a wink which passed between Miss Trevelyan and Miss Menzies… ‘At least, that was our first impression. Have you met them?’

  ‘Yes,’said Deborah, smiling shyly at the students. ’Yes, we — we met under false pretences. I hope they won’t hold it against me.‘

  ‘We thought Miss Cloud was a student, Warden,’ observed Miss Menzies. ‘Instead of the Second Grave-Digger,’ she added, sotto voce.

  ‘Of course you did, child,’ agreed Mrs Bradley, grinning at the subject of this remark. ‘And now, what about tea?’

  Deborah, who had had nothing but the couple of biscuits dispensed under the hospitality of the College secretary, assented with pleasure to this suggestion. She could not have told how she knew it, but the realization came to her, with the inevitability of prophecy, that Mrs Bradley’s idea of tea would be something substantial on north-country lines. She was right, for the little party sat down to toast, ham, boiled eggs, sardines, new bread, butter, honey and jam with zest, goodwill and (apart from a spasm of hiccups on the part of the unfortunate Miss Boorman for whom Deborah, herself a prey to nervousness, felt overwhelming sympathy) unalloyed pleasure.

  The meal over, Mrs Bradley took Deborah off for what she called (leering hideously at Kitty, who had developed a fit of giggling) a review of the situation, and the three students went over to College, under the escort of the senior student, who had had tea with the rest of the party, and who continued to show herself, to Deborah’s relief, to be a sensible homely girl, likely to prove helpful and non-critical. Deborah already felt that the more help and the less criticism her initial efforts evoked, the better everything would be.

  At the entrance to College the senior student left the others pleading that she had a list of their study-bedrooms and bath-times to make out.

  ‘But you don’t know whether any of us will want a study-bedroom or a bath-time until we’ve seen the Principal,’ objected Laura Menzies. ‘I say, what price the Old Trout?’ she added to her comrades.

  Chapter 2

  THE THREE MUSKETEERS

  « ^ »

  In Athelstan the Old Trout aforesaid closed the sitting-room door.

  ‘And now,’ she said, giving Deborah a cigarette, ‘you and I, dear child, must come to an understanding. You expected to come here as assistant to Miss Murchan. You find me. Have you been notified of the change?’

  ‘Oh, but I didn’t know Miss Murchan,’ protested Deborah. ‘I mean, it’s all the same to me, whoever it is. That’s to say…’ she floundered, watched by the keen black eyes and appraised by the beaky little mouth, pursed now in kindly but, she sensed, unerring judgement upon her.

  ‘Never mind. The point is that I’ve been told I must report upon your courage.’

  ‘My courage? But…’ A desire came upon Deborah to retort that she had not any courage; that she had obtained her present post because she possessed good testimonials and a ladylike style of handwriting. She yielded to it. Mrs Bradley cackled. Then, taking from a capacious skirt pocket a notebook and a fountain-pen, she turned over a few pages, scribbled some hieroglyphics in tiny script, and, putting the impedimenta away, said briskly: ‘I am here to make mountains out of molehills, child… or, possibly, molehills out of mountains.’

  Deborah searched the witch-like countenance. The black eyes looked into hers. It appeared that the opinion had not been facetiously rendered. She straightened up in her chair and said: ‘What do you mean, Mrs Bradley?’

  ‘Exactly what I say, child. I’ve come here, at Miss du Mugne’s request, to trace Miss Murchan, who, it seems, disappeared last June at the College End of Term Dance, and has not been heard of since. The students were told that she had been taken ill — peritonitis — and the Principal herself officiated here in Athelstan Hall for the last two days of the term. That was ten weeks ago. Not the slightest trace of Miss Murchan has come to light. Interesting, is it not? And in the hands of the police, of course, although, so far, at the earnest request of the Principal, not in the newspapers.’

  ‘I see,’ said Deborah.

  ‘Well, now, if I’m to have your help I must at least let you know as much about the background of the case as I know myself. That is only fair. It appears that before she came here just two years ago, Miss Murchan had been Biology mistress at the County Secondary School for Girls at a place called Cuddy Bay, and, unfortunately, just before she left, they had a very nasty accident. A child was killed in the school gymnasium.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘She seems to have been lowering the boom, and a rope parted, and the thing came down on her head. It happened after school hours and as it could not be proved that anybody had given the child permission to stay and practise, the verdict was accidental death, with the school authorities completely exonerated from blame.’

  ‘Oh, what a good thing. Children can be disobedient little beasts; don’t I know it!’

  ‘Yes. The grandfather of the child, however, wanted further action taken. He persisted in saying that the child had had permission to stay; that she had stayed on other occasions, and that one of the mistresses stayed too. He argued that a great deal more was known about the accident than the evidence given in court served to show. He had to be taken to a mental hospital in the end, completely off his head, poor fellow.’

  ‘Beastly sort of affair altogether. But if the evidence was correct — ’

  ‘There is some slight indication that it was not,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘A month after the inquest the police received an anonymous letter suggesting that Miss Murchan was in a position to offer them definite information if they would assure the writer of police protection if she became involved.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘The handwriting experts thought that the letter had been written by a woman, and thereby hangs a point of peculiar interest. However, when the police interviewed Miss Murchan, not only did she deny all knowledge of the letter, but very soon afterwards she sent in her resignation to the County authority, and, according to Miss Paldred, the headmistress, whom I have interviewed, so far as the school was concerned she soon dropped out. She did not tell anyone where she was going, and it was not until her disappearance from the College was reported that the police here discovered that she had ever been on the staff of that particular school.’

  ‘Oh, you think the grandfather of the child found out where she was, and… ?’

  ‘That is a possibility, of course.’

  ‘But you don’t think it’s the truth?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And you don’t want to ask any questions?’

  ‘Well, I suppose Miss Murchan was going to confess something to the police, and then funked it?’

  ‘Do you really suppose that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t actually suppose anything, because I haven’t enough to go on, so far, have I? You said Miss Murchan was the Biology mistress. That being so, I don’t see what she had to do with the gymnasium. Surely she wasn’t also the Physical Training mistress?’

  ‘No, but she helped with the games. So did two other mistresses. It is a very large school. Incidentally, the Physical Training mistress resigned immediately after the inquest.’

  ‘Was she on the building when the accident happened?’

  ‘Nobody confessed to having been on the building later than five o’clock that evening, and, according to the medical evidence, the child could not have died before seven.’

  ‘When was sh
e found?’

  ‘When the first physical training class went into the gymnasium on the following morning.’

  ‘But — what about the caretaker? — the cleaners?’

  ‘Thereby hangs a tale which I have tested and found to be correct. The floor of the gymnasium is sacred, being specially made, laid, sprung, and oiled, and so jealous of it was the headmistress that she would not allow people into the gymnasium unless they were wearing the regulation rubber-soled shoes. The Physical Training mistress, a young woman named Paynter-Tree, and, incidentally, Miss Murchan’s half-sister, went further. She would not have the caretaker or the cleaners in at all, rubber-soled or not. She tended the gymnasium with her own fair hands, occasionally press-ganging the girls into service. So, you see, there was no reason, if the child had gone in there alone, why anybody should have found her until the morning.’

  ‘Yes, I see. And I do see what you mean now about Miss Murchan. But nothing could be proved, could it? I mean, it would only be one person’s word against another’s.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Bradley agreed. ‘One other point comes to my mind. I imagine that the step-sisters may not have agreed very well. It is strongly probable, psychologically, that Miss Paynter-Tree wrote the anonymous letter to the police. It is certainly odd that both of them chose to resign like that, after the inquest. Then, the child lived with grandparents. Of parents I can find no trace at all.’

  Deborah shuddered. She was aware that the black eyes were still watching and assessing her. She said, without looking directly at Mrs Bradley:

  ‘Wasn’t there an Assistant-Warden here? What happened to . her?’

  ‘A young woman called Carr was the Assistant-Warden. But, as it happened, she left to be married at the mid-term, and as Miss Murchan insisted that she could manage until the summer vacation, nobody was appointed. When did you apply for the post?’

  ‘Last Easter.’

  ‘Yes. Miss Carr would have tendered her resignation at the end of the Lent Term, I suppose, and the College advertised immediately. Were many candidates called up for interview?’

  ‘Eight, I think.’

  ‘All of them older than yourself?’

  ‘Yes. A good deal older, some of them. I didn’t think I stood an earthly chance.’

  ‘Youth must be served, child. Trite but true, especially nowadays. When was the final selection made?’

  ‘Not until the second week in July. I say!’ She looked full at Mrs Bradley. ‘Did you have anything to do with the appointment?’

  ‘Yes, child. I was an unseen but interested witness at all the interviews.’

  ‘And you decided… ?’

  ‘Yes, child.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much, but…’

  ‘That is why we are having this very trying conversation,’ said Mrs Bradley, cutting short the observation which, from Deborah, was almost inevitable in the circumstances. ‘I don’t want you to stay if you are at all nervous. I don’t know why you should be nervous, but, after all, one cannot deny that one has read Mr Montagu Rhodes James’s Story of a Disappearance and of an Appearance, can one?’

  ‘I’m horribly nervous,’ said Deborah, allowing herself to be side-tracked, but perceiving the machinery involved, ‘but I did want the job, and I still want it. What am I to do? I mean, why exactly did you decide on me?’

  ‘Because you are young, child, and I can manage you. You don’t mind my putting it like that? I must have someone who is young enough to be able to keep her own counsel and my secrets. Older women, even the best of them, sometimes are not good at either. The Sub-Warden here must be my lieutenant not only so far as running this Hall is concerned, but in my other work, the work that I’m really here to do. Do you understand what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I — I know who you are, of course.’

  ‘Well, think it over tonight, and let me know first thing in the morning. I might say that your old post is still open to you. I have made certain of that. My son knows the Chairman of the Governors.’

  ‘Can’t you tell me any more? About Miss Murchan, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t know very much more, child.’

  At that moment the telephone rang.

  ‘It’s about you,’ said Mrs Bradley, answering it. ‘Miss du Mugne wants to see you.’

  Miss du Mugne was a middle-aged, smiling, frosty woman whom Deborah immediately and, so far as she could tell, unreasonably disliked.

  There were flowers on the desk and flowers on the piano. There was a copy of a picture by Corot indicating very large, active trees and very small, insignificant people, and there was also a Staff photograph. The picture hung on the wall behind the piano, the other stood in the centre of the mantelpiece.

  ‘Miss Cloud?’ said Miss du Mugne. ‘I am glad to welcome you to Cartaret You have met Mrs Bradley, the new Warden of Athelstan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You understand that — that your appointment is under rather abnormal conditions, don’t you, Miss Cloud?’

  ‘I… Yes.’

  ‘Well, I would not like to have you think that under happier circumstances someone else might have been appointed. I want you to know, Miss Cloud, that yours was my first selection out of the long list of applications received, and that you would have been appointed in any case — Mrs Bradley’s work here notwithstanding.’

  She paused and beamed, apparently anticipating thanks. Deborah nervously gave them.

  ‘Then that’s all right,’ said the Principal. ‘I do hope you will be happy and comfortable here. Miss Band, the Assistant-Principal, will let you have a time-table of your lectures. I do hope you will find the work interesting. We get, I am glad to say, a very good type of student. Our standards are high and I am determined to maintain them. Well, good-bye, Miss Cloud, and do come to me if you are in any difficulty. I do rely on you to do all you can to assist Mrs Bradley, especially as regards the catering and the conduct. I am afraid that… this in confidence, of course !… brilliant woman though she is, Mrs Bradley has rather hazy ideas about food, and I am not at all convinced that she understands the deportment I require from the students.’

  Deborah, thinking of the tea Mrs Bradley had provided, could not find herself in complete agreement with the Principal, at any rate upon the first of these points. She made a non-committal noise, and was about to take her leave, as she felt that she had been dismissed, when Miss du Mugne added suddenly:

  ‘By the way, the students know nothing.’ Upon observing Deborah’s expression of surprise, she added hastily : ‘I mean, of course, nothing about Miss Murchan’s disappearance.’

  ‘Oh, no, of course not,’said Deborah.

  ‘The police have been very discreet, very discreet indeed; but, unless Mrs Bradley can help matters, something must come out soon.’

  ‘Yes, quite. I quite understand. I’ll do everything possible to help.’

  ‘I am sure you will. Good-bye, Miss Cloud, and don’t forget that I am always available in any little difficulties. And do have a periodical inspection of their hat-boxes. You’ll soon know what I mean.’

  Deborah left the Principal’s room with mixed feelings. Prevalent among these, however, was the desire — she recognized it with a certain amount of surprise — to return to Mrs Bradley’s disquieting, yet, paradoxically, reassuring presence. ‘I know; and spit the Principal out of your mouth,’ said Miss Topas, who seldom minced her words.

  Deborah walked round towards the back of the College this time, and took the path which led directly to Athelstan. On her left was a shrubbery which gave place, when the path joined another, to an orchard. On her right was a lawn with a grass tennis court. The rockery, which fronted Athelstan and beside which steps led up to the main gravel drive which connected all the Halls, was her demarcation line.

  ‘Home,’ she thought involuntarily. Suddenly, to her surprise, and, she had to admit, to her pleasure, out from the cover of a bush darted Laura Menzies.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said in cheerful
tones. She had by the arm the scared and diffident Miss Boorman. ‘Come into the Common Room with us. Or are you going into a huddle with the nobs?’

  Deborah modestly disclaimed any previous engagement, and Laura thereupon observed that she supposed they had all better hang about to learn the fate of ‘old Kitty.’ This was settled by the appearance of the heroine herself, who, with a woebegone expression, came out by the front door of Athelstan and informed all and sundry that she was ‘for it,’ having been enlisted with the rest of the inmates at the end of her first two and a half seconds in the Principal’s room.

  ‘What have we here, Dog?’ she inquired, gazing kindly upon Miss Boorman.

  ‘A buffer state,’ Laura cryptically but intelligibly replied. Kitty favoured Miss Boorman with a long and thoughtful stare.

  ‘Ay, ay,’ she pronounced with a satisfied smile. ‘Good generalship, Dog.’

  ‘As ever,’ replied her friend modestly. ‘As for Miss Cloud,’ she continued, ‘after today, when we are all girls together, she will be ashamed to be seen out with us, so make the most of her company while you can get it and before she knows her way about, and the shades of the prison house begin to close around the growing boy.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Deborah, as all four of them entered Athelstan, ‘I can’t quite see why there was any question about your being admitted to College, Miss Menzies. I mean, you don’t seem to be—’

  ‘A moron like me? Oh, no, she ain’t,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Bad reputation at school for ragging,’ replied Laura, with unwonted modesty. ‘In fact, I was given to understand just now by Old Beezer du Mugne — between ourselves, what a pill! — that but for the direct intervention of the First Grave-Digger, I should have been scrapped.’

  ‘Mrs Bradley wanted you?’

  ‘And how!’ agreed Laura, squinting down her nose. ‘And do you know what I think?’ she continued, to Deborah’s extreme alarm. ‘I think there’s dirty work at the cross-roads. Why does the Third Witch come here disguised as a Warden? There is something behind all this. Had it struck you, Comrade Boorman?’