by Rebecca Kent
Grace looked at her in horror. “A protest in Crickling Green? You must be mad. Everyone in the village knows us.”
“They won’t see us in the crowd.”
“What crowd? Where are we going to get a crowd of suffragettes who’ll come to the village to protest? Besides, I thought you said you didn’t want to use the WSPU.”
“I don’t.” Olivia looked awfully pleased with herself. “We’ll get our girls to do it with us.”
For a long moment Grace stared at her. “Our girls?”
Olivia nodded. “The students of Bellehaven.”
“Now I know you’ve gone bonkers.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, they won’t do it.”
“Course they will. They’ll do anything for a bit of excitement.”
“Well, if they do, they could be expelled.”
“Nah.” Olivia picked up the silverware from the draining board and carried it across the kitchen to the table. “They would have to catch us first, and like I said, there’s only one bobby in Crickling Green and he’s not too swift in the head.”
“P.C. Shipham can be really nasty when he’s cross.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, he’s got to catch us first.”
Grace fought back a sense of panic. This was a bad idea, she could feel it in her bones. She knew Olivia, though. Once her friend made up her mind there was no changing it.
As if reading her thoughts, Olivia fixed her with a determined stare. “You’re not going to let me down now, are you?”
Grace slowly shook her head. Olivia was not only her best friend, she was her only friend. That relationship rested on Olivia’s expectations of complete and unconditional loyalty. Do what Olivia wanted, or bugger off.
As always, Grace chose the friendship over good sense. “No,” she said, with a quiver of apprehension, “but I don’t have to like it.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a scaredy-cat. It’s going to be fun.”
Grace had to wonder how many more days off she’d lose to Olivia’s idea of fun. “Where are we going to hold the protest? We don’t have no town hall in the village.”
“No, but we have a pub.” Olivia’s smile was triumphant. “Just think about it. All those old geezers sipping beer in the public bar, telling us we’re not allowed in there. Blinking nerve of ’em. Who are they to tell us where we can and can’t go?” She flung out an arm in a dramatic gesture of defiance. “We’ll show ’em. I can just see their faces when we all march in there.” She started pumping her arm up and down. “We want the vote! We want the vote! Equal rights for women! We want the vote!”
Grace stared down at the fork in her hand. Disaster. That’s what this latest daft idea would bring. She could feel it in her bones.
All through her instruction that morning Meredith found herself glancing into the corners of the room, half expecting to see the red glow appear again. When the bell rang for the end of morning class with nothing untoward happening, she breathed a sigh of relief. She must have imagined it after all. No doubt brought on by the stress of Roger Platt’s unquenchable thirst for inappropriate female companionship.
The midday meal, as always, was a noisy affair. Each of the four tutors sat at the head of the long dining tables attempting to keep order, which was often a thankless and fruitless task. Many of Bellehaven’s pupils were head-strong, displaying a firm preference for the activities of militant suffragettes instead of learning how to conduct themselves with proper decorum.
Felicity Cross, the spirited, outspoken tutor of languages and literature, always with a heavy dash of modern day politics thrown in, had raised her voice and could be heard above the din admonishing her rowdy students with dire threats and warnings, most of which were blithely ignored.
Esmeralda Pickard, on the other hand, fair of face and delicate as a newly formed rose, seemed to have her students mesmerized as she addressed them in her soft voice. Essie, as everyone called her, was a firm believer in teaching by example.
Do as I say and as I do, was her motto.
The youngest of the tutors, and not too intellectual by academic standards, she had grown up in an elite environment and was well equipped to instruct the young ladies in the finer points of etiquette and social behavior. Being the closest in age to the young women in her charge, she enjoyed an affiliation with her students not shared by the other tutors.
The fourth tutor and home management expert, Sylvia Montrose, had been handpicked by Stuart Hamilton, and had immediately drawn battle lines between herself and Felicity. The language teacher, in Sylvia’s biased opinion, was contributing to the delinquency of her pupils by encouraging them to follow the dictates of the Women’s Social and Political Union, instead of teaching them how to become refined, dutiful wives, successful socialites, and a credit to their future husbands.
Meredith did not care for Sylvia’s methods or her attitude. She refused to admit, even to herself, that her disapproval might just be due to a touch of jealousy. Sylvia’s strawberry blond hair, green eyes, and girlish figure certainly seemed to capture Stuart Hamilton’s attention. Not, of course, that it mattered to Meredith one whit upon whom the owner lavished his regard.
Today, however, she was not thinking about Stuart Hamilton or his misguided affections. The memory of the red glow kept popping into her mind, and now she couldn’t wait until she could adjourn to the teacher’s lounge and share her concerns with her two best friends.
Chapter 2
The long mealtime eventually came to an end. With a sense of urgency now, Meredith dismissed the girls at her table and followed them out into the corridor. Felicity was several steps ahead of her, and paused to allow her to catch up.
“What bee have you got in your bonnet today?” she demanded, her rasping voice carrying down the hallway as always. “I could see the lines in your forehead from across the room.”
Meredith shook her head. “Not now. Let’s wait until we are in the lounge.”
Felicity’s eyes lit up. “Something juicy?”
Meredith had to smile. “You are incorrigible, Felicity. Always thinking the worst.”
Her comment drew a grin from her friend. “That’s the only kind of news that’s exciting.”
Raised voices farther down the corridor wiped Felicity’s grin from her face. Striding forward, she reached a group of students, two of whom were waving arms and spitting words at each other.
“Enough!” Felicity’s roar reduced all chattering in the hallways to silence. The two who were arguing glowered at each other, but remained silent while Felicity demanded to know what the disagreement was about.
One of the bystanders decided to be helpful. “They were fighting over a boyfriend,” she announced, just as Meredith reached the group.
Felicity’s face grew dark. “No one in this school has a boyfriend,” she roared. “Boyfriends are nasty, lecherous beings whose only aim is to bring you heartache and disgrace. They are to be avoided at all costs. Is that clear?”
Both girls nodded, though not with too much conviction.
Recognizing one of the contenders, Meredith pinched her lips. She had no doubt about whom Sophie Westchester had been quarreling. As the students hurried off, Meredith beckoned to the young woman and drew her aside. “I understand you were in the art studio late last night,” she said, without preamble.
Sophie immediately shot a desperate look after her departing friends, then stared down at the floor. “Yes, miss,” she mumbled.
“I am also led to believe that someone else was in there with you.”
Sophie’s cheeks turned pink. “Er—yes, miss. It was Mr. Platt.”
“May I ask what you were doing in the art studio with Mr. Platt at that late hour?”
Sophie poked the toe of her shoe out from under her skirt and stared at it as if she’d never seen it before. “Looking for my palette?”
She’d phrased the answer as a question and Meredith tightened her lips. “Mr. Platt seemed to t
hink you were looking for a sketch book.”
“Oh, that’s right. My sketch book. I forgot.”
Meredith curled her fingers into her palms. “I suggest, Miss Westchester, that the next time you search for a missing article late at night, you do so alone. Otherwise I shall feel strongly compelled to inform your parents of your unfortunate behavior.”
“Yes, Mrs. Llewellyn.”
“You may leave.”
“Yes, miss.” Dipping her head, Sophie backed away, then turned and fled down the hallway after her friends.
Staring after her, Meredith frowned. One more strike against the unprincipled Mr. Platt. Something would have to be done about that young man, and soon.
Essie was already seated by the fire when Meredith followed Felicity into the teacher’s lounge. She smiled as the women entered the room. “I was wondering what kept you both.”
Felicity grunted. “Idiotic girls. Arguing over some young wastrel. What a stupendous waste of time.”
Essie raised her eyebrows at Meredith, who shook her head. Felicity’s apparent hatred of the male species was legendary. “It was nothing. I took care of it.” She glanced over at the empty chairs. “Sylvia hasn’t arrived yet.”
“With any luck she’ll have something pressing to take care of and leave us in peace.” Felicity threw herself down on her chair. “Lord, these shoes will be the death of me.” She frowned at the offending black Oxfords sticking out from under her long skirt. “I swear I’m getting gout or something.”
“It’s because they are new.” Essie poked a dainty foot out from under her frock. “These hurt me when I first started wearing them, but now they are quite comfortable.”
“I don’t see how,” Felicity murmured. “All those straps digging into your foot. Give me a sensible lace-up anytime.”
Meredith drew a deep breath. “I saw a red glow in my office this morning!”
Two faces turned to stare at her in astonishment.
Meredith gave them both a weak smile. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but any minute Sylvia Montrose could stroll in and her opportunity to discuss the matter with her friends would be lost.
She needed that reassurance from them, to free her mind from worry in order to conduct her classes that afternoon with any degree of competence.
“A red glow?” Essie looked confused. “Do you mean the sunrise?”
“I think she means something else,” Felicity murmured. “Were you thinking it was another ghost, perhaps?”
Essie gasped, her eyes growing wide. “Oh, no, Meredith. I thought you were finished with all that.”
“So did I.” Meredith leaned over and retrieved her knitting bag from the small cabinet at her side. Holding knitting needles helped to steady her hands whenever she was out of sorts.
“Are you sure it was a ghost?”
Felicity had sounded skeptical as usual. Meredith sighed. “No, I’m not. In fact, I’m not even sure now that I actually saw a glow. I was having a rather tense conversation with Roger Platt at the time and may well have imagined the whole thing. I merely wanted to mention it so I could perhaps put the entire incident out of my mind.”
“It could have been a trick of the light,” Essie said, looking anxious.
“Or your eyes deceiving you.” Felicity leaned forward. “Perhaps you need them examined. You may need to wear spectacles. After all, staring all day at those atrocious paintings your students produce must have an adverse effect on your eyes.”
Meredith tried to curb her resentment. Felicity was well known for her sharp tongue and rarely meant her words in the way they were presented. Still, she couldn’t help getting just a little defensive. “My students do quite well considering they are not accomplished artists.”
“Oh, bosh, Meredith, don’t take offense.” Felicity passed a weary hand over her forehead. “You know I wasn’t casting aspersions on your ability to teach. It’s the student’s fault if she’s unable to share your visions and produce them adequately on the page.”
“Well, perhaps I should pay a visit to the opticians.” Meredith drew out a length of knitting from the bag and laid it in her lap. “Much as I detest the idea of wearing spectacles, it is far better than having to deal with another ghost.”
“The last one almost killed you,” Essie said, her voice fearful.
“Considering she was supposedly just a child, her presence really did seem to cause a lot of trouble for everyone.” Felicity leaned down to rub at the toe of her shoe.
“It wasn’t her fault.” Meredith grasped the needles in her lap and examined the stitches clinging to one of them. “She asked for my help. How could I deny a child whose life had been so tragically shortened, not to mention those of her entire family? I had to find out who was responsible.”
“Well, you can certainly deny this one.” Felicity sat up again. “Though I must say I’m inclined to believe your vision was more likely attributed to your eyesight than a visit from the other side.”
“I hope you’re right.” Meredith looked up as the door opened and Sylvia walked in. For now, the discussion was over, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that the matter was far from resolved. Much as she wanted to believe she had imagined that glow in the corner, she couldn’t ignore the possibility that once more a ghost was hovering within her vicinity, just waiting for the opportunity to beg her assistance.
“If Mona finds out what we’re up to she’ll send us both packing.” Grace dragged the carpet sweeper behind her, bumping it on every stair on the way up. “You know we’re not supposed to mix with the students.”
“We do a lot of things we’re not supposed to do.” Olivia stood at the top of the stairs, a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. “All we’ve got to do is sneak into the library after they get out of class. There’ll be plenty of girls in there then. We’ll tell just a few what we’re doing, and hope they tell their friends.”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Wot? Are you off your rocker? What if the teachers hear about it?”
“We’ll swear everyone to secrecy. We’ll tell them that if the teachers find out, the whole thing will be off. What’s more, if someone tells on us, we’ll find out who it is and make her wish she’d kept her blinking mouth shut.”
Grace shivered. “I don’t like this, Olivia. I really don’t. It’s not worth it. We could really lose our jobs if we get into trouble again.”
“We won’t lose our jobs.” The bucket clanged in Olivia’s hand as she swung around and started down the corridor. “Where are they going to get two hard workers like us in Crickling Green? All the young girls are going up to the city to go into service there. Nobody wants to work in this godforsaken place. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do, and only a bunch of louts in the village.”
“Why do you stay then?”
Olivia dumped the bucket on the floor and looked at her. “Sometimes I ask myself that same question. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I know you won’t go to the city with me and I can’t leave you here all alone.”
Grace felt tears filling her eyes. When Olivia talked like that she’d walk barefoot on burning coals for her. “When are we going to do the protest then?”
Olivia grinned. “On Saturday. It’s the first of May. May Day. They’ll be dancing around the maypole on the village green that day, and old fish-face Shipham will be watching over them all. He’ll be too busy to pay attention to what’s going on at the Dog and Duck, and by the time he realizes something’s up, we’ll be long gone.”
Still not convinced, Grace tried to look enthusiastic. “Good. You’ve got it all worked out, then.”
“You bet I have, and don’t worry, Grace.” Olivia picked up the bucket again. “There’s only a bunch of old geezers what goes into the pub midday. We’ll march through the public bar, smash all the glasses we can get our hands on and we’ll be out of there before they can struggle out of their chairs.”
Grace felt her jaw drop. “Smash the glasses?”<
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Olivia turned her back on her. “Well, of course. What’s the use of protesting if you don’t do a little damage on the way?”
Prison, that’s where they were going to end up, Grace was sure of it. Still, even prison with Olivia was better than life without her. Shoving the sweeper in front of her, Grace started pushing it back and forth across the carpet. All she had to do was remember what her friend had said about not leaving her alone. That gave her the courage she needed. Votes for women. It was a good cause. Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe this time it would all turn out all right.
Standing in front of a dozen or so expectant pupils, Meredith raised her hand. “We will take that again from the second chorus. On the count of three. One, two, three!” She began conducting, and the voices soared in harmony.
At least, they were supposed to harmonize. The actual sound that erupted from the throats of the earnest young students more closely resembled a crowd of unruly onlookers at a hockey match than a finely tuned choral group. Bach was no doubt turning over in his grave.
Frowning, Meredith turned to the piano and played the opening notes of the chorus, singing along with great emphasis to illustrate the harmony. “Now, do you hear that?” She played and sang it again for good measure. “Now that’s what I want to hear.”
She was about to turn back when something moved into her vision. Her hands froze on the keys as she stared at the red glow hovering near the center of the room. It seemed to billow up from the ground like smoke, weaving and swaying as if caught by the wind.
She blinked, twice, but the mist remained, thickening now. The edges of it were dark red, and the center swirled in angry coils of scarlet and pink.
Aware of the uneasy silence behind her, Meredith leaned forward over the piano and whispered hoarsely, “Go away! Leave me alone!”
The silence was broken by whispers and a muffled giggle. At the sound, the mist seemed to curl in on itself, and then it vanished.
