by Rebecca Kent
“That’s right.” Felicity shook her head. “So if Mrs. Parker is telling the truth, either Winnie or Jimmy must have been mistaken. On the other hand, perhaps both Jimmy and Winnie were telling the truth and both Lady Clara and Miss Suchier were there. Mrs. Parker could have slept through the dogs barking, just like the stable boy did.”
“Or,” Meredith said slowly, “supposing Miss Suchier left at the same time Lady Clara arrived, which was the second time the dogs barked, and then Lady Clara left when the constables arrived? Winnie said she saw Lady Clara just before the constables got there.”
Felicity thought about it, while Essie sat with a confused frown on her face. “That would work,” Felicity announced at last. “In which case, both Winnie and Jimmy would be right. If that’s so, I wonder if Lady Clara saw Miss Suchier leaving the premises and realized that her husband was engaged in a little hanky-panky.”
“It’s possible. It would certainly give her a motive for shooting her husband.”
Felicity nodded. “As William Congreve said in his immortal words, ‘Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.’ ”
“Precisely. I do feel that either Miss Suchier or Lady Clara could have shot Lord Stalham. Since both of them would certainly have been wearing gloves, that would have eliminated the need to clean the gun and presumably given either one of them time to leave the room before Smithers arrived.”
Essie gasped, while Felicity chuckled. “Well done, Meredith. It makes perfect sense. The killer could certainly have been wearing gloves when she took hold of the gun, and the only people likely to be wearing them would be those two ladies. You are quite getting the hang of this detective business, aren’t you.”
Meredith shook her head. “There are no real conclusions to all this, just a lot of guesses and possibilities. I don’t know how Inspector Dawson does this for a living. All this brainstorming gives me quite a headache.”
“There’s just one thing,” Essie said, surprising her friends. “I have never met Lady Clara, of course, but would a mother allow her own son to die to cover up her own sins? I would think she would have to be an extraordinarily cruel and heartless woman to do such a terrible thing.”
Both Meredith and Felicity stared at Essie. Then Felicity broke the silence with another soft chuckle. “She certainly has a point there.”
“Yes, she does.” Meredith brightened. “In which case, it seems the most likely suspect is Miss Suchier. If you remember, Mrs. Parker mentioned that Lord Howard had planned to be rid of her.”
“The woman scorned again,” Felicity murmured. “There’s just one thing. How do you prove it?”
Meredith passed a hand across her forehead. “I have no idea. Are you feeling as confused as I am?”
“Probably.” Felicity sat back, shaking her head. “It’s too bad your ghost just can’t tell you who killed his father.”
“Even if he could, I wouldn’t be able hear him. He’s tried once or twice to tell me something, but I suppose my powers don’t stretch that far. It’s all very frustrating.”
“Can’t you just read his lips? You certainly have a talent for that,” Essie said, straightening her hat, which had slipped sideways at the last bump in the road.
Meredith frowned. “That’s another strange thing. For some reason, although I can see his lips moving, I can’t see what he’s saying.”
“Even though he’s in the same room?” Essie looked incredulous. “That is strange. I’ve seen you read someone’s lips from twenty yards away.”
Meredith sighed. “Well, in any case, I don’t think James knows who killed his father. After all, if he was telling the truth, he arrived in the library to find his father shot and the killer gone.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten that.” Felicity glanced out the window as the carriage swayed violently on its way around a sharp curve.
Meredith grabbed her hat. “We shall simply have to work all this out for ourselves, though I can’t help feeling that somewhere in all that confusing information lies the answer to all our questions.”
“Well, if so, I hope you discover it soon.” Felicity looked disgruntled. “If Hamilton learns what you are up to, and that we’re assisting you, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Essie gasped. “I do hope he doesn’t find out.”
“He hasn’t so far,” Meredith said crisply, “and I don’t see any reason why he would this time.”
“What about Sylvia? She certainly has her suspicions.” Felicity grabbed onto the window ledge as the carriage again rocked from side to side. “Drat that Reggie. He takes the corners much too fast.”
Meredith swayed to one side and righted herself. “Sylvia won’t find out either as long as we don’t talk about this in her presence.”
“Absolutely right. Only we’re telling so many lies lately, we’re bound to be caught out in one sooner or later.”
Meredith frowned. “I don’t like to think of it as lying. I prefer to think that we are fabricating excuses for our absence, in the interest of all parties concerned.”
Felicity grinned. “Well put. Nevertheless, if our excuses are exposed as untrue, we shall still be in trouble.”
“Then we shall just have to face the music if that happens.” Meredith settled herself more firmly on the seat. “Meanwhile, if this is the only way I can be rid of these pesky ghosts who insist on haunting me, then I shall do my utmost to resolve whatever it is keeping them here. Now, let us move on to more pleasant things. Essie, tell us, how are your classes coming along?”
To her relief, Essie seized the opportunity to relate a story about a group of her students who thought it would be funny to arrive in class wearing their sleeping attire. “I made them lie on the floor as if they were in bed for the entire class,” she said, making Felicity chuckle again. “I don’t think they will be so eager to pull such a trick again.”
Meredith listened with half an ear as Felicity answered with an anecdote of her own. Something that Winnie had told her kept coming back to tease her mind. Something important. Now, if only she could remember what it was, she might be a little closer to solving this entire frustrating puzzle.
Chapter 12
“So,” Olivia said, as she followed Grace to the dining room, “you remember everything you have to do tomorrow, I hope? You haven’t forgotten what I said?”
“Of course I remember.” Grace balanced her heavy tray on her hip and shoved her cap higher up her forehead. “It’s not hard, is it. I follow you and the girls into the pub and smash all the glasses I can get my hands on before we all run out again.”
“That’s right.” Olivia grunted as she hoisted her own tray higher. “Once we get to the pub I need you to bring up the rear so you can make sure we don’t have any stragglers.”
In spite of her anxiety, Grace had to smile. “Bring up the rear? You sound just like that Christabel Pankhurst that led the protest in Witcheston.”
“Well, that’s what I am, too, aren’t I. A blooming suffragette.” Olivia halted as Grace aimed a kick at the door of the dining room. “Wait a minute. Listen to that. What the blooming heck is all that noise?”
Grace winced as the door swung back and smacked against the wall. Not that it mattered, because any sound she had made was drowned out by the uproar inside the room. Her ears rang with the clamor of crashing dishes and strident voices.
At one end of the farthest table, a savage food fight was in progress, with carrots, mashed potatoes, and buns flying back and forth. Every now and then a shriek erupted when a missile found its mark.
Students stood on top of the other three tables, cheering and stomping their feet, making the plates dance and rattle until some of them slid off the edge of the table and crashed to the floor.
Close by, a larger group of students stood with locked arms, chanting, “We’ll smash their glasses, and put ’em on their arses. Equal rights for women!”
In the midst of it all, Miss Montrose lea
pt up and down like a frenzied frog, arms waving, screaming at the top of her voice, her words lost in the tumult of noise all around her.
“Bloody hell,” Olivia yelled in Grace’s ear, “what’s going on?”
Grace looked around, but could see no sign of any of the other teachers. Leaning close to Olivia, she yelled back. “It looks like Miss Montrose is all by herself and doesn’t know how to take charge.”
Olivia shook her head, then marched to the nearest table and slammed her tray down on the end of it. A currant bun sailed through the air and narrowly missed her ear. Olivia promptly picked up the tray, walked over to the nearest student and hit her over the head with it.
The student sat down rather suddenly, and Grace winced. That had to hurt. The girl next to her turned on Olivia and raised her hand to slap her. The maid calmly grabbed her wrist and gave it a hefty twist. The student screamed, and everyone around her stopped shouting and turned to see what all the yelling was about.
Just then, the door burst open and Roger Platt came rushing in. Sylvia Montrose took one look at him and burst into tears.
It took a moment for Grace to realize why, but then she saw another figure fill the doorway. It was Stuart Hamilton, and the look on his face was enough to turn back a herd of rampaging elephants.
“It’s very quiet,” Felicity observed, as she led the way through the door into the school lobby. “The girls must be all safely tucked up in their rooms. Looks as though Sylvia managed to take care of everything.”
Meredith frowned as they passed by the library. Looking through the window at all the empty tables, she muttered, “Something’s wrong. It’s far too early for the students to have retired for the night.”
“Perhaps they’re still in the dining room, having a late meal. I’ll go and see.” Essie started in that direction, then halted as the tall figure of Stuart Hamilton strode purposefully toward them.
“Uh-oh,” Felicity murmured. “It would seem the lord and master is displeased.”
Meredith felt a thump of apprehension. Ignoring Felicity’s sarcasm, she hurried forward. “Mr. Hamilton? Is something wrong?”
Hamilton halted and crossed his arms. “Why on earth would you possibly imagine that anything could be wrong?”
As always, his piercing gaze seemed to bore right through her head. “I . . . ah . . . don’t know. It’s just that it seems so quiet and . . .”
“We’re wondering where the students are,” Felicity said at her side.
“We thought perhaps they might still be in the dining room,” Essie said timidly, as she sidled up on the other side of Meredith.
Hamilton transferred his gaze to the young tutor. “I can assure you, they are not in the dining room,” he said, his words edged in ice.
Certain now of some dire disaster, Meredith swallowed. “I . . . ah . . . perhaps you could tell us where they are?”
“They are all confined to their rooms. For the entire weekend.” Hamilton unfolded his arms and tucked a thumb in his trousers pocket. “No doubt you are agog with curiosity to learn why such a drastic move was necessary.”
Meredith raised her chin. “Whatever it is, I’m quite sure Miss Montrose had good reason to discipline the students and will no doubt explain. If I’m allowed the opportunity to speak with her, that is.”
A glint appeared in Hamilton’s eyes. “Miss Montrose,” he said heavily, “did not send the students to their rooms. I did. Miss Montrose is, at this moment, indulging in a fit of hysterics in the teacher’s lounge.”
“Well, good for her,” Felicity murmured.
Grasping at the remnants of her composure, Meredith turned to Essie. “Please go to the teacher’s lounge and see if you can do anything for Miss Montrose. Felicity, I’d appreciate it if you could look in on the students and make sure all is well with them.”
Essie scuttled off with a look of relief on her face, while Felicity hesitated. “Are you certain you want to handle this on your own?”
“Quite certain.”
“Very well.” She shot a glowering look at Hamilton before stalking off.
Meredith waited until Felicity’s long stride had taken her out of earshot before addressing Hamilton once more. “Perhaps if we can retire to my office, where we can speak with more privacy?”
“By all means.” He gave her a deep, mocking bow. “Do, please, lead the way.”
Gritting her teeth, she set off down the corridor. To her embarrassment, her stomach uttered a low growl. She clutched it, praying he hadn’t heard. Trying not to think of food, she paused in front of her office and threw open the door.
Hamilton stood back, waiting for her to enter. She hesitated, wondering if she should sit behind her desk or allow him to do so. Deciding that it was her desk, and therefore her privilege, she marched past him and sat down. He took the chair opposite her, his expression set and unreadable.
When he didn’t speak, she cleared her throat. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”
Stretching out his legs, he contemplated his boots. “I came by earlier to discuss a matter with you that I thought might be of mutual interest. I intended to join you for supper, and when I saw no one in the corridors I realized I was a little late and I made directly for the dining room.”
Still trying to get her thoughts around the matter of mutual interest that he’d mentioned, Meredith began, “I’m sorry I wasn’t—”
“I reached the door,” Hamilton rudely interrupted, “at the same time as Pratt. I—”
“Platt.”
He glared at her. “Pardon me?”
“His name is Platt, as you know perfectly well. Why do you insist on calling him Pratt?”
“Pratt, Platt, what difference does it make? We are not here to discuss your unruly assistant. We are here to find out why you and your fellow tutors left the premises with only a neophyte tutor in charge, who obviously has no ability to control a group of rowdy students, allowing what could have been a small incident to get completely out of hand.”
The hollow feeling in Meredith’s stomach deepened. “Oh, dear heavens. What happened?”
“What happened, my dear Meredith, was that the entire student body of the Bellehaven Finishing School for Young Ladies erupted into a riot, such as I have not seen in my entire life.
“They were leaping about on the tables with food in their hair and all over their clothes, smashing dishes and generally behaving like guttersnipes instead of the elegant women we strive to produce in this honored establishment.”
Struggling to breathe, Meredith murmured, “Oh, my. What did Mr. Platt have to do with all this?”
Hamilton looked taken aback. “What? Oh, nothing, as far as I know. Miss Montrose, however, stood in the middle of the room, wailing like a banshee instead of ordering an end to that disgusting display of atrocious manners.”
Meredith wasn’t sure if it was hunger, or her quivering nerves, or the fact that he had called her ‘my dear Meredith, ’ albeit with a certain amount of sarcasm. Whatever it was, the urge to laugh became too strong to subdue.
It began as a whimper, then a giggle, then, in spite of her efforts to control it, the laughter spluttered out in a torrent of mirth.
For a moment Hamilton’s face was scarlet with outrage, which only intensified Meredith’s helpless hilarity. Then, as she fought for breath, the scowl slowly disappeared and the glimmer of a smile twitched at his lips.
“I fail to see what is so highly amusing,” he said, though now his voice, contrary to his words, was tinged with humor.
“I’m sorry.” Meredith gasped for breath and struggled for composure. “It was just . . . you’re right, of course. The matter is quite serious. I shall be certain to call an emergency assembly tomorrow morning to address the situation. Rest assured, Mr. Hamilton—”
“Stuart.”
“—Stuart,” she amended, the name seeming to stick to her tongue, “rest assured that nothing like this will ever”—she gulped down a latent giggle—“
happen again. Not while I’m in charge, anyway.”
Hamilton sat back and laced his fingers across his chest. “Which brings me to the point. Might I enquire why it was necessary for two of your tutors to accompany you on whatever errand you were engaged in this afternoon, thus leaving Miss Montrose to manage on her own?”
Meredith took a deep breath. How she hated having to make up these pesky excuses. To tell him the truth, however, would jeopardize any chance of her solving the murder and ridding herself of a very unwelcome ghost. “It wasn’t exactly an errand. More an invitation, if you will.”
Stuart raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Indeed? One that none of you could refuse, I take it?”
“Precisely.” She gave him her warmest smile. “A dear friend is in trouble, and needed our help.” As close to the truth as she dare go, she decided.
For a long moment he stared at her beneath lowered brows, then slowly let out his breath. “Very well. I will accept that the situation was unavoidable. I trust that in the future, however, you will make certain Miss Montrose is not left in such a vulnerable position again.”
That stung, for some reason. Sylvia Montrose had been Stuart’s choice to fill the vacancy left by Kathleen Duncan, Meredith’s closest friend and fellow tutor, who had died from a blow to the head some months earlier.
As with Roger Platt, Stuart had insisted that he select the person for the job, giving Meredith not one say in the matter. In both cases, Meredith had vigorously protested. Neither of Stuart’s choices had seemed particularly qualified for the role, and in Sylvia’s case Meredith had taken an instant dislike to the woman.
She had convinced herself that it was because of Sylvia’s way of finding fault with everything and everyone, but deep down she had a suspicion it might have to do more with the fact that Sylvia was younger and prettier, and seemed to be a special pet of Stuart Hamilton’s.
“I believe,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “that Miss Montrose is quite capable of learning how to take charge in a volatile situation, just as the rest of us had to do. One never knows when one will be subjected to rebellious behavior at Bellehaven. It could happen anywhere—in the classroom, in the living quarters, or out on the tennis court—and one can’t always rely on additional help.”
