by Sam Short
With a proud glint in her eyes, Edna grabbed the bottle from Fredrick’s desk and tapped the glass with a manicured fingernail. She lifted the bottle to eye level and peered at the blue orb within. “At first I couldn’t tell what it was,” she said, slowly spinning the bottle. “It was a fleck of red, buried deep within the spell, almost invisible to the naked eye.” She gave a smile. “But I have good eyesight. Better than some people half my age. In fact, the last time I visited an optician was in the nineties, and I was told I would never need glasses.” She frowned, lowering the bottle. “That disappointed me if I’m being honest. I think a good teacher should wear glasses. I believe the children respond far better to a bespectacled tutor than one with naked eyes. So I bought two pairs of spectacles with non-magnified lenses — fashion spectacles, if you will. One pair with red frames, and one with silver. I never looked back. Excuse the pun.”
“Edna,” said Fredrick. “That’s an enthralling tale you tell, but is it relevant to the task at hand?”
“Not really,” replied Edna. “I simply wished to make you all aware of how keen a person’s eyesight must be if they wish to discover hidden secrets within magic spells. Luckily, I have keen eyesight, so I was able to spot the almost invisible trigger buried within the spell contained inside this bottle.”
“Trigger?” said Timothy. “What sort of trigger?”
“A trigger,” said Edna. “A trigger which would activate the spell under certain circumstances.”
“Like a delay?” said Judith.
Edna nodded. “Yes. And a spell with an inbuilt delay used in a poison would suggest that the poison was not intended to be active at the moment somebody ingested it. A poison that worked in such a simple fashion would not require a trigger — it would begin working the moment somebody swallowed it. This poison was different, it was intended to kill its victim when something triggered the spell within it.”
“What sort of trigger, Mrs Brockett?” asked Fredrick. “Can you be more specific?”
“I can’t,” said Edna, with a shake of her head. “It could have been a word, a smell, a taste, a sight. I may never be able to tell, but what I can say is that the poison wasn’t necessarily in the muffin served to Trevor by Sergeant Spencer, although that is still a possibility, of course. Especially considering how quickly Trevor died after consuming it.”
“I don’t think I understand,” said Judith. “That would mean that as soon as Trevor had eaten the muffin, something triggered the magic in the poison and it became active, killing him?”
“Or,” said Edna, a sly smile on her lips. “The muffin may have been the trigger that activated the poison. Trevor may have been poisoned hours before he died, and the muffin, or an ingredient within it, more specifically, was the catalyst that set the poison in motion, killing him instantly. I don’t know exactly what happened, all I do know is that the magic in the spell contained a trigger.”
“So we don’t even know when Trevor Giles was poisoned,” said Judith. “We don’t know if he was poisoned in the police cell, or earlier in the day, and we’re not even sure of how he was poisoned. Are we sure of anything?”
“Judging by the freshness of the poison, and the contents of Mister Giles’s stomach,” said Edna, “we can be sure that Mister Giles ingested the poison within the last twenty-four hours. We can also be sure that the poison was put inside something Trevor had eaten. Judging by some of the herbs used in the poison, I very much doubt that it was put in something Trevor drank yesterday. The taste would have been obvious to whoever took a sip, especially somebody with senses as acute as a werewolf.”
“He was very drunk,” said Millie. “Maybe his senses weren’t operating at full capacity?”
“Considering most of the liquid in Trevor’s stomach was beer,” said Edna, “and considering the fact that Trevor had a strong liking for alcohol, I think it’s safe to say he would have detected the poison had it been put in his drink. It is my strong belief that the poison was slipped inside something Trevor ate yesterday, and as the only morsels in his stomach were of the cake variety, I don’t think we’d be too far away from the truth if we work with the assumption that Trevor Giles ate a cake containing poison yesterday.”
“Okay,” said Fredrick. “We have ourselves a real mystery.” He stood up and smiled at Edna. “Thank you for your thoroughness, Mrs Brockett, but I fear that this is all becoming a little too complicated, and when things become complicated, I’m of the mind that simplicity is the antidote."
“Meaning what?” said Edna, pocketing the glass bottle.
Fredrick picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “We carry out some simple old-fashioned investigations, Edna,” he said, brandishing the paper. “This is a list of people that may have had a reason for wishing harm upon Trevor. Timothy compiled it.”
“It contains the names of everybody that Trevor upset yesterday at the school open day, and some other names of people in the werewolf community that Trevor didn’t get along with,” explained Timothy.
Fredrick glanced around the room. “I instructed Timothy to include the names of everybody he recalls arguing with Trevor Giles yesterday, and that of course includes my name.”
“Mine too,” said Timothy. “It would be unfair to compile a list of potential suspects without adding my own name — after all, everybody at the school fete witnessed Trevor and I fighting in our wolf forms.” He squirmed in his seat and looked at Judith, an apology in his eyes. “Your name is on the list, and your father’s name, too.” He turned his gaze to Millie. “And yours. I believe you had a few altercations with Trevor yesterday?”
“Yes,” said Millie. “I did.”
“The fact that our names are on the list does not mean for one minute that anybody thinks it was one of us who poisoned Trevor Giles,” said Fredrick. “It is purely for the sake of fairness to the other people on the list.”
“A list which is incomplete,” noted Timothy. “I heard talk of Trevor offending some of the parents who attended your classroom to watch the children cook, Millie. I’d appreciate it if you could add those names to the list.”
“Of course,” said Millie.
“I’d ask each of you to study the list,” said Fredrick, passing the sheet of paper to Edna. “And add any names that you think should be on it. When we have a completed list we will solve this mystery the simple way — by asking people questions. With Henry away we can’t use the stone of integrity to gauge whether people are telling the truth, or not, so we’ll need to rely on our instincts.”
Edna Brockett scanned the list quickly and passed it to Millie. “There’s no names I can add to it,” she said.
Glancing at the list, Millie took the pen which Timothy offered her. She quickly scanned the names written in Timothy’s neat hand, adding the names of the parents who had been present in her classroom when Trevor had arrived. Checking the list again, Millie noted that Timothy had included the names of Cuthbert Campion and his daughter, recalling that the werewolf had informed her and Judith that he’d heard the argument in the refreshment tent between Cuthbert and Trevor.
Satisfied that she’d added all the relevant names to the growing list, Millie passed the sheet of paper to Judith who ran her eyes over it quickly. “There’s one name missing,” she said.
“And who would that be?” asked Fredrick.
“Mister Wurtherton,” said Judith.
“Our Mister Wurtherton?” asked Fredrick. “Mister Wurtherton the History of Paranormal Events teacher?”
“Yes,” said Judith. “He offered up his time yesterday, to help out at the fete. He served behind the bar in the refreshment tent.”
“And had a few angry words with Trevor,” added Millie.
“If I recall the conversation correctly,” said Judith. “I think he told Trevor he hoped he’d choke on his drink. Or words to that effect.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it,” said Millie. “I’m sure of that.”
“As am I,” said Fredri
ck. “However, I shall speak to him.” He took the list from Judith and ran his eyes over it. “And I’d be very appreciative if Miss Thorn would speak to some of the other people on this list.” He cast Millie a sideways glance. “How about you begin by speaking with Francine Jackson, Beth Taylor, and perhaps Cuthbert Campion and his daughter?”
“Of course,” said Millie. “But what am I supposed to ask them? We don’t even know what happened to Trevor, and we’re trying to keep the news of his death a secret for the time being so as not to anger the werewolf community —”
“Some of the werewolf community,” corrected Timothy. “Most of us are rational beings who wouldn’t suspect Sergeant Spencer was capable of murder, and certainly wouldn’t wish any harm upon him.”
“Miss Thorn makes a valid point, though,” said Edna Brockett. She turned to Fredrick. “Are you sure its worthwhile us even attempting to find out what happened to Trevor before Henry Pinkerton returns from his trip? As you’ve already acknowledged — we can’t use the stone of integrity to discover if people are lying to us or not — so our hands are tied in that aspect. Henry could get to the bottom of the matter far faster than we possibly can. Maybe it would be better if we were to wait for him and the headmaster to return?”
“I think I have made it abundantly clear that we will do our very best to get to the bottom of this unfortunate situation before Henry and the headmaster return,” growled Fredrick, his eyes briefly flashing vampiric black. “Henry left me in charge, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that I respect the trust he placed in me. I would be neglecting my position of trust if Henry and the headmaster were to return to a situation that I had not even attempted to resolve. I will do my upmost best to discover the truth about what happened to Trevor Giles before their return, and I’d hope that you will all give me your support.”
“You have my support, naturally,” said Edna. “But Miss Thorn did ask a pertinent question — what is it you want her to ask the people on that list of… suspects? And how should Trevor’s death be kept a secret?”
Fredrick sat down again, and brushed a strand of hair from his face. “Ask simple questions. Find out if any of them hated Trevor Giles enough to have warranted their involvement in his death. Ask them any questions that you deem relevant, and as for keeping Mister Giles’s death a secret, you may break the news to anybody you speak to during your investigations, Miss Thorn, and simply tell them that I have ordered them not to speak of it. I may not be Henry Pinkerton, but I am respected by many in the community. They won’t go against my wishes.”
“And me?” asked Judith. “What would you like me to do, Fredrick?”
Fredrick considered Judith for a few moments, the look in his eye once again suggesting to Millie that he didn’t trust the witch. He gave a small, thin smile. “I hoped you would go and be with your father, Miss Spencer. Explain to him what we are doing to solve the riddle of a man dying in his custody. I’m sure he’d like to be informed, and who better to inform him than his daughter?”
Eyeing Fredrick with reciprocated suspicion, Judith finally dropped her gaze. “Okay,” she said. “That makes sense. I’ll go and reassure my father.”
Fredrick gave a curt nod and turned to Timothy. “And if you would remain here at the hall and help Edna further investigate the poison, Mister Huggins, I would be extremely grateful. Between the two of you, I’m sure you’ll be able to uncover more clues about both the magical and physical elements of the concoction.”
“Of course,” said Timothy. “I’ll get to work right away.”
“As will I,” added Edna.
“Good,” said Fredrick. “Then let us all get to work.”
As Millie was about to stand, a cold chill embraced her neck and shoulders, and a loud female voice burst from behind her seat, startling her into near frightened paralysis. “Miss Thorn, Mister Huggins, why are your classrooms home to a robed ghoul?”
Chapter 21
“Ah, Florence,” said Fredrick, staring past Millie. “I’m glad you could finally make it.”
A chilly breeze blew over Millie’s face as Florence glided past her and approached Fredrick’s desk. “I apologise profusely for my tardiness,” said the ghost, offering a curtsy, her floor length, billowing black skirt hiding the shape of her legs and hips. “I’ve been otherwise engaged in the pursuit of a new arrival to the hall. A terrible ghoul if ever I saw one.”
“New arrival?” asked Edna. “What new arrival, Florence?”
Florence briefly flickered in and out of existence, her narrow waist becoming transparent before taking on a semi-solid form once more. She glanced at the witch, her chin held high above the climbing collar of her crisp white blouse.
She looked Edna up and down, her eyes narrowing in obvious disapproval. “I have learned over time to forgive young women such as Miss Spencer and Miss Thorn for their sins against decency, and presumably chastity, Mrs Brockett, but I will never make peace with the sight of a woman in her dotage flaunting her legs in the company of men. It’s a despicable display of lustful wantonness, from a libidinous widow.”
Edna’s chest rose as she sucked in a deep breath and stared at the ghost. She glanced down at her pleated tartan skirt, the hem of which fell level with her stocking clad knees. “Although I have become used to your insults, Florence, they still sting on occasion,” she said. “I am not in my dotage, and I am certainly not a libidinous widow, and I would ask that you show me a little more respect.”
With a huff of ghostly breath, Florence looked away. “You know you’re always welcome to observe me teaching my home management, manners and decorum in the presence of men, and needlework class, Mrs Brockett. You’re never too old to learn something new, that’s what I teach the girls who volunteered to take my class. And young Sidney of course, strange boy that he is.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to turn your kind offer down,” replied Edna, pulling her cardigan tight around her. “Although the last time I peeked into your classroom it was quite devoid of volunteers keen to be educated in Victorian dogma.”
“Yet the three children who do attend will no doubt grow up to be fine specimens of womanhood and femininity,” said Florence. “Although I do think that Sidney really should pursue a more masculine subject, such as mathematics or science. He is highly adept with a needle, though. Those little fingers and hands of his perform the most beautiful dance when he is embroidering. The lad is certainly an enigma.”
“Those three children will grow into emotionally stunted adults if we allow them to be educated in the way you’d like them to be, Florence,” said Edna. “You really should modernise your thinking. You may have died during a time when women were embarrassingly subservient, but these days, things are very different.”
Fredrick cleared his throat, cutting Florence off as she prepared to reply. “Ladies,” he said. “Must we listen to you two bickering every time you are in a room together? It’s highly unprofessional.” He looked at Florence. “What were you talking about, anyway? You spoke of a ghoul in Spellbinder Hall?”
“A most terrible ghoul,” said Florence, hurling a final judgemental glance in Edna’s direction. “Tall, robed, mysterious and anti-social.”
“I saw it yesterday,” said Millie. “It was in my classroom.”
Florence nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’m aware that it was in the cookery classroom, and I’ve been trying to communicate with it, but it seems to want no contact with me. It’s an extremely ill-mannered spirit -- a most grumpy and graceless fopdoodle, if you’ll allow me to use such boorish language.”
“Your choice of language is forgiven, Florence,” said Fredrick. I’m certain that everybody in this room has heard worse profanities.” He gave the ghost a smile. “I’m afraid that now is not the time to worry about a new ghost in the hall, Florence. We have a far larger fish to fry. A man has been murdered, hence my request for your presence in my study this morning.”
“I’ve already apologised for my ta
rdiness,” said Florence, flustered. “But as a ghost who takes her position in Spellbinder Hall seriously, I consider it my responsibility to greet all new arrivals from the world of the spirits. Becoming a visible spirit after wandering the plains of the afterlife as an invisible entity, can sometimes prove difficult for ghosts... I like to be on hand to help them with their transition. So I have been attempting, in vain, to converse with the latest arrival all morning.”
“Which is very noble of you, Florence,” said Fredrick. “But a subject for another occasion. I called you here this morning to ask if you could help with the murder enquiry we find ourselves embroiled in. I realise that as a spirit you often wander the corridors unseen, and wished to ask if you’d witnessed any suspicious behaviour from, or aimed at, the unfortunate man who was murdered last night. He was present here at the open-day yesterday. His name was Trevor Giles, you might remember him from when he was a pupil at Spellbinder Hall.”
“Of course I remember Trevor Giles,” said Florence. “And I saw him yesterday, as did the the ghoul I’ve been following.” Her stern face darkened and her voice took on a menacing edge. “Trevor was the most heinous of children, and he certainly wouldn’t have been welcome here yesterday if Henry Pinkerton had been present. Not after what he did as a child! He should have been sent to The Chaos, not simply banished from ever returning to Spellbinder Hall!”
Fredrick gave Florence a puzzled look. “Sent to The Chaos for bullying? Don’t you think that sounds a little harsh, Florence? Yes, he was a cruel child, sometimes. He was often sent to me for detention all those years ago, and he deserved the punishment that Henry finally gave him, but to suggest that he be banished to the realm of demons for a few cruel words and a black eye or two, seems overly wicked.”
“That’s not why Henry punished him!” snapped Florence. “I was there! I saw what happened! I saw what Trevor Giles did!”
