Death at St. Asprey’s School

by Bruce, Leo

  “Or anywhere else, headmaster.”

  “No. Exactly. Of course. But I am asking you to save the reputation of my friend’s school, not to divert yourself with elaborate investigations while greater disasters come to it. I am sure you will. And so God Speed. Deene. I shall welcome you back in triumph within ten days. Yes, I think we must make that the limit.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, headmaster,” said Carolus and after obtaining details of the geographical situation of St. Asprey’s he went home to prepare his departure.

  Chapter Three

  On the next day, which was a Thursday, Carolus Deene drove his Bentley Continental to the pretentious pseudo-Elizabethan entrance of St. Asprey’s and rang the bell. The air of grandeur of it all was somewhat dispelled when the door was opened by an untidy woman in a plastic apron who was smoking a cigarette and looked at him suspiciously.

  “You the new Man?” she asked. “They’re expecting you. I say! Is that your car? Well! You better come through to his study.”

  “Thank you.” said Carolus.

  “We’re all upside down,” confided the little woman. “Don’t hardly know where we are, with all that’s been going on. There’s one of the Men laid up with broken legs he got from falling down the church tower—or being pushed, as he says. All I can say is, you be careful of that Matron.”

  “Really?”

  “I should say so. There’s nothing she misses and it all goes back to Mrs. Sconer. So if you want to stay you better keep on the right side of her. I wouldn’t trust any of them, myself. All at one another’s throats. It quite gives you the creeps, the things that are happening.”

  “So I understand. May I ask your name?”

  “I’m Mrs. Skippett. I come to work here daily, though its more for something to do, because there’s not much going on in the village. Don’t take any notice of Her, by the way. She’s All Talk.”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Sconer, I mean. She’s very high and mighty but not when it Comes To It. I always say her bark’s worse than her bite, though she’s got Him under her thumb all right. Still, you don’t want to hear that. You’ll know all about it in time when you’ve been here a few days. Only you mind your p’s and q’s with that Matron. She’s the one.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Something happened last night,” went on Mrs. Skippett. “I haven’t got to hearing what it was yet, but you can tell by their faces this morning. It won’t be long before I find out, either. I shouldn’t be surprised if it was something to do with Sime. He’s got a trick of looking at you—well! I always say he’s Not Right. It’s no wonder, with the way the boys carry on sometimes—they’re enough to turn you dizzy. But you’ll know all about it in time.”

  Carolus was looking out of the window and saw across the lawn a row of large round objects on stands.

  “What are they?” he asked Mrs. Skippett.

  “Them? Oh, it’s this archery that’s all the craze with them this term. Talk about the boys having crazes, the Men are worse, if you ask me. Shooting arrows like so many wild Indians. I don’t see the sense of it myself. There they are every afternoon at target practice, as they call it. Robin Hood and his merry men, my husband calls them but that’s something he has seen on the telly.”

  “I wonder who started this craze,” said Carolus.

  “It was Mr. Kneller done that.”

  “One of the Men?”

  “No. To tell you the truth he’s come here to do the cooking. You wouldn’t think that because he’s more of a gentleman than any of them if the truth were told. Only his wife was brought up in one of the school cottages before this was a school, and she lost her sight in America where they were together and would have it that the only place she could feel her way about was this cottage she’d known as a girl, if you see what I mean. So her husband came to see Mr. Sconer and asked him about it and Mr. Sconer told him he had to keep that cottage for when one of the Men was married. It seems that Mr. Kneller had made a hobby of cooking and that, and Mrs. Sconer was only too glad to get rid of the party she had then because Matron said she Drank and was very extravagant with things, though I didn’t see it. So it was all arranged and Mr. Kneller came here last term to do the cooking and seems to like it. He’s a real gentleman and keeps himself to himself except when he brought out all these bows and arrows he had from America and started them all on it. Next term it will be something else, I daresay. Well, this won’t do. I’ve got my stairs to finish. You’ll be all right if you keep out of the way of Matron and don’t have too much to do with any of them. But what you will find is that they’re all half scared of something. It gives me the shudders when I think of it. No one seems to know what’ll happen next, what with one thing and another. You heard about that dog having its throat cut? Well, there you are.”

  Carolus was to find that this was no exaggeration. Fear had entered that community and could not be concealed. As he came to know the Men he found that in each of them this fear took a different form, except in the bedridden Sime who did not seem afraid of anything. Mrs. Sconer, he discovered, feared chiefly for her school and did not feel threatened personally, but Duckmore, a small nervous man with a high forehead and popping eyes, seemed to fear for his life.

  Sconer himself, as Carolus found during his interview with him on that first afternoon was in a state of considerable tension. Carolus expected to receive his confidence, but he gained the impression that his visit was not altogether welcome.

  “It was Mrs. Sconer who suggested that you might be able to help us,” he said. “I think it will be best if I leave you to gather the nature of our troubles for yourself. Anything I might say might give you preconceived ideas.”

  “That’s all right.” said Carolus.

  “None of the other Men know you are here for anything but to take Sime’s classes while he’s laid up. But I’m afraid your very noticeable motorcar may make them think otherwise. We must hope for the best about that. Here is a copy of our timetable…”

  “How long have you employed Sime?’” asked Carolus curtly.

  “Three years now. He’s a very clever teacher.”

  “Did you know he was in the habit of going up to the top of the church tower with field glasses?”

  “I had heard some rumour of it.” Sconer fidgetted with the edge of his handkerchief. “It is not my policy to interfere with the Men more than I can help.”

  “Even if you suspect them of spying on one another?”

  “I had no reason to think anything of the sort. Sime is a most reliable man. I have every confidence in him.”

  “But not in all your staff?”

  “Oh yes. I think so. Parker has been here since the early days of the school. I have always regarded him as my right-hand man and his loyalty to me and the school has never been questioned. Stanley seems very sound—my wife has great confidence in him. Duckmore has an honours degree. He is a trifle highly strung, perhaps, but an excellent teacher. Young Mayring is a splendid coach. We have one lady teacher, Mollie Westerly—most patient and painstaking with the smaller boys.”

  “You also have a gentleman cook, I understand.”

  Sconer looked startled.

  “I don’t remember telling Gorringer anything about that.”

  “No? Does it work out well?”

  “Oh, very. Very. Very good chap. First-rate cook. Mrs. Sconer is delighted with him.”

  “Keen on archery, isn’t he?”

  “Archery, yes. Quite a mania with the staff this term. A most healthy sport.”

  “You don’t go in for it yourself?”

  “No. No. I haven’t the time, unfortunately. Large correspondence, you know. Many responsibilities. But I approve.”

  Carolus was about to ask more when Sconer jumped up.

  “Anything else I think you had better ask the other Men. I don’t want to give you predispositions. But first I must introduce you to Mrs. Sconer, We shall find her in the drawing-room, I t
hink. Come along.”

  Mr. Sconer seemed in a hurry to escape. His wife was in the drawing-room and came forward with a queenly smile to greet Carolus. When the introductions had been made Sconer hurried out.

  “Mr. Deene, I am delighted that you have come. I feel you are going to save us.”

  “It’s not as bad as that, surely?”

  “It could scarcely be worse. We are very near to despair—and next week the school sports will bring all the parents down. My husband does not seem to realize the seriousness of the situation.”

  “I think he does, Mrs. Sconer. I couldn’t help feeling that he is suffering from strain.”

  “I can’t get him to act for our protection. Sime should have been dismissed long ago.”

  “But he’s very efficient, I understand.”

  “He has a most pernicious influence. My husband seems entirely under his spell. The boys run after him in a most ridiculous way. Matron tells me that when he takes a walk on Sunday the boys compete to walk with him.”

  “His ‘sides are bagged’,” said Carolus smiling as he remembered his preparatory school.

  “Then our silly young lady teacher seems hypnotized by him. Although Jim Stanley, the best Man we’ve got is quite mad about her.”

  “These things are unaccountable, surely?”

  “It was just the same with our previous mistress, a woman called O’Maverick. Sime never left her in peace. I insisted on her being dismissed.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Mollie Westerly came here this term.”

  “And what happend to Miss O’Maverick?”

  Mrs. Sconer stiffened somewhat.

  “I haven’t the remotest idea.” she said emphatically.

  Carolus looked at her, noting this sudden chill, then asked disconcertingly—“Does your Matron know why I am here?”

  “I certainly haven’t told her,” said Mrs. Sconer. “But I should not be surprised if she knew. There is very little she misses. A most competent woman. You heard about the disgusting trick that was played on her? Someone must have a diseased mind to do such a thing. The poor woman was terribly upset. We are looking to you to discover who can have been guilty.”

  “I should like to have a talk with your Matron.”

  “I will take you up to her room after lunch,” promised Mrs. Sconer. “You will find her a remarkable person.”

  “Thank you. You have one very young master, I believe?”

  “Mayring, yes. Quite a youth, really. He only left Cranleigh last term. Or was it Blundell’s? He caused a lot of trouble by bringing his dog here. My husband should never have allowed it. Just as I’ve repeatedly asked my husband to stop all this archery that is going on.”

  “A very harmless sport, I should have thought.”

  “When the school is in its present state of unrest I do not think it wise that the Men should be playing with lethal weapons. I understand that an arrow can penetrate at sixty yards. There might be an accident.”

  “What you mean, surely, is that something might happen which was not an accident.”

  Mrs. Sconer blinked at Carolus.

  “You don’t think…”

  “Not necessarily. But that is what you think might happen, isn’t it Mrs. Sconer?”

  “Anything may happen, unless you can get at the truth quickly.”

  “The truth is not always very welcome, I fear.”

  Mrs. Sconer thoughtfully left this point and took Carolus to his quarters, the spare room from which Matron had been winkled with some difficulty after her resort to it on the night of the dead rat. It was then time for lunch.

  “I have put you at the senior boys’ table,” Mrs. Sconer said. “I thought it would be less tiresome for you though I’m afraid they all ask questions.”

  “I do myself,” admitted Carolus.

  At lunch he sat at the head of a table of nine boys of twelve and thirteen who at first watched him covertly while they gobbled their roast mutton then, through the oldest of them whose name he found was Chavanne, began a thorough cross-examination.

  “Please sir, is that your car in the drive?”

  “It is.”

  “Is it a Bentley Continental 1966 model?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment’s respite while Chavanne turned to his neighbour to say—“Told you so. Sucks to you.”

  Then—“Do you play cricket, sir?”

  Carolus forgot himself.

  “No. Detest the game.”

  This was a set-back to them all since they were seeking, as small boys will, suitable grounds for hero-worship.

  “Were you at Oxford or Cambridge, sir?”

  “Oxford.”

  “Did you get your blue?”

  This was almost too much to hope for. Even Mr. Sime, the most popular master, had only been to Manchester University and had no athletic distinctions.

  “Half blue,” admitted Carolus.

  “Good Lord, sir, did you really? What was it for, sir?”

  “Boxing,” said Carolus.

  Another boy joined in. It seemed almost too much for Chavanne alone.

  “Were you in the war, sir?”

  “Yes. For a time.”

  “Army or Air Force, sir? Or was it”—hope seemed to rise—“the Navy?”

  “Army,” said Carolus flatly. “Now for goodness’ sake eat your pudding.”

  But the two asked at once—“What regiment, sir?” And when Carolus said the Commandos there was a long thoughtful silence. He took advantage of this to say he would answer no more questions, but he had said enough. His interrogaters were impatient to spread their news broadcast. Sime’s status was already in jeopardy.

  After lunch he was taken by Mrs. Sconer to Matron’s Room, half sitting-room, half surgery, which was impregnated with the smell of medicines. Matron herself, looking spare and toothy, unwillingly turned for a moment from the window at which she had been standing and asked Carolus if he would like a cup of tea, explaining that it was a little treat Mrs. Sconer allowed her after lunch. Carolus declined and watched while Matron poured out, her attention continually returning to the window.

  Carolus asked a few enticing questions but for a long time seemed unable to release the flood of information that he believed was here. But when he mentioned the dead rat Matron’s hollow cheeks flushed.

  “If it had not been for the sake of the school I should have gone to the police.” she said.

  “You have no idea who it might be?”

  Matron had many ideas.

  “It was one of the Men,” she said. “No boy would have had such a nasty mind. I wouldn’t put it past any of those we’ve got now, except Mr. Stanley. He would never have done a thing like that. I shouldn’t be surprised if it was that young Mayring. He’s been impertinent to me once this term already. I had to complain to Mrs. Sconer about it. I’ve just seen him go across to the pavilion.”

  “What does that suggest?” asked Carolus innocently.

  “Nothing, only you have to notice things. He might have done it. Or Duckmore. I’ve had a lot of trouble with Duckmore. I was telling Mrs. Sconer, we ought never to have had him here. Too excitable altogether. I can quite believe it of him. And he has behaved very strangely with me since Mrs. Sconer found out about his bill at the village stores. Well, I felt she ought to know. Or Sime, of course. Sime’s just the sort of man to do a thing like that. There’s Mayring now, coming back from the pavilion.” Her eyes had been turning aside at intervals not to lose touch with events outside the window. “I wonder what he’s been over there for. Yes, Sime could have done it. We know all about him. Mrs. Sconer would have got rid of him years ago if Mr. Sconer did not have such faith in him as a master.”

  “What other suspects have you?” asked Carolus.

  “There’s Mr. Kneller who does the cooking,” said Matron. Carolus noticed that while ‘the Men’ got their unadorned surnames, this anomalous member of the staff was Mister. “Ever since I felt it
my duty to tell Mrs. Sconer about the eggs, he has tried to be unpleasant with me. Then there’s Parker.”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s been here a long time and all that, but I felt Mrs. Cconer should know he was spending his time down at the Windmill Inn and coming back fuddled at night. You’d think he was too old for that sort of behaviour but with the Men we’ve got now you never know. Then I suppose it could have been someone from outside, and Horlick the gardener had brought flowers into the house that day.”

  “You’re sure it was a man?” asked Carolus.

  “No, I’m not,” Matron said sharply. “I see Chavanne’s just gone up to Sime’s window. The boys seem quite silly about that man. I must tell Mrs. Sconer this—Chavanne stands gossiping with Sime for hours on end. No, I’m not sure it was a man, though how any woman, even Mollie Westerly, could bring herself to touch the thing I can’t imagine. Then we’ve one or two women who come in for cleaning, Mrs. Horlick the gardener’s wife is one.”

  “What about my friend Mrs. Skippett?”

  Matron stared.

  “Have you spoken to her?” she asked. “I don’t know when you had the chance. I saw her go off on her bicycle before lunch. She talks a lot, of course, and ever since that came out about her husband she’s blamed me for Mrs. Sconer knowing, so I suppose she might have done it for vengeance. She’s here, there and everywhere about the house and I can’t always keep track of what she’s doing. I can’t say I like the woman but I don’t somehow think it was her. For all the chattering she does I don’t think she’s malicious. Mrs. Horlick, who always claims to be an angel, is far more likely to have done something really spiteful, like that. But you never know. That’s Mollie Westerly now, going off with Stanley again. I told Mrs. Sconer that ought to be stopped. Only we think quite a lot of Stanley—he’s a nice quiet fellow. I suppose Sime can see them going from his room.”

  “You haven’t mentioned Mr. Sconer himself,” said Carolus. “As a suspect, I mean.”