Gaudy Night (17 page)

“It will have to be cleaned at once, before anybody sees it.”

“Very good, miss.”

“And then we shall have to get hold of the decorators or somebody to paper or wash it over before the Chancellor arrives.”

“Very good, miss.”

“Do you think you can manage it, Padgett?”

“Just you leave it to me, miss.”

Harriet’s next job was to collect Miss Burrows, who received the news with loud expressions of annoyance.

“How loathsome! And do you mean to say all those books have got to be done
again?
Now? Oh, lord, yes—I suppose there’s no help for it. What a blessing I hadn’t put the Folio Chaucer and the other valuables in the show-cases. Lord!”

The Librarian scrambled out of bed. Harriet looked at her feet. They were quite clean. But there was an odd smell in the bedroom. She traced it after a moment or two to the neighbourhood of the permanent basin.

“I say—is that turps?”

“Yes,” replied Miss Burrows, struggling into her stockings. “I brought it across from the library. I got paint on my hands when I moved those pots and things.”

“I wish you’d lend it me. We had to scramble in through the window over a wet radiator.”

“Yes, rather.”

Harriet went out, puzzled. Why should Miss Burrows have bothered to bring the can over to the New Quad, when she could have cleaned off the paint on the spot? But, she could well understand that if anyone had wanted to remove paint from her feet after being disturbed in the middle of a piece of to work, there might have been nothing for it but to snatch up the can and bolt for it.

Then she had another idea. The culprit could not have left the Library with her feet bare. She would have put on her slippers again. If you put paint-stained feet into slippers, the slippers ought to show signs of it.

She went back to her own room and dressed. Then she returned to the New Quad. Miss Burrows had gone. Her bedroom slippers lay by the bed. Harriet examined them minutely, inside and out, but they were quite free from paint. On her way back again, Harriet overtook Padgett. He was walking sedately across the lawn, carrying a large can of turpentine in each hand.

“Where did you rake that up, Padgett, so early in the morning?”

“Well, miss, Mullins went on his motor-bike and knocked up a chap he knows what lives over his own oil-shop, miss.”

As simple as that.

Some time later, Harriet and the Dean, decorously robed and gowned, found themselves passing along the East side of Queen Elizabeth Building in the wake of Padgett and the decorators’ foreman.

“Young ladies,” Padgett was heard to say, “will ’ave their larks, same as young gentlemen.”

“When I was a lad,” replied the foreman, “young ladies was young ladies. And young gentlemen was young gentlemen. If you get my meaning.”

“Wot this country wants,” said Padgett, “is a ’Itler.”

“That’s right,” said the foreman. “Keep the girls at ’ome. Funny kind o’ job you got ’ere, mate. Wot was you, afore you took to keepin’ a ’en ’ouse?”

“Assistant camel ’and at the Zoo. Very interesting job it was, too.”

“Wot made you chuck it?”

“Blood-poison. I was bit in the arm,” said Padgett “by a female.”

“Ah!” said the foreman decorator.

By the time Lord Oakapple arrived, the Library presented nothing unseemly to the eye, beyond a certain dampness and streakiness in its upper parts, where the new paper was drying unevenly. The glass had been swept up and the paint stains cleaned from the floor; twenty photographs of classical statuary had been unearthed from a store-cupboard to replace the Colosseum and the Parthenon; the books were back on their shelves, and the showcases duly displayed the Chaucer Folio, the Shakespeare First Quarto, the three Kelmscott Morrises, the autographed copy of
The Man of Property,
and the embroidered glove belonging to the Countess of Shrewsbury. The Dean hovered about the Chancellor like a hen with one chick, in a martyrdom of nervous apprehension lest some indelicate missive should drop from his table-napkin or flutter out unexpectedly from the folds of his robes; and when, in the Senior Common Room after lunch, he took out a bunch of notes from his pocket and riffled them over with a puzzled frown, the tension became so acute that she nearly dropped the sugar-basin. It turned out, however, that he had merely mislaid a Greek quotation. The Warden, though the history of the Library was known to her, displayed her usual serene poise.

Harriet saw nothing of all this. She spent the whole interval, after the decorators had done their part, in the Library, watching the movements of everyone who came in or out, and seeing that they left nothing undesirable behind them.

Apparently, however, the College Poltergeist had shot its bolt. A cold lunch was brought up to the self-appointed invigilator. A napkin covered it; but nothing lurked beneath its folds beyond a plate of ham sandwiches and other such harmless matter. Harriet recognised the scout.

“It’s Annie, isn’t it? Are you on the kitchen staff now?”

“No, madam. I wait upon the Hall and Senior Common Room.”

“How are your little girls getting on? I think Miss Lydgate said you had two little girls?”

“Yes, madam. How kind of you to ask.” Annie’s face beamed with pleasure. “They’re splendid. Oxford suits them, after living in a manufacturing town, where we were before. Are you fond of children, madam?”

“Oh, yes,” said Harriet. Actually, she did not care much about children—but one can scarcely say so, bluntly, to those possessed of these blessings.

“You ought to be married and have some of your own, madam. There! I oughtn’t to have said that—it’s not my place. But it seems to me a dreadful thing to see all these unmarried ladies living together. It isn’t natural, is it?”

“Well, Annie, it’s all according to taste. And one has to wait for the right person to come along.”

“That’s very true, madam.”

Harriet suddenly recollected that Annie’s husband had been queer, or committed suicide, or something unfortunate, and wondered whether her commonplace had been a tactful one. But Annie seemed quite pleased with it. She smiled again; she had large, light blue eyes, and Harriet thought she must have been a good-looking woman before she got so thin and worried-looking.

“I’m sure I hope he’ll come along for you—or perhaps you are engaged to be married?”

Harriet frowned. She had no particular liking for the question, and did not want to discuss her private affairs with the college servants. But there seemed to be no impertinent intention behind the inquiry, so she answered pleasantly, “Not just yet; but you never know. How do you like the new Library?”

“It’s a very handsome room, isn’t it madam? But it seems a great shame to keep up this big place just for women to study books in. I can’t see what girls want with books. Books won’t teach them to be good wives.”

“What dreadful opinions!” said Harriet. “Whatever made you take a job in a women’s college, Annie?”

The scout’s face clouded. “Well, madam, I’ve had my misfortunes. I was glad to take what I could get.”

“Yes, of course; I was only joking. Do you like the work?”

“It’s quite all right. But some of these clever ladies are a bit queer, don’t you think, madam? Funny, I mean. No heart in them.”

Harriet remembered that there had been misunderstandings with Miss Hillyard.

“Oh, no,” she said briskly. “Of course they are very busy people, and haven’t much time for outside interests. But they are all very kind.”

“Yes, madam; I’m sure they mean to be. But I always think of what it says in the Bible, about ‘much learning hath made thee mad.’ It isn’t a right thing.”

Harriet looked up sharply and caught an odd look in the scout’s eyes.

“What do you mean by that, Annie?”

“Nothing at all, madam. Only funny things go on sometimes, but of course, being a visitor, you wouldn’t know, and it’s not my place to mention them—being only a servant, nowadays.”

“I certainly,” said Harriet, rather alarmed, “wouldn’t mention anything of the kind you suggest to outside people or visitors. If you have any complaint to make, you should speak to the Bursar, or the Warden.”

“I haven’t any complaint, madam. But you may have heard about rude words being written up on the walls, and about the things that were burnt in the Quad—why, there was a bit in the papers about that. Well, you’ll find, madam they all happened since a certain person came into the college.”

“What person?” said Harriet sternly.

“One of these learned ladies, madam. Well, perhaps I’d better not say anything more about that. You write detective books, don’t you, madam? Well you’ll find something in that lady’s past, you may be sure of it. At least that’s what a good many people are saying. And it isn’t a nice thing for anybody to be in the same place with a woman like that.”

“I feel quite sure you must be mistaken, Annie; I should be very careful how you spread about a tale of that kind. You’d better run along back to the Hall, now; I expect they’ll be needing you.”

So that was what the servants were saying. Miss de Vine, of course; she was the “learned lady” whose arrival had coincided with the beginning of the disturbances—coincided more exactly than Annie could know, unless she too had seen that drawing in the quad at the Gaudy. A curious woman, Miss de Vine, and undoubtedly with a varied experience behind those disconcerting eyes. But Harriet was inclined to like her, and she certainly did not look mad in the way that the “Poison-Pen” was mad; though it would not be surprising to learn that she had a streak of fanaticism somewhere. What, by the way, had she been doing the previous night? She had rooms at the moment in Queen Elizabeth; there was probably little likelihood of proving an alibi for her now. Miss de Vine—well! she would have to be put on the same footing as everybody else.

The opening of the Library took place without a hitch. The Chancellor unlocked the main door with the plated key, unaware that the same key had opened it, under curious circumstances, the night before. Harriet watched, carefully the faces of the assembled dons and scouts; none of them showed any sign of surprise, anger or disappointment at the decorous appearance of the Library. Miss Hudson was present looking cheerfully unconcerned; Miss Cattermole, too, was there. She looked as though she had been crying; and Harriet noticed that she stood in a corner by herself and talked to nobody until, at the conclusion of the ceremony, a dark girl in spectacles made her way through the crowd to her and they walked away together.

Later in the day, Harriet went to the Warden to make her promised report. She pointed out the difficulty of dealing with an outbreak like that of the previous night single-handed. A careful patrol of the quads and passages by a number of helpers would probably have resulted in the capture of the culprit; and the whole of the suspects could in any case have been checked up at an early moment. She strongly advised enlisting some women from Miss Climpson’s Agency, the nature of which she explained.

“I see the point,” replied the Warden; “but I find that at least two members the Senior Common Room feel very strong objections to that course of action.”

“I know,” said Harriet. “Miss Allison and Miss Barton. Why?”

“I think, too,” pursued the Warden, without answering this question, “that the matter presents certain difficulties. What would the students think of these strangers prowling about the college at night? They will wonder why police duties cannot be undertaken by ourselves, and we can hardly inform them that we ourselves are particularly under suspicion. And to perform such duties as you suggest, properly, quite a large number would be required—if all the strategic points are to be held. Then these persons would be quite ignorant of the conditions of college life, and might easily make unfortunate mistakes by following and questioning the wrong people. I do not see how we could avoid a very unpleasant scandal and some complaints.”

“I see all that. Warden. But all the same, that is the quickest solution.”

The Warden bent her head over a handsome piece of tapestry-work on which she was engaged.

“I cannot feel it to be very desirable. I know you will say that the whole situation is undesirable. I quite agree with you.” She looked up. “I suppose Miss Vane, you could not yourself spare the time to assist us?”

“I could spare the time,” said Harriet, slowly. “But without help it is going to be very difficult. If there were only one or two people who were exonerated without a shadow of doubt, it would be very much easier.”

“Miss Barton assisted you very ably last night.”

“Yes,” said Harriet; “but—how shall I put it? If I were writing a story about this, the person first on the spot would be the first person to be suspected.” The Warden selected an orange skein from her basket and threaded her needle deliberately.

“Will you explain that, please?”

Harriet explained carefully.

“That is very clearly put,” said Dr. Baring. “I understand perfectly. Now, about this student, Miss Hudson. Her explanation does not seem to be satisfactory. She could not possibly have expected to get food from the Buttery at that hour; and in fact, she did not.”

“No,” said Harriet; “but I know quite well that in my day it wasn’t too difficult to get round the right side of the Head Scout to leave the hatch open all night. Then, if one had a late essay or anything and felt hungry, one went down and got what one wanted.”

“Dear me,” said the Warden.

“We were always quite honourable about it,” said Harriet, “and entered it all on the slate, so that it figured in our battels at the end of term. Though,” she added thoughtfully, “there were some items of cold meat and dripping that must have been camouflaged a bit. Still—I think Miss Hudson’s explanation will pass muster.”

“Actually, the hatch was locked.”

“Actually, it was. As a matter of fact, I have seen Carrie, and she assures me that it was locked at 10:30 last night as usual. She admits that Miss Hudson asked her to leave it open, but says she didn’t do so, because, only last night, the Bursar had given special instructions about the locking of the hatch and Buttery. That would be after the meeting, no doubt. She also says she has been more particular this term than she used to be, because of a little trouble there was over the same thing last term.”