High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (20 page)

In any case, she was talking to thin air. The girls had fled through the door and out of sight.

"I don't know if anyone sent for the fire brigade," Essie said, peering down the corridor. "Do you think all the students are out now?"

"I'm sure Felicity will make sure they are all safe." Meredith patted her arm. "I'd better find out about the fire brigade. Why don't you go outside and make sure the girls don't panic and run away or something."

Essie nodded, close to tears. "What if the school burns down? What will happen to us?"

"We're not going to lose the school," Meredith said firmly. "Now cheer up, Essie. Stiff upper lip. Set an example for the pupils."

Essie nodded, and she left her, hoping and praying that her conviction held up. Bellehaven was home to her—to all
of them, Felicity, Essie, Mrs. Wilkins, Monica . . . even Sylvia now, she supposed. What would they all do if the school burned to the ground?

Determined not to dwell on that, she headed for the stairs and ran down them. She could now smell the smoke. A cold chill of apprehension robbed her of breath as she reached the kitchen. Dreading what she might see, she threw the door open.

Mrs. Wilkins and Monica stood in front of the sink, scooping water out of it in basins and throwing it at the window. Charred remains of the curtains hung dismally from the rails, still smoldering, with wisps of smoke curling up to the blackened ceiling.

A quick glance around assured Meredith that the fire was contained to the window area and she hurried forward to give the women a hand.

"We should get those down and dump them in the sink," she said, gesturing at the tattered curtains. Reaching out, she grabbed the back of a kitchen chair and pulled it forward.

"Be careful, Mrs. Llewellyn," Monica warned. "It's bound to be hot up there. You could get a nasty burn."

"I'll be careful." Meredith climbed up on the chair and steadied herself before reaching for the railings. Carefully she touched the end of the rod. It felt warm, but not too hot to handle.

She unhooked the rod, slid off the ornamental end, and then tilted the rod so that the curtain rings rattled down it and allowed the smoldering material to fall into the sink.

A faint spitting sound could be heard as the curtains hit the cold water. "I'll open the window," Meredith said, leaning forward to reach the handle. "We need to get the smoke out of here."

It dismayed her to see the scorched frames. They would all have to be repainted. Thank heavens the glass didn't break with the heat.

Grunting with exertion, she pushed down the handles and opened both the windows, then started to climb down from the chair.

"The curtains are good and soaked now," Mrs. Wilkins said, relief making her voice sound high. "Thank the Lord the fire didn't get into the ceiling or we would have had a nasty problem, that's for sure."

"The smoke certainly has made a mess of the ceiling," Monica remarked, nudging her nose skyward.

Meredith looked up, one foot on the ground, to view the damage. At that moment, a wall of cold water hit her with such a force it knocked her off the chair.

Stunned, she could only lie on the floor for several seconds while water poured over the sink, cascading down on her head and shoulders.

Vaguely she heard Mrs. Wilkins screaming Reggie's name, over and over. Spluttering and shaking, Meredith fought her way to a sitting position and the downpour mercifully stopped.

"Oh, my, oh, my." Water dribbling from her flattened hair, Monica kept muttering the words over and over as she held out her hand and helped Meredith to her feet.

More water formed a puddle from Mrs. Wilkins's saturated skirt as she shrieked at Reggie through the window. "We got the fire out, you blithering idiot! Who told you to use the hose in here, for pity's sake?"

Stroking wet hair out of her eyes, Meredith peered through the soggy window at Reggie.

He stood holding the dripping hose in his hand, a sheep
ish look on his face. "Sorry, ladies!" he called out. "Olivia told me the window was on fire so I brought the hose. Didn't mean to soak you."

Meredith opened her mouth to speak, but just then a deep voice roared out from behind her.

"What in blazes is going on here?"

She swung around to see Stuart Hamilton transfixed in the doorway, his face frozen in shock.

Miserably aware of how she must look, shirt soaked and clinging to her, strands of wet hair dripping rivulets of water down her face, Meredith nevertheless tried to make the best of things.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton. We were just having a small setback. Nothing serious." In an effort to appear unaffected, she patted her wet hair in place as best she could. "Everything is under control."

Hamilton's gaze roamed over the drenched kitchen floor, the blackened window frame and smokey ceiling, then back to the three bedraggled women. "So it appears."

"Oh, Mr. Hamilton, sir," Monica said, her wheedling voice sounding quite unlike her usual harsh tones. "The maids somehow set fire to the curtains. We managed to get it out without too much damage."

"I'm surprised you arrived here so quickly," Meredith observed, determined to take his mind off the disfigured window frame.

He switched his gaze to her face, and she stared back, determined not to be intimidated by his obvious disapproval. "I happened to be passing by the school gates," he said gruffly, "when I heard the bell ringing. I saw students pouring down the steps and came to investigate."

"Ah." She nodded, fixing a fragile smile on her face.
"Well, no harm done, as you can see, save for a slight soaking. If you will excuse us, we must see that our pupils return to their rooms before we change into dry clothes."

His gaze shifted down her body to her feet and up again. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides. Arrogant beast! How dare he!

"In my unworthy opinion," he said lazily, "you might all do well to get into dry clothes immediately. Before you all catch your death of cold. I'll see that the students return to their quarters." With that, he turned on his heel and left, letting the door swing to behind him.

"Oh, Lord," Mrs. Wilkins murmured. "That was most unfortunate."

"It certainly was." Monica sneezed, and hunted for a handkerchief in her pocket. She dragged it out, soaking wet, and tried ineffectively to wipe her nose. "Not a very good indication of how this establishment is run." She glared at Meredith as if the entire catastrophe were all her fault.

"I'll see the maids are severely punished," Mrs. Wilkins said, giving Meredith a worried look.

"There's no need for that." Meredith picked up her wet skirts and headed for the door. "I'm sure it was an accident. I will have a word with them myself later, once we have restored order."

She winced as she opened the door. The clanging bell still echoed down the corridor. "I suggest you both change your attire before you do anything else."

"I'll go and tell Grace to stop ringing that blinking bell," Mrs. Wilkins muttered as she followed Meredith into the corridor. "You won't get into trouble with Mr. Hamilton over this, will you, m'm?"

Meredith smiled at her and raised her voice to be heard above the bell. "Please don't worry about that, Mrs.
Wilkins. I can deal with Stuart Hamilton. He may try to intimidate everyone with his roaring lion performance, but I assure you, underneath that arrogant breast lies the heart of a gentle lamb."

In the shadowed stairwell she failed to see the figure at the top of the stairs until a movement caught her eye. She looked up, once more into the cool gaze of Stuart Hamilton. And there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he'd heard every word she'd said.

It seemed an eternity until Hamilton spoke. When he did, his voice sounded deceptively calm. "That's considerably flattering, Mrs. Llewellyn. I should remind you, however, that I hold you responsible for the smooth operation of this institution and would have no hesitation in voicing my displeasure if things were not as they should be. I trust that I can depend on you to see that doesn't happen?"

"Without question, Mr. Hamilton." Feeling like an utter fool, she marched up the stairs toward him.

The foyer bustled with activity as students swarmed through on their way to their rooms. Meredith caught sight of Felicity herding a large group of chattering girls up the stairs.

She turned at that moment and met Meredith's gaze. Her eyes widened in shock, and her mouth dropped open as if she were gasping for air.

If Meredith needed confirmation of how awful she must look, Felicity's reaction told the tale. Lifting her chin, she turned back to Hamilton. "If you will excuse me," she said, pitching the words above the babble all around her, "I have business to attend to right away."

He bowed, but not before she'd seen that infuriating flash of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, by all means, Mrs. Llewellyn. Please don't let me detain you."

"You can rest assured, Mr. Hamilton, I shall allow you to do no such thing." With that, she swept past him and as elegantly as her sodden clothes allowed, headed for the stairs.

It wasn't until that evening that Meredith had a
chance to question Loretta. Alerted to the fact that the young lady had a habit of slipping out to meet her boyfriend, immediately after supper Meredith stationed herself at the end of the corridor where she had a clear view of the room that Loretta shared with Amelia.

She didn't have to wait too long before the door opened and Loretta's head appeared around it.

Drawing back, Meredith waited until the young woman drew level with her before stepping out of the shadows. "Loretta, may I have a word with you?"

Loretta froze, her face growing pink. "Mrs. Llewellyn! I was just going outside for a breath of fresh air. All that smoke in the school this afternoon has affected my lungs and I fear I shall not be able to sleep if I don't clear them."

"Oh, I won't keep you long." Meredith walked with her to the stairs. "I want to talk to you about the night Miss Duncan died."

Loretta threw a frightened glance at her. "But I told you I don't remember her saying anything about where she was going that night."

Meredith paused at the top of the stairs. "I have an idea you don't remember because you didn't see Miss Duncan that night. Am I right?"

Again Loretta gave her one of those scared looks. "Yes, miss. I mean no, miss. I was there when she brought Amelia the book."

"I would really think twice before lying about this,
Loretta." Meredith pinned a stern gaze on the frightened girl's face. "You were meeting a friend of yours that night, were you not? It has come to my attention that it's a frequent occurrence for you."

Loretta stumbled back and sank against the wall. "I'm sorry, miss. I know it was wrong, but he can only get away at night and I'm not allowed out at night by myself—"

"For good reason," Meredith said, shamelessly interrupting her. "It is for your own protection."

"Yes, miss." Loretta hung her head.

"So you lied about being with Amelia that night?"

"Yes, miss." Loretta raised her chin. "She always lies for me when I go out and I didn't want to get her in trouble because of me."

"I see." Meredith hesitated, then added quietly, "Do you know if Amelia went out that night?"

Startled, Loretta shook her head. "No, miss, I don't. Amelia doesn't go out much. Not like some of the girls. I don't think she went anywhere that night."

"Did she seem . . . different when you came back?"

The girl seemed confused, no doubt wondering why she wasn't being scolded for disobeying the rules. "Different? In what way, miss?"

"Nervous? Upset about something?"

Loretta stared at her for several long seconds, then burst out, "Surely you're not thinking it was Amelia who killed Miss Duncan?"

Meredith sighed. "We don't know who killed Miss Duncan, Loretta. I'm simply trying to find some answers to that question, that's all."

"Well, it wasn't Amelia. It couldn't have been. No, Mrs. Llewellyn, you're wrong. Amelia wouldn't hurt anyone. I know she was upset about being scolded in class, and she
felt everyone was laughing at her and that made her a little bitter, but she would never, never
kill
someone."

Meredith nodded. "Very well, Loretta. I must ask you not to tell Amelia about our conversation. There's no point in upsetting her further."

"No, miss. I won't say anything to her at all."

"Good." Meredith started to turn away, then paused. "Oh, and Loretta? No more sneaking out to meet boyfriends. If I find out you've broken the rules one more time, you'll be sent home in disgrace. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Llewellyn." Loretta turned and trudged gloomily down the hall back to her room.

Meredith waited until the door had closed firmly behind the young woman before returning to her own room. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, she went over her conversation with Loretta.

Apparently Amelia had been protecting her friend's secret all this time, lying whenever it was necessary to cover for her. She could also have been lying about her own whereabouts the night Kathleen had died. There just seemed no way to prove that one way or another.

Meredith gazed around the room. "Kathleen? Are you there?" She waited, hoping to see the familiar white cloud form. Perhaps over there, by the sturdy wardrobe that housed her dresses. Or by the dresser, where her silver-backed brush and comb gleamed in the flickering glow from the gas lamp nearby.

Perhaps the window, where Kathleen had appeared before, transparent enough for Meredith to see the floral curtains through her floating image.

But no matter how hard she strained to see something, Kathleen's apparition failed to appear.

She got up and wandered over to the painting on the
wall. Kathleen had pointed directly at it. But there were no weeds in the painting. Only flowers. Great, huge clusters of them, dotted with butterflies.

Meredith turned away. In the next instant she caught her breath. Once more she studied the painting. Among the brilliant hues the colorful butterflies hovered and perched on the petals of white daisies.