High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (3 page)

"If you ask me, there's a lot going on around here that's not proper."

"Like what?"

Olivia shrugged. "Not me place to spread gossip, is it."

Sensing a scandal behind her friend's words, Grace gave her a hefty nudge in the ribs with her elbow. "Come on. You know you're dying to tell me."

Olivia glanced down the long corridor. "All right. But don't tell no one. I don't want to get her in trouble."

Grace caught her breath. "Get who in trouble?"

"Well, that's just it. I don't know exactly who she was, but I do know it were one of them debs. I saw her sneaking through the door after lights out. I reckon she were meeting a man out there."

"Oo, 'eck." A delicious shiver raced down Grace's back. "Did you see him?"

"Course not, silly." Olivia started down the hallway. "If Mona caught me mucking about outside she'd box me ears."

Grace pinched her lips together as she began pushing the sweeper back and forth. She didn't like Monica Fingle one little bit. It was no wonder everyone called her Mona behind her back. The wretched housekeeper moaned about everything.

She shoved the sweeper ahead of her with vicious little jabs. If she was housekeeper in a big house she'd treat the maids a whole lot better than Mona treated her and Olivia. That she would.

Grace glanced down to the end of the hallway. Olivia had just started sloshing a wet rag over the windows. One day, Grace vowed, she'd find someone to marry her, and
then she wouldn't have to be a housemaid no more. She'd be a lady, like them debs all lined up in the assembly hall. Then she'd tell Mona exactly what she thought of her. That she would.

The spacious assembly hall had once served as a
ballroom when the mansion was occupied by Lord Davenport and his wife. When Stuart Hamilton bought the sprawling building he had the room renovated, removing the plaster cherubs and grapevines that had adorned the walls before adding a stage and lectern.

The glittering crystal chandeliers and the pale blue carpeting on the stairs leading to the balcony were all that remained of the room's once magnificent splendor. Now fifty young women sat and waited in restless anticipation for their headmistress's announcement.

Voices buzzed in discreet conversation when Meredith entered the hall. Felicity and Essie sat on the platform, with Kathleen's empty chair between them, as if guarding the space that would never again be occupied.

Essie's blotchy complexion must have served as a warning of a serious situation, since the ripple of murmurs died away the minute Meredith walked out to the middle of the stage.

She paused, waiting for complete quiet to settle over the upturned faces. Deciding not to beat about the bush, she filled her lungs with air. "I regret to inform you all that Miss Duncan has passed away quite suddenly this morning."

Again she paused as shocked cries and quiet weeping erupted from the audience in front of her. After a moment or two she raised her hand. When only a single sob or two interrupted the silence, she continued.

"Let us all take a minute to bow our heads in respect for our dear departed." When a suitable interval had passed, she looked up. "Home management classes will be suspended until a suitable replacement is found. Meanwhile, I would like all of you to confine yourselves to your rooms until mealtime, in order to observe this grievous tragedy."

A murmur ran through her audience. Again she waited for quiet. "Thank you. You are dismissed."

Watching the girls solemnly file out, she heard Essie weeping behind her. The young teacher's chin drooped, and her frail body shook with sobs.

With a rare show of sympathy, Felicity draped an arm around Essie's trembling shoulders. "Chin up, old fruit. Kathleen wouldn't want you to collapse on her behalf. She'd expect you to keep a stiff upper lip for the sake of the girls."

Essie struggled to stifle her sobs with a lace-edged handkerchief. "She looked so awful, just lying there. I . . . keep thinking how . . . dreadful it must have been to die all alone wi-without anyone to comfort her."

The last word had ended on a wail, and Felicity clicked her tongue. "Pull yourself together, Essie. You must take charge of your emotions. You know very well we can't let our pupils see you like this."

Meredith was about to speak when a male voice interrupted her. "I have a powder here that will help calm her."

She turned to face the sturdy figure standing a few feet away. "Dr. Mitchell. Thank goodness." She crossed the stage and hurried down the steps to join him. "I'm afraid Essie is terribly upset, as are we all."

"So I imagine." He set his black bag down on the nearest chair and opened it.

The first time Meredith had met Ian Mitchell, he'd
seemed far too young to be a licensed physician. She'd been surprised to learn later that he'd arrived in the world five years before her.

With his dark hair curling on his forehead, a trim figure in spite of his hardy build, and brown eyes that twinkled as if sharing a delicious secret, he projected a youthfulness that was both pleasing and somewhat disconcerting to his patients.

Those eyes regarded Meredith now with grave concern. "What happened to Miss Duncan?"

"We don't really know." She took the small white packet he handed her. "I thought she might have tripped and hit her head, but then Reggie saw the branch and it had blood on it, and I'm afraid—" She broke off when she saw the doctor's startled expression. "Let me just give this to Felicity and I'll take you to see Kathleen."

It took her only a moment or two to deliver the packet and extract a promise from Felicity that she would stay with Essie until the distressed teacher felt more composed. Then Meredith rejoined the doctor and led him out of the hall.

Dr. Mitchell waited until they were outside the building before asking, "What's all this about blood on a branch?"

"I'll show you." Lifting her skirts, she headed toward the rockery, with the doctor hot on her heels.

Reggie was pacing back and forth when they reached him. "I have to get back to me burst pipe," he told Meredith as soon as she was within earshot. "If I don't get it fixed, I'll have a bloomin' mess all over the floor."

"I'm going to need someone to help me remove the body." Dr. Mitchell paused by the still figure beneath the blanket. "I'd appreciate it if you could give me a hand."

"All right, but make it quick." Reggie actually shivered.
"Sitting here with her gave me the willies." He jerked his head at the rockery.

For a fleeting moment Meredith wondered if Reggie had seen what she'd seen—the strange phenomenon of wispy clouds floating around on the ground. In the next instant she chided herself for paying attention to her silly illusions. She needed to heed Felicity's words and collect herself. One distraught teacher was quite enough.

"Thank you, Reggie," she said, trying not to flinch as the doctor strode to the rockery and pulled back the blanket.

He spent some time moving Kathleen's head from side to side, until Meredith could watch no longer. She stared into the trees instead, watching the sunlight dance through the branches and create paint-dappled patterns of light across the path.

Just as she was about to turn away, she saw it again—a puff of cloud close to the ground, weaving in and out of the trees. As she stared, the cloud seemed to take form, evolving into the willowy shape of a woman with long hair floating behind her. One transparent hand lifted and appeared to beckon to her.

Meredith's sharp exclamation turned both men's heads.

Dr. Mitchell was the first to speak. He stood, wiping his hands on the small white towel he'd produced from his bag. "What is it, Mrs. Llewellyn? Is something wrong?"

Reggie just stared into the trees, following Meredith's gaze. "I can't see nothing."

Meredith lifted a shaking hand to point. "There," she whispered. "Right over there."

She turned toward the men, aggravated by their blank expressions as they peered at the spot.

Unable to believe they couldn't see what she saw, she
switched her gaze back to the trees. The apparition had vanished.

"It was there," she said, her voice trembling. "I saw it. First it looked like a cloud, but then I saw it was a woman." Aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded, she added weakly, "At least, it appeared to be a woman. She seemed to be looking right at me."

Dr. Mitchell dropped the towel in his bag without comment, though Reggie gave her a sympathetic look. "Probably one of the girls having a game with you," he said.

"If that is so, it's in remarkably bad taste." The doctor reached into his bag. "More likely it's a result of the shock." He handed another small packet to Meredith. "Take this and lie down for an hour or so. You'll feel much better after a rest."

Meredith took the packet and slipped it into her pocket. Somehow she doubted a rest would banish the strange things happening to her mind.

"Now let me take a look at that branch." Dr. Mitchell moved over to where the branch lay. "Is this the one?"

"Yeah," Reggie answered. "I noticed there was blood all over it."

The doctor picked up the bulky limb. After a moment or two he lowered it back to the ground. "There's no question that's blood on there. I'm afraid I shall have to call in the constable."

Meredith uttered a cry of dismay. "Is that really necessary? It would be so upsetting for the girls: Couldn't you possibly report it as an unfortunate accident and leave it at that?"

"I'm afraid not." The doctor's expression worried her. "It appears that the blow from the branch was responsible
for Miss Duncan's demise. I'm afraid, however, that it was hardly an accident."

"But . . . " Meredith glanced up at the tree. "Perhaps Miss Duncan happened to be passing under the tree when Tom sawed it off. In the twilight he might not have seen her. I think we should talk to him before taking up the constable's valuable time."

"By all means question your gardener." The doctor closed the clasp of his bag and stood. "But Miss Duncan did not die from a falling branch. She was struck with it."

Meredith stared at him, while Reggie gasped. "How'd you know that?" he demanded.

"Because," Dr. Mitchell said quietly, "the blow came from behind and low on the head. A falling branch would not have struck in that area with that much force. The blow was quite deliberate. In fact, I'm reasonably certain we are dealing with a murder."

Chapter 3

Mrs. Wilkins wiped her hands on her apron, leaving
a smear of powdery flour. A bowl of shelled eggs stood in front of her on the kitchen table, waiting to be beaten. She picked up the whisk, reluctant to start whipping the mixture for fear she'd miss the whispered conversation between the two maids.

Olivia and Grace stood at the sink, supposedly peeling potatoes, though judging from the slow motion of their hands a large proportion of the vegetables still wore their skins.

Olivia's dark head leaned close to Grace's fair one, and the cook could tell the two of them were up to no good. Picking up the bowl of eggs, she edged around the table until she could hear Olivia's muttered words.

"I'm going to Witcheston, no matter what."

Grace gave her a fierce shake of her head. "It's not your day off. You'll get into trouble. You know what Mona's like. She could give you the sack."

"She won't know. Not unless you tell her." Olivia started peeling again. "You're not going to tell her, are you."

Again Grace shook her head. "You don't have to worry about me. But what if she asks?"

"Say you don't know."

"What if you get into trouble while you're there? You know them suffragettes are always getting arrested. What if you get caught and thrown in the clink?"

"Then you'll be serving dinner without me, won't you." Olivia paused, her dark eyes on her friend's face. "Unless you come with me."

Grace uttered a soft squeak, and Mrs. Wilkins could stand it no longer. "No," she said sharply. "She's not going with you. Neither of you are going anywhere, so there."

Olivia gave her an impudent toss of her head. "Says who?"

"Says me." Mrs. Wilkins put down the whisk and folded her arms across her chest. "I'll tell Miss Fingle, that's what I'll do."

"Telltale," Olivia muttered.

Mrs. Wilkins did not like being at odds with the maids. She had three daughters of her own, quite a bit older than Olivia and Grace, of course. All of her girls lived in London, and she hardly ever saw them. The maids helped ease the ache of missing her daughters. Even when they misbehaved, like right now. "Why don't you wait for your afternoon off," she suggested. "You can go to Witcheston and be back in time for supper."

Olivia threw the knife down and turned to face her. "I'm going tomorrow because the suffragettes are holding a big protest and I want to help them, that's why."

Mrs. Wilkins glanced at Grace, whose wide blue gaze
seemed fixed on Olivia's face. The cook could tell the child was tom between obeying the rules and supporting her friend. "You're not yet eighteen. The suffragettes know better than to let you protest with them."

"They won't know, will they." Olivia nudged Grace in the ribs. "We both look older when we're dressed up."

Now Mrs. Wilkins felt really worried. There was no stopping Olivia once she'd made up her mind. "Grace is right. If you get caught you could end up in prison." She leaned closer to the girls and lowered her voice to an ominous tone. "You know what they do to suffragettes in prison?"

Grace looked terrified, but Olivia merely shrugged. "They only beat you if you don't behave."

"They do worse than that," Mrs. Wilkins assured her, hoping Olivia wouldn't ask her what she meant by that. She knew that dreadful things happened to the protestors while they were locked up, but she didn't know any of the details and she didn't want to know.

"Well, then, we just won't have to get caught, that's all." Olivia's expression dared Grace to oppose her. "You coming with me or not?"

Grace sent a frightened glance at the cook, then whispered, "I s'pose so."

"That's that, then." Olivia fished in the cold water for her knife and picked up another potato.