High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

Monica sighed and laid her pen down on the blotter. "Very well. What is it?"

For a second or two Mrs. Wilkins wavered. Then she remembered the vague hints she'd heard about the suffragettes and the appalling treatment they received in prison. "It's the maids," she said, speaking quickly before she lost her nerve again. "They're talking about going to Witcheston to join in the protest with the suffragettes tomorrow. I told them it was dangerous but they won't listen to me and—"

Monica's black eyes gleamed. "Are you telling me they intend to take unscheduled time off?"

"Yes, Miss Fingle."

"Together?"

"I'm afraid so."

"That is quite unacceptable. The maids each have an afternoon off every week. One on Wednesday and one on Thursday, do they not?"

"Yes, Miss Fingle." Mrs. Wilkins was beginning to wish she'd kept her mouth shut and let the girls take their chances with the suffragettes.

"Tomorrow is Monday." Monica waited, as if expecting an answer to the obvious statement.

The cook reluctantly obliged. "Yes, Miss Fingle."

"In any case, we cannot have them going off together.
Either they take their allotted time off, or they do without. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Miss Fingle." The cook hesitated, then added cautiously, "Will you be telling them that, then?"

Monica's thin eyebrows drew together. "Isn't that your responsibility?"

Mrs. Wilkins started twisting an apron string around her fingers. "Well, yes, it is, but—"

"Well, then, see to it." Monica picked up her pen as a signal the conversation was at an end.

Mrs. Wilkins pursed her lips. "Yes, Miss Fingle."

She was about to turn away when Monica said quietly, "One more thing. It is my duty to inform you that Miss Duncan has met with an unfortunate accident and has passed away."

Frozen to the spot, Mrs. Wilkins tried to make sense of the preposterous words. "Passed away?"

"Yes. You may inform the rest of the staff at your discretion."

"Miss Duncan is
dead
?" Even saying it out loud didn't make it any more believable.

"I believe that is what is meant by passed away, yes." Without looking up, Monica waved her pen at the door.

Stiff with shock, Mrs. Wilkins turned back toward the door. Just as she reached it, Monica added, "I shall hold you responsible, Mrs. Wilkins, if those girls should ignore your orders. We can't allow that sort of disobedience in this establishment. It would set a very bad example for our pupils. I expect you to have complete control over your underlings. Don't disappoint me."

"Yes, Miss Fingle. I mean, no, Miss Fingle. I'll do my best."

Mrs. Wilkins shut the door with a quiet snap, though she
felt more inclined to slam it. What a cold fish that Monica was to be so concerned about the maids when a good woman like Miss Duncan lay dead.

Even now she couldn't believe it. Muttering to herself, she hurried back down to the kitchen. She'd have to tell the girls, but she doubted very much that, or anything, would stop them from going to Witcheston, short of imprisoning them somewhere, and that was highly unlikely.

She'd do her best, as she'd promised, of course, but if Olivia and Grace had made up their minds, there wasn't much she could do about it, except hope with all her might that Monica never found out about it. And that, she had to admit, was just as unlikely.

"I tell you I saw Kathleen's ghost!" In her agitation.
Meredith flung out her hand, causing a vase of carefully arranged roses to topple.

Felicity dived forward, and with remarkable agility caught the vase before it fell to the carpet. She set it down again and wiped her wet fingers on her skirt. "Meredith, dear, I know you're upset but . . . really. A ghost?"

Meredith sank onto the nearest armchair. Normally the teachers' lounge provided rare moments of peace in the hubbub generally experienced within the walls of Bellehaven. She felt no such calming effects this day, however. Even the tasteful pink flowered wallpaper and rose carpet, usually so pleasing to the eye, failed to settle her jostling nerves. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," she muttered.

Essie came forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. The petite woman's puffy eyes still bore the signs of her weeping, and her blotchy cheeks made her look even younger than usual as she peered anxiously into Meredith's
face. "It's unlike you to lose composure this way, Meredith. You are always so strong and sensible."

Meredith summoned a weak smile. "I don't feel very sensible right now. I know what I saw. I also know how impossible it sounds, but I think Kathleen needs something from me."

Felicity flung herself onto the davenport, causing a maroon silk cushion to bounce off onto the floor. Her voice sounded muffled as she bent over to pick it up. "Needs what?"

"I don't know. I didn't wait around to find out. But it must be important."

Felicity straightened. "Meredith, you really must get this ridiculous notion out of your head. Ghosts don't haunt flower beds in the middle of the day. They haunt houses. At night. What's important is what the constable is doing about Kathleen's murder. I trust he's looking into it?"

"I'm afraid not." Meredith recounted her conversation with P.C. Shipham. Felicity snorted throughout, while Essie uttered little gasps of dismay.

"Typical," Felicity muttered, when Meredith reached the end of her account. "What did you expect from the man? Absolutely relishes his power over women, and doesn't care one little bit what happened as long as it doesn't inconvenience him."

"I expected him to hunt down the perpetrator of this horrible crime and put him behind bars." Meredith sighed. "At least I'd hoped that's what he'd do."

"Well, I can see why you're upset." Felicity fluffed up the cushion and shoved it behind her back. "No wonder you're imagining ghosts. Did you take the powder Dr. Mitchell gave you?"

Deciding to ignore that question, Meredith stood. "I
want you both to come with me now, to the gardens. I'm hoping you'll see what I saw—what I keep seeing—and maybe then you will believe what I believe."

Essie shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't. A ghost . . . I mean . . . I just couldn't."

"Of course you can." Felicity rose to her feet. "In any case, there's nothing to see. But if it will make Meredith feel better, we should go with her." She glanced at the grandfather clock ticking methodically in the corner of the room. "We have time before the afternoon sessions."

She strode to the door and looked back at the two of them. "Well, are you coming? Let's get this over with."

Meredith looked at Essie, who seemed rooted to the spot. "I promise you, Essie, Kathleen is not at all threatening. In fact, she looks almost tranquil, considering what's at stake."

Essie whimpered again. "I'd much rather you went without me."

"Don't be such a baby." Felicity scowled across the room. "We all know there's no such thing as ghosts. What Meredith saw was probably a patch of mist, that's all. Happens often in a waning summer. When one's in shock, it's not all that unusual to imagine things that aren't there."

Meredith took hold of Essie's arm and gently pulled her toward the door. "I need you there," she said, before they followed Felicity out into the hallway. "Felicity has already made up her mind and Kathleen might not show herself to her. You, however, are more sympathetic, and I'm hoping you will see Kathleen as I did."

"I don't want to see her," Essie mumbled, but nevertheless she allowed herself to be led outside and along the path to the gardens.

Felicity arrived ahead of them, and stood among the
flowers, both hands planted on her hips. "All right," she said, as Meredith and Essie reached her, "now show us the ghost."

"I saw it right there." Meredith pointed toward the edge of the path. "She only appeared clearly for a second or two, but I recognized Kathleen right away."

"What was she wearing?"

Meredith struggled to remember. "Some sort of filmy gown, I think. Why?"

"Because it was most likely one of the girls playing a trick on you, that's why. And when I find out who it was, she will pay dearly for her impertinent behavior."

Meredith thinned her mouth. "Let us all stand still and be quiet, please. Kathleen is not likely to appear while we are squabbling about this."

Felicity grunted, but refrained from answering.

Not that Meredith could blame her skepticism. Even as she had spoken the words, she had to acknowledge how foolish she sounded. It would be so much simpler to dismiss the entire episode as a mere symptom of her distress over Kathleen's sudden demise.

Yet, if she had really seen a ghost, how could she turn her back on her friend when she needed her badly enough to reach out to her from the grave?

Then again, since Kathleen had not yet been buried, she wasn't in her grave. Perhaps, once the service had taken place and Kathleen was in her final resting place, she might find the peace to depart in the proper manner.

Holding her breath, Meredith waited as the silence seemed to envelop all three of them. Only a faint breeze stirring the leaves above their heads disturbed the uncanny stillness among the flower beds.

Essie pressed closer to Meredith, and she could feel the
younger woman trembling against her arm. Concentrating hard on the spot where she'd seen Kathleen earlier, Meredith willed her late friend to appear.

For several long moments the three of them stood motionless. Then, right above their heads, the branches fluttered, and a sparrow chirped loudly to its mate.

Essie jumped sharply and uttered a frightened squeal. The startled birds flew from the tree and flapped away.

Felicity turned and held out her hands in appeal. "How long are we supposed to stand here waiting for something that's never going to happen? Can't you just admit it was all in your imagination?"

Meredith sighed. "Maybe you're right. I'm sorry I brought you out here. Let's get back to the house and take care of our pupils."

"About time, too." Felicity stomped off, while Essie's small hand crept into the crook of Meredith's arm. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice subdued. "I know you really wanted to believe it."

"Yes, I did." Meredith patted the hand on her arm. "Silly of me, I suppose. Once Kathleen has a proper burial and is at peace, I'm sure I won't have any more of these foolish illusions."

She walked with Essie back down the path, trying to reconcile reality with what she was certain she'd seen earlier. Perhaps she had imagined the whole thing, after all. The events of that dreadful day had been traumatic enough to confuse anyone's mind.

It really didn't matter, however, whether or not Kathleen was coming back from the dead to give her a message. The important thing was to find out who had committed such a foul crime. She owed it to her late friend to see that justice was done.

Somehow she would ferret out the truth, with or without the help of her skeptical associates. And neither one of them could dissuade her from that path.

Mrs. Wilkins tackled the maids right after supper.
She waited until the dishes had been washed and replaced in the cupboards, and everything in the kitchen was spick-and-span once more.

She could tell by the way Grace kept dropping things that she was nervous about the proposed scheme the next day. She hoped the girl's understandable apprehension might help her accept the argument that nothing but trouble awaited them in Witcheston.

She watched Olivia carry the clean milk churn to the door to await the milkman in the morning. That girl didn't have a nervous bone in her body. Always flirting with danger, she was, and dragging poor Grace in with her.

Mrs. Wilkins braced herself. Someone had to stop them, and it might as well be her. Even if they did get cross with her for interfering. "I had a word with Miss Fingle," she announced, as the girls prepared to leave. "She has absolutely forbidden you two to go to Witcheston tomorrow."

Grace uttered a cry of dismay, while Olivia swung around, her dark eyes blazing. "What'd you go and do that for?"

Mrs. Wilkins flinched, but met the furious gaze. "I did it because I'm worried you'll get yourselves in a whole lot of trouble, that's why. I don't want to see you both end up in prison. They beat suffragettes in prison, you know. And worse. Much worse."

Olivia tossed her head, dislodging her cap. She removed the pin, shoved the cap back in place, and jabbed
the pin back in her hair. "We won't get caught, so we won't end up in prison. Both me and Gracie can run fast, can't we." She nudged her friend with her arm.

Mrs. Wilkins could tell Grace was fighting between her fear of being caught by the bobbies and her loyalty to her friend. Taking her silence for agreement, the cook put an arm about the young girl's thin shoulders. "See? Grace doesn't really want to go, do you, duck."

"Then I'll go by myself." Olivia twisted around and headed for the door.

"No, I'm going with you!" Grace pulled out of Mrs. Wilkins's grasp and ran after Olivia.

The door closed behind the two of them, and Mrs. Wilkins sank onto a chair, her head in her hands. She'd tried. She'd done the best she could. Now all she could do was sit and wait, and pray to the good Lord to bring those two foolish girls home safe and sound.

Confusing dreams disturbed Meredith's sleep that
night, and she awoke with a headache. It was a struggle for her to get through her classes that morning, especially since the matter of replacing Kathleen weighed heavily on her mind.

Her students seemed to have recovered from the shock of Kathleen's death for the most part, though some remained abnormally subdued. They had been told that Kathleen's death was an accident, and Meredith prayed she could maintain the falsehood, at least until the person responsible had been apprehended.

All of the students were anxious to know what would happen to their home management studies and Meredith assured them a replacement would be found, though she
seriously doubted she would find anyone as competent as her late friend had been, especially on short notice.