High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (6 page)

She felt a vast relief when at last the bell rang for the end of class. The pupils collected their paints and brushes, and leaving their landscapes on the easels to dry, filed out of the room.

Meredith was about to follow them when a tall figure filled the doorway, blocking her exit. Stuart Hamilton's grim expression told her at once that he'd heard of Kathleen's demise, and that he was far from pleased.

It wasn't often that she received a visit from the owner of Bellehaven, but on every occasion that they had met, Meredith had felt at a disadvantage for some strange reason.

Maybe it was his impressive height, his direct gaze from dark eyes that challenged her every word, or the commanding way in which he addressed her—as if she were one of the pupils instead of the headmistress.

Whichever it was, she constantly swayed between admiring his confident, forthright manner and hating his arrogance. She found herself dithering on more than one issue, and Meredith did not like to be distracted by anyone, much less a man who had no working knowledge of the effort it took to keep Bellehaven running smoothly.

As always, she had difficulty meeting his gaze and in an effort to avoid her usual confusion in his presence, she forestalled his greeting. "Mr. Hamilton. I presume you have heard the tragic news?"

"I have indeed." He stepped inside the room, somehow diminishing its space by his presence. "I came as soon as I heard."

Meredith turned away, hoping to collect her scattered thoughts. She wasn't sure just how much he knew about the
circumstances of Kathleen's death, and she wasn't about to inform him of her own conjectures. "It is such a great loss. Apart from losing a good friend, we have lost a valuable instructress. It will be extremely difficult to replace Miss Duncan."

"Which is precisely why I am here." Stuart Hamilton moved over to an easel and peered at the painting resting on it. "Good Lord. What's that supposed to be?"

Meredith thinned her lips. She might be at liberty to criticize the work of her students, but how dare this man feel justified in doing so. "I will commence to search right away for a suitable replacement for Miss Duncan," she said primly. "I will be sure to inform you as soon as that has been accomplished."

"No need." Hamilton straightened, hooked a finger in his watch chain, and pulled the gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. After glancing at it, he moved toward the door. "I already have a replacement."

Stunned, Meredith stared at his broad back. "I beg your pardon?"

He swung around to face her, once more unsettling her. "Her name is Sylvia Montrose. She comes with the best recommendation, she's adequately qualified, trustworthy, and experienced."

"But—" In her agitation, Meredith took two steps toward him.

He raised a hand. "I'm quite sure you recognize that time is of the essence here. Miss Montrose will arrive early tomorrow. Should you disagree with my choice, after a suitable trial period, of course, we shall then discuss the matter further."

With that, he swept through the door, leaving Meredith astounded, disconcerted, and thoroughly offended.

Chapter 5

Having had the matter so abruptly taken out of her
hands, Meredith was left with a few minutes to soothe her rattled nerves before joining the rest of the teachers in the lounge.

She decided to clear her head with a brisk walk in the midday sun, a pursuit she often enjoyed while sorting through problems in her head.

Despite her resolve to forget the strange illusions that had beset her of late, she found herself drawn against her will to the flower gardens. To her relief, she could see no vapors or mist hovering over the path when she arrived, a little breathless from hurrying across the lawns.

She took a moment or two to breathe in the glorious fragrance of the lavender. The sweet-smelling flowers had been Kathleen's favorite. She'd pick the tiny blossoms and dry them, then sew them into little silk pouches to lay in her chest of drawers.

Meredith still had two of the pouches Kathleen had given her, though the fragrance had long since dissipated. She would keep them forever now, she decided, as a memento of her dear departed friend.

Stooping down to the pale blue flowers, she plucked a stem or two and brought them to her nose. As she did so, a familiar chill wafted across her back. She knew, before she straightened, what she would see.

The strange mist swirled beneath the trees, just a few feet away. She could feel the cold emanating from the heart of the cloud, where the form of the woman wavered back and forth as if caught in a rippling tide of water.

The very last thing Meredith wanted to do was confront what she now felt certain had to be Kathleen's ghost. She could not ignore the fact, however, that her friend needed help of some kind. Gathering up her courage, she lifted her chin and faced the apparition.

After a quick glance around to make sure she was quite alone, she took a step closer. The cloud flowed backward, keeping the same distance. She halted, afraid it would disappear altogether.

Her heart beat forcefully in her chest, robbing her of air, and she had to force her lips to move. "Kathleen," she said, in little more than a whisper. "I know it's you. What do you want?"

Just for a moment, the face of the woman became distinct, and Kathleen's face looked back at her with strange, sightless eyes.

Meredith thought her heart would stop beating, but then it raced on as she stared at the ghost. "What do you want?" she repeated, a little more loudly this time.

The woman faded, her body swirling into nothing but mist. Sorely disappointed, Meredith was about to turn
away when the apparition formed again. This time, Kathleen raised her arm and pointed at the flower beds.

Meredith followed the gesture and stared in confusion at the colorful blossoms. After a moment she noticed a few clumps of yellow petals in between the thriving plants. Dandelions. Kathleen had always been a stickler for keeping clean flower beds.

She turned back to the apparition, only to find it had disappeared. "I'll tell Tom," Meredith said, talking now to empty air. "Don't worry, Kathleen. I'll make sure Tom gets the beds weeded."

She waited a moment, but the air about her remained perfectly still. Sighing in frustration, she turned around, and received a nasty jolt when she realized she was not alone. Davie Gray, Tom's timid assistant, stood just a few feet away, an odd expression on his pallid face. She was about to speak to him when he turned and slunk off into the trees like a wounded animal.

Jogging along the road on the back of Farmer
Brown's cart, Grace's teeth jarred against each other with every bump. It wasn't often she complained about Olivia's ideas, but this adventure was beginning to lose its enchantment before it had actually begun.

Olivia must have sensed her discomfort, as she leaned closer, raising her voice above the rattling of the cart and the clatter of hooves. "What's the matter? You look as if you've taken a bite out of a sour apple."

"I was just wishing you could have found a more comfortable way to get to Witcheston." Grace softened her criticism with a wry smile. "My backbone feels like it's coming apart."

Olivia shrugged. "It was either this or ride our bicycles into town. That would have taken us all day."

Grace gripped the wooden bars at her side and winced as a splinter dug into her palm. At the same moment one of the cart wheels bounced in and out of a rut, slamming her posterior up and down on the hard platform. "Ow!" She sent Olivia a reproachful look. "That hurt. And all these cauliflowers and cabbages really stink. And look at us, we're getting smothered in dust and dirt. We're going to look like ragamuffins by the time we get into town."

Olivia fidgeted from side to side, and Grace could tell her friend was as uncomfortable as she was. "Yeah, well," Olivia muttered, "we're suffragettes. We're supposed to suffer for the cause."

Grace's bruised bottom made her feel unusually resentful. "I just hope all this is worth it. I'd rather be scrubbing the kitchen floor than bumping around on this cart with all these smelly vegetables."

"Oh, stop whining." Olivia bit her lip as the cart bounced over yet another rut in the road. "We'll be there soon. You'll feel better once we're off this thing and we can join the suffragettes." Her frown vanished. "Just think, we're on our way to our very first protest. Don't you think that's really exciting?"

Right then, the only thing Grace could find remotely exciting was a warm bath to ease her tortured bones. Still, she was on her way now, and it was a bit late to admit that this wasn't one of Olivia's best ideas. "I suppose so," she said, taking a firmer grip on the bars. "I just hope we don't end up in prison, that's all."

Olivia shook her head. "You're such a wet blanket. I don't know why I asked you to come with me."

Grace would have vastly preferred that she hadn't been
asked, but she refrained from saying so. If she was to survive this day, she needed to stay in Olivia's good books. Otherwise she could very likely find herself abandoned on the streets of Witcheston.

It occurred to her then to wonder how on earth the two of them would get back to Bellehaven. It was unlikely the farmer would stay in town once he had deposited his load of vegetables at the market.

Olivia hadn't mentioned as yet how she'd planned to return. Grace pondered the problem for a moment or two, then decided to put it out of her mind for now. She had far too much to worry about for the next few hours.

By the time the farmer pulled up in Witcheston's market square, Grace would have walked through fire to get off that cart. Even Olivia appeared to be limping as they crossed the busy street to the corner, where a group of musicians played a lively tune on an assortment of instruments.

Grace stared about her, anxious to take in all the unfamiliar sights and sounds. She'd only been into town three times before this, when she was a child. This was her first grown-up visit, and if she hadn't been so nervous about the protest, she'd have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

The huge windows of the department store with their dazzling array of beautiful clothes, furniture, and a breathtaking selection of china and glass fascinated her beyond description. She could have spent the entire day simply staring at all the wonders.

Olivia, however, tugged her arm, urging her to hurry. "We have to get to the town hall," she said, panting as they sped in and out of the pedestrians on the street. "The protest is supposed to start at midday."

As if to mock her words, a church bell nearby started chiming. "That's twelve o'clock," Olivia cried, and dashed
across the road, startling a black horse pulling a fancy carriage.

The horse reared up, and the driver angrily shouted as he struggled to rein in the agitated animal. A young man passing by stepped out and grabbed the reins, calming the horse until it stood still.

Grace stared at the gentleman in admiration, thinking how brave of him and how gallant. When she looked across the street, Olivia had disappeared.

A nasty cold feeling struck her in the chest. She had no idea where the town hall was or how to get to it. Gingerly she stepped out into the road and crossed to the other side unscathed.

To her huge relief, Olivia stood at the next corner, beckoning furiously. Hurrying toward her, Grace vowed not to let her friend out of her sight again.

"Wait," Olivia said, as Grace reached her. "Look over there."

Grace followed Olivia's nod, expecting to see a group of suffragettes. Instead, all she saw of interest was a young girl with shiny dark brown hair arguing with a much older man.

"Where are—" she started to ask, but Olivia interrupted her.

"That's one of the girls from the school." She stared across the street at the arguing couple. "I don't believe it. You know who that is she's talking to?"

Grace peered at the stout man standing over the young girl. "He looks familiar, but—"

Olivia prodded her in the side. "That's Victor Silkwood, that's who. You know. The bloke that owns all that land and that big posh house. I wonder what that girl is doing talking to him like that."

"Perhaps she's his daughter."

"No, she's not. He only has sons. I read about him in the local newspaper. Besides, look at the way she's clinging to him now. It looks to me as if there's something sleazy going on between them two."

Grace blinked. "Whatcha mean, sleazy?"

"You know." Olivia nudged her with an elbow and winked. "Him and her sleazy."

"But he's married!" Grace stared at the couple in disbelief. "And he's years older than her."

Olivia smiled. "I know."

Uncomfortable now, Grace tugged at her friend's sleeve. "Come on. I thought you wanted to join the protest." She tilted her head to one side. "I think I can hear them now."

"Oh, cripes. Come on." Olivia grabbed Grace's hand and charged around the corner. All Grace could do was follow, and hope to the heavens that they could stay out of trouble.

After having been met with nothing but skepticism
from the other instructresses, Meredith decided to keep to herself her experience in the flower gardens. Obviously Kathleen was worried that her precious flowers would not be taken care of properly now that she had departed.

Meredith had read somewhere that spirits were sometimes unable to pass on because of some unfinished business, and that once those concerns had been taken care of, the spirit was then free to cross over into the hereafter.

Not that she had attached any significance to that notion. At least, not until now. If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that she was not entirely convinced that what she had seen was anything other than a trick of her
mind, brought about by her grief at losing such a valued friend and associate.

Nevertheless, she fully intended to keep her promise to Kathleen. That afternoon she searched the grounds until she found Tom in the far corner of the playing field, measuring the tennis nets in order to ensure they were the correct height for the finals tournament.