Murder Has No Class

Table of Contents

 

 

Praise for
High Marks for Murder

“Wonderful storytelling . . . A superb ghost story.”

—Emily Brightwell

 

“An enjoyable mystery set in England’s dynamic Edwardian period that is sure to please . . . The characters are intriguing, each with a hint of a tragic past.”

 

“Very well done and definitely for those who like their mysteries on the lighter side.”—
ReviewingTheEvidence.com

 

“School headmistress Meredith Llewellyn is bright and intuitive and the paranormal atmosphere adds an interesting touch.”
—Romantic Times

 

“Very atmospheric [with] a gothic feel . . . Readers will give high marks to Ms. Kent for an interesting, creative whodunit.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews

 

“A great cozy writer.”
—Gumshoe Review

HIGH MARKS FOR MURDER
FINISHED OFF
MURDER HAS NO CLASS

 

 

Manor House Mysteries
A BICYCLE BUILT FOR MURDER
DEATH IS IN THE AIR
FOR WHOM DEATH TOLLS
DIG DEEP FOR MURDER
PAINT BY MURDER
BERRIED ALIVE
FIRE WHEN READY
WEDDING ROWS
AN UNMENTIONABLE MURDER

 

Pennyfoot Hotel Mysteries
ROOM WITH A CLUE
DO NOT DISTURB
SERVICE FOR TWO
EAT, DRINK, AND BE BURIED
CHECK-OUT TIME
GROUNDS FOR MURDER
PAY THE PIPER
CHIVALRY IS DEAD
RING FOR TOMB SERVICE
DEATH WITH RESERVATIONS
DYING ROOM ONLY
MAID TO MURDER

 

Holiday Pennyfoot Hotel Mysteries
NO CLUE AT THE INN
SLAY BELLS
SHROUDS OF HOLLY
RINGING IN MURDER
DECKED WITH FOLLY

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

MURDER HAS NO CLASS

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / January 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Doreen Roberts Hight.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-17134-9

 

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Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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Acknowledgments

Sadly, this is the final book in the series. I enjoyed writing about the adventures of Meredith, Felicity, and Essie, and I shall miss them. I do want to thank the people who helped me bring to life the students and staff of the Bellehaven Finishing School for Young Ladies.

 

My astute editor, Sandra Harding, whose eagle eye and shrewd comments saved me from making too many blunders.

 

My energetic agent, Paige Wheeler, whose enthusiasm and support keep me motivated and busy.

 

Berkley’s brilliant art department, who are so good at transforming my words into a charming, intricate scene on the cover.

 

My loyal fans, for all the wonderful e-mails and letters. Thank you so much for taking the time to write to me. You make my day.

 

My husband, Bill. For all that you do and all that you are.

Chapter 1

Meredith Llewellyn stepped briskly across the courtyard, her brow furrowed and her lips compressed. If there was one thing she hated, it was starting out the day with a confrontation. There were times when her responsibilities as headmistress of the Bellehaven Finishing School could become quite irksome.

Usually she enjoyed her morning walk in the grounds before classes began. Early spring was her favorite time of the year, when daffodils poked green shoots through the dark earth and the heady scent of lavender was just a delightful promise away.

The flower gardens lining the lawns of the Bellehaven Finishing School for Young Ladies had begun to stir once more. Birds trilled among the thickening leaves of the poplars, and sunshine brightened the gray walls of the ancient school building. That was the beauty of spring, full of hope and promise.

Not that Meredith spent much time on wishful thinking. Just a few short years into the new century, already the world was changing at an alarming rate. New inventions seemed to pop up everywhere and it had become quite a challenge to keep pace with everything going on.

At Bellehaven however, the emphasis was more on teaching young women how to take their proper place in their future lives.

Meredith loved teaching fine arts to her students, adored her fellow tutors—well, two of them, at least. The third, Sylvia Montrose, could be somewhat of a problem at times, but Meredith was adept at turning awkward situations into something a little less hazardous.

She reached the steps leading to the front doors of the school and hurried up them. All said, she reminded herself, life was good for the most part, and if she had a couple of thorns in her side to contend with, well, that was a small price to pay.

It was one of those thorns, however, that had spoiled her morning stroll, and she couldn’t help feeling just a little resentful. The sooner she dealt with the source of her irritation, the better.

A babble of voices greeted her as she entered the lobby, and at the sight of her, the group of students quickly dispersed. Any minute now the bell would ring for the first class, and Meredith had established a strict policy for punctuality. Discipline had to be maintained at all costs—not an easy task with fifty spirited and often rebellious young ladies taking up occupancy in the hallowed halls of Bellehaven.

Frowning now, Meredith marched down the corridor to her office. She was not looking forward to the impending meeting with her assistant, Roger Platt. The young man had a roguish eye for the girls, and an unfortunate penchant for stirring up trouble.

More than once Meredith had come close to dismissing the unrepentant assistant. She had complained, often with a certain amount of vehemence to Stuart Hamilton, who had hired the rascal. Upon each occasion the disturbingly handsome owner of Bellehaven had persuaded her to give the assistant another chance and, much to her chagrin, she had capitulated, albeit with a certain amount of resentment.

Yes, Meredith thought, as she twisted the handle of the door and threw it open, Roger Platt was a definite thorn in her side, and only slightly more so than the annoying Stuart Hamilton.

The young man in question lifted his head as Meredith entered the room, then sprang to his feet, managing to knock over the ink bottle, which mercifully, was still capped. “Good m-morning, Mrs. Llewellyn.” He righted the bottle, began to sit down again, corrected himself and lunged out from behind her desk. “You’ll be needing your desk, I assume. I’ll take these accounts to the library and—”

Meredith halted him with a shake of her head. “No need, I’m on my way to the classroom. I just stopped by to ask you about an incident in the art studio last night.”

Roger’s face turned dark red. Using his thumb, he carefully removed a lock of dark brown hair from over his eye. “Art s-studio?”

“Yes, Mr. Platt. It has come to my attention that you and one of my students were seen leaving there at an indecent hour, and I should like an explanation.”

The young man looked right and then left, as if seeking an escape. Finding none, he stared down at his feet, then switched his gaze to the window. “I was—ah—helping the young lady look for a lost sketch book.”

“A lost sketch book.” She was happy to see Roger wince at the heavy skepticism in her voice.

“Ah . . . yes. I was on my way out when Sophie . . . I mean . . . Miss Westchester, caught up with me in the corridor and requested my help.”

“Miss Westchester couldn’t look for a sketch book by herself?”

Roger poked a finger inside his starched shirt collar as if it had become too tight. “She . . . ah . . . was afraid to go in there in the dark. I fetched an oil lamp and held it for her while she looked for the book.”