The Pact (3 page)

3

It wasn’t just one challenge, Parva thought as she got into her black Mini the next day, but a whole collection of them. And she was worried about every one. First, there was the having to pass herself off as a biology teacher. She had managed to dig out her old A Level certificates last night in case any of the ‘other’ teachers, and especially the headmistress, wanted to see them. She also had her undergraduate paperwork with her in case anyone got pushy about qualifications, even though bachelor’s degrees in medicine and surgery didn’t exactly give you free rein to teach what she had been allegedly employed for.

After
finding her certificates, the next thing she had needed to decide was what a twenty-six-year-old female biology supply teacher might wear. Her reliable black trouser suit from Next that didn’t show up bloodstains probably wasn’t going to fit the bill, but she wasn’t sure what else to take from her wardrobe. Designer labels flashed by as she dismissed outfit after outfit, settling in the end for the couple of pairs of black jeans she had that could pass for smart at a pinch. She also picked out a knee-length brown corduroy skirt which had started life as an unwanted Christmas present, but had ended up being worn during her time in the pathology labs on the days when she had to prepare especially messy sections of human brain tissue. A couple of homely-looking sweaters that she never wore completed her packing. She hoped no one would notice her flat-heeled shoes were Manolo Blahniks. Then she remembered she was going to be subject to the scrutiny of a classroom full of ultra-rich fashion conscious teenaged girls but decided there was no way she was parting with them anyway. She’d talk her way out of where she had got them from if it became necessary.

She
stopped off at the Bristol Blackwells University bookshop to pick up a couple of second hand biology textbooks that looked as if they had been read a few of times, and then she was off.

From
the directions DCI Willoughby had given her, St Miranda’s College seemed to be located somewhere in mid-Wales. It could be worse, she thought, as she pulled onto the M4 going west. She might have had to take a flight up to the Orkneys or somewhere else equally inhospitable and, even more importantly, much colder at this time of year.

The
map that came with the St Miranda’s prospectus did make it look as if the school had been located as far from civilisation as possible. The nearest thing within a forty-mile radius were a couple of small villages where Parva was hoping she’d be able to ask directions once she’d made it that far.

By
the time she had left the motorway and was heading north on what claimed to be an A road, but seemed to be in imminent danger of narrowing to a single-track country lane, the weather was worsening. Black clouds had been looming in the heavens since she had crossed the Severn Bridge and now, as the overhanging trees seemed to be conspiring to obliterate what little of the grey daylight was left, there was an almighty crack of thunder.

Thank
God she’d filled up the car in Llandeilo, Parva thought. It would have been the worst thing to be stuck out here waiting for someone to bring a can of petrol. Not that she would have been able to contact anyone - her mobile phone had resolutely refused to display any signal bars for the last five miles.

Lightning
lit up the sky at the same time that the rain came - great sheets of water that the Mini’s windscreen wipers were just about able to cope with. Parva had considered pulling onto the side of the road to wait the storm out, but that would have meant the risk of getting stuck in one of the already waterlogged ditches on the side of the road.

Every
time the road curved, Parva hoped the school would be round the next corner, but she just found herself faced with high hedgerows, threatening trees and more and more rain.

And
a sign.

It
was on the right hand side of the road and was almost impossible to make out. Parva braked and rolled down her window. Heavy raindrops spattered her face as she read:

St Miranda’s College of Higher Education

Headmistress: Miss H Arbuthnot, BA (Hons)

Private Property: Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted

If trespassers were capable of finding the school in the first place, Parva thought with a sniff as she rolled the window up and drove on, but more slowly now. Presumably the entrance would be on the same side of the road as the sign, and hopefully it would be obvious - some big iron gates or a majestic-looking driveway.

A
girl ran in front of the car.

Parva
slammed the brakes on. Even though she had been going at a snail’s pace she almost hit her. Through the windscreen the girl was a rain-drenched blur, her dress a shimmer of white behind the water cascading down the glass, her long hair clinging to a face Parva could hardly make out as the girl lifted her palms from the Mini’s bonnet.

Then
she was gone; possibly back through whatever gap in the hedge she must have squeezed herself through, possibly in the other direction. By the time Parva had opened the door and was considering jumping out to call her back, the girl had vanished.

There
was nothing else to do other than keep going towards the school. As she moved the car on, even more slowly this time, Parva wondered who the girl might have been. Her immediate assumption was that she must be a pupil, but what would cause her to be out here in this weather? And why run off when Parva could have offered her warmth, shelter, and a free ride back to where she had come from?

The
other possibility was that she had come from elsewhere. Perhaps she was one of the ‘trespassers’ the sign seemed to be so worried about. But again, the girl had hardly seemed dressed for a spot of illegal wandering.

Up
ahead on the right loomed a pair of heavy wrought-iron gates crowned with spikes. Even from this distance they looked uncomfortably sharp. Parva turned into the driveway only to discover they were locked.

A
small silver box on a post nearby turned out to be an intercom. By the time she had managed to get a response from it Parva’s right arm was soaked.

“Hello?”

“Hello, it’s Miss Corcoran,” Parva said, for the first time in years. “I’m the new biology teacher? I was told to report here today.”

The
pause on the other end of the line was so prolonged that for a moment Parva wondered if the storm had broken the line.

“I’m
sorry but we have no record of that.”

Oh
good grief.

“I
think you’ll find that, if you check, I’m here as a supply teacher for the term to take over from Miss Watkins who’s been doubling up on the subject.”

There
was another pause, this one even longer than the one before. Then a buzzer sounded and, ever so slowly, the gates began to open inward of their own accord. Taking this as confirmation that they wanted her to come in, Parva eased the car forward, and entered the sprawling grounds of St Miranda’s College of Higher Education.

4

“Do you understand what this institution is, Miss Corcoran?”

Parva
licked her lips and cleared her throat to give her time to think of the best answer, one that would be agreeable to the elderly woman seated at the desk in front of her. Parva would have liked to sit down as well, but the office of Miss Hazel Arbuthnot, BA (Hons) didn’t seem to have any other chairs. Presumably this was a place where only the headmistress was allowed to be seated.

“An
educational establishment for young women,” said Parva, feeling uncomfortably like one of those young women herself right now.

Miss
Arbuthnot toyed with the length of heavy pale blue beads she had strung about her wizened neck. As she slowly shook her head, strands of grey hair sought to escape from the frightening beehive into which an attempt had been made to secure them.

“We
prefer to think of them as young ladies,” came the reply. “We are an educational establishment, certainly, but in far more ways than the rather narrow academic remit you are probably thinking of.”

Parva
wasn’t thinking of anything in particular so she kept quiet as the headmistress continued.

“As
well as preparing those with the appropriate abilities for university, we pride ourselves on our programmes of sporting activities, etiquette, and, most of all, a strong sense of being able to cope with life without the crutches that so many people these days find they have to rely on.”

So
alcohol and drugs were banned, thought Parva. There was probably plenty of both here anyway, though.

“And
of course we expect the teachers to adhere to the same strict principles we set for the girls. There’s nothing like learning by example, is there?”

Parva
forced a nod. If that was true, she would be in Rampton Psychiatric Institution now, along with Edmund Cottingham, the professor of forensic pathology she had been apprentice to, who had finally snapped and embarked on a killing spree of his own, with her as his intended final victim.

Miss
Arbuthnot held out her hand.

“Might
I borrow your phone for a moment?” she said with a smile.

Parva
shrugged and reached into her pocket. “It’s not a very high tech one,” she said, wondering why the woman should want to see it.

It
turned out Miss Arbuthnot didn’t actually want to look at Parva’s phone at all, rather she seemed to want to put in her desk drawer and then lock it.

“That’s
my property…” Parva did her best not to sound indignant but from the crease in the old lady’s brow she obviously wasn’t successful.

“We
do not allow any communication with the outside world here except through the traditional method of the land-line telephone,” Miss Arbuthnot explained. “Hand-held devices interfere with learning and development and cause the individual to become depersonalised, obsessed with the tiny screen in front of them instead of the world that exists around them.” She had obviously given this little speech many times before. “For the period of time that you are in my employ your phone will remain in this desk drawer. It will, of course, be returned to you when you leave.”

And I’ll definitely be leaving
, thought Parva,
oh yes, and sooner than you think
. She made a mental note to keep her laptop away from prying eyes.

“There
is no internet signal here.” The headmistress must have known what Parva was thinking. “But if you have any kind of computer with you, you are welcome to use it for the preparation of PowerPoint presentations and Word documents to assist in your lesson planning. If you wish to use it to communicate with the outside world, I am afraid you will have to travel quite a distance to get a signal.”

Parva
could believe that. Here she was in the middle of Wales, surrounded by hills, the only way out a network of roads so minor that even a twenty-mile drive might take the best part of half a day. She suddenly found herself wondering if flashlights and mirrors were forbidden too, just in case it led to a spate of attempts to communicate with someone on the other side of the valley.

“Is
there something wrong?”

Parva
wasn’t aware that she had been smirking, but there was always the chance, and so she assumed the most serious expression she could come up with.

“No,
Miss Arbuthnot.”

The
headmistress pointed at the locked drawer. “In that case I take it you are happy with this arrangement?”

Parva
shrugged. It didn’t look as if she had much of a choice. “I can’t say I am,” she said, “but I’ll comply if that’s what’s needed for me to work here.”

Miss
Arbuthnot gave her a triumphant smile. “Indeed it is, Miss Corcoran. I’m very pleased to see you’ve decided to play ball.” She got to her feet. “If you’d like to come with me I’ll show you around, get you settled in, and of course introduce you to the girls. I can tell you’re dying to meet them.”

5

Miss Arbuthnot allowed Parva to get her bags from her car (and gave the gleaming black Mini a disapproving look as she did so) before instructing her to leave them in the headmistress’s study while they toured the school. Parva deliberately left her laptop locked in the car boot, just in case the old lady had any more tricks up her sleeve and she found herself without her luggage as well as her phone. She could just about manage without the mobile, but without her computer, and the contact numbers she’d backed up on it, she would be totally lost. As she dragged her suitcase away from the car she tried to dismiss thoughts of the Mini not being there when she returned for it.

For God’s sake, girl
, she thought,
it’s a school, not some sort of cult commune
.

At
least, she hoped it wasn’t.

“We
start the day with school assembly,” said the headmistress, leading Parva away from her office and down a narrow path that corkscrewed its way between high hedgerows.

“Is
the assembly hall in the main building?” Parva asked, looking around her.

“Goodness
me, no,” came the reply. “We don’t have a hall.”

As
they emerged into the open Parva realised why as, with some degree of pride, Miss Arbuthnot gestured to the robust, medieval-looking building complete with stained glass windows and bell tower in front of them.

“We
have a chapel.”

“Striking.”
To Parva it looked anything but. In fact it more resembled the kind of thing you might find on some windswept mountain than in a posh girls’ school.

“Would
you like to take a look inside?”

Absolutely not.
“Of course.” Parva gave the woman a big smile and led the way to the heavy oak door.

It
was locked.

“You
can never be too careful,” said the head mistress, producing a heavy iron key from somewhere about her person and rattling it into the gaping keyhole. It took a little bit of effort but eventually, after a grinding of tumblers that suggested the lock could do with a decent oiling, the door creaked open.

The
inside was quite a revelation.

Parva
had expected dusty carpets, mouldering hymnbooks and dusty hassocks, but instead the building she walked into was spotless and decorated to the point of decadence. The pews had been fashioned from a deep mahogany that had been given just the right delicate layer of varnish. The lectern looked as if it must have cost a fortune, and the two manual organ was obviously a recent, and expensive, addition.

‘This
chapel has been here for at least five hundred years.” Miss Arbuthnot was making her way down the aisle as she spoke, her voice echoing around them both in a way that was obviously pleasurable for her. “Of course back then there weren’t any other buildings close by. It was the religious centre for the local farming community. People would come from miles around to attend services. The vestry has records going back as far as the time of Oliver Cromwell, but sadly before then we’re quite in the dark about local habits.”

This
was obviously another well-rehearsed lecture. Parva allowed the woman to carry on while she did her best to take in as much as she could of what she saw.

“Did
you buy this, then?” she asked.

Miss
Arbuthnot gave her a black look, clearly unhappy about having been interrupted. “I did not buy it,” she said. “My great-grandfather inherited the land, and decided to build a school here. An exclusive school that would cater to the needs of those whom he thought would most benefit from the education it would have to offer.”

You mean the children of the rich landowners who were his
friends
, Parva thought, picking up a hymnbook and flicking idly through the pages.

“He
supervised the construction of the buildings around the main quad. For many years that was enough, but any school with a reputation like St Miranda’s is bound to become a victim of its own success and so in the 1980s a number of extra buildings were added to the campus. That was when I took over, and when I decided to implement the policy that exists here to this day.”

“You
mean no mobile phones?”

“There
weren’t mobile phones back then, my dear,” Miss Arbuthnot hissed. “No. What I mean is that, with the school at the very height of its success, I would endeavour to keep it that way forever, frozen in time, using teaching methods that would not change, never mind what the so-called educationalists might say. And then, yes, as time went on I realised that a restriction on certain modern technologies like mobile phones might be a good idea, and my ideas were met with encouragement by parents keen for their girls to enjoy a good old fashioned education.”

You
mean they didn’t want to be bothered by their little darlings. Parva kept a respectful distance behind the headmistress as she made her way to the pulpit. For a moment Parva thought she was going to ascend the steps but instead she turned to address the empty room.

“I
am very proud of what I have been able to achieve here over the last thirty years,” she said. “The school’s academic and sporting record has been exemplary. Which is why I have been doubly upset by recent events at this institution, events that I feel I must detail while we are alone like this.” Miss Arbuthnot paused then, clearly in a state of some distress. “Two weeks ago, Miss Corcoran, something quite, quite terrible took place, the kind of thing one only tends to read about in the most reprehensible of the newspapers. Fortunately, the relationships we are able to enjoy with certain bodies meant that common journalists were dissuaded from getting too near. Miss Corcoran, I don’t really know how to tell you about what happened,” she took a deep breath, “but I must, because I would hate you to hear it from the girls and find yourself distressed beyond all measure during one of your lessons. Two weeks ago...” She seemed to gird herself.

Parva
took a step towards her. “It’s all right, Miss Arbuthnot, only tell me what you need to.”

The
headmistress laid a hand on Parva’s forearm. “It’s just that the whole business was so horrifying that I...”

Parva
patted her arm, sympathising with the woman while at the same time realising she needed to get as much information out of her as possible while she seemed willing to talk. There was nothing for it but to give her a little push.

“Did
something happen to one of the girls?”

“Four
of them!” the headmistress finally blurted out. “Four of them found dead in one of the rooms. A suicide pact the note said, a suicide pact between sisters who wanted to contact the afterlife. Oh, and all that terrible stuff strewn around the bodies.”

This
was more than Parva had been expecting. In Willoughby’s briefing there had been no mention of a note or objects found at the scene.

“What
kind of things do you mean?” Parva asked as gently as possible.

“Symbols,
that Ouija board thing, the candles...filthy black candles. I never could have imagined such sweet innocent girls were into such horrors.”

“Are
you trying to say that four girls killed themselves here as part of some kind of ritual?” Parva was finding it difficult to sound sufficiently shocked and press on with questions at the same time.

“Oh
my dear, I hope I haven’t made you think you’ve come to a house of horrors. I did my best to conceal the worst of it - took away all those horrid accoutrements, burned the letter, made sure they looked decent before I phoned the police.”

Parva
patted her arm again. “I’m sure you were only doing what you thought was best,” she said. “So the police don’t know any of that?”

Miss
Arbuthnot shook her head. “No one else knows,” she said. “I was taking my Sunday morning constitutional when I saw their light on and thought I’d better check on them. Most of the girls had gone home for the half term week. Those that stay behind tend to be from abroad. I never expected to discover such...” She gave Parva an imploring look. “It still haunts me,” she said. “I’m sorry I’ve burdened you with all this but I needed to talk to someone.”

“Do
the other teachers know?” Parva asked.

“Only
that four girls committed suicide here. Everyone knows that - including all the girls. But all that horrid black magic stuff - I’ve not told anyone that before now.”

“Well
if you’d rather I didn’t pass it on,” said Parva, “the secret is safe with me.”

“Oh
thank you,” Miss Arbuthnot sniffed. “It’s been difficult enough keeping things quiet as it is. If word of this got out I can see all the parents dragging their children away from here.”

“Do
the parents know about the deaths?” Surely the teachers and pupils couldn’t have been sworn to secrecy? And even if they had, there certainly wasn’t much Parva had been able to keep from her mother at that age.

To
Parva’s surprise, the headmistress nodded. “They understand,” she said. “Suicide is a terrible thing, a tragedy, but it’s not something that puts their own children at risk. The girls involved had formed their little group for some time, and it was well known amongst both pupils and staff that they sometimes got up to rather lively behaviour.” Parva wanted to ask what but knew it would be overstepping the mark at this stage. It could wait until later. Perhaps one of her own students might let something slip.

“Anyway,
I contacted each set of parents individually, explained the situation to them, and to a person they said they were happy to maintain their children as students at St Miranda’s. Most of them offered help, and from a powerful few of them I was grateful to receive it.”

Parva
said nothing. Little did Miss Arbuthnot know that Parva was there because of the suspicions of at least one of the parents of the dead girls.

“You
mean in suppressing the story?”

The
head mistress nodded, wiping the corner of her eye with a tissue, even though there was no trace of tears. For a fleeting moment Parva wondered if this might be an elaborate show put on just for her and that, perhaps, this wily old lady was already onto her. She wasn’t ready to dismiss it out of hand and filed it away for future reference.

“Is
there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

The
old lady looked around her and tucked away her handkerchief. “No,” she replied. “Only that this chapel is a beautiful old building, and that St Miranda’s is a beautiful old school. I have given my life to it and I hope, my dear, that you are happy here, for however short a time you may be in residence.”

Was
that a threat? It was difficult to tell from the woman’s tone, and her face had resumed the stern mask with which she had greeted Parva in her office.

“I’m
sure I shall be very happy here,” said Parva, putting on her best smile. “Are you going to show me the rest of the college?”

The
headmistress looked at her watch. “Only very briefly,” she said. “I hadn’t realised the time. I’ll show you where your first lesson will be at two o’clock, and the residence block where I’ve arranged for you to have a room, then I’m afraid I shall have to leave you.”

Parva
looked at her own watch. It was already 1.30pm. “Two o’clock?” she said with raised eyebrows.

“Yes
indeed.” Miss Arbuthnot was striding towards the door, the almost-weeping old lady of a moment ago completely vanished. “There are a group of young ladies who can’t wait to hear about the kidneys.”

The
headmistress was already outside as Parva struggled to keep up, wondering why there was such an urgency that she start as soon as she arrived. She hoped she could remember something about renal physiology so she wouldn’t look entirely stupid.

Mind
you, she thought, it could have been worse - she might have had to wing it with photosynthesis.