Victoria Holt (27 page)

Daisy looked at me quizzically, but she did not probe. I think she had some idea that if she did, something unpleasant might emerge and wisely she left it alone.

I was excused lessons for a day.

“That sort of thing is a bit of a shock,” said Daisy.

So I lay on my bed alone in my room and went over everything that had happened. The man was a monster, that much was clear. I must never be alone with him again. I had saved myself from what was called “a fate worse than death.” The phrase had always made me laugh but I was a little more sober about it now. My imagination would not give me any rest. I kept thinking of what would have happened if I had not put my hands through the glass. I dreaded that happening…or did I?

What had he said about a prim schoolmistress? Was I one? I supposed I was to some extent. My post made me so and I should get more so every day. I saw myself years ahead—white-haired, dignified like Daisy Hetherington…and as efficient. I could be sure of that, even though I did have my foolish moments. Had Daisy ever…?

Alone with my thoughts I could at moments be honest. He was right. There was another woman beneath the schoolmistress. He knew she was there and he had done his best to release her. Yet he had been halted in his determination by the sight of a little blood. There had been a concern, a tenderness…Oh, how foolish. I was trying to make excuses for him.

Stop thinking of him, I admonished myself. And never give him an opportunity again.

It was three days after the incident. My wounds were healing thanks to the prompt treatment I had received and the lotion Mrs. Keel had given me. I felt calmer, getting more in command of myself, telling myself that I had given up to foolish emotions because I had been overwrought.

I saw him now as he was—an arrogant sensual rake who thought any woman who appealed to him was fair game.

Not this one, I said to myself firmly.

I went into the town and called at the post office to buy stamps. Mrs. Baddicombe was serving someone but she looked up with pleasure at the sight of me.

She finished serving and waited until the bell over the shop door rang as the customer left.

“Well, Miss Grant, it is nice to see ’ee. How’s the hands? I heard about your accident. Nasty, wasn’t it?”

I flushed slightly. Did the woman know everything?

“They’re getting better,” I said. “It wasn’t very much.”

“And is all well with the young ladies? Have you heard the news?”

“News? What news?”

“She be gone…disappeared…gone clean away.”

“Who would that be?”

“That Mrs. Martindale, of course.”

“Where has she gone?”

“That’s what we’d like to know.”

“I believe she pays frequent visits to London.”

“Well, this time she be gone for good and all.”

“How do you know?”

“The house be all shut up and Mrs. Keel at the Hall has sent servants down to clean it up. They do say Gerald Coverdale be going to move in. That house of his ain’t big enough now he be married with two children. They say he have had his eyes on it for some time. It can only mean she’s gone for good.”

“But how can you be
sure
?”

“I had her what does for the Coverdales in here only this morning. She says Sir Jason have told ’em they can move in when they like. I do wonder what’s happened to
her
…that Mrs. Martindale.”

“I don’t think she can have gone off just like that.”

Mrs. Baddicombe lifted her shoulders. “There’s no knowing. She was got rid of fast.”

There was speculation in Mrs. Baddicombe’s inquisitive little eyes and I felt I could not remain in her shop. I wanted to get away to think about what she had said. What was she hinting?

I said quietly and quickly: “I expect we shall know in due course. I just wanted some stamps, please, Mrs. Baddicombe. I have to get back quickly.”

I came out into the sunshine. A sudden fear had seized me. Why? Surely if Marcia Martindale wants to leave in a hurry, there was nothing in that to arouse my concern.

***

Miss Hetherington called a conference to discuss what she grandiloquently called “the Pageant.” She reminded us all that time was short and it would be most effective if it took place on Midsummer’s Eve. That left us about a month for preparation, which was not long, but she did not care for these things to go on too long because they had a way of interfering with schoolwork, as we had seen recently in the case of
Cinderella
.

“We have some costumes,” she said. “Those which have been used in previous pageants, and Sir Jason Verringer has promised to lend us others. Naturally we must have monks…and some of the seniors can take those parts. The smaller girls will look incongruous in the habits. We shall do the usual three-act piece. The beginning leading to the Dissolution; the Elizabethan age and revival; and today with the school. All the girls can take part in singing the school song, etc. If it is warm and fine it will take place out of doors. There will be a full moon, which is ideal. The ruins will make a wonderful setting. I hope and pray it will not be wet. Then it will have to be in the refectory hall or perhaps Sir Jason would offer us the ballroom at the Hall. That is really very suitable but I should have to wait for him to offer. Mr. Crowe, you could get down to work on the singing. There should be quite a lot of that so that everyone can join in. Miss Eccles, you could do the settings, and Miss Grant of course will choose the pieces for recitation and direct the players. Miss Parker, I think for the final part they might do a few attractive physical exercises. We could have a few folk dances, Mr. Bathurst. We must make an interesting evening and if it is a success we could repeat the highlights just before break-up when the parents could come. Not many of them would want to make the journey in midterm even to see their offspring perform. The thing is to get into action without delay. Any questions?”

There were a few and there was no talk of anything else in the school but the Pageant. I threw myself into it with fervor, trying to forget those alarming yet stimulating moments in the Devil’s Den. I knew that he had been on the verge of treating me barbarously and I continued to be amazed that the sight of my injuries had had such an immediate effect on him and brought out the little decency which must be in him. Perhaps he had really believed until then that I had
wanted
him to seize me, to possess me as he had clearly threatened to do. Perhaps I did. Yet, I had made that desperate gesture almost without thinking, for it would have been quite impossible for me to have escaped by the window.

I could not forget it. It was there in my dreams.

And now Marcia Martindale had gone. What could that mean?

He called at the school and was closeted with Miss Hetherington in her study. I was summoned with Eileen Eccles. I avoided looking at him as much as possible. He asked about my hands and I told him they were recovering fast. We talked about the Pageant, and I believe I was quite cool and certainly aloof. He tried to make me look at him and it was always as though he were pleading for forgiveness.

Daisy went to the gates to see him off and during the next days I did not go out riding alone. I was afraid of meeting him and I kept reminding myself that I must never again be alone with him.

I learned from Teresa that the new maid, Elsa, was voted “very jolly” by most of the girls. She was not like the others. She never complained about untidy bedrooms and when she knew that Miss Hetherington was going to make an inspection she had hastened into Charlotte’s room and tidied up. They thought that was “very sporting.”

She seemed to like that foursome particularly and was always gossiping with Fiona, Eugenie and Charlotte. I was surprised, for Charlotte was not the sort to talk to servants but evidently even she had been won over by Elsa.

“I remember her well,” I told Teresa. “She was like that at Schaffenbrucken, a great favorite with the girls.”

It must have been about a week after the departure of Marcia Martindale that the rumors started. Mrs. Baddicombe, I was sure, had kept up her comments on the strangeness of the situation, and when one of the baker’s boys delivering to the post office told her that he had driven his cart past Rooks’ Rest and seen a lady standing at the door with a child in her arms, Mrs. Baddicombe was determined to wring as much drama as she could from the situation.

The lady seen by the boy was probably Mrs. Coverdale, who had a young child, and it was quite natural that she should be at the door holding her youngest child in her arms.

However, Mrs. Baddicombe would not accept such a simple explanation.

“Poor Tom Yeo! He was struck all of a heap. Said his hair stood on end. She was surrounded by a misty light, and she held up her hands as though calling for help.”

“I hope she didn’t drop the child,” I said. “And why didn’t Tom Yeo go to help her or at least see what she wanted?”

“Why, bless you, Miss Grant, have you ever come face to face with that what’s not natural?”

“No,” I admitted.

“If you had, you’d understand. Poor Tom, he just whipped up his horse and got off fast as he could.”

“But the Coverdales have moved in, haven’t they?”

“Not yet they ain’t. Like as not won’t want to now.”

“Mrs. Baddicombe, what are you thinking?”

“Well, she did go rather sudden, didn’t she?”

“Mrs. Baddicombe,” I said seriously. “You ought to be careful.”

She drew herself up and looked at me suspiciously. “Careful? Me? Ain’t I always careful?”

“I’d like to know what you’re hinting.”

“Plain as the nose on your face, Miss. She comes here…and then when she’s not wanted no more…she goes.”

“Not wanted?”

Mrs. Baddicombe smirked. “I read between the lines…” she said.

“And compose the script,” I added angrily.

She looked at me blankly.

“Good day, Mrs. Baddicombe,” I said.

I was trembling as I stood outside the shop. I thought how foolish I had been. I should now be cut off from the information she had to offer; and although half of it might be false, I wanted to hear what was said.

The extent of my foolishness was obvious when Eileen Eccles met me in the calefactory and said: “You’re becoming involved in the dramas of Colby, Cordelia. The Sybil of the post office whispered to me that she thinks you are ‘sweet on’ Sir Jason Verringer, and she has known for some time that he had his eyes on you, and ain’t it a funny thing that poor Mrs. Martindale, who has had her hopes raised for so long, should, as if by magic, disappear when she is not wanted.”

“What nonsense!” I said, flushing scarlet.

“The trouble with that sort of talk is that it often has an element of truth in it. I certainly think the libidinous Sir J. has had his eyes on you, and there is no doubt that at one time Mrs. Martindale was his very good friend. So far so good. On this flimsy foundation Mrs. B. weaves her fantasies. Nonsense, yes, but founded on a certain fact, and that is where the danger lies.”

“You’re warning me,” I said.

She put her head on one side and regarded me with mock seriousness. “You know best what you want to do,” she said. “All I can say is that he has a reputation of sorts. There were rumors about his wife’s death. Now there are rumors about the disappearance, as they call it, of his lady friend. He is rumor-prone, and in our profession rumor can kill careers. I would advise…but I expect that you know as well as I do that advice is something to be given freely and taken only if it suits the recipient’s inclinations. I’d keep away from him, and after the summer holidays it may have died down.”

I looked fondly at Eileen. She was a good friend and a sensible woman. I wanted to tell her that I needed no warning. I had decided never to be alone with Jason Verringer again.

***

Miss Hetherington summoned me to her study. She was so disturbed that she was unable to hide it completely and was slightly less than her usual unruffled self.

“A disgraceful display!” she said, “I’ve sent for you, Cordelia, because Teresa is your special protégée.”

“Teresa! What has she done?”

“She has attacked another girl.”

“Attacked!”

“Indeed yes. Physically…attacked!”

“What girl? Why?”

“The girl in question is Charlotte Mackay. The reason neither of them will say. I expect it is some trivial disagreement, but that a pupil of mine should actually resort to violence…”

“I can’t believe that of Teresa. She is really rather gentle.”

“She has been more assertive of late. She threw a shoe at Charlotte Mackay which hit her above the temple. There is quite a deep cut. The girls were frightened when they saw blood and called Miss Parker who happened to be passing.”

“Where are they now?”

“Charlotte is lying down. Fortunately it missed her eye. Heaven knows what damage might have been done. As it is, thank God, it is only a cut. Theresa is locked in the punishment room. I shall decide her punishment later. But what shocks me is that there could be such behavior here. I only hope the parents don’t hear of it.”

“Shall I go and see Teresa?”

“She is very sullen and refuses to say anything. She sits there with her lips tightly shut and says Charlotte deserves it.”

“Charlotte is, of course, a very aggravating girl. Her character is not the most pleasant and I know that in the past she has teased Teresa a good deal.”

“The girl never attacked her before.”

“No…”

“She’s got a lot more spirit than she had, and I thought that was a good thing. Now…I’m not so sure. Yes, go and see her, and try to find out the reason for this extraordinary and unacceptable conduct.”

I unlocked the door of the punishment room. It was a small cell-like place which had been used for storage by the Lay Brothers. The rather repelling name suited it. There were three desks there and a table and chair. Girls were sent there to learn or write lines, and it was used when an offense was considered more than a venial one.

Teresa was sitting at one of the desks.

“Teresa!” I cried.

She stood up uncertainly and looked at me almost defiantly.