Read Murder Has No Class Online
Authors: Rebecca Kent
Murder Has No Class (6 page)
“He left it to me to decide.”
Felicity sniffed. “That’s a first.” She got up and thrust the newspaper at Meredith. “Well, there. Take a look at the account for yourself. It gives a clear picture of what to expect come Saturday.”
Reluctantly, Meredith put down her knitting and took the newspaper from her. Opening it, she scanned the lines of the article. Even given the reporter’s probable exaggeration for sensation’s sake, the account did seem rather alarming.
At least a hundred or so men were expected at the pub, all of them presumably indulging in beer and spirits, free to roam the village once their turn at the dartboard had been accomplished.
A vision of her vulnerable students surrounded by a crowd of leering drunks made her shiver. “Very well, we will put the village off limits for the duration of the dart match.”
“Which will be the entire day and evening,” Felicity confirmed.
Meredith sighed. “Yes, I suppose. I’ll make the announcement at assembly tomorrow morning.”
Sylvia nodded, as if it were her idea. “I’m glad to hear it. Is there anything else on the agenda?”
Meredith shook her head. “I suppose we should make our way to the dining room. The bell will ring for the midday meal any moment now.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me?” Sylvia got up and smoothed the folds of her navy skirt. “I have something I need to do before sitting down to eat.”
“By all means.”
Felicity watched the young teacher leave, her brow furrowed with irritation. She waited for the door to close, then stuck her finger up under her chin. “I have something I need to do,” she said, copying Sylvia’s lisp as she attempted to imitate her high-pitched voice. “Bosh, woman. Why can’t she just say that she has to pay a visit to the lavatory?”
Essie exploded with laughter. “Felicity! How do you know that?”
“She was fidgeting on the settee with one eye on the clock. Simple deduction, my dear Watson.”
Shaking her head, Meredith was about to close the newspaper when a photograph caught her eye. The face seemed familiar, and she took a closer look. Recognizing the features, she uttered a sharp cry and let go of the newspaper. It fluttered to the floor, lying open at her feet. She looked up to see both women staring at her.
“Whatever is it?” Essie cried, leaning forward to get a look at the pages.
Felicity just sat there, her eyebrows raised in question.
“The photograph,” Meredith said, pointing down at the newspaper. “That man there. I recognize him. It’s my angry ghost!”
Essie gasped and drew back, but Felicity dived forward and snatched up the newspaper.
“His name is Lord James Stalham,” she announced, after reading through the lines of newsprint.
Essie gasped again. “You have an aristocrat visiting you, Meredith. How splendid!”
“Not so splendid.” Felicity looked up. “The reason his picture is in the paper is because the country estate, owned by his father, is up for sale. Only a skeleton staff remain in the house until it is sold.”
“Oh, dear.” Essie clasped her hands to her chest. “How sad. His father must have been devastated by his son’s death and put the country home up for sale because he couldn’t bear to live with the memories.”
“Not exactly.” Felicity closed the pages of the newspaper. “Stalham’s father was found shot to death in the library of the home last winter. Lord Stalham, your angry ghost, Meredith, was hanged a week ago for the murder.”
Shock took Meredith’s breath away. Before she could recover, the clanging of a bell echoed softly in the corridor outside.
Felicity folded the newspaper and stood. “You must remember Lord Stalham’s murder, Meredith. It was in the paper. Remember, we all wondered at the time if his ghost would visit you.”
“I remember,” Meredith said faintly. She got to her feet, feeling a trifle unsteady. “I don’t remember anything about a trial, though.”
“That’s because it was held in London.” Felicity handed her the newspaper. “If there had been any mention of it at all in the
Witcheston Post
, it would most likely have been a small paragraph tucked away somewhere. Until now, of course. There appears to be a full account of the trial in here.”
Witcheston Post
, it would most likely have been a small paragraph tucked away somewhere. Until now, of course. There appears to be a full account of the trial in here.”
Meredith took the newspaper and tucked it under her arm. She would read it later, she decided, when she had time to absorb it. “Well, we had better get along to the dining room. Sylvia will be wondering what has become of us.”
“What will you do if that dreadful ghost comes back?” Essie’s eyes glistened with tears. “What a ghastly man—to kill his own father. How utterly beastly.”
“I will turn him away,” Meredith said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Eventually he will get tired of bothering me and will go and find someone else to pester.”
Essie seemed less than comforted, but she followed Felicity out into the hall without another word. Meredith followed more slowly, greatly disturbed by what she had learned. She prayed that the ghost would not return, for she had not the slightest idea how to behave toward him.
The idea of a murderer in her bedroom, even a dead one, terrified her. She had read somewhere that ghosts cannot physically hurt anyone, yet that did little to reassure her.
She had felt the force of the ghost’s fury the night before, and the intensity of it still haunted her.
She wished she knew more about the spirit world, and exactly how much power a ghost could possess. It might have helped prepare her for any more unearthly visits. For she had no doubt at all that this particular ghost fully intended to appear again, and had no intention of leaving her alone until she had done its bidding.
Chapter 5
Grace shivered as she crept along the corridor behind Olivia. Most of the coal fires had been allowed to die down, and a cold draft whisked around her ankles.
They were in the upstairs corridor, forbidden to them after hours. If they were seen, Grace could well imagine Mona Fingle’s temper. The housekeeper’s real name was Monica, but Olivia had named her Mona because she was always moaning and complaining about the work they did.
Twice already, she’d come close to throwing them out. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Wilkins, both Grace and Olivia would be out of a job by now. Grace pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She didn’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t work at Bellehaven House. She had no parents. They had both died of consumption.
She had two aunts and a grandmother, all living up north, but she had no desire to go and live with any of them. She knew what it would be—she’d be doing all the housework with no money of her own, having to prove over and over how grateful she was to them for taking her in. No, thank you.
She could always work in London. There were plenty of jobs for housemaids up there. But she’d heard so many stories of horrible things happening to young girls in the city. She could end up in a household where they treated her like dirt. Not like here at Bellehaven, where everyone was kind to her. Everyone except Mona Fingle, that was.
Thinking of Mona made her feel nervous again. She scuttled forward, needing to be closer to Olivia, but just at that moment Olivia stopped, and she bumped into her. There was an awful thud as Olivia’s head banged against the door.
“Ouch!” Her yell echoed down the hallway, and Grace winced, waiting for the tirade she knew was coming. Before Olivia could deliver it, however, the door flew open.
Sophie Westchester stood in the doorway and stared in astonishment at the two maids. “What on earth are you two doing here? Don’t you know you’re not allowed up here after lights out?”
“Shush!” Olivia glared at Grace, then looked down the hallway, where other doors had opened and curious heads were peeking out. “Now look what you’ve done,” she muttered.
“Sorry.” Grace gave Sophie a nervous smile. “I sort of bumped into her.”
Olivia shook her head, then beckoned to the other girls with a wave of her hand. “Come and listen to this,” she called out softly. “I’ve got something exciting to tell you all.”
Some of the students withdrew their heads and closed the doors, but a few of them ventured out into the corridor, huddling together and looking a little fearful.
Quickly Olivia explained about her protest, while Grace stared down the corridor for any sign of an approaching adult.
“What if we get caught?” one of the girls demanded.
“We won’t get caught. There’s only one bobby and he’ll be busy watching over the dancing on the green.”
A chorus of voices answered Olivia, while others hissed and shushed to silence them. The whispered arguments went back and forth, and all the time Grace kept her gaze on the end of the corridor.
Finally, some of the pupils agreed to meet Olivia in front of the Dog and Duck on Saturday. “If we get into trouble, mind you,” Sophie said, wagging her finger at Olivia, “you’ll be the one who takes the blame.”
“We won’t—” Olivia began, but at that moment Grace thought she saw movement at the top of the stairs.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered urgently.
The girls gasped and fled for their rooms, while Sophie grabbed Olivia’s arm. “Quick. In here!” She pulled the maid inside the room and beckoned to Grace. “Hurry up!”
Grace tumbled inside the room, followed by three other students, and the door slammed shut behind them.
“Get under a bed,” Sophie ordered, “and don’t come out until I tell you.”
Grace needed no further argument. She wriggled under the bed, and squeezed over as close as she could get to the wall.
Across the room she saw Olivia roll under another bed, and one of the students sat down on the edge of it.
Moments later a loud rapping on the door made Grace jump.
From where she lay she could see just the bottom part of the door, but she recognized the pointed toes and thick laces of Mona’s black shoes.
Heart pounding, she hunched even closer to the wall and drew her knees up to her chin. She heard Sophie explain that one of the girls thought she had seen a mouse in the corridor and they were out there looking for it.
Grace was really impressed, certain she could never think that quickly. Olivia could always think of an answer, but when faced with awkward questions and potential for trouble, Grace invariably became tongue-tied.
It seemed ages while she stared at the pointed shoes, until finally, they backed away and the door closed again. Even so, she waited until she saw Olivia climb out from under her bed before venturing out herself.
After exchanging promises to meet on Saturday, the two maids left the room and hurried down the corridor. It seemed they’d had yet another narrow escape. How many more, Grace thought, as she followed Olivia back down the stairs, before their luck ran out and she’d be out of work? It seemed that day drew closer by the minute.
Meredith opened her eyes and sat up, clutching the bed-covers under her chin. She had been dreaming of floating down the river in a canoe. All had seemed tranquil and pleasant, until the waters had begun to move faster, churning and heaving the boat about, while ahead a cascade of ice and snow awaited her.
Still shivering, Meredith blinked to rid herself of the nightmare. Then, as she was about to settle down again, a corner of the room began to glow.
“No,” she whispered. “Go away. I don’t want to see you.”
The glow thickened to a mist, angry red in the center fading to pink at the edges.
Meredith eyed the door, considering the idea of simply leaving the room, but before she could make a decision, the bad-tempered ghost had appeared before her. He seemed to be mouthing words at her, none of which she could understand. For a moment, that intrigued her.
As a child, in order to learn what grownups were talking about after she’d been banished from their presence, she had learned to read lips.
What she had subsequently learned from the feat was that it doesn’t always pay to know what others are saying about you. It was a trick that she had found useful in later life, however, especially in her duties as headmistress.
She had become quite adept at it. In which case, it surprised her that she was unable to read the lips of the ghost, which she could otherwise see quite plainly. Her powers, such as they were, had not improved since her last encounter with an apparition.
The fact that she couldn’t understand him seemed to agitate the ghost even more. His face grew distorted, and his eyes appeared to flash fire as he gestured with his hand.
Meredith drew back, wishing she had something else to throw at him. It had seemed to work the night before. The broken clock, however, had been given to Reggie, the maintenance man, to repair, and the only other object on her bedside table was the oil lamp, which she had purposefully left lit before falling asleep earlier. Just in case the ghost should return.
Staring at it now, she mustered up her courage. Using her sternest of voices, she glared at him. “I know who you are, Lord Stalham, and I refuse to help you. No matter what you do or say.” Very brave of her, she thought, considering she had no idea what powers he possessed.
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