Cat Among the Pigeons (15 page)

“Miss Bulstrode's not here today. This is Miss Chadwick speaking.”

“Oh, it's about one of your pupils. I am speaking from Claridge's, the Emir Ibrahim's suite.”

“Oh yes? You mean about Shaista?”

“Yes. The Emir is rather annoyed at not having got a message of any kind.”

“A message? Why should he get a message?”

“Well, to say that Shaista couldn't come, or wasn't coming.”

“Wasn't coming! Do you mean to say she hasn't arrived?”

“No, no, she's certainly not arrived. Did she leave Meadowbank then?”

“Yes. A car came for her this morning—oh, about half past eleven I should think, and she drove off.”

“That's extraordinary because there's no sign of her here … I'd better ring up the firm that supplies the Emir's cars.”

“Oh dear,” said Miss Chadwick, “I do hope there hasn't been an accident.”

“Oh, don't let's assume the worst,” said the young man cheer
fully. “I think you'd have heard, you know, if there'd been an accident. Or we would. I shouldn't worry if I were you.”

But Miss Chadwick did worry.

“It seems to me very odd,” she said.

“I suppose—” the young man hesitated.

“Yes?” said Miss Chadwick.

“Well, it's not quite the sort of thing I want to suggest to the Emir, but just between you and me there's no—er—well, no boyfriend hanging about, is there?”

“Certainly not,” said Miss Chadwick with dignity.

“No, no, well I didn't think there would be, but, well one never knows with girls, does one? You'd be surprised at some of the things I've run into.”

“I can assure you,” said Miss Chadwick with dignity, “that anything of that kind is quite impossible.”

But was it impossible? Did one ever know with girls?

She replaced the receiver and rather unwillingly went in search of Miss Vansittart. There was no reason to believe that Miss Vansittart would be any better able to deal with the situation than she herself but she felt the need of consulting with someone. Miss Vansittart said at once,

“The second car?”

They looked at each other.

“Do you think,” said Chaddy slowly, “that we ought to report this to the police?”

“Not to the
police,
” said Eleanor Vansittart in a shocked voice.

“She did say, you know,” said Chaddy, “that somebody might try to kidnap her.”

“Kidnap her? Nonsense!” said Miss Vansittart sharply.

“You don't think—” Miss Chadwick was persistent.

“Miss Bulstrode left me in charge here,” said Eleanor Vansittart, “and I shall certainly not sanction anything of the kind. We don't want anymore trouble here with the police.”

Miss Chadwick looked at her without affection. She thought Miss Vansittart was being shortsighted and foolish. She went back into the house and put through a call to the Duchess of Welsham's house. Unfortunately everyone was out.

I

M
iss Chadwick was restless. She turned to and fro in her bed counting sheep, and employing other time-honoured methods of invoking sleep. In vain.

At eight o'clock, when Shaista had not returned, and there had been no news of her, Miss Chadwick had taken matters into her own hands and rung up Inspector Kelsey. She was relieved to find that he did not take the matter too seriously. She could leave it all to him, he assured her. It would be an easy matter to check up on a possible accident. After that, he would get in touch with London. Everything would be done that was necessary. Perhaps the girl herself was playing truant. He advised Miss Chadwick to say as little as possible at the school. Let it be thought that Shaista was staying the night with her uncle at Claridge's.

“The last thing you want, or that Miss Bulstrode would want, is anymore publicity,” said Kelsey. “It's most unlikely that the girl has been kidnapped. So don't worry, Miss Chadwick. Leave it all to us.”

But Miss Chadwick did worry.

Lying in bed, sleepless, her mind went from possible kidnapping back to murder.

Murder at Meadowbank. It was terrible! Unbelievable!
Meadowbank.
Miss Chadwick loved Meadowbank. She loved it, perhaps, even more than Miss Bulstrode did, though in a somewhat different way. It had been such a risky, gallant enterprise. Following Miss Bulstrode faithfully into the hazardous undertaking, she had endured panic more than once. Supposing the whole thing should fail. They hadn't really had much capital. If they did not succeed—if their backing was withdrawn—Miss Chadwick had an anxious mind and could always tabulate innumerable ifs. Miss Bulstrode had enjoyed the adventure, the hazard of it all, but Chaddy had not. Sometimes, in an agony of apprehension, she had pleaded for Meadowbank to be run on more conventional lines. It would be
safer,
she urged. But Miss Bulstrode had been uninterested in safety. She had her vision of what a school should be and she had pursued it unafraid. And she had been justified in her audacity. But oh, the relief to Chaddy when success was a
fait accompli.
When Meadowbank was established, safely established, as a great English institution. It was then that her love for Meadowbank had flowed most fully. Doubts, fears, anxieties, all slipped from her. Peace and prosperity had come. She basked in the prosperity of Meadowbank like a purring tabby cat.

She had been quite upset when Miss Bulstrode had first begun to talk of retirement. Retire
now
—when everything was set fair? What madness! Miss Bulstrode talked of travel, of all the things in the world to see. Chaddy was unimpressed. Nothing, anywhere, could be half as good as Meadowbank! It had seemed to
her that nothing could affect the well-being of Meadowbank—But now—Murder!

Such an ugly violent word—coming in from the outside world like an ill-mannered storm wind. Murder—a word associated by Miss Chadwick only with delinquent boys with flick knives, or evil-minded doctors poisoning their wives. But murder here—at a school—and not any school—at Meadowbank. Incredible.

Really, Miss Springer—poor Miss Springer, naturally it wasn't her
fault
—but, illogically, Chaddy felt that it must have been her fault in some way. She didn't know the traditions of Meadowbank. A tactless woman. She must in some way have invited murder. Miss Chadwick rolled over, turned her pillow, said “I mustn't go on thinking of it all. Perhaps I had better get up and take some aspirin. I'll just try counting to fifty….”

Before she had got to fifty, her mind was off again on the same track. Worrying. Would all this—and perhaps kidnapping too—get into the papers? Would parents, reading, hasten to take their daughters away….

Oh dear, she
must
calm down and go to sleep. What time was it? She switched on her light and looked at her watch—Just after a quarter to one. Just about the time that poor Miss Springer … No, she would
not
think of it anymore. And, how stupid of Miss Springer to have gone off by herself like that without waking up somebody else.

“Oh dear,” said Miss Chadwick. “I'll have to take some aspirin.”

She got out of bed and went over to the washstand. She took two aspirins with a drink of water. On her way back, she pulled aside the curtain of the window and peered out. She did so to reassure herself more than for any other reason. She wanted to feel that
of course there would never again be a light in the Sports Pavilion in the middle of the night.

But there was.

In a minute Chaddy had leapt to action. She thrust her feet into stout shoes, pulled on a thick coat, picked up her electric torch and rushed out of her room and down the stairs. She had blamed Miss Springer for not obtaining support before going out to investigate, but it never occurred to her to do so. She was only eager to get out to the Pavilion and find out who the intruder was. She did pause to pick up a weapon—not perhaps a very good one, but a weapon of kinds, and then she was out of the side door and following quickly along the path through the shrubbery. She was out of breath, but completely resolute. Only when she got at last to the door, did she slacken up and take care to move softly. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it further open and looked in….

II

At about the time when Miss Chadwick was rising from bed in search of aspirin, Ann Shapland, looking very attractive in a black dance frock, was sitting at a table in Le Nid Sauvage eating Supreme of Chicken and smiling at the young man opposite her. Dear Dennis, thought Ann to herself, always so exactly the same. It is what I simply couldn't bear if I married him. He
is
rather a pet, all the same. Aloud she remarked:

“What fun this is, Dennis. Such a glorious
change.
”

“How is the new job?” said Dennis.

“Well, actually, I'm rather enjoying it.”

“Doesn't seem to me quite your sort of thing.”

Ann laughed. “I'd be hard put to it to say what is my sort of thing. I like variety, Dennis.”

“I never can see why you gave up your job with old Sir Mervyn Todhunter.”

“Well, chiefly because of Sir Mervyn Todhunter. The attention he bestowed on me was beginning to annoy his wife. And it's part of my policy never to annoy wives. They can do you a lot of harm, you know.”

“Jealous cats,” said Dennis.

“Oh no, not really,” said Ann. “I'm rather on the wives' side. Anyway I liked Lady Todhunter much better than old Mervyn. Why are you surprised at my present job?”

“Oh, a school. You're not scholastically minded at all, I should have said.”

“I'd hate to
teach
in a school. I'd hate to be penned up. Herded with a lot of women. But the work as the secretary of a school like Meadowbank is rather fun. It really is a unique place, you know. And Miss Bulstrode's unique. She's really something, I can tell you. Her steel-grey eye goes through you and sees your innermost secrets. And she keeps you on your toes. I'd hate to make a mistake in any letters I'd taken down for her. Oh yes, she's certainly something.”

“I wish you'd get tired of all these jobs,” said Dennis. “It's quite time, you know, Ann, that you stopped all this racketing about with jobs here and jobs there and—and settled down.”

“You are sweet, Dennis,” said Ann in a noncommittal manner.

“We could have quite fun, you know,” said Dennis.

“I daresay,” said Ann, “but I'm not ready yet. And anyway, you know, there's my mamma.”

“Yes, I was—going to talk to you about that.”

“About my mamma? What were you going to say?”

“Well, Ann, you know I think you're wonderful. The way you get an interesting job and then you chuck it all up and go home to her.”

“Well, I have to now and again when she gets a really bad attack.”

“I know. As I say, I think it's wonderful of you. But all the same there are places, you know, very good places nowadays where—where people like your mother are well looked after and all that sort of thing. Not really loony bins.”

“And which cost the earth,” said Ann.

“No, no, not necessarily. Why, even under the Health Scheme—”

A bitter note crept into Ann's voice. “Yes, I daresay it will come to that one day. But in the meantime I've got a nice old pussy who lives with Mother and who can cope normally. Mother is quite reasonable most of the time—And when she—isn't, I come back and lend a hand.”

“She's—she isn't—she's never—?”

“Are you going to say violent, Dennis? You've got an extraordinarily lurid imagination. No. My dear mamma is
never
violent. She just gets fuddled. She forgets where she is and who she is and wants to go for long walks, and then as like as not she'll jump into a train or a bus and take off somewhere and—well, it's all very difficult, you see. Sometimes it's too much for one person to cope with. But she's quite happy, even when she
is
fuddled. And sometimes quite funny about it. I remember her saying: ‘Ann, darling, it really is very embarrassing. I knew I was going to Tibet and there I was
sitting in that hotel in Dover with no idea how to get there. Then I thought why was I going to Tibet? And I thought I'd better come home. Then I couldn't remember how long ago it was when I left home. It makes it very embarrassing, dear, when you can't quite remember things.' Mummy was really very funny over it all, you know. I mean she quite sees the humorous side herself.”

“I've never actually met her,” Dennis began.

“I don't encourage people to meet her,” said Ann. “That's the one thing I think you
can
do for your people. Protect them from—well, curiosity and pity.”

“It's not curiosity, Ann.”

“No, I don't think it would be that with you. But it would be pity. I don't want that.”

“I can see what you mean.”

“But if you think I mind giving up jobs from time to time and going home for an indefinite period, I don't,” said Ann. “I never meant to get embroiled in anything too deeply. Not even when I took my first post after my secretarial training. I thought the thing was to get really good at the job. Then if you're really good you can pick and choose your posts. You see different places and you see different kinds of life. At the moment I'm seeing school life. The best school in England seen from within! I shall stay there, I expect, about a year and a half.”

“You never really get caught up in things, do you, Ann?”

“No,” said Ann thoughtfully, “I don't think I do. I think I'm one of those people who is a born observer. More like a commentator on the radio.”

“You're so detached,” said Dennis gloomily. “You don't really care about anything or anyone.”

“I expect I shall some day,” said Ann encouragingly.

“I do understand more or less how you're thinking and feeling.”

“I doubt it,” said Ann.

“Anyway, I don't think you'll last a year. You'll get fed up with all those women,” said Dennis.

“There's a very good-looking gardener,” said Ann. She laughed when she saw Dennis's expression. “Cheer up, I'm only trying to make you jealous.”

“What's this about one of the mistresses having been killed?”

“Oh, that.” Ann's face became serious and thoughtful.

“That's odd, Dennis. Very odd indeed. It was the Games Mistress. You know the type. I-am-a-plain-Games Mistress. I think there's a lot more behind it than has come out yet.”

“Well, don't you get mixed up in anything unpleasant.”

“That's easy to say. I've never had any chance at displaying my talents as a sleuth. I think I
might
be rather good at it.”

“Now, Ann.”

“Darling, I'm not going to trail dangerous criminals. I'm just going to—well, make a few logical deductions. Why and who. And what for? That sort of thing. I've come across one piece of information that's rather interesting.”

“Ann!”

“Don't look so agonized. Only it doesn't seem to link up with anything,” said Ann thoughtfully. “Up to a point it all fits in very well. And then, suddenly, it doesn't.” She added cheerfully, “Perhaps there'll be a second murder, and that will clarify things a little.”

It was at exactly that moment that Miss Chadwick pushed open the Sports Pavilion door.