Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

Meredith managed a smile. "Well, I really didn't have time to know him. But I do know what it is to lose a child, which is why I feel compelled to find out who this ghost is and what she wants from me. If I can bring some comfort to her grieving parents, then it is worth a little effort, don't you think?"

Essie hugged her clasped hands to her chest. "Oh, yes, Meredith. You absolutely must! We will help, won't we, Felicity?"

The other woman sighed. "I suppose, if you insist. Though I have to say, Meredith, I think you spend far too much time reading that silly magazine with all those dreadful detective stories in it. No wonder your head is full of murders and clues, and such."

As always, Meredith was quick to defend her favorite reading material. "As I've told you before, Felicity, the
Strand Magazine
is a respected periodical. The adventures of Sherlock Holmes are written by a renowned writer, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was knighted for his work on the Boer War. His literary achievements are legendary."

"Yes, so you've said." Felicity sniffed. "I'm afraid, however, that I can never compare the tawdry prose of those ghastly tales to Shakespeare, Dickens, or Tolstoy."

Knowing she would never win that particular argument, Meredith murmured, "Well, to each his own. I do, however,
thank you both for your support, in spite of your reservations. If I need your help with this little problem of mine, I will certainly let you know."

Essie nodded, though she looked a little worried. "I think I could manage a child ghost. Not quite as frightening as a grown-up one."

"Bosh." Felicity gave her a disparaging look. "One wisp of a ghostly presence and you'll be flat on your back."

"Well, it might not come to that." Meredith smiled at the young teacher. "If I can't understand what this ghost wants, she might very well give up and go away."

Felicity grunted. "For everyone's sake, let us hope she does."

The clanging of the school bell put an end to the conversation, much to Meredith's relief. She hadn't meant to bring up the subject of the ghost. It had been quite a shock to see the wispy form of the child standing in her bedroom.

She had thought that once she had solved Kathleen's murder, her association with ghosts would be at an end. It appeared she was mistaken.

Worse, she was afraid that Felicity's remarks, however frivolous they might have been, could very well come close to the truth, and that she was destined to be champion of a long line of ghosts that would haunt her forever. It was not a comforting thought.

Mrs. Wilkins pulled a batch of scones from the oven
and set them on the kitchen table. The heavenly aroma of fresh-baked dough always made her ravenous, and a rumble in her stomach reminded her it had been several hours since she'd eaten.

She was tempted to pinch one of the scones to satisfy her hunger, but the sight of her two maids whispering together at the sink was enough to take away her appetite.

Whenever Olivia and Grace kept their voices that low, it was a sure sign they were up to something. Past experi
ence had taught Mrs. Wilkins that meant trouble for her as well.

Having to cook for fifty young girls, as well as four teachers and varied staff, was a task that took all her energy and concentration. Being responsible for the antics of maids who didn't know the difference between suitable behavior and acting like street urchins was an added evil she could well do without.

Glaring at their backs, she demanded, "All right, you two, what in blue blazes are you up to now?"

The young girls sprang apart as if someone had lit a firecracker between them. Both of them turned innocent faces toward her.

Grace's soft, fair complexion contrasted vividly with Olivia's dark looks and determined mouth. When separated, Grace was easy to manage, putty in her hands. When she was in cahoots with Olivia, however, the two of them could be impossible.

Olivia, as always, took the lead. "Whatcha mean?" She tossed her head in defiance. "We ain't up to nothing, so there."

Knowing she would get little information from the belligerent ringleader of the two, Mrs. Wilkins turned to Grace.

The younger girl's pale, translucent cheeks tinged with pink as she stared at the cook. "It's nothing, really," she said, and immediately looked down at the floor.

"Nothing." Mrs. Wilkins crossed her arms over her ample bosom. "You're whispering about nothing. It didn't look like nothing to me."

Olivia made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat. "Can't two people have a private conversation around here without being cross-examined by the warden?"

Mrs. Wilkins felt her own cheeks warm with resentment. Although she was the last to admit it, she was really rather fond of the two girls. Having been separated from her own daughters, who lived in London and found the journey back and forth to the Cotswolds too arduous to
consider paying their mother a visit now and then, Mrs. Wilkins had taken the maids under her wing as a surrogate mother.

The fact that the girls, and Olivia in particular, resented her motherly concern was of no consequence to the well-meaning cook. The girls were in her charge, and if she chose to make it personal, so be it. Though she had to admit, at times, they sorely tried her patience.

"Grace?" Mrs. Wilkins gave the girl a hard stare. "You tell me right now what it is you two are planning. That's if you still want to have supper this evening."

Olivia uttered a cry of protest. "You can't send us to bed without supper! I'll tell Mona."

Mrs. Wilkins raised her chin. "Miss Fingle to you, my girl. And the housekeeper's name is Monica, not Mona, as you well know."

"Yeah, well, if she didn't moan about everything under the sun, she wouldn't get called Mona, would she. Anyhow, she wouldn't want us to go to bed hungry."

"And you shan't, as long as you tell me what you two are whispering about." Once more Mrs. Wilkins glared at the other girl. "Grace?"

Grace glanced at Olivia, then murmured, "We was talking about the suffragettes."

Olivia turned on her. "Shut
up
, Grace."

Grace looked as if she were about to cry. "I hate going to bed hungry."

Mrs. Wilkins nodded at her. "Go on, Grace. What about the suffragettes?"

Grace turned beseeching eyes on Olivia.

For a moment the dark-haired maid scowled at her friend, then shrugged. "Oh, all right. It doesn't matter if you know, anyway. We joined the WSPU."

Mrs. Wilkins blinked. "The what?"

Olivia sighed. "The Women's Social and Political Union. We're members now."

"How can you join that? You're not eighteen yet."

"We lied about our age, didn't we."

"Oh, goodness gracious." Mrs. Wilkins covered her face with her hands. "This is going to be nothing but trouble. I can feel it." Secretly she had deep sympathy for the women's movement and their cause, but she'd heard enough about the sacrifices they made not to want her maids involved in their shenanigans.

"It's not going to make any difference to you." Olivia turned around and started running water into the sink. "Unless you want to join, too."

"No, I do not want to join. Nor do I want you two to join. Them suffragettes are dangerous, that's what they are."

"They are trying to get us the vote." Olivia spun around again, waving a wet hand at the cook. "That's why we want to help them. Every woman should be able to vote."

"You wouldn't know what to do with it if you had it!" Mrs. Wilkins was about to expound on why joining the movement was not a good idea when another voice from the doorway interrupted her.

"What in heaven's name is going on here? I can hear you all the way down the hallway." The tall, bony woman stepped into the kitchen, black eyes blazing. Her formidable jaw jutted out at a menacing angle as she demanded in harsh tones, "What is the meaning of this unladylike uproar?"

Mrs. Wilkins stared at the housekeeper in dismay. Miss Fingle was always looking for an excuse to chastise the maids. She felt it her duty to keep them under her thumb, and if they so much as attempted to wriggle out, she came down on them like the wrath of God.

Her punishments were harsh, and had lost Bellehaven many a good maid in the past. Mrs. Wilkins was of the opinion that they would all be a good deal better off if Miss Fingle were the one to depart, but since it was not her place to say so, she held her tongue on that subject.

Since neither Olivia nor Grace, however, seemed inclined to answer the irate housekeeper, it befell Mrs. Wilkins to speak up on this occasion. "We were having a friendly discussion, Miss Fingle," she said with a note of
respect she certainly didn't feel. "I am very sorry if we disturbed you. I'll see that it doesn't happen again."

"Please do so." Miss Fingle sniffed, no doubt detecting the fragrance of newly baked scones. "In fact, it would be better to cut out conversation altogether while you are preparing the evening meal. After all, there can't possibly be anything of such importance to say that it can't wait until after supper."

"Yes, Miss Fingle." Mrs. Wilkins held her breath as the housekeeper's eagle stare roamed the kitchen in search of any minor infraction she could pounce upon as a parting comment.

Finding none, she sniffed again, sent a longing glance at the tray of scones, then swung through the door.

She could barely have moved out of earshot before Olivia exploded with laughter, echoed somewhat more hesitantly by Grace.

"There can't possibly be anything of such importance to say," Olivia said, pitching her voice in a fair imitation of the housekeeper's gruff tones as she minced around the room.

Grace laughed with more conviction. "If she only knew."

Mrs. Wilkins stared at her, warning signals ringing in her ears. "If she only knew what?"

Grace slapped a hand over her mouth at Olivia's scowl.

"Nothing." Olivia hurried back to the sink. "She didn't mean nothing."

"Either you tell me right now, or no supper for either of you."

Olivia turned on her friend. "See what you've done?"

Grace cowered away from her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

Mrs. Wilkins took a threatening step toward Olivia. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

Olivia shrugged. "It's only that we're going into Witcheston next week for a meeting with Christabel Pankhurst, that's all."

Mrs. Wilkins let her mouth hang open for a second or two before she recovered her wits. "Pankhurst? Is she any relation to Emmeline Pankhurst?"

"Her daughter," Olivia said, her eyes shining in her sudden excitement. "Christabel is the daughter of the leader of the whole suffragette movement."

"Oh, my." Mrs. Wilkins covered her throat with her hand. "Better not let Miss Fingle hear about that, then."

"She won't if you don't tell her." Olivia gave the cook one of her rare smiles. "You won't tell her, will you, Wilky? There's a love."

In spite of her misgivings, Miss Wilkins melted. She sorely missed affection from her daughters, so every precious bit of warmth she could glean from the maids gave her immense satisfaction. "Well, all right, then. But you have to promise me faithfully that you will be careful. None of that talking back to the constables that got you into trouble the last time you went into Witcheston."

"Don't worry." Olivia grinned at her. "We'll be ever so careful, won't we, Grace."

Grace nodded.

"And," Olivia continued, "old Moaning Minnie won't ever know we was there."

"She'd better not. She'd have a pink fit if she knew you two were attending a suffragette meeting."

"Yes, she would," Grace agreed, "and I can just imagine what she'd say if she knew we've been ordered to break every window in the county council buildings."

Chapter 2

Meredith folded her hands on her desk and regarded
the young woman seated opposite her. A rather prim woman, Sylvia Montrose was nonetheless quite attractive, her frail looks accentuated by her strawberry blond hair and green eyes.

Although adequately qualified, she had so far failed to gain the respect of her students, however, owing in some part to a slight lisp that gave them cause to make fun of her behind her back.

Meredith did not particularly care for Sylvia, though she wasn't sure of the reason. It could be that deep down she resented anyone attempting to take the place of Kathleen Duncan.

Sylvia had been hired to replace the dedicated teacher after Kathleen had met her unfortunate recent demise. Kathleen had been Meredith's right hand, assisting in duties that kept Bellehaven running smoothly.

While Sylvia's skills in teaching home management seemed sufficient, Meredith had been dismayed to discover that the new teacher had no concept of the work involved in the school's administration, and was therefore no help to her at all.

There was also the fact that Sylvia had been appointed by Stuart Hamilton, the charming and disturbingly handsome owner of Bellehaven House, without so much as consulting Meredith on her opinion. That had not sat well at all, and quite possibly had helped fuel Meredith's dislike of Hamilton's protégée.

Most of all, it was Sylvia's apparent inability to look anyone straight in the eye that irritated Meredith. Instead, the new teacher's gaze darted about, with a rather disdainful air that was at times quite insulting.

Meredith drew a deep breath, attempting to temper her rising resentment. "I was hoping you'd be able to assist me in taking care of the accounting." She pushed a pile of ledgers across the desk toward the other woman. "As you can see, there is quite a large amount of work involved, and I don't have the time to do it all."

Sylvia swept a glance across the ledgers. "Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't possibly. As I've told you, I have no experience at all with running a business."

Meredith smiled, though she felt more like frowning. "It's quite a similar operation to managing a home, actually, only more so."

Sylvia's gaze focused on her face for a second, then twitched away. "Mr. Hamilton made no mention of my having to attend to the school's business. I was under the impression I was hired to teach the students how to run their future households. Nothing more."