Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (4 page)

Even before she abruptly broke off, she had a sinking feeling about what to expect. As she dropped her hand to her side, a solitary pair of hands applauded her efforts. Unfortunately the sound originated not from the students but from the doorway.

"Bravo, Mrs. Llewellyn. A valiant effort, indeed."

Meredith turned to meet the amused gaze of Stuart Hamilton. Drat the man. He always seemed to appear at the worst possible moment. "Good morning, Mr. Hamilton." She resisted the urge to turn her back on him. "What can I do for you?"

"Not a thing, Mrs. Llewellyn. I happened to be walking past the door and heard your dulcet tones. I felt compelled to investigate the owner of such a . . . ah . . . unique voice."

Titters from the students raised the hairs on the back of Meredith's neck. Furious to feel her cheeks warming, she raised her chin. "Well, as you can see, I am quite occupied at the moment. I should, however, like to speak to you about an important matter. Perhaps you could meet me in my office in an hour?"

Hamilton raised a languid eyebrow. "An hour? I think I could manage that." He turned to face the girls and, much to their obvious delight, swept them an elaborate bow. "Ladies, I shall leave you to continue your delightful
endeavors. I'm sure the end result will be quite spectacular."

Amid nervous giggles from the students, he turned back to Meredith and inclined his head. "Until later, madam." The door closed behind him, leaving Meredith breathless and bereft of words.

For the rest of the rehearsal she had trouble concentrating, hampered by the knowledge that at least half of her choir were convinced her assignation with the handsome owner of Bellehaven was of a personal nature.

The mere thought of that was enough to snatch any coherent thought right out of her mind, so she concentrated instead on the music. By the end of the session she was reasonably satisfied that with another rehearsal or two the Bellehaven choir would give a credible performance at the recital.

She dismissed the girls, aware of a hollow feeling in her stomach. Now she would have to deal with Stuart Hamilton again. Much as she hated to admit it, the man intimidated her on certain levels.

It wasn't just his impressive height, or his dark eyes that seemed able to seek out her most intimate thoughts, or even his resonant voice that seemed to echo deep inside her. It was more a matter of presence, an aura of control that seemed invincible and quite overpowering.

She'd had more than one battle of wits with the man, and had come off the worse for wear in most of them. She wasn't looking forward to the coming dispute, for she had no doubts that he would adamantly oppose her request for an assistant.

The matter would have to be handled with a certain amount of devious calculation. Fortunately she'd had plenty of practice.

Chapter 3

Meredith had barely settled herself behind her desk
when a sharp rap on the door announced the gentleman's presence. Bracing herself, she waited just long enough to regain her composure before calling out, "Come in!"

He entered the room as he always did, with a long stride and a purposeful look about him, managing somehow to constrict the space between them as he sat down opposite her. Folding his hands across his chest, he murmured, "You wanted to discuss a problem, I believe?"

She rather resented his assumption that the important matter had to be a problem. "Not exactly. I wanted to talk to you about Miss Montrose."

"Ah." He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "She is proving to be worthy, I trust?"

"In her duties as an instructress, yes. As far as one can tell in the short time she's spent here."

"Good." He waited, and when she didn't continue, he pursed his lips.

It was a habit that Meredith found most disconcerting, and she quickly looked down at her desk and began shuffling papers around.

After an awkward pause, he said quietly, "Is there something else concerning Miss Montrose?"

Meredith drew in a breath. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. As you may or may not know, the late Miss Duncan was a great help to me in matters of the school's administration. She was responsible for ordering supplies, both academic and domestic. She also arranged various school functions, such as garden fetes and recitals, and kept records of costs and funds raised."

A line of confusion creased Hamilton's brow. "Very admirable, I'm sure. You must miss her a great deal."

"I do, indeed." Meredith paused, then forced herself to look him in the eye. "I was hoping Miss Montrose would be able to help in a similar manner. Since you were so impressed with her qualifications when you hired her, I assumed she would be capable of the extra duties."

A gleam appeared in his dark eyes. "I see. I take it Miss Montrose is reluctant to cooperate."

"Reluctant, perhaps.
Incapable
is probably a better word. Miss Montrose informed me that she is unable to undertake the duties since she has no experience in these matters."

"Ah." Hamilton brought up his linked fingers to rest against his bottom lip.

For some reason Meredith had a great deal of trouble keeping her gaze away from the gesture. "I was wondering, in view of the oppressive amount of work involved in administration, if it would be possible to hire a full-time assistant." She paused, then added deliberately, "Or perhaps you would prefer to replace Miss Montrose with an instructress with more administrative capabilities?"

The gleam of amusement in his eyes disappeared. He lowered his hands and leaned forward. "That won't be necessary, Mrs. Llewellyn."

"Then can I presume that I will have the services of a full-time assistant?"

"Do you really need full-time help? Perhaps one or two days a week might suffice?"

Meredith met his gaze squarely, though her insides churned like an angry sea. "Hardly. In any case, I have found that applicants looking for a full-time position are usually more qualified than someone simply looking to fill in some spare time."

Hamilton stared at her for another long, painful moment, then his features softened into a rueful smile. "That's an excellent consideration, Mrs. Llewellyn. I bow to your judgment. You shall have your full-time assistant. I will see to it immediately."

Her surge of triumph was tempered by Hamilton's swift defense earlier of Sylvia Montrose, though she couldn't imagine why. "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. I appreciate your understanding."

He rose, seeming to tower over her, and she quickly got to her feet. "Would you like me to interview the applicants, or will you be taking care of that?"

His glance rested briefly on her face. "I will see to it. I wouldn't want to encroach upon your valuable time. I'm sure you have quite enough to do as it is."

He bade her good day with a slight incline of his head, then crossed the room to the door. As he pulled it open, he turned back to her. "I'm gratified that Bellehaven House lies in such capable hands." With that, he gently closed the door behind him.

Meredith stared at the door, trying to decide if Stuart Hamilton's words were tinged with sarcasm, or if he'd really intended the compliment.

She sank down on her chair, and reached for her pen. It was a little disappointing that she would not have the opportunity to review the applicants, particularly since she would be working in close quarters with the new assistant. It would, however, save her a great deal of time, and she would simply have to trust Hamilton's judgment.

Seconds passed while she gazed at the door, a half smile on her face as she recalled their conversation. Then, annoyed that she had caught herself daydreaming, she
dipped her pen into the inkwell, shook it on the blotter, and began to write her address for the following morning.

"How many times do I have to tell you we're sup
posed to keep our orders secret?" Olivia dragged the carpet sweeper along the upper hallway with little regard for how much dust she'd captured. "How long do you think them suffragettes will keep us in the WSPU if you go around tattling about their secret plans?"

Grace flipped a feather duster over a bust of William Shakespeare. "I didn't mean to."

"You never mean to." Olivia pushed the sweeper back and forth over a fragment of a white feather. "But you always do. Always. You'll get us shot, you will."

Grace looked up in alarm. She could never tell if Olivia was pulling her leg or not, and just to be safe, tended to take everything she said as gospel. "Shot? What for?"

"For telling secrets, that's what." Olivia frowned at her. "They're not just
our
secrets now, are they. These secrets belong to the WSPU, and if word got out what they was planning to do, the bobbies would be waiting for us. They'd drag us off to prison, and you know what that means."

Grace felt a cold hand clutch her heart. Mrs. Wilkins was always saying how dreadful things happened to suffragettes in prison, but she'd never exactly explained what those things were. Actually, not knowing made it seem all the more frightening.

Grace wasn't exactly sure that she wanted to know, but curiosity got the better of her. "No," she said in a hoarse whisper, "I don't know. What does it mean?"

Olivia sighed. "I'd better not tell you. You'll have nightmares." She started furiously pushing and pulling the sweeper back and forth over the feather, which remained stubbornly nestled in the carpet.

Grace felt sick at the thought of unimaginable horrors, but was compelled to pursue the matter now that she'd
started. "No, I won't. Tell me what happens to the suffragettes in prison. I want to know."

"No, you don't." Olivia muttered something under her breath, then bent down and picked up the piece of feather.

"Yes, I do." Grace eyed her with suspicion. "You don't know, do you. You're just pretending you know. You don't know any more than I do."

"I do know, so there!" Olivia tucked the feather into her pocket and glared at her friend. "I know they go on starvation, and the prison guards make them eat."

Grace relaxed. That didn't sound so bad. After all, if the women were starving, they'd probably be glad to eat food. "Oh, is that all? Well, I wouldn't mind being in prison, then. It'd make a change to have prison food instead of the boring stuff Mrs. Wilkins serves up. And we could sit around all day and wouldn't have to work. We could talk to the other suffragettes and play tricks on the guards."

Olivia looked at her aghast. "What is the matter with you? You think it'd be fun to have a tube forced down your throat until you choked? Is that the way you want to eat?"

Grace stared at her in horror. "A tube? Down me throat?"

"A
big
tube." Olivia curled her thumb to meet her forefinger in a circle. "Bigger'n that."

"Blimey." Grace swallowed. "I dunno if I want to smash the town hall windows. What if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught." Olivia started sweeping again. "Besides, the town hall is only part of it. We have to set fire to a church as well."

"What?"
Grace's shrill exclamation echoed down the hallway.

Olivia turned and slapped a hand over her mouth. "Shut
up
! Mona will hear you. We just got our days off back after the last time we got in trouble. If she takes them away again, we won't be able to follow our orders."

"And a bloody good job, too." Grace dug her fist into her hip. She rarely swore, but these were extenuating circumstances. "I am not going to burn down no church, so there."

Olivia gave her a look of pure contempt. "You are such a baby. You can't be a member of the WSPU unless you do your part in protesting."

"I'll find another way to protest. Like digging holes in the golf course. That's what some of the suffragettes are doing."

"Yeah, well, that's not our orders, is it. Our orders are to break windows and burn the church."

Grace lifted her chin. "I don't remember no orders to burn a church."

"That's because you were too busy talking to that big woman next to you. If you don't pay attention, you won't know what's going on."

"I'm not going to do it."

Olivia shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll tell Miss Pankhurst that you are resigning from the WSPU." She picked up the sweeper and headed for the stairs. "There's plenty more loyal and brave women who will take your place."

Torn with indecision, Grace watched her start down the stairs. At that moment she really didn't care if she never saw another member of the WSPU. What she did care about was her friendship with Olivia. They were best friends. In fact, Olivia was the only real friend Grace had ever had.

She knew full well that if she didn't do what Olivia wanted, it would put a chink in their relationship. Knowing her friend, Olivia would take it as a personal affront. The gap would gradually widen to a chasm that could never be repaired.

But
burning a church
? That was sacrilege. It went against everything she believed in. On the other hand, the suffragettes were fighting for a good cause. Surely some honor could be found in the fight for women's rights?

Olivia had now turned the corner and was out of sight. Grace teetered on the edge of morality for several more seconds, then abandoning her principles, she raced for the stairs. "Wait, Olivia! I'll do it! I'll do it!" Praying that God would forgive her, she raced down the steps after her friend.

Meredith's favorite part of the day was late after
noon, when her classes were over and she could relax for half an hour alone in the pleasant teacher's lounge.

Weak sunlight poured through the large window overlooking lawns that swept down to a tangle of wildwood. The shades of pink and rose in the room, picked out in the curtains and carpet, always seemed to soothe and relax her. It was a quiet time of day, and she looked forward to it.

Felicity's French class, Essie's lectures on etiquette, and Sylvia's instruction on flower arrangements all ended later than her own final class of the afternoon, leaving her time to peruse the latest edition of the
Witcheston Post
.

The village of Crickling Green was far too small to have its own newspaper, but often Witcheston's local news included that rare occasion when the village had something worth writing about.