High Marks for Murder (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 1) (14 page)

With a huge sense of relief Meredith heard the end-of-session bell ring, and was at last free to dismiss her class. She would not have another until that afternoon, which would give her some time to ponder on the enigma in which her late friend had her embroiled.

The pupils sedately filed past her to the door, each of them sending her a sideways glance as if worried she might suddenly throw a fit, or something equally upsetting. She made herself smile at each one, hoping to reassure them that she was not about to lose her mind.

A slim girl with dark brown hair sauntered past, jogging Meredith's memory. She had almost forgotten she needed to have a word with Deirdre Lamont. Hastily she called out after her.

"Deirdre, I'd like to see you in my office right away, if you please."

Deirdre stopped, turning a sulky face toward her. "I'm supposed to go to Miss Montrose's class next."

"Not for another fifteen minutes. What I have to say won't take that long. Run along now. I'll join you in a minute."

For a second or two it seemed that Deirdre would argue, but then she raised her shoulders in an unbecoming shrug and stalked out the door.

Anticipating a difficult encounter with the young woman, Meredith sighed as she followed several paces behind her down the corridor. How she hated interfering in someone's personal business. Unfortunately, she had no choice in the matter. As long as Deirdre resided at the school, Meredith was responsible for her well-being, and illicit assignations with a married man definitely did not bode well for the young woman's welfare.

She reached the door of her office, where Deirdre stood waiting, her hands clasped defiantly behind her back. Ushering her inside, Meredith closed the door and seated herself behind her desk.

Wasting no time, she said quietly, "It has come to my attention that you have been carrying on an association of sorts with a certain gentleman in the village, who is not only considerably advanced in age but happens to have a wife and family. I'm sure I don't have to point out that this is not a healthy relationship and will have to cease immediately."

Deirdre's cheeks turned a dull red, but her eyes sparked with defiance. "Pardon me for saying so, Mrs. Llewellyn, but what I do outside the school is my own business."

"Not entirely, considering the fact you played truant in order to meet this person." Meredith leaned forward. "Your parents have entrusted me with your welfare while you are
under my supervision. That includes any activities you may care to indulge in outside the school grounds, if it affects said welfare."

Deirdre tossed her head. "I don't know why you're picking on me, miss. I'm not the only one sneaking out to meet a secret boyfriend."

Meredith frowned. "Who else, may I ask, is conducting themselves in this disgraceful manner?"

"It's not my place to say."

Hesitating, Meredith decided that was a matter best pursued later. "Well, in any case, what other girls do doesn't excuse you, or allow you to continue with this unfortunate arrangement. You will either give me your word you will not meet with Mr. Silkwood again, or I shall hand the matter over to your parents. Is that understood?"

The threat of talking to her parents succeeded in penetrating Deirdre's wall of rebellion. Her hand strayed to the gaudy enameled butterfly brooch she had pinned to the high lace collar at her throat. Lowering her gaze, she muttered, "Yes, Mrs. Llewellyn."

"I have your word?"

"Yes, Mrs. Llewellyn."

Satisfied, Meredith nodded. "Then you may leave."

Without looking up, Deirdre turned and marched to the door.

Meredith waited until the door had closed behind her before letting out her breath. How unpleasant! She hoped she wouldn't have to do that again. She gave a fleeting thought to the other girl Deirdre had mentioned, then dismissed it. More than likely Deirdre had made the whole thing up as a defense for her own actions.

In any case, Meredith assured herself as she left the office, she had more important things to worry about.
Kathleen had been quite desperate in her attempts to send a message earlier.

The most likely place to meet with the ghost seemed to be the flower beds, and that's where she intended to go. If there was the slightest chance she could see Kathleen again she might be able to understand what it was her late friend was so frantic to tell her.

She turned the corner of the corridor and almost collided with the two figures approaching from the opposite direction. At first she merely glanced at the two women, but then she took a closer look and uttered a shocked gasp. "Great good heavens, whatever happened to you both?"

Olivia and Grace stood close to each other, their chins drooped and their eyes downcast. Olivia held a bucket while Grace clung to a kitchen chair. Both women looked as if they'd been caught in a torrential downpour.

Water dripped from their hair and from the end of their noses. Their saturated clothes clung to their bodies and small puddles began forming around their feet.

Grace was the first to speak. "We had an accident, m'm," she mumbled.

"Yeah," Olivia said. "We tipped a bucket of water all over us."

Meredith stared in amazement. "How in heaven's name did you manage to do that?"

The young women glanced at each other and lapsed into guilty silence.

If Meredith hadn't been quite so taken up with the problem of Kathleen's ghost, she would have demanded a full explanation. As it was, she was in far too much of a hurry to waste time just then. "Never mind," she said, waving her hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Go at once and get those wet clothes dried out. I'll speak to you about this later."

"Yes, m'm." The two women scurried past her, and as Meredith continued on her way she heard one of them mutter, "See? I
told
you we'd end up in the workhouse."

Shaking her head, Meredith walked out into the cool, damp air. Summer, it seemed, was on the wane, and soon the autumn winds would bring the leaves fluttering down from the trees.

She hoped that Kathleen's dilemma could be resolved before winter set in. The thought of the poor woman drifting about the school grounds in the bitter cold was most distressing. That was, she amended, if ghosts could indeed feel hot or cold.

As she crossed the wet grass, she spotted Tom trimming the rosebushes in front of the assembly hall windows. Hurrying across the lawn toward him, she reminded herself to ask him about the memorial gardens.

He looked up as she approached, and straightened as much as his stooped shoulders would allow.

"I went to see Davie's mother this morning," she said, when she reached him. "Apparently Davie has a stomach ailment, but Mrs. Gray assured me he'll be back to work tomorrow."

Tom grunted. "He needs to be, m'm. I've got a lot of work on me hands. Can't do it all by meself. These old bones aren't what they used to be."

Feeling guilty, Meredith cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I have a little more work for you. We've decided to make a memorial garden for Miss Duncan, to commemorate her work. We'd like you to dig a flower bed. Nothing elaborate, of course, just a small plot where we can plant annuals every year and hold a service."

Tom's watery eyes regarded her with disbelief. "A garden, m'm?"

"Just a small flower bed, Tom." Meredith glanced in the direction of Kathleen's flower beds. The sun shone bright on the blossoms without a hint of mist anywhere. "Just like those." She pointed at the flowers. "Only smaller, of course. The students will be planting the flowers. All we need from you is to dig the bed. Somewhere under the trees, perhaps?"

"Dig the bed," Tom repeated, in the same tone of utter disbelief.

"Yes, Tom." Meredith looked at him, hoping he wouldn't flatly refuse. "Perhaps Davie could help you."

Tom looked at her a moment longer, then bent back to his rosebush. "Davie can dig it," he said, snapping the pruning shears at a tendril.

"Er . . . good." Meredith hesitated, then asked, "Ah . . . when do you think it will be finished?"

"Just as soon as Davie gets to it."

And she would have to be satisfied with that, Meredith thought.

She left him, eager now to get to the flower beds and see Kathleen again. It was strange that her late friend had chosen to appear only to her, and seemingly no one else. How much simpler the problem would be if Felicity and Essie could see the ghost, too.

True, they had agreed to help her hunt down Kathleen's killer, but all the time they suspected her of hallucinating she was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to passing on whatever clues Kathleen's ghost might provide.

Arriving at the flower beds, she was pleased to see that Tom had finished the weeding, and the soil had been raked smooth between the blossoming plants.

Apparently Kathleen had been appeased as well, since she failed to materialize, though Meredith waited until the
very last minute before reluctantly returning to the school for the midday meal.

At least for now, she thought with rueful resignation, she would have to rely on her own instincts. Whatever Kathleen had been trying to convey would have to wait.

Chapter 12

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and when
Felicity and Essie joined her for a quiet evening in the library, Meredith was happy to sit and relax in her favorite brocade armchair.

"Will Sylvia be joining us?" Essie asked, as she sank onto one end of the davenport.

"I believe she had some tasks she wanted to attend to in her room."

Meredith frowned as Felicity muttered, "Thank the Lord for small mercies."

Somehow she would have to try to settle the differences between Felicity and Sylvia. Not now, though. This was a time to relax and enjoy the quiet of the evening.

The moment they were settled, however, Felicity leaned forward and in a low, conspiratorial whisper asked, "So tell us, Meredith, did you talk to that little hussy, Deirdre Lamont?"

"I did, indeed." Meredith recounted her conversation
with Deirdre. "I do believe she intends to keep her word," she added, as Felicity nodded in satisfaction. "She seemed quite concerned when I mentioned speaking to her parents."

"I can imagine." Felicity leaned back and stretched out her feet in front of her. She still wore her high-buttoned boots, and wriggled her toes as if trying to ease a cramp. "I've met Deirdre's father. Lord something or other. Never can remember his name. Anyway, he's quite formidable and short of temper. I imagine Deirdre would do just about anything to avoid bearing the brunt of his anger."

"Well, I hope she has enough sense not to meet up with Mr. Silkwood again."

"He's not even pleasant to look at," Essie murmured. "I can't imagine why a young girl like Deirdre would be the least bit interested in a man like that."

Felicity sniffed. "Some people will do anything for attention." She turned to Meredith. "Anyway, what's going on with your ghost? Has it popped up with any more clues?"

In spite of Felicity's rather dry tone, Meredith decided to take the question at face value. "As a matter of fact, I saw Kathleen in the classroom this morning."

Essie gasped, covering her mouth with her slender hand, while Felicity's eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"That must have been interesting." She leaned forward, propping herself up with her hand on her knees. "Do tell. What did she have to say? Did the girls get a glimpse of her? I hope she was wearing something more becoming than that misty shroud thing you described."

Meredith raised her chin. "I absolutely refuse to discuss the matter any further until you can take me seriously."

Felicity leaned back again, her expression remorseful.
"Oh, very well. I promise to listen and not make fun of you. Or Kathleen, rest her soul."

Meredith gave her a suspicious glance, then said cautiously, "She kept pointing at the pupils. She seemed agitated about something."

"She was always agitated with the pupils. They probably weren't paying enough attention to you."

Meredith shook her head. "She keeps trying to tell me something and I'm fairly certain it has something to do with her murder, but I can't understand what it is she's trying to say."

"It's a shame you can't simply ask her what she wants." Felicity shook her head. "If you ask me, Meredith, if you really want to find out who killed Kathleen you have to stop relying on her ghost and tackle this problem another way."

Essie nodded. "I have to agree, Meredith dear. You do seem to be going around and around in circles with all this ghost business."

Meredith looked at them both in exasperation. "What do you suggest I do?"

"Tackle this thing the way P.C. Shipham would. That's if he had half a brain." Felicity sighed. "What I'm saying is that we should be following the clues that we have and trying to discover what they mean."

"That's just the problem." Meredith rose to her feet. "We don't have any real clues to go on. All we have is a noncommunicative ghost, unreliable at best, who appears only to me in an extremely unstable form and who seems obsessed by her flower beds."

Felicity nodded. "Put like that, the solution does seem somewhat remote. Perhaps we should be actively searching for clues?"

"In what way?"

Essie jumped to her feet, waving her hands. "I know! What if we search the clothes Kathleen was wearing that night?"

"They've been sent on to her relatives." Meredith lifted her hands and let them fall. "I really don't know what to do next. I know poor Kathleen will not rest until her killer has been brought to justice. I just wish she could give me a better clue than flowers."

Felicity smothered a yawn and pushed herself up from her chair. "Well, I don't know about you but I'm ready for bed. Let's discuss this in the morning, when we're all a little more clearheaded."

Meredith followed her two friends into the corridor, wondering if she would ever be clearheaded again.

Alone in her room, she undressed in a hurry, anxious to get under the cozy eiderdown on her bed. For some reason the air seemed to have cooled considerably.