The Trouble at Wakeley Court (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 8) (8 page)

He nodded.

‘Yes, I think it must be one of the staff,’ he replied. ‘Miss Bell, who of course knows who I am, has given me as much information as she could about the people who work here, but so far we haven’t come up with anything useful. There is one gardener who started here recently about whom we know very little, but Miss Bell assures me that he came with impeccable references.’

‘Does Miss Bell take the threat seriously?’

‘As seriously as a woman of her type can,’ he said, considering. ‘I suspect she thinks the whole thing is rather exaggerated. Still, she has promised to keep it quiet.’

‘Does the Princess know who you are?’ said Angela.

‘Yes,’ said Hesketh. ‘She knows of the threat to her, and that I am here to protect her.’

‘You can’t protect her all the time, though, if you’re living in the village,’ said Angela.

‘No,’ he said, ‘and that’s the worst of it. I am not strictly permitted to be in the building after seven o’clock. I should, of course, ignore the rules if necessary, but how am I to know when it
is
necessary? If there were to be an attempt on Princess Irina in the middle of the night, for example, then I should be quite useless in a house half a mile away. It is most unsatisfactory.’

Something in his tone suggested to Angela that there had been a little disagreement with Miss Bell on this matter.

‘Well, I am staying at the school for the next three nights, so I shall do what I can,’ she said.

‘Yes, and I am glad of it,’ said Hesketh, ‘because the whole thing makes me very uncomfortable.’ He coughed and glanced about. ‘Jameson said he advised you to bring a gun,’ he said quietly.

‘He did,’ replied Angela. ‘And I have. Not that I expect I’ll need it. As a matter of fact, I rather hope I don’t. It doesn’t do to be waving guns around in a school full of easily excitable girls.’

‘That’s true enough,’ he said. ‘Still, I suggest you keep it with you as much as you can.’

‘I shall,’ Angela assured him.

Dinner was early at Wakeley Court, and Angela sat at the top table with the teachers and renewed her acquaintance with the peculiarities of school food. Afterwards, the girls were free until bed-time, provided they had done their prep, and as the great dining-room emptied Barbara rushed across to Angela and grabbed her arm.

‘Come and meet my pals,’ she said.

They walked around the building and passed William, who was under the bonnet of the Bentley and had attracted followers in the form of two of the smaller girls, identical twins, who were holding spanners and rags for him and asking him questions. They seemed fascinated by what he had to say.

‘They’re waiting for us in the Quad,’ said Barbara.

Sure enough, in the Quad they found a small group of girls sitting on one of the stone benches.

‘Where are the others?’ said Barbara.

‘Doing their Geography prep,’ said Violet Smedley. ‘They didn’t finish it before dinner because they went to play tennis.’

‘Rotten of them,’ said Barbara. ‘Oh, well. This is my godmother, Angela Marchmont,’ she went on, waving a hand carelessly. ‘I told you all about her. Angela—Violet Smedley, Florrie Evans, Irina Ivanovitch.’

‘It’s Ivanoveti,’ said Florrie before Irina could speak.

‘Sorry,’ said Barbara.

Angela regarded Irina with covert interest. The Princess was tall and dark and looked rather older than her years. Her manner was self-contained—sullen, even, although she was polite enough and replied to Angela’s pleasantries in careful English. She had a slightly wary look about her—no bad thing, Angela supposed, and only to be expected if she knew her life was in danger.

Barbara suggested they take a walk around the building. They could not go far, she said, as it was getting dark and soon they would have to go inside. Barbara walked on one side of Angela and Violet on the other, and Angela was pleased to find that Violet seemed a very nice girl, if a little staid, and had excellent manners. Florrie and Irina followed behind.

As they completed their circuit of the building they saw William again. The twins were still there with him, peering into the engine with great interest.

‘Hallo, William,’ said Barbara grandly. ‘Are these kids bothering you?’

‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘As a matter of fact, they’re being very helpful.’

‘He’s been showing us how to fix it,’ said one twin, a girl of about eleven, who appeared to have smeared oil all over her face in her excitement.

‘So I see,’ said Barbara. ‘You’ll be in for it when Matron sees you. You’d better go back and wash. You’re filthy.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ said the girl boldly. ‘You’ve got ink all over your hands and some on your nose, too.’

Before Barbara could tell her off, a bell rang for early bed-time, and the two younger girls ran away, laughing.

‘Well!’ said Barbara. ‘Just wait until I see her again. It’s simply not done to cheek a bigger girl.’

‘You do it yourself all the time,’ Florrie pointed out.

‘That’s different,’ said Barbara. ‘I say, though, it must be useful being a twin, don’t you think? I mean to say, they can do one another’s detentions. I wish I had someone who could pretend to be me when I needed it.’

‘Yes, but what if one of you was very very good and the other was very very bad?’ said Florrie. ‘It seems rather unfair on the good twin to have to take the bad twin’s punishments.’

‘Oh, I dare say some agreement might be reached,’ said Barbara vaguely. ‘A financial agreement, I mean.’

Angela happened to glance at Irina while this exchange was going on, and to her utter astonishment saw that the girl was regarding William from under her eyelashes in a way that was quite unmistakable. William had evidently seen it too, for a touch of pink tinged his cheeks and he did not seem to know where to look. In the end he settled for staring at the ground.

‘We’d better go back in,’ said Violet at last. ‘It’s nearly dark and we don’t want to get a black mark from Miss Finch.’

Barbara snorted but did not argue, and the girls moved off. Angela remained behind for a moment with William.

‘Keep an eye on the new gardener,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know his name.’

‘It’s Edwards, ma’am,’ said William.

‘Goodness, that was fast work!’ said Angela. ‘We’ve only been here three hours.’

‘The kitchen-maids were talking about him. They don’t like him much,’ said William.

‘Why not?’

‘He stares at them through the window when they’re working,’ he said. ‘And he doesn’t talk to anyone.’

‘Hmm,’ said Angela. ‘I wonder if Edwards is his real name, or even if he’s English. You might try and get him in conversation, and see if you can find out.’

‘Certainly, ma’am,’ said William. He looked about him. ‘Funny—it’s difficult to think of something happening in this out-of-the-way place. And I haven’t seen anyone yet who looks at all like a princess. I wonder which one she is.’

‘You’ve just met her,’ said Angela. ‘She’s the tall girl with the dark hair who was here with Barbara just now.’

William’s face was such a picture that Angela had to turn away and bite her lip hard to avoid laughing out loud.

‘Yes,’ she went on, once she had regained command of herself. ‘She is Princess Irina, the only daughter of Grand Duke Feodor of Morania, and first in line to the throne of that country. Rather an
interesting
young lady, don’t you think?’

‘I’ll say,’ was all William could manage.

Angela went on, ‘Girls from these foreign countries grow up rather more quickly than English ones, I understand.’

‘Is that so?’ said William, recovering himself.

‘Yes,’ said Angela. She paused. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to be very careful, William,’ she said lightly. ‘There is more than one kind of danger.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said William.

‘Now, don’t forget to see what you can find out about Edwards.’

‘No, ma’am,’ said William.

Angela bade him goodnight and walked off, leaving William staring at the Bentley and rubbing his head in some perplexity.

Friday morning was spent in discussing formal arrangements for the Mathematics scholarship with Miss Bell and three of the trustees, worthy-looking gentleman to a man, and with conversation to match. At lunch-time Angela was set free, much to her relief, and went to the dining-room to endure more of the school’s hearty fare.

In the afternoon, Miss Bell insisted on escorting her around the school to see the girls at work. Angela was taken to see the Fifth Form as they received a Classics lesson from the stern Miss Finch. The class was quiet and studious—Miss Finch evidently had no trouble in keeping order—and Miss Bell nodded approvingly. Irina and Florrie looked up and smiled when they saw Angela, who was slightly surprised, for she had assumed they were in the Fourth with Barbara. Then she remembered that Henry Jameson had spoken of Irina as being almost sixteen—which perhaps went some way to explaining the girl’s apparent maturity in other respects.

They then looked in on Miss Devlin’s Geography lesson with the Fourth, and there found quite a different atmosphere, for despite her imposing build, Miss Devlin was clearly known to the girls as an easy mark. When Miss Bell opened the door they were greeted by the noise of twenty girls all chattering at once, and the first thing Angela saw was Barbara in the very act of tying a knot in the long pigtail of the unsuspecting girl sitting in front of her. The room fell silent as Miss Bell entered, and Barbara sat back hurriedly after receiving a glare from Angela.

‘Quiet, please, girls,’ said Miss Bell stiffly, and Miss Devlin looked flustered.

‘Yes, quiet please,’ she said. ‘I have already told you several times.’

Miss Bell and Angela went out and Angela immediately heard the noise begin again.

‘Miss Devlin is a good teacher in many respects,’ said Miss Bell, ‘but I am afraid she finds the discipline side of things a little difficult—in the classroom at least. She also teaches Games, however, and her manner when instructing the girls in physical exercise is quite different. She becomes quite a different woman then—as you will see shortly, when we go to watch the Games lesson, which is next.’

Miss Bell was quite right, for some time later Angela found herself wincing a little as she stood at the edge of the lacrosse field and watched the Games mistress tearing about and shrieking orders to the players.

‘It is so good for the girls to spend time racing around in the open air, getting up a nice, healthy perspiration,’ said Miss Devlin, running up to Angela, her face glowing and her hair curling up in damp wisps. ‘I do it myself as often as I can. There’s nothing quite like it.’

‘Oh, I agree with you entirely,’ said Angela, cool and immaculate under her parasol.

‘If you will excuse me,’ said Miss Bell, ‘I am expecting a visit from the parents of a prospective new girl shortly, and I dislike keeping my visitors waiting.’

She went off, and Angela, for want of anything better to do, remained to watch the lesson. It was the Fourth again, and Miss Devlin appeared to be getting her revenge for their inattention during Geography, for she did not let them rest for a second. During a particularly lively point in the game, one girl dropped her lacrosse stick and tripped over it, and sat, nursing her knee in pain. Miss Devlin rushed over to see to her, and while her attention was distracted, Angela saw a sly-looking girl she had not noticed before hit Barbara hard on the shin deliberately with her lacrosse stick. Barbara yelped, and was just about to retaliate when she spotted Angela and changed her mind. Instead, she moved away from the girl. Angela smiled approvingly. Miss Devlin returned, having patched up the injured girl to her satisfaction, and the game recommenced. Angela did her best to pay attention, but lacrosse had never been a favourite game of hers and so she found her attention wandering.

‘Is that Miss Fazackerley?’ she said suddenly, as she spotted a woman hurrying towards the outbuildings near the summer-house. Beyond that was a path which was a short-cut out of the school grounds.

Miss Devlin glanced in the direction in which Angela was looking.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Whatever can she be doing? She’s not supposed to go out during school time.’

‘Perhaps she needs to post a letter urgently,’ suggested Angela.

‘I don’t see what can be so urgent at this time of day,’ said Miss Devlin. ‘The last post is not until six.’

‘That reminds me, I have business at the post-office myself,’ said Angela. ‘You don’t suppose Miss Bell would mind if I just ran into the village, do you?’

‘No, I don’t suppose so,’ said Miss Devlin, who was only half-listening. ‘Foul!’ she bellowed suddenly, and blew her whistle.

Angela needed no further encouragement. She left the girls to their exercise and set off in pursuit of Miss Fazackerley.

The path behind the summer-house led through a little wood and out on to the road into the village. Angela had decided that there was no sense in trying to be too secretive, as she was far too easy to spot in her pale-blue frock, and in any case she had a perfectly good excuse for following Miss Fazackerley if that lady did happen to catch sight of her, since this was the quickest way into the village. Of course, there might be a perfectly innocent reason why the Maths mistress was breaking rules and leaving the school grounds when she ought not, but then again there might not, and Angela
had
promised to keep her eyes open, after all.

Miss Fazackerley hurried on without looking behind her, and Angela followed, not too quickly. At length they came to the village and Miss Fazackerley began to walk faster. She passed the post-office, thus disproving Angela’s idle surmise, and seemed to be heading for the church, but before she got there she suddenly turned right into a narrow lane and disappeared. Angela halted at the bottom of the lane and looked up it, but there was no sign of Miss Fazackerley. She entered the lane and proceeded cautiously; if she were to be spotted now she had no good excuse at all for being where she was, for there was nothing up here but one or two dilapidated old barns—and in fact the road came to a dead-end a hundred yards further up.