The Malvern Mystery E-Book

Helen Susan Swift

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

England, 1859. After schoolteacher Lorna Buchanan witnesses a strange ceremony on the grounds of St. Anne's College, she is sacked by the tyrannical headmistress. 

Soon, Lorna is entangled in a web of mysticism and murder. Together with class troublemaker Margaret and the staunch Police Sergeant Caswell, Lorna investigates the cryptic clues that surround the deadly crimes happening in their small town.

But are supernatural forces really to blame, or is someone with a more sinister motive behind the crimes?

Leseprobe

The Malvern Mystery

Helen Susan Swift

Copyright (C) 2017 Helen Susan Swift

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Prelude

'Hurry now, Ruth; we have to get there by dawn.' The frantic rustle of her skirt emphasised the urgency of Sarah's words.

Gasping as they pitted their strength against the slope, they moved upwards through the wind-cropped grass with the hill always rising before them and the chill of the night brushing against their skin.

'There's the sun coming through now.' Sarah pointed eastward across the broad Worcestershire plain. An infinitesimal gleam of light showed on the far horizon. 'Come on Ruth; it's not far. Think of Harry.'

Ruth nodded and lengthened her stride so that every step snapped the material of her skirt against her legs.

'Is that somebody over there?' Ruth stopped and took hold of Sarah's arm. 'I'm not doing anything if there is anybody else here. I'm sure I saw some men.'

'There's nobody there; it's only your imagination; come on,' Sarah pushed Ruth upwards. They stumbled over a steep ridge and down into one of the deep ditches that corrugated the side of the hill.

'I'm not sure I want to do this,' Ruth said.

'Harry will be pleased,' Sarah encouraged. 'Come on and don't hesitate.'

'Here we are.' They stopped before a slight depression in the ground. A sad mountain ash leaned over them, its branches winter- bare. 'Take a deep breath now. The sun has still not properly risen.' A breeze ruffled the dark surface of a pool of water, pushing tiny whispering waves against a bank of rough grass.

'Are you sure this is the right place?' Ruth looked around, narrowing her eyes against the bite of the pre-dawn wind. 'It's very dark.'

'This is Alfreck Well,' Sarah assured her. 'I've been here before,' she hesitated for a moment. 'I had to come here too, Ruth, and it worked. Three times it worked.'

The two women exchanged glances. Ruth gave a nervous smile. 'What do I do now?'

'Strip naked,' Sarah said. 'Quickly now, before the sun rises.'

'What if those men come?' Ruth tried to peer into the dark.

'There are no men foolish enough to come up here,' Sarah said and sighed. 'I'll keep watch just in case. Come on now!' She poked Ruth in the arm. 'Hurry!'

'It's cold!' Ruth said but slipped off her short cloak and then, fingers trembling, unfastened her skirt and top. She placed her clothes in a neat pile and stood, arms-folded and shivering in her shift.

'Stark! You must be completely stark!' Sarah said.

Ruth gave one last pleading glance at Sarah before divesting herself of the last of her clothes, to stand smoothly naked and white beside the black pool of water.

'In you get,' Sarah eyed her briefly and smiled. 'Harry's a lucky man.' She picked up the bundle of clothes and tucked them under her arm. 'You have to be completely immersed as the sun rises or it won't work.'

'It's cold,' Ruth said again. She put a single foot into the water, made a small exclamation of shock, and stepped in further. Sarah watched as the water rose above Ruth's knees, and then lapped at her thighs.

'Get right in!' Sarah said. 'Go on! You won't die! Think of Harry when you give him the good news.'

Ruth whimpered with the shock as the water reached her waist, but set her mouth and stepped on until she was breast deep. 'I thought it would be thick mud underfoot,' she said, 'but it's not.'

'Here it comes,' Sarah ignored Ruth's words.

The sun slid above the eastern plain, a sliver of silver-gold that slowly set the sky aglow. Red and orange streaks radiated from the central orb to fade into the darkness beyond, but even as Sarah watched, the light strengthened to illuminate the land. She saw small islands of trees amid the dark, then villages emerged as beams of sunlight glinted on windows and the tan and gold of thatched roofs. Worcestershire smiled upward to greet another day.

'Now!' Sarah shouted, 'take a deep breath and get right under the water! Now!'

With one last appealing look, Ruth ducked under the surface. For a second Sarah saw her blonde hair floating on top, and then she vanished completely in the still dark water. Sarah stretched across and pushed her head down, struggling to hold her under the surface as she fought frantically to escape.

'No you don't, my girl,' Sarah said. 'You have to be completely under.'

The sun eased higher, sending soft beams of light over the countryside, picking out trees and copses, casting long shadows toward the west, reflecting from windows and glinting from the serpentine Severn as it wound its lazy passage across the awakening landscape. Sarah watched its progress, glanced down to where Ruth crouched submerged in the dark pool and counted the seconds.

'Stay still' she ordered as she felt Ruth's frantic movements within the water. 'You can't come up yet.'

At last the slow beams of the sun crept across the rough grass and touched the pool. The transformation was immediate; the water gleamed silver, with the tiny wavelets glimmering in the light as if alive.

'Up you get,' Sarah said and lifted her hand from Ruth's head.

'Let me out!' The words exploded from Ruth's mouth along with a spurt of water, 'there's something in here with me. For God's sake let me out!'

'There's nothing…' Sarah began until Ruth clutched at her with frantic hands.

'Please Sarah! Get me out of here! Please!'

Sarah grabbed Ruth's arms and hauled her from the water without any regard for her dignity or the flesh she scraped from the rough grass. Both women stared into the disturbing depths.

'There's something down there, I tell you,' Ruth was nearly sobbing, careless of her nakedness. 'Something soft and terrible.' She screamed again, 'Oh God help us; it's coming up!'

They backed away, holding each other, as something burst feet-first out of the water and floated on top.

'It's a man!' Sarah shouted, high pitched. She took hold of Ruth in a close embrace, 'a naked man!'

'And he's dead,' Ruth screamed.

Forgetting about her clothes, Ruth began to run with Sarah frantic at her back. Behind them, floating on the surface of the well, the naked man bobbed unheeded, with his wrists and ankles tied with green cord.

Chapter One

Raindrops raced each other down the outside of the window as the coach clattered around the tight curve on the Great Malvern road. The outside passengers held on and yelled in excitement or fright while those fortunate enough to be inside merely tumbled together in a press of bodies.

'Does this driver know what he's doing?' A large, florid- faced man asked for the fourth time since they had left Worcester. 'I said: does this driver know what he is doing?'

'I hope so.' The elderly woman who occupied the seat opposite him kept one hand on her hat while the other gripped the side of the seat. 'He'll have us over, else.'

Wedged between the florid man and the window, Lorna took a deep breath and wriggled in the leather seat to try and regain some space. She inhaled air laced with the aroma of damp wool and humanity and thanked her good fortune she was not outside in the rain.

'And what do you think, young lady?' The elderly woman asked. 'I say we should complain about his reckless driving as soon as we arrive in Great Malvern.'

'If we arrive safely,' Lorna said, 'we will have nothing about which to complain. If we don't arrive safely, then we will have other things to worry about rather than complaining about a man who may have already broken his neck.' She stared out the window, rather enjoying watching the countryside speed past, with the steam rising from the horses and the driver cracking his whip. There was something quite exhilarating in suddenly rising up the brow of a hill, every village through which they passed provided a quota of excited children who lined the street and waved excitedly at them. It was an interesting method of learning the characteristics of this cool, damp country.

The sudden blare of the guard's horn warned the passengers and everybody else that they were approaching their destination. Lorna rubbed away a clear space in the condensation on the window to give herself a better view of the outside world.

'Thank the Lord,' the florid man thundered. 'We're arriving.'

The horses came to a halt and stood to shiver and steam in the rain, oblivious of the guard blowing his horn once more and roaring out 'Bellevue Inn, Great Malvern! Ten minutes!' He opened the door and peered into the coach. 'Ten minutes to change the horses and have a quick refreshment ladies and gentleman. Great Malvern is your destination, Madam.' The last statement was to Lorna, who was already easing her cramped limbs as she gingerly placed her foot on the small iron step between the body of the coach and the ground below.

Burly and cheerful, as most of his kind were, the guard loaned Lorna his arm and guided her down. 'There we are Miss, all safe and sound.' He looked around, indifferent to the rain that hammered onto his cape and formed large puddles on the ground. 'If you get yourself into the inn I'll get your luggage from the boot. One portmanteau wasn't it?'

'It was, guard,' Lorna pulled her cloak tighter. After the stuffy confines of the mail coach, it was good to get into the fresh air, although the rain that immediately dripped down the back of her neck was not so pleasant. 'I'm not staying at the inn, though.'

'Are you not, Miss?' The guard affected surprised interest. 'Staying with friends are you?'

'No,' Lorna accepted her portmanteau with a smile of thanks. 'I am the new teacher at St Ann's College.'

'Well, good for you, Ma'am,' the guard said. 'You'll need a hand with that bag then. Shall I call a porter from the inn for you?'

'I'll manage,' Lorna retained her smile. 'However, I would be obliged if you could point me in the right direction for the school.'

'If you're sure, Ma'am,' the guard looked doubtful that a woman could carry a case on her own. He indicated a hill behind the inn. 'There is a path up there, Ma'am, known as the Red Lion Bank. The college is about halfway up. It's in a walled garden with the name above the gate.'

'Thank you.' Lorna looked around. The Belle Vue Inn stood in Belle Vue terrace which was parallel to the run of the long ridge of the Malvern Hills. Some of the houses in the terrace looked old, with gables that faced the street, others were Georgian, with shops on the lower levels pushing out to the pedestrians that walked by. The juxtaposition of old and Georgian gave the terrace a unique charm that Lorna quite admired, while the hotels and health spas revealed one reason for the popularity of this town.

At right angles to the terrace, the six lodging houses of Paradise Row marked the top of Church Street that stretched to the walled garden around the Vicarage. Ignoring the rain, Lorna nodded at the Royal Library near the top of Church Street. With its bow front and bustling appearance, this building was the social centre of the town while the spiritual heart, the massive Priory, dominated the surrounding walled churchyard with its holm oaks and ancient yew trees. That was life and death standing side by side, Lorna thought and neither of them of any concern to her.

In front of the Priory, the Abbey Gateway was ornate and prominent, with yellow candlelight glowing behind many of the windows. Lorna took everything in with one long sweep, turned away and looked toward the Red Lion Bank.

'Ready Jem?' The driver took his place on the front of the mail coach; the guard joined him precisely as the whip cracked. The coach pulled quickly away, its wheels buzzing on the wet ground and half a dozen small boys whooping and chasing in its wake.

Lorna shook off her sudden sensation of loneliness. This was a new life in a new country she had always thought of as home; straightening her back, she lifted her portmanteau and stepped on.

The rain was heavier as Lorna passed the Red Lion public house. She ascended what turned out to be a steep, narrow path that curved upward between different levels of buildings and then underneath the overhanging branches of stark winter trees. Rainwater pooled at the side of the road and formed a small gushing channel in the centre.

After ten minutes, Lorna stopped at the sign.

St Ann's College for Young Ladies

It was plain and unpretentious, a simple brass plaque screwed into the centre of a black wrought-iron gate set in a high stone wall. Lorna tried the gate, frowning when she found it firmly closed. She rattled it, hoping for a reply and then walked around the wall, searching for an alternative entrance. The wall entirely encircled two acres of garden ground, hiding all view of the building within. Lorna was back at the brass plate and the entrance gate within twenty minutes, wet, bedraggled and frustrated.

'Halloa!' Lorna raised her voice in a shout. 'Is there anybody there?' There was no answer except the patter of rain on the trees and the call of a lonely blackbird. She tried again: 'Halloa! Is there anybody there?'

This time she heard the ruffle of feet on a gravel path and a stocky man in late middle-age appeared on the opposite side of the gate. 'Who the devil are you?' He looked her up and down and pulled at his grey side-whiskers. 'You're too young to be a parent and too old to be a pupil. What do you want, hollering and shouting fit to wake the dead like that?'

'I am Lorna Buchanan,' Lorna tried to ignore the rain that had reduced her hat to a soggy mess and which dripped from her nose and chin. 'I am to report to Mrs Appleton this morning. She is expecting me.'

'Oh,' the man made no effort to unlock the gate. 'She is, is she?' He eyed Lorna through the black iron bars. 'And what would Miss Appleton want with somebody like you?'

'I am to be a teacher here,' Lorna explained. 'So let me in, if you please.'

The man grunted, fiddled in the pocket of his baggy velveteen jacket and produced a small bunch of keys. After a moment's jingling, he unlocked the gate and pulled it open. 'You'd best come in then.' The second Lorna entered, the man closed the door with a clang, turned the key and rattled it thoroughly to check it was locked. 'Miss Appleton doesn't like the gate open. It keeps the girls in and Mad Jack out.'

'Mad Jack?' Lorna queried.

The man did not reply.

'The school is up there; I take it?' Lorna indicated the gravel path that wound gracefully through dripping rhododendron bushes.

'I'll show you.' The man limped forward, round-shouldered. 'So you're to be the new teacher are you?'

'That's the idea,' Lorna said.

The man grunted. 'I give you a month,' he said. 'New teachers never last much longer than that.'

'Oh?' Lorna looked around. The path wound upward, past the rhododendrons and across a stretch of sloping lawn to a large Georgian style house complete with colonnades and a pitched slate roof. Two storeys of tall, multi-paned windows glared down at her with an Italianate tower dominating the north-west wing and rising another two storeys. 'It looks a remarkably satisfying building.'

The man grunted again as they reached the stone steps that led to the closed front door. 'If you wait here, Miss Buchanan, I will see if Miss Appleton will receive you.' He glared at Lorna. 'Don't wander off.'

The lone blackbird continued to sing as Lorna waited in the rain. She heard the sound of chanting as a class of girls learned their lesson and the sharply raised voice of a teacher followed by a moment's silence and then more chanting. Lorna nodded; that sounded exactly like school as she believed it to be.

'Miss Buchanan?' The man had returned. 'Miss Appleton will see you now. This way please.' He held the door open for her with slightly more respect than he had shown a few moments before.

The door opened into an echoing hallway with half a dozen doors opening off, a staircase that rose to the landing above and a wall lined with portraits. Lorna glanced around, thinking that the interior exactly echoed the exterior. The building held a faint aroma of chalk while a young maid knelt on the third step up, furiously polishing the bannister.

'Up the stairs,' the man gave brief instructions, 'follow the corridor to the right and up the stairs again. Miss Appleton is in the topmost room.'

'Thank you,' Lorna wondered if the man would offer to take her bag, but instead, he stomped outside and closed the door. The maid continued to polish, taking no notice of Lorna.

Taking a deep breath, Lorna mounted the stairs. She could hear that rhythmic chanting again, coming from two separate classrooms. Rather than stop to listen, she continued until she arrived at a plain oak door adorned with a brass plate that announced baldly:

Miss Appleton

'Well, here we go,' Lorna said and knocked.

'Come in.' The sharp-voiced reply came immediately.

Lorna stepped inside, to see an immaculately dressed woman sitting behind a pristine desk. Uniform ranks of leather-bound books covered two walls of the room. Lorna scanned the titles: volumes on manners, decorum, and behaviour filled one bookcase, with another contained books on mythology, folklore and classical and local history. The wind blew rain through the open Venetian windows, while a long cane hung ominously behind Miss Appleton's chair. A grandmother clock ticked serenely in the corner furthest from the desk.

Miss Appleton looked up from behind her desk, her eyes granite-grey in a hard-edged face. 'You're very tall.'

'I know,' Lorna was used to people commenting on her height.

'You must be nearly six feet.'

'I am five foot nine,' Lorna said.

'The girls may not like that,' Miss Appleton perched on her ornate seat like an eagle in its nest. Her smile was surprisingly friendly. 'That might help you keep order. Have you taught before?'

'No, Miss Appleton.'

Miss Appleton nodded and lifted the letter that Lorna had sent. 'You admit that in your little note. Are you sure you wish to embark on this adventure?'

'I'm sure,' Lorna said.

Miss Appleton re-read Lorna's letter. 'You say that you are able to teach History, English Literature and Geography.'

'That is correct, Miss Appleton.'

'You will be aware of the line of the royal succession I take it?' Miss Appleton asked.

'I am, Miss Appleton, from Egbert to our present Queen Victoria, although the Saxon kingdom Egbert founded was temporary and genuine English unification had to wait until the rule of Athelstan.'

'You will know the Romantic poets and the author of the Lady of the Lake?' The steel was evident in Miss Appleton's eyes.

'Sir Walter Scott is one of my favourite authors,' Lorna said. 'And Wordsworth and Coleridge are old friends.'

'I am glad to hear it,' Miss Appleton said dryly. 'I hear you have travelled quite extensively. That will help your geography.' She fixed Lorna with that stare again. 'Was your father not regularly employed?'

'My father is in the Army, Miss Appleton. We moved from posting to posting, spending most of our time in India. My mother died in the late Mutiny and father thought it best that I returned home.'

'What rank does he have, Miss Buchanan?' The stare did not waver.

'He is a Major, Miss Appleton.' Lorna stiffened her back.

'Oh,' Miss Appleton gave a little frown. 'Some of my girls have fathers who hold a higher rank. I hope your background does not hamper your teaching.'

'I am sure I will manage, Miss Appleton.'

'I teach manners and deportment to all three classes, and I have and a class of specifically Chosen Girls.' Miss Appleton stood up. 'Your room is beside that of Miss Henshaw. Your first class is at nine tomorrow morning: British history. I will have a timetable sent up to you.'

'Thank you, Miss Appleton.' That had been easier than she had expected.

'That will be all, Miss Buchanan.' Miss Appleton dismissed her curtly.

Chapter Two

'Are you Miss Buchanan? I am Jane Henshaw.' The speaker was bubbly, with blonde hair that was not quite under control, and a wide smile under her snub nose. She peered around the open door. 'May I come in?'

'Lorna Buchanan,' Lorna gave a little curtsey. 'Of course, you can come in.'

Jane's trim grey dress touched the top of her black boots and stopped just short of her neck. She smelled of soap and chalk: the scent of the school.

Lorna looked around the room that was to be her home for the foreseeable future. It was small, with iron bars across a window that gave a view of the stone wall of the basement and nothing much else. The interior was dull and neat, with a single brass candlestick holding a tallow candle that pooled much-needed yellow light. There was a narrow single bed with one cover and a pillow on top of a thin straw mattress. A chest of drawers and a hard-backed chair completed the furnishings.

'This is nice and snug,' Lorna said.

Jane wrinkled her nose. 'They're not bad, but they can get a bit stuffy in summer and in winter you have to break the ice on the water,' she pointed to a blue-and-white ewer and pitcher that stood on top of the drawers.

Lorna smiled. 'I've lived in a lot worse,' she said.

'I'm right next door,' Jane said. 'My room is exactly the same except I have put pictures on the wall to brighten things up.'

Lorna smiled. 'That's a good idea.'

'Have you met Miss Appleton? Of course, you have,' Jane answered her own question. 'She can be a bit stiff, a bit la-de-dah, you know?' She pursed her mouth and drew her eyebrows closer together. 'If you can ignore her ferocious dignity she's all right really as long as you do as she tells you.'

'I'll do as she tells me,' Lorna said.

'You'd better,' Jane said. 'And don't mention her little foibles for goodness sake. There'll be a camality else.' She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. 'Her bad side is really bad.'

'A camality? Oh, a calamity! Of course. What foibles should I watch for?' Lorna felt her curiosity rise.

'Oh, you'd better not ask,' Jane said. 'If you see anything unusual, turn away and shut your eyes.'

About to ask more, Lorna thought it better not to push too hard so soon. 'I'll do that,' she promised. Have you been here long?' She sat on the bed. It was hard; so was the pillow.

'Fourteen months,' Jane said.

Lorna felt the blanket; it was stiff, clean and sharp- edged. 'That's a long time. You'll know your way around by now.'

'I don't get lost anymore,' Jane reached out and fingered Lorna's cloak. 'You're very wet. You'd better put some dry clothes on before you catch your death.' She dragged a towel from the chest of drawers. 'Here; dry your hair as well; you're dripping water everywhere. You'll quite ruin the floorboards.'

Lorna opened her bag. It did not take her long to choose from the meagre contents.

'Come on,' Jane waited impatiently for Lorna to change. 'I'll give you a tour of the place and get you all settled in.'

'Thank you.' Feeling slightly dishevelled beside the neat Jane, Lorna followed into the corridor outside. She shivered in the dank chill. India had been nothing like this.

'That's the girls' dormitories,'Jane pointed to three doors side by side on the right. 'Lights out is at eight for the juniors and nine for the seniors. We have one week a month on dormitory duty. It's easy enough; just settle the girls in and make sure they stay in bed.' She gave Lorna a sideways look. 'It's important they stay in bed all night. Leaving the school means big trouble, Lorna. Don't forget that.'

'I won't,' Lorna said. 'The man who let me in – the porter I take it? He said that teachers don't last here. Is that correct?'

'Yes, it's correct,' Jane said. 'Ben should not have told you that on your first day. It may be discouraging.'

'I am not discouraged,' Lorna said, 'Only intrigued. Why don't teachers stay?'

'Teaching is not for everybody,' Jane said lightly. 'Especially in this school.' She smiled briefly. 'Now over here we have the classrooms where you'll be teaching. The middle one is yours.' She opened the door to a spacious room with two tall windows set too high for any pupil to stare outside and day-dream. The teacher's desk faced four rows of desks, while maps of Britain, Europe and the World decorated the walls.

'That looks like a splendid classroom,' Lorna said. 'There is plenty of space.' She walked in to examine the bookcase with its display of slightly tattered volumes of history, grammar, geography, and religion; each desk had its inkwell and a slate attached by a small cord. She moved the teacher's desk slightly, not because it was in the wrong place, but only to make her mark in the room as soon as possible. 'What was her name?'

'Whose name?' Jane asked.

'My predecessor. She was less tall than me.' Lorna said. 'The desk was too far back to see the whole of the class properly.'

'Oh, her name.' Jane screwed up her face. 'Miss Plumbett as far as I can recall. She was not here long enough to make much of an impression. I'm sure that you will be much happier here.'

'I'm sure I shall,' Lorna said.

'It's not that bad if you follow the rules and as I said, ignore the head's strange fixations.' Jane's look was full of meaning.

The sound of a door opening and closing and the clatter of hard-soled boots on the wooden floorboards announced the arrival of a file of girls in the corridor. They were of all ages from minuscule eleven-year- olds with pinched white faces to tall young women who were nearing twenty, and they walked in dignified silence with their hands clasped in front of them and their eyes demurely downcast.

'That's classes finished for the day,' Jane said. 'The girls are going to get washed, have their tea and then two hours homework.'

Lorna nodded. 'That's a long day for them.'

'Keep them busy,' Jane said, 'and they won't get into any trouble. The devil finds work for idle hands.'

'I'm sure he does,' Lorna agreed as the girls passed her. Most still kept their heads down, but as the increased the distance from the classroom, two or three glanced in her direction. One blonde-haired teenager with bold eyes looked Lorna up and down before adopting the same pose as her peers.

'Keep your head down, Margaret,' Jane snapped. 'You know the rules!' She lowered her voice. 'That's your class, Lorna.'

'I'll be watching you, Margaret my girl,' Lorna thought. 'I know your type very well.'

The girls passed them without a word before heading downstairs in a column of two. Only when they were out of sight did somebody speak.

'You stole my pen, Alice!'

'I did not! I only borrowed it.

'Oh, you're such a liar, Alice! You're always borrowing things and not returning them.'

'That's Margaret Smith complaining,' Jane said. 'You'll get to know her.'

'I thought they behaved very well,' Lorna said.

'Oh they have their moments,' Jane gave a small smile. 'They have to be kept in line if you know what I mean.'

'I think I do,' Lorna said.

Jane laughed. 'We've all been through that. Now, this is where we can relax a little.' She brought Lorna into a small room with a central round table and half a dozen straight-backed chairs. Bookcases filled with shabby text-books lined the walls. 'This is the staff common-room, where we gather to mark work and discuss the horrible pupils.' She pulled out a seat. 'The only thing we can't do here is talk about Miss Appleton.' She lowered her voice. 'You don't know who may carry tales to her.'

'I see; thank you, for the warning,' Lorna said. 'Do you intend working here for long?'

'Oh no.' When Jane shook her head her curls bounced from under her cap. 'I am only here to learn what to do. I want my own school where I am in charge, and I make the rules.'

Lorna smiled. 'You are a woman of ambition then!'

'Always,' Jane lowered her voice. 'Be careful of Miss Appleton, Lorna. She and her Chosen Girls get up to some queer things. I don't know what they are doing, sometimes.'

'Oh?' Lorna closed the door. 'I do love a little gossip. What do you mean?'

Jane's voice dropped to a whisper. 'There are peculiar happenings, Lorna. Sometimes it's best not to ask too much or see too much. I just wanted to warn you to be careful, and if you do see or hear anything, it is best not to notice it.'

'You have mentioned that,' Lorna said.

'Good.' Jane pulled a face. 'You have been warned! Now let's talk about something else.'

Quelling her curiosity, Lorna nodded and allowed Jane to complete her tour of the school. It seemed that she had stepped from the fire of mutiny in India to the frying pan of mystery in the heart of rural England.

Chapter Three

Lorna was not sure what woke her. She lay in the unfamiliar bed, trying to make out shapes in the strange room. She could hear the slight whine of the wind through the ill-fitting window and the faint call of an owl outside. These were natural sounds that she would sleep through, so it must have been something else. There it was again; a definite shuffle, as if somebody was trying to walk with her ankles tied together or trying to creep along without making a sound.

Lorna closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She was nervous about her first day at this school. Any novel experience could be nerve-racking but standing in front of a group of hyper-critical teenagers all of whom knew she was brand new and most of whom were expecting and hoping that she made a fool of herself multiplied the apprehension by a factor of ten. That was sufficient to occupy anybody's mind without thinking about unknown sounds in the middle of the night.

Lorna turned over, ignoring the hardness of the mattress beneath her hip. Perhaps her predecessor had been chased away by an unruly class? Maybe she had been unable to keep them in line if they were having, as Jane put it, 'one of their moments'? She turned back, fretful.

'Oh, this is silly!' She told herself. 'A couple of years ago I was in constant danger of being murdered in my sleep or attacked at any time of the day; what does it matter what a handful of teenage girls think of me?

There was that sound again, interrupting her train of thought. Sighing, Lorna gave up her struggle to sleep and dragged herself out of bed. She drew on her dressing-gown and a shawl and quietly opened the door. The corridor outside was black as a December midnight, without even a glimmer of light. There was nothing to see there, so she took hold of the candle, scraped a spark from the old-fashioned tinder-box and carefully cupped the wick until a flame grew to maturity. Only then did she step into the corridor, closing the door behind her. The click of the latch seemed unnaturally loud.

The yellow candle-light cast weird shadows across the panelled walls as Lorna walked cautiously along the corridor. She could hear the sound in the mysterious dark ahead and moved quicker.

The hand on her arm startled her. 'Best not, Lorna.'

'What?' Lorna started; momentarily back in the humidity of Oudh. 'Oh, Jane! What are you doing here?'

'I'm making sure you don't get in trouble,' Jane hissed. 'And keep your voice down.' She pulled at Lorna's arm. 'You'd better get back to your room.'

'Why? What is it?'

'Come on!' Jane pulled harder. 'It's not our concern.'

Lorna gently freed her arm. 'Listen,' she said. 'It's a shuffling sound.'

'I can't hear anything,' Jane said.

She was right. The sound had stopped. Chill silence pressed down upon them.

'Get back to your room, Lorna,' Jane repeated. 'There's nothing out here.'

Lorna nodded. 'Not any longer.'

The candle threw its light around the room when Jane closed the door behind them. 'What's happening here, Jane? What's all the mystery?'

Jane pushed her gently onto the bed. 'Do you remember asking about Miss Plumbett?'

'Of course,' Lorna said.

'Well, she asked too many questions, and they got rid of her.' Jane leaned closer to Lorna. 'This is a good place if you don't ask questions.'

'I see,' Lorna said. 'It's best to be like the three wise monkeys, then.'

'Exactly like them.' Jane said. 'Hear no evil, see no evil and for heaven's sake don't talk about any evil. Now get to sleep, Lorna and don't even think about evil – or anything else.'

'It's not that bad, surely,' Lorna said.

'It's not bad at all. There's nothing about it to be bad. Now get to sleep; you've a big day tomorrow.' Jane smiled, 'I won't tuck you up! I'm on dormitory patrol this week, so I have enough to do ensuring these young misses don't get up to any mischief. Good night, Lorna.'

'Good night.' Lorna lay back down. It was probably all her imagination anyway. Jane blew out the candle as she left. The door closed with a slight click and Lorna was alone with her thoughts and her memories.

Clammy and hot, the Indian night resounded with the sound of insects and night birds. She could hear the soft footsteps of the Pandies creeping around. She shifted slightly until her father's hard hand clamped on to her back. The sounds increased; a twig snapped close by, there was the whiff of body odour, a guttural voice, the gleam of moonlight on a white cross-belt. Lorna felt the hammer of her heart as a predatory brown face flitted from behind a tree. She closed her eyes, stifling her sobs as she heard her father slide the revolver from its holster.

* * *

The girls watched her; fifteen expressionless faces; fifteen pairs of inquisitive eyes; fifteen minds all wondering what she would be like as a teacher; fifteen girls who could make her life impossible, or who could turn out to be the most pleasant and rewarding young friends for which she could wish.

'Good morning,' Lorna said quietly.

The girls stood up immediately. 'Good morning, Miss' they chorused in unison and sat down again in a display of choreographed discipline that would have put the Brigade of Guards to shame.

'My name is Miss Buchanan,' Lorna said, 'and I am here to teach you history.'

The girls looked at her, still expressionless. Lorna allowed her eyes to roam across them. 'Now before we begin, I wish you to stand up one by one and give me your name. Start at the left, please.'

She knew she would not remember half of them, but this was a quick way to break the ice and learn something about their personality.

They stood one by one, gave their names: 'Jessica Headley, Miss', 'Emily Jack, Miss,' 'Alice Weatherby, Miss,' then there was a pause.

'Don't you have a name?' Lorna had known the blonde girl would have been the first to test her. What was her name again? Margaret Smith: that was it.

'Yes, Miss Buchanan. You said to start on the left, and I am on the right.'

Lorna raised her eyebrows. 'So you are. Now we know that you can tell your left from your right, you can stand and give me your name.' She paused and hardened her tone. 'Now, please.'

The blonde rolled her eyes and made a huge job of pushing herself upright from her desk. 'I am Margaret Smith.' She did not flinch at Lorna's deliberately stern gaze.

'Sit down, Margaret,' Lorna said quietly, knowing that this girl would be even bigger trouble than she had thought. She could address that later. At present… 'I believe that Miss Plumbett introduced you to the Norman Conquest. Can anybody tell me what happened next?'

'Miss Plumbett didn't get that far,' Margaret Smith said boldly.

Some of the other girls tittered, to immediately quieten when Lorna looked at them. So Margaret Smith was the ringleader, spokeswoman and chief troublemaker with a following in the class. Welcome to teaching at St Ann's College.

'How far did she get, Margaret?' Lorna kept her voice deceptively soft.

'Not far at all, Miss,' innocent Margaret said.

'You can remind us all,' Lorna said. 'Step out here and tell the class. I have the notes Miss Plumbett left so I can make sure you leave nothing out. Come on now.'

Margaret's eyes narrowed momentarily as she inwardly debated whether or not she could push Lorna further. Lorna held her gaze all the way to the front of the class. 'Now off you go, Margaret.' She lowered her voice so only Margaret could hear. 'It's better for you to behave.'

Standing in front of the class, Margaret looked a lot less bold than she had only a few moments before. Her voice shook, and her accent broadened until it was as rich Herefordshire as any of the local farmers.

Some of the class mocked as Margaret stumbled over her words; others pulled faces or stuck out their tongues when they thought Lorna could not see. Lorna suddenly understood: Margaret was not a born troublemaker. She was acting a part to gain acceptance. For some reason, she did not belong here.

'Thank you, Margaret,' Lorna had no desire to prolong the girl's humiliation. 'You did well; better than those in the class who sought to distract you.' She allowed her gaze to rest on the culprits, who had the grace to look away guiltily. 'You may sit down now.'

The class shifted uneasily; they had hoped for more drama from Margaret and the new teacher, with one or the other looking foolish. Now the situation was diffused they were not sure what to do. Well, Lorna had ideas for that.

'History now; let's see how much you can tell me,' she smiled to them, making it evident she had drawn a line, and the teaching started fresh. She had survived the first test and learned something about the dynamics of the class. Now it was all about history.

Lorna sighed: Miss Appleton had put her on dormitory duty. She had not expected that to come after only one week at the school. She gave a rueful smile: newcomers to any job were given the unwanted tasks. There was no reason that it should be different for her.

There were two methods of checking the girls in a dormitory. She could either creep along to catch them unawares at whatever they were not supposed to be doing, or make a noise, so they had sufficient warning of her approach to pretend innocence. Lorna chose the latter route; holding her candle in his brass holder, she planted her feet crisply onto the floorboards and made enough noise for the girls in the dormitory to hear her. Lorna smiled as the murmuring within the room ceased, pushed open the door, waited for a moment, stepped in and looked around.

Two rows of beds each complete with its occupant. Two rows of faces either with eyes closed feigning sleep or blinking at her in assumed surprise.

'Good night girls,' Lorna said brightly. 'It's lights out now.'

'Good night Miss Buchanan,' most chorused as Lorna doused the candles.