“But not so scandalous that you have discounted it.”
I do, of course, have my reputation to think of. And that of the school. Yet sometimes I find myself wishing to do what is not expected and required, within acceptable boundaries. “It appears I have not.”
“Then would the possibility of meeting me at The Singing Kettle this Saturday afternoon be one you would entertain?”
“I do believe I would, Mr Connor.” People would gossip anyway. I might as well give them something to talk about.
Four days after the panic in the dormitory, and three days after I accepted Mr Connor’s offer to meet for tea, there was another incident. The girls were at study in the library when, according to Miss Grainger the mathematics mistress, who was with them at the time, several textbooks “leapt off the shelf”. Miss Grainger is not prone to exaggeration, but without being present myself I cannot say whether the books leapt, fell or were simply pulled down when Miss Grainger’s back was turned. I can say that Mary Fraser was in the room at the time.
“A widower, you say?”
Mr Connor picked up the teapot. “As of six months ago. My dear Anna contracted a fever. She passed quickly, and in many ways she is still with me.”
“My sympathies. Yes please, I will have more tea. And was she also, ahem, Irish?”
“Irish? Oh, the accent. I left Ireland when I was a boy, as so many of my countrymen do. I lived most of my life in America, where I met Anna and made business connections in the mining industry which have, whatever else, left me in a favourable financial position.”
A man looking to turn a woman’s head might make such a statement. But would such a man, a few breaths earlier, also imply he has not fully accepted the death of his wife? Either way, Mr Connor was nothing if not direct, and I decided to follow suit. “Strange, then, that you should leave the United States and choose to settle in a quiet town in the Midlands. Assuming, that is, you plan to stay in Walsall?”
“I’ve taken rental of a modest house on Ablewell Street. As to why: half my family went to the United States, the other half to work on the railways here. Those who came to England did well, and some still live in the area. With no wife or children in this world, I thought to try and reconnect with them. How long I will stay, I am not yet sure.”
I took a sip of tea. “Ablewell Street is near St Matthews. I myself attend St Matthews for evensong most weeks, yet I have not seen you there.”
“I worship at a different church.”
I had thought as much. “Ah, your Irish roots perhaps?”
“I was raised a Catholic, but have drifted away from the faith of my fathers.”
He had not, I noted, admitted which church he attended – if any; I would not put it past this unusual man to be an atheist. But his upbringing could provide knowledge relevant to the other matter on my mind. “Your familiarity with Catholicism still outstrips mine. May I ask a question?”
“Related to the Catholic faith? If you wish.” He took a sip of tea.
“Where does Catholicism stand on the matter of ghosts? I had thought the Church of Rome’s view not dissimilar to the Protestant one, but would welcome contradiction in this matter.”
“Ghosts?” He put down his cup and cleared his throat. “In essence both branches of Christianity state the same view: ghosts are manifestations of the spirits of the dead.”
“A view which, as we enter the twentieth century since Christ’s birth, is hard to credit.”
“Many do, Miss Hunter.”
A suspicion was forming. “Including yourself, Mr Connor?”
He inclined his head.
“Then I am guessing,” I said, “that Sunday may find you on Caldmore Road.”
“You guess correctly. I am a Spiritualist.”
“Ah.”
“Does knowing this preclude our meeting again?” He sounded regretful.
My heart softened. “I think we may agree to differ on certain subjects.”
He smiled. “I will take that to mean that tea next week remains a possibility.”
“It does.” Something about Mr Connor’s company made me inclined to take risks.
Three days later the “ghost” made another appearance in the dormitory. Miss Langham dealt with the crisis this time, as I was sound asleep, having taken a draught to combat a minor chill. All the staff who live at the school had been made aware of the previous incident – and my judgement that the cause was youthful hysteria – so she did not wake me. But breakfast was a strained affair, and Miss Langham approached me for a private word. When I asked whether Mary had been the one to raise the alarm, she replied, “Why yes, Miss Hunter. The poor girl was terrified out of her wits.”
The tense atmosphere persisted into the morning, with pupils and teachers alike on edge. I summoned Mary to my office after supper and told her that I was moving her to the alcove at the far end of the dormitory, next to the lower-school girls. She responded with a curt, “Yes, miss.”
“Mary, is there anything else you can tell me?”
“I’m not sure what you mean miss.”
“Were you asleep when you saw this apparition?” To confirm this was all in Mary’s imagination would calm the situation.
“It wasn’t a dream, miss! Jenny and Jane and Sarah saw it too.”
Mary herself would give no further detail beyond insisting again that she had seen “an unquiet spirit”. I spoke to the other three alleged witnesses. Whatever they saw had been directly outside the window, white in colour and had moved unnaturally. Only Sarah, the girl in the alcove next to Mary’s, had caught more than a glimpse, claiming to have seen the ghost “flying off, up and away”.
There was, of course, a potential expert close at hand. But whilst I found myself content, even perversely pleased, to endure a degree of gossip regarding my dealings with the town’s newest resident, the idea of inviting a Spiritualist to carry on investigations at my school was unthinkable.
There was, however, another place to go for advice in matters this far outside my experience.
My dear Mr Holmes,
I greatly enjoy reading of your exploits as recounted by Dr Watson and am writing to you now in the hopes of some assistance. You may recall our brief acquaintance, some years ago, as immortalised by the good doctor. I suspect you remember every detail but in case you do not it concerned my brief sojourn as a governess at the Copper Beeches, a somewhat unwholesome house in Hampshire, and the deception perpetrated there of which I was an unwitting part.
I have since found my place in the world as headmistress of a modest school for girls of the upper middle classes. Most of my pupils are local, but we do have some boarders, and one of these has, on two occasions now, claimed to see a ghost outside the dormitory window, an experience that has left her greatly disturbed. Whilst she is unwilling to speak freely, I do not doubt that she believes she has seen something out of the ordinary, and knowing the girl in question well, I do not think this is behaviour designed to draw attention: on the contrary, she endeavours not to attract notice to herself. Whatever the case, the incident is causing considerable unrest at the school.
I know you for a rational man, and like myself you will seek for an Earthly explanation for these incidents, yet the girl in question’s refusal to cooperate and the lack of reliable corroboration have brought me to an impasse.
Given your many commitments, and the unlikelihood of any criminal connection, I would not expect you to travel up to the Midlands, and my own position will not permit me to attend you in London. However, any advice or guidance you can give that might permit me to quietly resolve this mystery would be greatly appreciated.