The arrival of Tom caused a moment of distraction and turning of heads, in which Irma shook herself free; Rosamund rose from her knees, Edith pressed a hand to her burning cheek. The messenger presented Mr Hussey’s compliments, and if Miss Leopold was set on catching the Melbourne express she had best come this minute; adding as a personal postscript, ‘And good luck to you Miss from meself and all in the kitchen.’ It was all over, as simply and quickly as that, with the girls falling back in the old orderly manner to let Irma pass between them and Mademoiselle kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘You will find your parasol hanging up in the hall, ma chérie – au revoir, we shall meet again.’ (Ah, but never . . . never again, my little dove.)
There was a perfunctory murmuring of farewell as they watched her walking with the old remembered grace towards the gymnasium door. Here, filled with an infinite compassion for sorrows unguessed at and forever unexplained, she turned, waved a little gloved hand and wanly smiled. So Irma Leopold passed from Appleyard College and out of their lives.
Mademoiselle was consulting her watch. ‘We are late this afternoon, girls.’ The gymnasium, always poorly lit, was rapidly darkening. ‘Go at once to your rooms and change those ugly bloomers to something pretty for supper tonight.’
‘Can I wear my pink?’ Edith wanted to know. The governess looked up sharply. ‘You may wear what you like.’ Only Rosamund lingered. ‘Shall I help you tidy the room Mam’ selle?’ ‘No, thank you, Rosamund, I have a migraine and would like to be alone for a little while.’ The door closed on the empty room. It was only now that she remembered that Dora Lumley had never come back with the Head.
It is no easy matter to emerge with dignity from a crouching position in a narrow cupboard with one eye glued to the keyhole. Something pretty indeed! Dora Lumley, who now thought it prudent to step out from safe asylum, could hardly believe her ears.
‘So! The brave little toad has come out of its hole!’ A trickle of saliva moistened Dora Lumley’s dry lips. ‘You are insolent, Mam’selle!’ Dianne, meticulously putting away her music, tossed the junior governess a contemptuous glance. ‘I might have guessed! You made no attempt to give my message to the Head?’
‘It was too late! Somebody would have seen me. . . . It seemed better to stay here until it was over.’
‘In the cupboard? Oh, the wise little toad!’
‘Well, why not? The girls were making a disgraceful exhibition of themselves. There was nothing I could do.’
‘You had better do something now and help me put some order into this horrible room. I don’t wish that the servants notice anything unusual tomorrow morning.’
‘The point is, Mam’selle, what are we going to tell Mrs Appleyard?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘You heard me! Exactly nothing.’
‘You astound me! If I had my way they should be whipped.’
‘There is a word in the French language that fits you à merveille, Dora Lumley. Malheureusement, decent people do not use it.’ The sallow cheeks flushed. ‘How dare you speak to me like that! How dare you! I shall inform Mrs Appleyard myself of these disgraceful goings on. This very night.’
Dianne de Poitiers had picked up an Indian club from the floor. ‘You see this? I have the wrists exceptionally strong, Miss Lumley. Unless you give me a promise, before you leave this room, that you will not tell one little word of what happened here this afternoon . . . I will hit you with it very hard indeed. And nobody would suspect the French governess. You understand what I say?’
‘You are not fit to be in authority over innocent young girls.’
‘I agree. I was brought up expecting something much more entertaining. Alors! C’est la vie. You promise?’
Dora Lumley, looking desperately towards the closed door, decided the necessary dash was too much for her fallen arches and heaving chest.
The Frenchwoman was idly twirling the Indian club. ‘I am perfectly serious Miss Lumley. Though I don’t intend to give you my reasons.’
‘I promise,’ gasped the other, now trembling and marble white as Mademoiselle calmly replaced the club on top of the pile. ‘Mercy on us! What’s that strange sound?’
From the far corner of the room now almost in darkness came a single rasping cry. Miss Lumley, under the stress of a most unpleasant afternoon, had forgotten to unfasten the leather straps that held the child Sara rigid on the horizontal board.
13
Whether the events just related were eventually made known to Mrs Appleyard can only be surmised. It is unlikely under the circumstances that Dora Lumley broke her promise of silence to Mademoiselle. At supper that evening, over which the Headmistress presided as she occasionally liked to do, the boarders were quiet and orderly, if not particularly hungry. A little desultory conversation was indulged in, and to all appearances as far as Dianne de Poitiers could judge nothing special was amiss apart from Sara Waybourne’s absence with a migraine and Edith Horton complaining to Miss Lumley of a touch of neuralgia in the right cheek. Edith supposed she must have been sitting in a draught in the gymnasium. ‘The gymnasium can be a very draughty room,’ put in Mademoiselle from her end of the table.
The Headmistress, gloomily attacking a lamb cutlet at the opposite end, might have been engaged in expertly dismembering a man-eating shark. Actually she had far more important fish to fry, the cutlet being no more than an outward symbol of inner conflict concerning the two letters, one from Mr Leopold and one from Miranda’s father, still unanswered on her desk. However, she felt it was necessary for purposes of morale to keep the conversational ball rolling and forced herself to enquire of Rosamund, on her right hand, whether Irma Leopold was travelling to England by the Orient or P.& O. Line?
‘I don’t know, Mrs Appleyard. Irma stayed such a very short while this afternoon we hardly spoke to her.’
‘My sister and I thought she looked rather pale and tired,’ piped up the more articulate of the New Zealand pair.
‘Indeed? Irma assured me herself she is in perfect health.’ The gold padlock on the Head’s heavy chain bracelet rattled against her plate, She felt herself start and fancied that the French governess at the other end of the table was looking at her in rather a peculiar way; noted the emeralds sparkling on her wrist and wondered if they were too large to be real. The sight of the jewels brought her thoughts back to the Leopolds, said to own a diamond mine in Brazil. She made a vicious stab at the cutlet and decided to sit up all night if necessary and get Tom to post both letters by the early mail on Friday morning.
Directly the meal was over and the Lord duly thanked for rice pudding and stewed plums, the Headmistress rose from the table, retired to the study, locked the door, and sat down, pen in hand, to her odious task. Most women faced with a situation so dangerous, so entangled by a thousand side issues, would long ago have taken the simplest way out. It would still have been possible, for instance, to plead urgent business in England and regrettably close down the College for good. Even to sell it for what it would bring while it remained a going concern. What was it called in business? ‘Goodwill.’ She ground her teeth. Precious little of that! The College was already being talked about as haunted and God knows what other mischievous nonsense. She might sit in her study behind closed doors for the better part of the day but she had eyes in her head, and ears. Only yesterday Cook had mentioned quite casually to Minnie, that ‘they’ were saying in the village that strange lights had been seen moving about the College grounds after dark.
In the past Mrs Appleyard and her Arthur had skated hand in hand over some remarkably thin ice. But never before had they been confronted by a situation impregnated with such personal and public disaster. To take a sword and plunge it through your enemy’s vitals in broad daylight is a matter of physical courage, whereas the strangling of an invisible foe in the dark calls for quite other qualities. Tonight her whole being cried out for decisive action. Yes, but what kind of action? Not even Arthur could have worked out a plan of campaign while the damnable mystery at the Hanging Rock remained unsolved.