The Big House

by Larche Davies

  The phone rang and she jumped. It was Mr Lovett.

  “Everything alright there?” he boomed heartily. “It looks as though Beverley’s going to be out of action for at least one more day, so I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in your room for your own safety. Have you got a good book to read?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m sending someone round to escort you for tomorrow’s appointment. Her name’s Margaret. I’ve used her as a temporary escort on many occasions, and she’s absolutely reliable.” He laughed. “If anyone will keep abductors away, it’s Margaret.”

  “OK,” said Lucy rather doubtfully. “Where shall I meet her?”

  “She’ll knock on your door at 10 o’clock tomorrow morning – make sure you order breakfast in your room – and she’ll show you her identification. Your appointment is at two, and she’ll escort you here and back. Don’t discuss our business with her. She’ll stay with you for the rest of the day, take you shopping or to a film or something and then, if Beverley’s still not well enough on Friday, she’ll escort you back to Wales.”

  Friday? Day after tomorrow! Lucy’s heart leaped. She’d been told she’d be here till next week.

  “Next week’s appointment has been cancelled. I’ve had an urgent call up to the North of England. Something about a Father Arthur, so I might ask you about that tomorrow.”

  Lucy didn’t know anything about a Father Arthur, but she didn’t care. She was too elated. How many hours before she saw the others? Forty-eight, no, forty-nine.

  “I’ve just rung Miss Clements,” continued Mr Lovett, “and told her you’ll be back about lunchtime on Friday. See you tomorrow. And, remember, don’t leave your room till Margaret arrives.”

  A soon as he’d rung off, Lucy checked the time on the alarm radio next to the bed. It was twelve o’clock. Paul would be in playtime at this very moment. Just picturing him brought a smile to her face. David would be in double maths, and Dorothy would be about to go to her computer class. Mr Owen might be back by now, instead of that creepy woman.

  What on earth was it that made her creepy? She tried to picture Miss Morris’s face.

  Lucy had only met her once and hadn’t looked at her properly after the first polite good morning. In fact, she had made a conscious effort to avoid that piercing gaze. But one thing was certain – Miss Morris had wavy, auburn hair, rosy cheeks and a soft voice, and if it hadn’t been for the icicle eyes she would have seemed warm and cosy. She wasn’t remotely like the woman in the photograph with her shining, silver bob and not a hint of roses in her cheeks.

  So why this feeling? Lucy tried to visualise the actual features of the face in the photo. If she had a chance, she’d look at it again tomorrow. In fact, she’d ask Mr Lovett if she could see the photo sheet. She picked up a book and tried to read. A minute later she jumped up and pulled the armchair away from the door.

  Down in the foyer she approached the reception desk, and asked the way to a cyber café.

  “I don’t think there is cyber café around here,” said the receptionist. “But there’s a computer for guests in that little room over there. You have to pay a pound and I give you a code for security.”

  Lucy sat down in a booth and stared at the screen and tried to think. Whether it was Mr Owen or Miss Morris, there was always a risk that the teacher would read any email that arrived during class time. It had to be in code. She tapped in Dorothy’s address and stopped. First, she had to alert her, to show this wasn’t just a fun thing.

  At last, she typed rapidly: “Two things: A. Bore da! B. Wear new T-shir.” Dorothy would surely query why the “t” was missing. She pressed ‘send’. David’s lesson was at three o’clock. Lucy typed in his email address and sent the same message all over again.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What on earth’s that supposed to mean?” Miss Morris laughed softly as she leaned over Dorothy’s shoulder.

  Dorothy thought quickly. She had recognised the alert code straight away. “The ‘bore da’ means ‘good morning’. I think it must be from my friend Izzy because of the T-shirt bit.”

  “Is that Izzy’s email address?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve never messaged each other before.”

  Miss Morris’s voice was like honey. “Well, I suggest you delete it. If there’s ever anything odd about an email or you’re not sure where it’s come from, get rid of it. If it was Izzy, then we have her to thank for an important lesson.”

  Dorothy pressed ‘delete’. She’d bring the message back as soon as Miss Morris moved away. Unfortunately, Miss Morris didn’t move away. She hovered between Dorothy and the people on each side of her throughout most of the lesson. Never mind. Dorothy knew the “bore da” bit was a warning, and she would remember the bit about wearing a new T-shirt. She and David would work it out later. The important thing was that, for now, she had to be super vigilant of everyone and everything.

  When the lesson ended, she waited till most of the other pupils had erupted into the corridor, free at last to exclaim and speculate about Mr Owen’s death. She had been horrified to find the school buzzing with the news that morning, and had an uncomfortable feeling that there was more to it than just jumping off a cliff. After all, how had the school managed to get hold of a supply teacher so soon after he disappeared? He had been here only last Friday, and Miss Morris had turned up on Monday. Was she being over-suspicious?

  She breathed deeply as she approached Miss Morris, and tried to appear calm and collected. It was important to keep a clear head. This was going to be a test.

  “Miss Clements suggested that I might have my extra tuition in her house,” she said, “so as not to intrude on your private arrangements.” She studied Miss Morris’s face carefully. It was impassive.

  “That’s so considerate of her. I must remember to thank her. However, I have some very good equipment at the flat, and I would be able to explain so much more to you than if I were simply to bring a laptop to the house.”

  “Very well, then. Thank you for your offer.” Dorothy’s heart was thumping. “Perhaps we could arrange something for after my exams. I’ve got so much revision, I don’t see how I can fit it in at the moment.”

  “I may not be here after the exams,” said Isobel. “Remember, I’m only a supply teacher.”

  “I’ll have to leave it in that case,” said Dorothy as firmly as she could, “but thank you so much. Excuse me, but I must rush.” She grabbed her bag and left.

  Isobel was now pretty certain that the girl suspected something, and that made things difficult. It might be best to hold back for a couple of days or to think of an alternative plan. She checked her watch. It was time for the lunch break, and she didn’t have a class till three o’clock. The email message could wait till later. She’d call it up and check the sender’s address as soon as she came back. She put on her coat, closed the classroom door and made her way down the hill to the big house. If she was lucky Miss Clements would be at home alone. There would be no point talking to that lemon-faced half-wit who’d been lurking on the landing last night.

  Miss Clements was at home and Miss Marilyn was out. Good, thought Isobel, as she was ushered into the dining room.

  “I’ll have to get back to school by quarter to three,” she said. “I do hope I’m not disturbing you in your lunch break, but there’s so little time during the day to talk quietly and sensibly with you about the children.”

  “You’re not disturbing me at all, dear. My sister’s gone to the library, and I rarely eat in the middle of the day, except at weekends when the children are here. It makes one so sleepy, don’t you think? Do sit down. This room’s not very comfortable, but the children didn’t clear up their sitting room very well last night, so it’s a bit messy in there. They’ll have to see to it when they get back, because I do try to encourage them to be unselfish and not rely on others to do everything for them.”

  Ha
ving been brought up in one of the communes herself, Isobel was well aware that if these were the children she was looking for, they would never have relied on others to do anything for them. The aunts would have brought them up to follow a strict regime of chores, and they would have had little opportunity to be selfish. Weakness number one, she thought: takes money for looking after these children, but won’t put herself out for them.

  She sat down in a straight-backed chair next to the table. “As you know, I’ve suggested to Dorothy that I give her free tuition, but she has declined.”

  “Ah, foolish girl! If only these young people could appreciate the value of education,” said Miss Clements, forgetting for a moment her admiration of the three-step housing plan. “I was never clever enough to take advantage of schooling, but fortunately I had a talent for cooking and that’s given me a livelihood.”

  “And a very worthwhile livelihood it is, Miss Clements, “taking the place of a mother for children in need of a good home.”

  Miss Clements wondered if she seemed rude, standing while her visitor was sitting, but she really did want to get back to her kitchen before the pastry cooked hard.

  “Yes,” she said, “and these children are no trouble. They’re well behaved and polite, and appreciate my cooking, but it’s not always like that, I can assure you. Some of the children I foster are extremely uncomfortable to have around, and all they want is chips.”

  “I know from my teaching experience how difficult some children can be,” murmured Miss Morris soothingly, “but to have them in your home and give them the love and attention that they need – you must have some very special qualities.”

  “It’s not easy, but it won’t be forever, I hope.” Miss Clements sniffed the air and wondered if she could smell burning. “My sister and I intend to live abroad when we’re in a financial position to do so. That’s the beauty of cooking, you know. You can do it anywhere in the world.”

  Weakness number two, thought Isobel: they had a plan, and needed money to carry it out.

  “I had been thinking of helping out the boy, David, as well as Dorothy,” she said. “He’s got quite a good knowledge of computing skills, but something seems to be holding him back a little. I wondered if you could tell me anything about David’s background that would help me to help him.”

  Miss Marilyn’s Lucifer comment suddenly popped into Miss Clements’s mind, and alarm bells began to compete with the call of the pastry.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Morris,” she said rather coldly, “but the background details of children in my care, including Dorothy and her half-brother, always have to be totally confidential. The school is aware that they have had a different education from the sort our more fortunate children in Wales are used to, and, of course, they may need encouragement in some subjects, but I can’t say more than that.”

  Isobel smiled to herself. So David was Dorothy’s half-brother! She mentally thanked Miss Clements for that information. That was really all she needed for the next step.

  “Of course. You are quite right to respect their confidentiality. Would it help you if I were to tell you that they have a very rich father who loves them dearly and is longing to have them back?”

  “All I know is that their father may be living abroad, and that there’s been a court case about a gardener who burned a house down,” said Miss Clements. “It’s been in all the papers. As to what’s happened to their mother or mothers, I’ve no idea. I never pry, you know.”

  “Their father would be in a position to pay handsomely for the return of his children.”

  “Is that so, Miss Morris?” Miss Clements nodded her head slightly towards the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get back to the kitchen. I’ve got some tarts in the oven and I have to stuff six chicken Kievs for tonight’s meal.”

  Miss Morris stayed put. “The children were caught up somehow in that dreadful court case. It has nothing to do with their father, and his heart is breaking for them,” she said sadly. “He would reward you well if you could help him see them again.”

  “I would be in severe trouble with the authorities if I were to lose sight of those children. Responsibility for children like that is my livelihood. I’d never get work again.”

  “I wonder if a hundred thousand pounds per child would help?”

  “Certainly not!” Miss Clements was outraged, and it was a most uncomfortable feeling. “I am a woman of integrity!” She paused for a moment wondering what she should do or say next. “I’ll have to report your visit to the police, and to the school, and to the authorities. And I’ll have to send the children back to London.”

  Isobel rose. “Well, before you do, think about half a million – a quarter for Dorothy and a quarter for David.”

  “Never!” said Miss Clements, but her heart missed a beat. Something flickered in her face, which did not go unnoticed. She held the door open with affronted dignity, and Isobel left.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow at the same time,” she said.

  Miss Clements shut the front door and leaned against it. Her face was burning hot. She must ring the school straight away to send the children home. She wished she’d asked where the woman was staying. The police would need to know, so they could trap her when she came back tomorrow. Supposing the father stole the children in the meantime? Or supposing the police didn’t come and the woman came back tomorrow, and somehow or other her offer was accepted?

  She nearly swooned with the shock of such a thought, but, as she reached out for the phone, it was enough to make her withdraw her hand. She’d have to ring that Mr Lovett. Beverley had told her she mustn’t ring the local police. There was a reason. Had she said they were full of spies? Miss Clements couldn’t remember. Where on earth had she put Mr Lovett’s phone number? It was in a safe place. He’d rung her this very morning about something, but whatever it was it had gone completely out of her mind. If only he’d waited till after this woman had been! She could have told him all about it, and taken his number. She’d have a cup of tea now, and when the shock in her head had died down, she might remember where it was.

  Marilyn wouldn’t be back until the library closed. A vision of the little cottage on the Greek island was trying to dance across Miss Clements’s mind. She pushed it away, almost breathless, as the enormity of the thought hit her – trading children to a man whom she knew to be sought by police.

  She cut herself a piece of last night’s pudding – lemon meringue pie – to help calm her nerves. No wonder Marilyn was so thin. She couldn’t appreciate a piece of fine baking. The cottage on the Greek island did its little dance again. There would be a lovely kitchen, with glowing copper pots on the walls, and rustic shelves full of herbs and spices. Maybe she’d have to adjust to foreign stoves, but she’d always been a quick learner where cooking was concerned.

  The doorbell rang. It was Mr Nicholas, the boiler man. She let him in and tried to put off thinking until after he’d gone. And what with offering him another piece of cherry cake to go with his second cup of tea, and preparing supper, and listening to Paul’s chatter when he came in from school, there was no time to sit quietly and put her mind in order.

  When Dorothy and David burst in through the back door, Paul was sitting at the kitchen table eating cherry cake and putting the final touches to a portrait of Miss Wyn Lloyd.

  “Miss Morris didn’t turn up for my class this afternoon,” said David helping himself to cake. “We had to practise on the computers on our own, and guess what? There was an email from Lucy. It didn’t make sense. I printed it out.” He fished a piece of paper out of his pocket.

  Miss Clements was moving around the kitchen, opening and shutting cupboards, and rummaging through drawers. She didn’t seem to be listening. Even so, Dorothy gave David a warning look, and he hastily stuffed the paper into his school bag.

  “I don’t want you two to go to school tomorrow,�
�� announced Miss Clements suddenly. “Just Paul.” She lifted the lid of the bread bin and looked inside, and then turned to pop a tray of chicken Kievs in the oven.

  The children stared at her in surprise. They had never heard her speak firmly before, except about punctuality at mealtimes.

  “You’re both to stay indoors – upstairs, in fact. You’re not to come downstairs without my permission. Paul, you’ll be going back to Mrs Jones’s house on Friday when she picks you up from school. She’s invited you to stay there till Lucy comes back from London.”

  Dorothy and David both felt a stab of fear, but Paul looked pleased.

  “I like going there,” he said. “Mrs Jones loves me she said, and there’s man called Mr Jones who’s very nice but he hates frogs.” His face suddenly fell. He fingered the gold circle on his neck. “But I want my Lucy back.”

  “She’ll be back soon, dear,” said Miss Clements soothingly. “You’ll be surprised how quickly the time will pass when you’re with Mrs Jones.”

  “Has something happened?” asked David.

  “It’s that Miss Morris. She makes me nervous,” said Miss Clements. “She came here today, and was much too pushy. I’d feel more comfortable if you were to stay out of sight for a few days. You can use the front room upstairs with the balcony, and I’ll serve your meals up there. There are plenty of books to read and the TV, and Dorothy can get on with her revision. If she comes again, I’ll tell her you’re in London.”

  As soon as they had closed the upstairs sitting room door behind them, Dorothy and David looked at each other.