Goodbye, Ms. Chips

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Same story.” Ariel grinned impishly. “Don’t tell me you never crept out at dead of night on an adventure of your own when you were at St. Roberta’s?”

  She had me there! “Once. And it was a case of never again. My friends Ann Gamble and Susan Brodstock and I went down to the convent ruins.”

  “Goodness! That was brave!” Ariel sat up and hugged her knees.

  “Stupid is the word.”

  “Did something terrifying happen?”

  “Susan dropped her watch down a cavity in the stone bench we were sitting on.”

  “Is that all? No sign of the Gray Nun?”

  “Not a wisp of her veil.” Why was I engaging in silly conversation when it was imperative that Ariel return to her dorm as speedily as possible? I’d have to accompany her, I realized; to let her slink back on her own was not an option, even though the possibility of a midnight strangler on the loose was remote.

  “Speaking of schoolgirl pranks,” she said more seriously, “I’ve been thinking about Philippa Boswell.”

  “She’s here!” I was the one forgetting to whisper.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Her eyes became the size of her spectacles.

  “She arrived this afternoon. That makes four of us.”

  “Along with you and the Ogress and … ?”

  “Tosca Flitmouse.”

  “What a name! But tell me about Philippa.” Ariel oozed empathy. “How are you coping with the shock of seeing her again?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Ariel adjusted her specs the better to size me up.

  “She goes by the name of Phil these days.”

  “Have you had a chance to talk?”

  “You mean confess to keeping quiet instead of speaking up for her?” My voice quivered. “I haven’t been alone with her, and I’m not sure it would be the right thing to do.”

  “Well, there’s no rush, is there?” Ariel shifted her feet when I went to sit down on the bed. “I’ve been thinking about that day, Ellie, and the mystery of the girl who was in two places at once. Either Mr. Bumbleton, esteemed member of the Board of Governors, fabricated his sighting of Philippa and the boyfriend—”

  “There was the note, remember?”

  “Dropped at another time, perhaps in another place. But amusing as it would be to make him the villain of the piece, out to ruin poor Philippa because her mother wouldn’t marry him or her father humiliated him in a fencing match, it’s far more likely that Philippa sent another girl in her place.” Ariel eyed me closely. “You must have realized that’s what happened.”

  “Of course! And it explains why Philippa didn’t defend herself. I just never dwelt on anything other than the part I played.”

  “It also explains the note, Ellie. Why the need for one if she had gone herself?”

  “There is that.”

  “The courier would have had to be a close friend, willing to take the risk.” Ariel rested her chin on her knees. “Or someone who wanted Brian Roberts for herself. After Miss Critchley and I left you, I went to the library and found one boarding-school book. It’s called False Friend at Falcon Abbey and is about this head girl who doesn’t realize her best friend is horribly jealous of her popularity and out to bring her down. It brought tears to my eyes.”

  “I’m sure it’s a heartbreaker.” I couldn’t continue allowing myself to be distracted; the longer Ariel was gone from the dorm, I told her, the greater the chance that she would be missed. We would have to risk exiting the house by way of the stairs and front door because there was no way that I, who had never learned to climb a rope, was going to grab hold of a drainpipe. A jump off a cliff with the possibility of hitting water a hundred feet below would have been preferable.

  “Didn’t you say that your friend Susan’s sister was best chums with Philippa?” Ariel asked as I stood up.

  “Yes. Her name was Sally, and she became head girl the following year.”

  “Aha!”

  “Ariel, I really don’t think I can talk to Philippa about any of this.”

  “Perhaps she’ll bring it up.”

  “I don’t think so. She gave the impression of not wanting to talk other than superficially about herself.”

  “Well, I don’t see how you can stand not knowing what really happened that day. In a book everything would be explained.”

  “This isn’t—” I got no further. There was a sound at the window, a scrambling reminiscent of the moment before Ariel made her entry. Before we had finished gaping at each other, a leg extended over the sill and the curtains were pushed aside.

  “Ahoy there!” sounded a familiar voice.

  “Dorcas?” I shot across the room to let her all the way in. “What is this, the Mad Hatter’s tea party?”

  “I can think of something even better!” Ariel exclaimed. “How about a midnight feast, Miss Critchley? In the story I’m reading, several of the girls have met in the tower room at Falcon Abbey. I’d just reached the part when they hear ominous footsteps—”

  “Shush!” I darted a frantic look at her. “Someone’s outside on the landing!”

  “Now?”

  “Quick! Under the bedclothes, Ariel! Dorcas, behind the curtains!”

  Without waiting to see if they did as told, I reached the door just as it opened a couple of inches.

  “Ellie?” It was Rosemary’s Roman nose inserted into the gap, which I did not allow to widen. “Are you having an interesting conversation with yourself? I could hear you through the wall. It woke me up.”

  “I think you must have been having a bad dream. It’s the pizza.” I raised my voice over the hiccuping sounds coming from the bed. “You know the old saying that eating cheese at night gives people nightmares.”

  “I suppose it must have been that; I’ve a lot on my mind with Gerald … having to cope on his own. Are you wearing a transparent nightgown or nothing at all?”

  “Why?”

  “There has to be some reason you’re not opening the door.”

  “Sorry, just rather keen to get back to bed.”

  “You haven’t taken your teeth out or your wig off?”

  “I only need to do either once a month.” More sounds from the bed. Dorcas at least was behaving herself.

  “What’s that sound? Do you have the hiccups, Ellie?”

  “Yes, the pizza gave them to me. I’d better get a drink of water. Talk to you in the morning.”

  “All right.” I heard her move away—three steps by my count, but it was too good to be true; she was back again before I could summon the composure to close the door. “There was a phone call for you. Aren’t some of us popular?” I detected resentment in her voice.

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Battle. I told her you were having a bath. A deep one, from the sound of all that running water.”

  “Sorry.” I hadn’t thought to ask whether it was rationed.

  “Anyway, she apologized for calling late, said she’s a night owl and forgets that others turn in early; also, her reason for telephoning had just come up. Mrs. Rushbridge can’t take her Home Skills class tomorrow morning at ten, and Mrs. Battle wondered if you’d fill in with a talk about interior design.”

  “Oh!”

  “I gather you’re an expert at choosing lightbulbs and such.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “I suppose it beats selling knickers at the Liberty Bodice.” Rosemary followed this observation with a yawn. “Thank God I don’t have to work, Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. Anyway, if you don’t get back to the Battle-ax saying it’s not on, she’ll send a girl down at nine-thirty to escort you to the Home Skills room.”

  “Thanks.” I closed the door and stood with my back against it.

  “Goodness,” said Ariel, emerging from the bedclothes, “I had it right about the Ogress! How do you stand her?”

  “Can’t always pick and choose our companions.” Dorcas had come out from behind the curtains; the backdrop of teal caus
ed her red hair to stand out in sharp relief. It was also sticking up in tufts. “Close one, that, Ellie. Good thing the walls in these places are a foot thick. Otherwise not so easy to convince her she dreamed our voices.”

  “What brought you here?” I whispered.

  “Drainpipe.”

  “Same as me. And you won’t believe how fast I shinned up, Miss Critchley!” Ariel said, in a voice bursting with pride.

  “Got those calf muscles working and the old heave-ho with the hands in rhythm? Good show!” Dorcas beamed at her before recollecting that as a member of St. Roberta’s staff she ought not to applaud a girl for taking off from her dorm, however admirable the ensuing gymnastic exploits. “Won’t report you this time, Ariel, but mustn’t bunk off again. Mrs. Battle would have kittens! Came out myself for a late-night constitutional. Couldn’t sleep for thinking about the Loverly Cup. Saw you heading across the grounds, knew you by those plaits on your head—”

  “You do think they look nice?” The wretched girl patted her coronet.

  “Another interruption and I’ll yank them off,” I informed her.

  “Sorry! I was forgetting the Ogress. I’m hungry.” She attempted to look wistful. “I don’t suppose you have any chocolate?”

  She sounded like Tosca in hope of a cigarette. I cut my glare short. “You were saying, Dorcas?”

  “Followed Ariel and saw her go in through the window. Waited outside, thinking you might be discussing private family matters. Thought I saw movement down by the Dribbly Drop, but must have been my imagination giving me the jitters. Decided I’d better come in before the hounds started baying.”

  “You see?” Ariel exclaimed triumphantly. “There was something out there cloaked in shadow. We both saw it!”

  Ignoring her, I addressed Dorcas. “I was going to take her back, but now you’re here I’ll gratefully allow you to do the honors.” I shifted my young friend off the bed and nudged her forward. “With my luck, I’ll be the one reported by Rosemary to Mrs. Battle for disobeying curfew.”

  “On our way.” Dorcas raised a hand in salute and then hesitated. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, Ellie, for you to have a chat with Matron. Not just to find out what’s going on with Gillian; get her impressions of the other girls. See if she’s noticed anything different about anyone since the cup disappeared. Someone looking off-color or bursting into tears for no apparent reason—that sort of thing.”

  “Dear Dorcas”—my heart brimmed with affection—“you believe everyone has a conscience as active as your own.”

  “Not entirely an old softie. Doubt if that unpleasant young man Aiden Loverly would hesitate to murder his grandmother, or anyone else who got in his way. Now, out that window, Ariel. Get a good hold and full speed ahead. Can’t come to any harm, ground’s soft.”

  “Do both be careful,” I instructed nervously, and stood watching until they were both safely down.

  “Oh, and don’t forget me, Ellie, and the help I can be,” Ariel called back up. “Why don’t you ask Mrs. Battle if you can take Carolyn and me out to lunch and see what she can spill? I think we have to take her into our confidence.”

  “Okay, but go!” I continued to stare after her and Dorcas until they faded into shadows and finally disappeared from sight. After securing the window against any other visitors and turning off the light, I climbed into bed but lay awake for fear of being startled into heart-thudding alertness by the shrill ringing of the telephone or a pounding on my door.

  The day’s events drifted through my mind, becoming woollier and more disconnected with the passing minutes, until only stray thoughts remained. One of them was wondering if Ms. Chips harbored the hope of being reunited with her bridegroom when she too passed into the next world. Someone must tell her it wasn’t safe to walk alone at night; Aiden Loverly dressed as the Gray Nun might force her off the road, spinning them both into oblivion … .

  Morning comes too soon for those haven’t enjoyed their allotted shut-eye and aren’t early birds under normal circumstances. I opened my eyes to the thought that I should struggle downstairs to help Ben with the children’s breakfast, and afterward, if Mrs. Malloy did not decide to be horridly punctual, there’d be a few moments of blissful alone time with him, before he departed for Abigail’s or disappeared into the study to work on his book. It was dismal to sit up, stare at the teal walls, and realize that I was at the Chaplain’s House. Nothing on earth would tempt me to sit on Rosemary’s lap while I sipped my desperately needed first cup of tea. It was past eight o’clock, making it necessary to get a move on if I wanted to be ready when collected by the girl Mrs. Battle was sending to escort me to the Home Skills room.

  As luck would have it, there was no sign of Rosemary ten minutes later, when I entered the sitting room wearing a sage-green dress topped with a matching cotton cardigan, my attempt to look cool and competent should the class prove unruly.

  “Good morning.” Phil, wearing the same jeans and sweater as yesterday, turned to look at me with a smile on her heart-shaped face; she had a green and yellow eggbeater in her hands. For a moment I thought she was going to tell me it was for sale at a reduced price because the paint was worn and there was some rust. “Wouldn’t you know?” She laughed. “The school colors! A bit antique, but that’s what the present bunch must think we are, right up there with Mrs. Battle and Ms. Chips.”

  “Probably.” I knew I must sound stilted, but exchanging chitchat with her the previous evening hadn’t removed my discomfort in her presence. My conscience was still killing me. “I saw Ms. Chips when I first arrived.”

  “Did you? I liked her enormously. Being lacrosse captain, I was around her a lot.”

  “It must have been awful when that position was taken away from you.” Instantly I could have kicked myself. She must think me hateful for verging on the subject of her disgrace.

  “What?” She stood frozen in place, still holding the eggbeater.

  Blushing furiously, I sat down on a stool at the handkerchief-sized table next to the back door. “I’m sorry I brought it up, Philippa …” My voice petered out miserably.

  “Don’t worry.” She brushed back a lock of honey-brown hair with a hand that trembled noticeably. “Someone was bound to remember that incident.”

  “It was so unfair, what happened to you.” I floundered on like a horse that no amount of yanking on the reins will stop. “Losing out on becoming head girl, being blamed for leaving the San that afternoon.”

  “We all do stupid things when we’re young.”

  “Yes, but—” I saw the suggestion of tears in her eyes and finally shut up.

  “I’ve never forgiven myself for the way … .” She stood spinning the eggbeater’s handle. “Rosemary mentioned that Brian Roberts has taken over his father’s practice. It’s what he always wanted: country living, the cottage with the thatched roof. He never had any interest in theater, opera, or being a man-about-town. It worked out best for both of us. I suppose he’s married?”

  “I don’t think so.” I almost asked if she were happy; selfishly I wanted that reassurance, but I bit my lip and inquired instead what she planned to do during her stay.

  “Not much.” Her smile returned. “I’m resting.” She stared at the eggbeater as if wondering how it came to be in her hand. “While I’m here I might as well take the opportunity to learn to cook. Goodness knows, it’s about time. My sister is a whiz in the kitchen, in addition to being a highly successful barrister and mother of three. Our parents can’t figure out where they went wrong with me.”

  “I think Dr. Roberts would find you’ve matured wonderfully if you chance to run into each other.” There was no keeping my nose out of other people’s business … with the exception of that long-ago time, when it had really counted. And why should Philippa care what I thought about anything? It had been obvious the previous night that she did not remember me.

  “I thought I’d scramble some eggs. Do you think this antique”—she brandished the beater—“is sa
fe to use?”

  “I’d be a bit worried about the rust. Better perhaps to use a fork.”

  “Will that do it? Just the ordinary kind?”

  I got off the stool, opened a drawer, and handed her one. “Here! My husband, Ben, is a chef and he isn’t madly keen on gadgets. His food processor is a sharp knife.”

  She laughed. It was a merry, mischievous sound, but it came through strongly that for the most part she wasn’t happy.

  Getting out a mixing bowl, I told her that the rule of thumb was one tablespoon of milk for each egg and the idea was to cook them very slowly. While she stirred the contents of the saucepan I filled the kettle for tea and popped slices of bread into a toaster that was as much an antique as the beater. There was barely room to move in the pint-sized kitchen without butting elbows, and I could see now that Rosemary had prevented potential injury by doing little to help with last night’s supper. Filled with good resolutions, I determined to focus on her better qualities the moment I discovered them. A glance at my watch showed I had a comfortable fifteen minutes left to eat my share of the scrambled eggs. I was congratulating Philippa on how well they had turned out and enjoying a second cup of tea when Tosca wandered in.

  Even with her dark hair tousled and her eyes drowsy with the remnants of sleep she looked fantastic, in a filmy rose peignoir that must have cost a bomb, but I surmised she was not a morning person from her forced smile and the dreary way she hovered at the table without sitting down.

  “Hello, you two!” Her voice was dragged from the depths of melancholy.

  “There’s tea left in the pot,” I offered. “Or perhaps you’d prefer coffee?”

  “What I need—what I’d kill for—is a cigarette. I’ve been down on my knees half the night.”

  “Praying?” Philippa stopped buttering a slice of toast.

  “Spoken like the Gray Nun.” Tosca grimaced at her. “I suppose it would have made as much sense. But no, I was crawling around in hope of finding a discarded ciggy under the bed or the wardrobe. I was aware it was going to be hard, but never this bad. I’m afraid I’m going to crack.”

  “It’s rough …”