Trouble at the Little Village School

by Gervase Phinn

  ‘Well, it was on my desk this morning, I know that, and it’s not there now.’

  The school secretary was looking red and flustered, having searched the office for the missing money.

  ‘And you’ve had a good look?’ asked the caretaker.

  ‘Of course I’ve had a good look, Mr Gribbon,’ she said irritably. ‘I’ve spent half the morning having a good look.’

  ‘In your drawers?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Have you looked in your drawers?’

  ‘It’s not in my drawers.’

  ‘Do you want me to have a look?’

  ‘No, I do not. The money was on the top of the desk, right there in front of the typewriter. I didn’t put it in a drawer.’

  ‘Well, someone must have took it then,’ said the caretaker.

  ‘There’s been nobody in the office this morning,’ said the secretary, ‘apart from you and that new little girl.’

  ‘Ah well, there you have it,’ said the caretaker.

  ‘What do you mean, there I have it?’

  ‘That gypsy kiddie. She’ll have took it.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ retorted Mrs Scrimshaw.

  ‘Light-fingered, that’s what they are, these travellers. Not only are they a damn nuisance, they can’t keep their hands off of anything. As my dad used to say about gypsies, “If it moves they kick it, if it doesn’t they nick it”.’

  ‘I’m not interested in what your father used to say, Mr Gribbon,’ replied Mrs Scrimshaw, ‘I just need to find the money. There was over a hundred pounds in the envelope, money for the school trip. I’d just totalled it up and I was to take it to the bank at lunchtime. I shall have to see Mrs Devine if it doesn’t turn up before morning break.’

  ‘She’ll not be best pleased,’ remarked the caretaker, jangling his keys.

  ‘Well, thank you for the reassurance,’ replied Mrs Scrimshaw. ‘Why don’t you get back to buffing your floors?’

  ‘Mrs Pugh, the new part-time cleaner, is doing them this morning,’ the caretaker told her. ‘I’ve hurt my foot. It’s agony when I walk.’

  ‘It makes a change,’ said the secretary.

  ‘What does?’

  ‘It’s usually your back you complain about. So how did you hurt your foot?’

  ‘It was that bloody plaque Lady Whatshername has had made for the library what did it,’ said the caretaker, pulling a pained face. ‘It weighed a ton and I dropped it on my foot. I can’t buff my floors, the state I’m in. Incapacitated, that’s what I am. Mrs Pugh’s doing them. I’ve showed her how to do it and she’s taken to it like a fish to water. She’s a godsend, that woman. There’s nothing what she can’t turn her hand to.’

  ‘Well, go and supervise her then. I’ve got to find this wretched money.’

  The caretaker ambled off. ‘You mark my words,’ he said before departing, ‘it’s that little gypsy kid. The money will be in the bottom of her bag as we speak.’

  ‘And you’ve made a thorough search?’ asked Elisabeth later that morning when the secretary reluctantly informed her of the missing money.

  ‘Everywhere, Mrs Devine,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, it’s a real mystery.’

  Mrs Scrimshaw decided to tell the head teacher of Mr Gribbon’s suspicions.

  ‘I’m sure Roisin would not have taken it,’ she said, ‘but she was the only pupil to come into the office this morning, so I have to admit it’s got me wondering.’

  ‘I cannot believe that she took it either,’ agreed Elisabeth.

  ‘Do you think we should perhaps have a word with her?’ asked the secretary.

  ‘Not for the moment,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Just keep on looking. I am sure it will turn up. And don’t get upset, Mrs Scrimshaw, these things happen.’

  The school secretary sniffed and blew her nose when the head teacher had left. She recalled the time before the arrival of Mrs Devine when she had mislaid the school chequebook. It had eventually turned up under a pile of reports that cluttered the small, stuffy school office in which she used to work. Miss Sowerbutts had reacted in her usual sharp and unsympathetic manner. How very different was her successor.

  At the end of the day, when the money had not turned up, Elisabeth considered what she should do. Perhaps, she thought, as had been suggested, she ought to have a word with Roisin the next morning, but then she thought better of it. She decided on another, more subtle plan when she discovered the girl in the small library with Oscar.

  ‘And what are you two doing here?’ asked Elisabeth.

  ‘The thing is, Mrs Devine,’ explained Oscar, ‘my mother’s got a counselling session today and said she would be a bit delayed, and Roisin’s father is picking her up later. He’s working up at Limebeck House. We’re looking at this very interesting book on fossils. I was explaining to Roisin that ammonites were once thought to be coiled-up snakes turned to stone by St Hilda of Whitby. Sometimes people carved little heads on the front and sold them. I have three at home that I found in Port Mulgrave when we were on holiday in Scarborough. Now the thing about ammonites—’

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Oscar,’ said Mrs Devine, ‘but I wonder if you two could do a small job for me?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied the boy.

  ‘The thing is,’ explained the head teacher, ‘Mrs Scrimshaw has mislaid some money in the school office. It was for the school trip. I’m afraid if she doesn’t find it there will be a lot of very disappointed children. I wonder if you two might help her to look for it?’

  ‘Mrs Scrimshaw,’ said Elisabeth, when she arrived at the school office with the two children, ‘I have a couple of little helpers here.’ The secretary looked surprised, particularly when she caught sight of Roisin. ‘They are going to help us look for the missing money. Now,’ she said, turning to Oscar, ‘Mrs Scrimshaw is sure she put the money here, just in front of her typewriter.’ She tapped the desk. ‘But, as if by magic, it has disappeared.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with magic, Mrs Devine,’ observed the boy. ‘There’s always a simple explanation.’

  ‘Was it in a brown envelope?’ asked Roisin.

  ‘It was,’ replied Mrs Scrimshaw.

  ‘I remember seeing it there,’ said the girl, ‘when I brought the class register back this morning.’ The secretary raised an eyebrow and glanced at Elisabeth.

  ‘Perhaps you put it somewhere safe, Mrs Scrimshaw,’ said Oscar. ‘I know my mother frequently does this and then forgets where the safe place is. She’s quite scatty at times.’

  ‘No, Oscar,’ said Mrs Scrimshaw, not at all pleased to be compared with the boy’s scatty mother. ‘I didn’t move it. It was there, right in front of the typewriter.’

  Oscar crouched down and peered at the space beneath the machine. Then, taking a ruler from the desk, he slid it underneath and the brown envelope appeared.

  ‘Well I never,’ said Mrs Scrimshaw.

  The boy nodded sagely. ‘It must have slid under there,’ he told her. ‘As I said, there’s always a logical explanation. Oh, I can see your father waiting outside, Roisin, talking to my mother. We had better be making tracks.’

  ‘Thank you, Oscar,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Any time,’ said the boy, taking Roisin’s hand in his as he left the office.

  ‘Have you time for a coffee?’ the new curate asked.

  She had met Dr Stirling coming out of the chemist’s the day following his talk to the Mothers’ Union.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Well, I do have one more patient to visit this morning, but— ’

  She rested a hand on his arm. ‘It’s just that I wanted to have a word with you about something,’ she said. ‘I won’t keep you long, I promise. I meant to mention it yesterday and didn’t get the chance with all those doting elderly ladies surrounding you.’

  He smiled. ‘Hardly “doting”,’ he said. ‘They were keen to tell me about all their ailments and medical con
ditions. That’s one of the disadvantages of being a doctor, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So can you spare ten minutes?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I guess Miss Sowerbutts can wait a while longer. I was just calling in to see how she’s getting on. She’s been having a few dizzy spells lately.’

  ‘She’s a bit of a dragon, isn’t she?’ Ashley said. ‘She was very sharp with me when I called round to her cottage to introduce myself.’

  ‘Her bark is worse than her bite,’ Dr Stirling told her. ‘She’s just a lonely old woman who hasn’t got much in her life. She seems to feel all the world is against her. Anyway, let’s go and have that coffee.’

  In the small café at the end of the high street they sat at a corner table. The waitress, a large, morose-looking girl with lank mousy brown hair tied back untidily into a ponytail, approached the table.

  ‘Hello, Dr Stirling,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, Bianca,’ he replied. ‘How’s that baby of yours?’

  The girl’s face brightened. ‘Oh, he’s doing fine, doctor, and I’m trying real hard with the breastfeeding.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he replied.

  ‘And I’ve given up the ciggies as well.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I’ve still got them cracked nipples though, doctor.’

  Ashley smiled.

  ‘Well, you call into the surgery and we’ll sort it out,’ he told her.

  ‘And I still haven’t got the hang of that breast pump the health visitor gave me.’

  ‘A lot of new mothers find it hard at first, Bianca,’ Dr Stirling told her. ‘You pop in and see me next week. Now, we’d like two coffees, please.’

  ‘This is my treat,’ said Ashley when Bianca had left to place the order. The café owner observed the couple at the corner table with more than a little interest.

  ‘No, no,’ said Dr Stirling, ‘let me get them.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ said the new curate, ‘after you spoke to the Mothers’ Union for me.’

  ‘I think the less said about that the better,’ said Dr Stirling. ‘I don’t think it was a great success, but then I did warn you that I am not a very good speaker.’

  Ashley laughed. ‘You’re too modest,’ she said. ‘It was very interesting, although I thought it was a little ironic that after your suggestions on healthy eating they all tucked into the buffet of pork pies and sausage rolls, cream cakes and meringues.’

  ‘I think my words fell upon deaf ears,’ said Dr Stirling.

  ‘Well, not on mine,’ she said. ‘I’m very grateful that you found the time to do it.’

  Bianca arrived with the coffee and placed the cups on the table. Then she stood there as if waiting for something.

  Ashley dipped into her handbag to find her purse.

  ‘Thank you, Dr Stirling,’ said Bianca, ‘for all you’ve done, with the baby and that, and for talking to mi mam and dad.’ Her eyes started to fill up. ‘You were really nice.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ he replied.

  ‘And I don’t want you to pay for the coffees. I’d like to do that.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you,’ he replied.

  When Bianca had gone, the new curate squeezed Dr Stirling’s hand as it rested on the table. ‘You’re a good man,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘She’s a simple soul is Bianca and she’s had a lot to put up with lately.’ He took a sip of the coffee. ‘Anyway, how may I be of help?’

  ‘Be of help?’

  ‘You said you wanted a word with me about something.’

  ‘Ah yes. Well, I thought I’d visit some of the patients in the hospital,’ she told him.

  ‘I think they would welcome that,’ he replied.

  ‘But I don’t want to tread on the chaplain’s toes. Sometimes hospital chaplains tend to be a bit protective of their role and don’t take too kindly to other clerics pushing their noses in.’

  ‘I am sure Father Daly would be more than happy to have an assistant,’ he told her. ‘He’s a lovely man, but overworked and getting a bit long in the tooth now. I’m certain he would jump at the chance of having a bit of help. I’ll have a word with him if you like. I’m visiting the hospital next week.’

  ‘Perhaps I could come with you,’ suggested Ashley, ‘then you could introduce me.’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s next Wednesday.’

  ‘It’s a date,’ she said.

  The policeman stood on the doorstep at Clumber Lodge. He was an unusual-looking man, with his dark eyes, colourful acne and greasy black hair. He looked too young to be a police officer. Next to him, his colleague, a pale-faced woman with her blonde hair scraped back savagely on her scalp and into a tight little bun at the back, had an earnest and unsettling expression on her face. They brought the chill of the morning with them.

  ‘Dr Stirling?’ said the young policeman.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Police Constable Thomas,’ he said. ‘We have met before.’

  ‘In similar circumstances,’ added his colleague.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Dr Stirling, ‘you called when my son went missing. I remember. Is there something the matter?’

  ‘May we come in?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the doctor. ‘Come through into the sitting-room. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ said the young policeman. His colleague sat down on the edge of a chair and stared ahead of her with a blank expression.

  ‘How may I be of help?’ asked Dr Stirling, standing by the fireplace. He was rather apprehensive, recalling the last visit of the police when James had gone missing. The young policewoman had said then that she would need to speak to his son on his return. It had sounded to Dr Stirling as though she was of the opinion that the boy might have run away because he was being maltreated. Dr Stirling guessed that the reason for their visit was to check up that this was not the case.

  ‘It appears that history is repeating itself,’ said the young policeman.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the doctor, ‘I don’t quite understand.’

  ‘You will recall that last time we were here it was concerning a runaway child,’ said the woman.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. As I have just said, you called when my son went missing. I do remember.’ He sounded irritated. ‘Is there something the matter?’

  ‘Well, we are here on the same business,’ said the young policeman.

  ‘James is upstairs in his room,’ the doctor told him. ‘He’s fine now. There will be no running away again, I can assure you of that. Perhaps you would like to speak to him?’

  ‘It’s not your son that we are here about,’ said the young policeman. He took a small black notebook from his pocket, moistened his index finger with his tongue and began flicking through the pages. ‘It’s concerning a Daniel Stainthorpe.’

  ‘Danny!’ exclaimed Dr Stirling.

  ‘We are conducting another missing person enquiry,’ said the policewoman.

  ‘The boy has run away,’ said the young policeman. ‘I think you are aware that he is now living with his grandmother in Clayton?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t return home from school yesterday afternoon. He’s been out all night and, of course, his grandmother is understandably very worried about him.’

  The doctor sighed.

  ‘It seems to be quite an occurrence,’ said the policewoman.

  ‘What does?’ asked the doctor. He felt a sudden flash of irritation.

  ‘Children running away.’

  Two small, red angry spots appeared on the doctor’s cheeks. ‘I really am not sure what you mean by that comment!’ he exclaimed. ‘I would remind you that Danny was not in my care. Had he been, he would most certainly not have run away. He was settled and happy when he was here, and what he wanted most was to remain with me and James. It is his grandmother from whom he has run away, probably becau
se he was unhappy. That is not what I call a recurrence. It’s an entirely different situation.’

  The policewoman gave a thin, condescending smile.

  ‘Please don’t upset yourself, doctor,’ said the young policeman. ‘My colleague was merely stating a fact. I am sure it is just a coincidence.’

  ‘Danny was to come and live with us as my adopted son,’ continued Dr Stirling, ‘but then his grandmother turned up out of the blue and wanted the boy to live with her, something he did not want.’

  The doctor’s impassioned speech seemed to fall on deaf ears, for the two police officers looked at him impassively.

  ‘Have you seen him?’ the young policeman asked, in a voice which made it clear he wasn’t at all interested in Dr Stirling’s opinion.

  ‘No,’ replied the doctor. ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’ asked the woman.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know anyone who might know where he might be?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Perhaps we might speak to your son now,’ said the policewoman. ‘He’s the boy’s friend, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, he may have an idea where the boy has gone to.’

  ‘I’ll get him in a moment,’ said Dr Stirling.

  ‘We will soon find the boy,’ said the young policeman, snapping his notebook shut. ‘Children run away all the time. As I said to you when we were last here, I’ve known a number of cases when kids have had a bit of a tiff with their mums and dads and run off.’

  ‘Has he had some sort of argument with his grandmother, then?’ asked Dr Stirling.

  ‘Not that we are aware of,’ the policewoman told him. ‘His grandmother does find him a bit of a handful. Evidently he can be quite a wayward and rather sulky child by all accounts.’

  ‘Danny?’ cried Dr Stirling. ‘Nonsense! He’s nothing of the sort. He’s a pleasant and very polite young man.’

  ‘Anyway, we will keep our eyes open,’ said the young policeman, easing back his cuff surreptitiously to check the time on his watch. ‘As I’ve said, youngsters do sometimes run away for one reason or another, mainly to get some attention or after an argument, but they usually return when they are hungry and it starts getting dark.’