The Pact

by John L. Probert

  One that would include the infirmary as her first stop.

  7

  “No one has come in today at all.”

  The school matron’s name was Jan Waters. She was fifty, plump, and behaved as if the last thirty years hadn’t happened. Which, Parva, supposed, had probably been to her advantage when she had applied for the job.

  Parva looked at the empty beds before her, five on each side of the room, their heads against each lime green painted wall. Just like in the old days.

  “I was just a bit worried,” Parva explained. “When I was on my way here I thought I saw someone dashing across the road in the rain.”

  “Probably part of a cross-country run,” said the nurse. “We do pride ourselves on keeping our young ladies in the peak of physical health.”

  Then why do you need so many beds? “That’s good to hear, but I don’t think this was part of any programmed physical activity. She was wearing a dress, for one thing.”

  “If she wasn’t wearing uniform or sports kit then I think it’s highly unlikely it was one of our girls.” Matron Waters was shaking her head. “Far more likely it was someone local, out walking her dog or perhaps wandering onto our grounds by mistake. It does happen you know, more often than you might think.”

  Really? With this school priding itself on being in the middle of nowhere? “Of course,” said Parva with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry for wasting your time.”

  The matron gave her a thin smile. “Not at all,” she said. “And at least now you know where you’ll be brought if anything should happen to you.”

  She might never have heard less comforting words, Parva thought as she walked back through the grounds. The infirmary was located beyond the residence blocks at the far end of the campus, presumably to provide its patients with a quiet environment for them to recuperate in. It might also provide an ideal environment for anyone who wished to carry out any secret activities for which they would prefer to remain undisturbed.

  But it seemed as if there were a lot of places like that around here. And there certainly didn’t seem to be that many pupils. Apart from a couple on her arrival, the only girls Parva had seen all day had been in her biology class this afternoon. Perhaps everyone was keeping a low profile after what had happened, she thought as she made her way to the staff common room.

  The door was panelled in oak and actually had ‘Mistresses Common Room’ in gothic gold script on the plate. It took a bit of a shove to get in open and, once Parva was inside, she found herself coughing as she waved away the fog of cigarette smoke that greeted her.

  “Is that the new girl?”

  There was a clatter of snooker balls followed by the rumble of what sounded like several of them being potted at the same time. An arm clad in tweed extended a hand from the gloom, to be followed by the rest of the grinning, corpulent woman it belonged to.

  “Amanda Plumridge - pleased to meet you.” Her grip was almost crushing. “Maths and history.” She grimaced. “I know, it’s not a very good combination, is it? But pure mathematics was my degree course at Oxford and history’s always been a bit of a passion of mine so I thought, why not make the best of it and teach both? You’re bilge, aren’t you?”

  Parva wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “Biology,” she replied, to be rewarded with a slap on the back.

  “Always called it bilge in my day. You know, makes you think of water filled with all the kinds of creepy crawlies you chaps like to play with. Worms, bugs, slime - that sort of thing.”

  “It’s not exactly that.”

  “Of course not! I’m sure there’s a whole stack of other stuff as well, including all that gooey bodily stuff best not mentioned, eh?” Amanda lit another one of the cigars that must have been responsible for the cloud that still hung heavy in the room. “Although nowadays you have to tell these girls something or they get into all kinds of trouble. Oh I’m sorry - would you care for one?”

  Parva politely declined the offer of a cigar so large it would probably have choked her. “I don’t smoke,” she said.

  “You will once you’ve been here for a few months,” said Amanda confidently. “Either that or pick up some worse habit. You’ll need something to help keep you sane.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  Amanda took a deep breath and then blew smoke over Parva’s head as she thought. “Must be coming up to three years, now. Good God, it still feels like yesterday that I arrived. In fact until you turned up I was pretty much the new girl around here myself.” She gestured behind her. Now the cigar was close to her, the fog bank further back in the room was starting to clear. Parva could see that the walls were panelled in the same wood as the door, and that the rear of the room was indeed taken up by a green baize-covered snooker table. No one was playing. There were, however, a couple of forms slowly becoming visible as the smoke cleared. Each was seated in the sort of comfortable-looking armchair’s Parva’s maiden aunt used to keep close to the fire.

  “Denise has been her for at least five years, haven’t you, Denise?”

  A middle-aged woman with curly grey hair looked up from a battered paperback copy of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, gave a grunt, and then went back to her reading.

  “Denise McCulloch teaches English literature,” Amanda whispered. “As a consequence she’s developed such a hatred of many of the books she used to love, all she can read at the moment are Russian classics.”

  “That’s a bit of a shame,” said Parva as she gave Denise a thin smile.

  “Oh it’ll pass - she’ll be onto Balzac or Proust or someone by next week - just you see.” Amanda pointed at the younger woman opposite who was engrossed in something by Dan Brown.

  “Ruth Watkins - geography and art. You might think it’s another odd combination but I’ll tell you she can paint bloody good maps.” She shouted across: “Can’t you, Ruth?”

  “Fuck off,” said Ruth, causing Denise to harumph loudly from behind the cover picture of old Fyodor.

  “No love lost there, as you can probably tell,” Amanda whispered again before picking up a snooker cue. “I don’t suppose you play?”

  “Not for some time,” Parva replied. “Although I used to be pretty good.” Amanda beamed and Parva realised she might have suddenly made a new best friend. “Fancy a game, then?”

  Parva smiled. “Perhaps later,” she said. “I thought it would be worth me getting all the introductions out of the way today. Is there anyone else I should meet?”

  “Well old Arby - that’s Miss Arbuthnot - teaches the classics and has been trying to cover some basic science; Rachel Tamerlain teaches languages - French, Spanish, and a smattering of German - you know, enough to get you lager, sausages and a room for the night but that’s about it - you’ll like her, she’s a real hoot; and then there’s old Metal Mickey.”

  “Who?”

  “Michaela Struthers - gym and games. And yes, she’s exactly like the image you’ve got in your head right now. She never comes in here. Spends most of her time out on the playing fields or swinging weights around.” Amanda looked wistful. “It must be nice when your job also happens to be your addiction. Anyway, you’ll know her when you meet her. No idea where Rachel’s got to. After all, it isn’t as if the common room doesn’t cater to her needs.”

  Amanda opened the lid of what Parva had assumed was just a free standing globe of the world to reveal a well-stocked drinks cabinet. “If you don’t fancy a game perhaps I can interest you in something? I make a mean gin sling.”

  “I’m sure you do,” said Parva, trying to stifle a giggle. “But it wouldn’t look good if I got drunk on my first night here, now would it?”

  Amanda closed the lid. “You’re probably right,” she said. “Has Arby put you in Pelham House?”

  “If that’s the one that looks like it should have bats flying around the roof, then yes,” Parva grinned.

  “That’s the one.” Amanda nodded. “We’ve all got rooms in there. Quite
a nice set up, actually - a bit like a studio apartment. The bed’s in one corner, main area for living in, and then a tiny kitchenette where, if you’re feeling ambitious, you can probably make toast.”

  “I only saw it briefly when I dumped my bags there,” said Parva. “I didn’t notice any kitchen area.” She paused to allow Amanda to think the next question, the one she had been harbouring for the last couple of hours, had only just occurred to her.

  “I haven’t seen many of the pupils around?”

  “That’s because there aren’t that many,” came the reply. “Arby might have given you some grand tale about the school having gone from strength to strength over the years, but the truth is numbers have declined recently. There just aren’t that many parents cruel enough to want to lock their children away in the past and forget about them anymore. I suppose we should feel glad for all the little dears who’ve managed to escape this place.”

  “You don’t like it then?”

  “Me?” Amanda looked shocked. “I love it. Suits me down to the ground. But I’m not institutionalised enough to think everyone would like to stay here. In fact I can’t imagine most people wanting to stay.” She looked at Parva. “Including you.”

  Parva ignored her. “How many pupils are there here now?”

  “Well there were about eighty but after the little bit of trouble we had I’d say the numbers closer to sixty now, what with some of the parents deciding it wasn’t safe for their daughters to stay here.”

  Then ten in a biology class wasn’t that bad, Parva thought, although who knew how many there would be next time. She made for the door.

  “And now that you’ve mentioned my room,” she said, “I really should be getting back to do some unpacking. It’s been lovely to meet you all.”

  Amanda beamed, while the other two might have given her an acknowledging grunt - it was difficult to tell.

  8

  It was dark by the time Parva got back to her room, with a couple of sandwiches from the school canteen to pass for dinner. She threw the packages on the desk near the window, flipped open her laptop and tried to find a signal.

  Nothing.

  Well it was worth a try, she thought, as she swung open the window and sat on the sill, holding the computer out to the sky as if in an offering to the Gods of Wi-Fi.

  Still nothing.

  Parva snapped the computer shut and gazed out across the campus. It was a chilly evening, but she welcomed the breeze on her face after the cloying atmosphere of the common room.

  Four girls dead. Four girls poisoned. Possibly as part of some weird black magic ritual, if Miss Arbuthnot was to be believed, possibly by foul play if the reason Parva had been given for being here held any credence.

  Why would anyone want to kill four girls?

  The breeze was starting to pick up. Parva closed the window and tore open a Tuna Surprise, the surprise presumably being that there was very little tuna in it. Parva gave it a sniff and added dinner to her reasons for needing to get away from this place for the night. She tucked her laptop under her arm and left the room, hoping her car was where she had left it.

  Seeing her Mini again was like greeting an old friend, and soon she was on her way out of the grounds. She knew there was nothing back the way she had come for at least twenty miles, so she decided to chance exploring unknown territory, turning on both the satnav and the laptop in the hope that one of them might pick up something that could direct her to civilisation.

  After a quarter of an hour she came to a main road, and twenty minutes after that, just as she was starting to give up hope, the Mini’s headlights illuminated the sign for somewhere called Llanbaran. ‘Please drive carefully through our village’ it pleaded as Parva slowed down and found herself in a well-lit main street with - gods be praised! - a choice of Indian and Chinese restaurants.

  The Dragon Palace was closed, possibly for renovation, if the damage wrought to the fire-blackened ruin next door to it had extended to the restaurant, so Parva went for the Taste of India instead.

  There was no one in the curry house.

  It is only six o’clock, she reminded herself; relieved that somewhere was open. She took a seat and made sufficient noise to attract whoever was presumably meant to have greeted her when the bell over the door had rung. Eventually an older man emerged, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. His badge proclaimed his name to be Rajesh. He apologised for having kept her waiting, and handed her a menu protected within a red plastic wallet. Parva ordered quickly, suddenly realising how hungry she was. The waiter turned to go but she stopped him. There was something else that was nagging at her mind and refused to go away.

  “Onion bhaji, chicken tikka masala with extra chillis, lemon rice,” he repeated from the biro scribbling on his pad. “Anything else, madam?”

  “No that’s fine,” said Parva. “I just couldn’t help wondering - was that a recent fire two buildings down?”

  Rajesh nodded. “Just last week,” he said. “Terrible. You saw the place next door is closed?”

  “Yes – fire damage?”

  “Oh no - it’s closed while they’re investigating the cause of the fire.”

  Parva narrowed her eyes. “They don’t think it was an accident, then?”

  The waiter shrugged. “I guess not. There’s even been some talk about a bomb going off. All bloody ridiculous if you ask me. It was probably a gas leak. But don’t worry - you wouldn’t get that happening here. We have inspectors in regularly to make sure everything’s safe.”

  “Oh I’m not worried.” Parva gave him a smile. “Was it someone’s house?”

  “Oh no, it was a shop. Save the Children or something like that. One of those charity places. I never went in there but I think that’s what it was. Do you want poppadoms?”

  Parva nodded. “I may as well spoil myself,” she said. “Do you mind if I use this?” She pointed to the laptop.

  “No problem,” Rajesh replied. “Are you a restaurant critic?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” said Parva with a chuckle. “But if I can get a signal in here I’ll happily give you the best Trip Advisor review you’ve ever had.”

  The waiter smiled and gave her the restaurant’s Wi-Fi password. “Any problems you let me know,” he said.

  Parva smiled him a thank you and booted the machine up while he went to get her food.

  There were two emails from Willoughby, asking why she hadn’t been in touch. Parva bit her lip as she did her best to explain the situation. She added:

  Mysterious fire at local charity shop last week that’s still being investigated. Do you know anything about it? Unlikely to be a link but you never know. Regards, P.

  “Are you a writer?”

  Parva got her laptop out of the way just in time to avoid it risking a coating of lime pickle.

  “Of sorts,” she said. “Crime’s my thing.”

  “Oh I like crime,” said Rajesh. “Have I read anything you’ve written?”

  “I’ve not had anything published,” said Parva, glad of the diversion. “But I’m always on the lookout for ideas.”

  “Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes, I like all of them,” he continued. “Much better than what they have on television these days. It’s all too much like real life - all that screaming and swearing they have on soap operas. You’d think somewhere like this would escape all of that but sometimes it’s just as bad here.”

  Parva wasn’t following him. “How do you mean?”

  The waiter looked around, as if checking the obviously empty restaurant for eavesdroppers before continuing.

  “It’s usually quiet here, right? Everybody going about their business. The most exciting thing that happens is a pigeon landing on someone’s car and setting off the alarm.”

  Parva leaned forward. “But something more interesting than that happened recently?”

  Rajesh nodded. “Screaming and arguing they were, out in the street there. Some bloke and his girlfriend. She couldn’t hav
e been more than sixteen.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “Well I couldn’t, not really, but she still had her school uniform on. You know, for that posh place down the road.”

  Suddenly Parva was very interested in what Rajesh was saying. “Go on.”

  “Well that’s it, really. But it caused such a fuss someone called Dave Wilkins over from the police station. He’s the local sergeant and a good bloke - comes in here pretty regularly. Anyway he had to caution them, threatened them with a charge of disturbing the peace.”

  “And did he?”

  “No,” said the waiter, looking confused. “No he didn’t. That’s when it all went a bit weird. The bloke didn’t say anything. Just showed Dave something that shut him up straight away. The two of them left after that.”

  “Has Dave told you what it was the man showed him?”

  “Oh he couldn’t do that, could he, Miss? Whatever it was, it was confidential. The only reason it’s made me think of it is you mentioning the fire next door. You see; that’s the place they came out of when they were arguing. Screaming bloody murder the girl was, and the bloke looked as red as the masala sauce being cooked for you.”

  It was obvious Rajesh didn’t know any more, but before her main course came Parva made a note of Sergeant Wilkins’ name and made a point of sending Willoughby another email asking him to prepare the policeman for a visit the next day.

  9

  “…that helps the kidney regulate blood pressure.”

  The ten faces before her looked no more interested this morning than they had in yesterday’s lesson. At least none of them were asleep today, and Parva tried to think of that as a plus. The clock on the wall at the back of the room said it had just gone eleven thirty. The class was meant to last for another hour but she wanted to get back to Llanbaran and interview Sergeant Wilkins in his lunch hour.