The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “I’ve left you a casserole in the oven, Father,” she said, nodding towards the kitchen.

  “Thank you, Edna,” he said, not talking his eyes from the window. “And give Rocco a pat from me,” he joked.

  “Who?” she asked, honestly.

  “Rocco, your dog?” he said, finally turning to face her in surprise. He knew that she lived and breathed for her fat chocolate Labrador and his days were often full of the dog’s tales whether he liked it or not.

  “Oh yes, of course,” she smiled awkwardly. “Sorry. I just didn’t hear you properly; maybe I’m getting old” she smiled as she left quickly.

  Brendon watched as she made her way across the rear fields towards the lane where she lived.

  He had been growing increasingly worried over the housekeeper’s age almost since he’d arrived and even given serious thought to bringing up a discussion about retirement with her. But now she waded her way through the growing bad weather with ease.

  He watched on as she positively skipped over a style with a nimbleness that belied her years.

  On instinct he made a quick check over her work in the cottage. He found that, despite her barely working a half day, everything was spick and span and the house was full of gleaming reflections.

  He couldn’t help but wonder about the secret to her vitality and wonder what she was on, and if she had any to spare.

  ----------

  Dora Tibbs spent her afternoon with her own private agenda. Since she had discovered the school nurse, Hannah Marks, acting most peculiarly in the infirmary in the middle of the night, she knew that she had to inform Mr. Barnaby.

  She had been shocked when he had summarily dismissed her concerns earlier that morning.

  He hadn’t seemed interested when she shared her suspicions about the nurse’s nocturnal activities.

  The Headmaster’s disinterest had disappointed her as she’d felt that they’d shared the same passion for Ravenhill and its disciplines. He had even spoken at length to her about staff privacy and boundaries. He had treated her like she was some old gossip sharing tittle-tattle across the garden fence.

  She was due to head back for the holiday break, but she couldn’t leave with Mr. Barnaby’s tired and borderline contemptuous gaze burned into her memory.

  She would bring him the evidence that would prove her concerns correct and earn back his trust and respect.

  She had tried to speak to Ms Marks, but the nurse had viewed her with some kind of mad glaze in her eyes which only made her more suspicious.

  She and Hannah had never been the closet of friends, but she knew the nurse well enough to know that this permanently smiling visage had to be a mask.

  She suspected that Ms Marks had been self-prescribing from the school’s medical inventory and she wanted a closer look at the books.

  She had initially gone looking for Mavis Merryweather, but she had found the school administrator in the canteen wearing the same odd smile as the nurse.

  There was a strange little circle of staff sitting around a table in the dining hall. Along with the secretary and nurse, there were several of the domestic staff all sharing the same glazed eyes and smiles.

  It had reminded her for all the world like the sort of prayer meetings that her mother used to attend.

  Her mother had been a devoutly religious woman who had fallen foul of a charlatan selling his wares and exploiting elderly women close to the end of their road and desperate to make atonement before the clock ran down.

  They held meetings in each other’s houses, clutching hands with sweaty palms and fevered brows.

  They had blindly followed Reverend Clerk with their hearts and purses open wide.

  She had stumbled into one of their prayer meetings once and she had seen the same kind of blissful devotion on their faces that the gathering in the dining hall had.

  There had also been the same immediate silence at the presence of an intruding outsider in their mix. She had backed away graciously and quickly, for some subconscious reason not wanting to be drawn into their little circle.

  If she couldn’t ask Merryweather for the information on the school’s inventory, at least she knew where the woman was whilst she poked around.

  ----------

  Barnaby ran through the checklist again, and then once more. According to his records James Corner should have still been here. The 13 year old was scheduled to be in-house over the holidays and yet he couldn’t find the kid anywhere.

  The day had been filled with the comings and goings of so many students leaving and cars collecting that it was hard to keep track of everyone. James Corner was usually a right royal pain and could almost always be counted on to make his voice heard above the din.

  He checked with several pupils and staff and no one as yet could remember seeing James today.

  He tried to slow his racing mind and keep it clear of unnecessary worry, but Ravenhill was a place that kept its own house in order and it was always imperative to keep a low profile.

  The school attracted only the best and brightest families across the country and beyond and its reputation was impeccable. Ms Mears’ security scare had been a scare to him more for the possibility of unwanted attention than the unlikely event of a child going missing.

  Ravenhill had a long and dark past that required his life’s work to keep well hidden from prying eyes. The school was the apex of British education and as such it was his responsibility to maintain this level.

  He walked the corridors looking for James Corner. He ducked inside various rooms looking for the boy but not wanting to draw attention to his quest. The students that were staying in-house for the Christmas break were free to make use of the many facilities and were not required to attend classes.

  He wandered slowly from the gym and pool to the games rooms and library. He was starting to get genuinely concerned that he was going to have to notify the authorities; it was the last thing that he wanted to do.

  He looked out of the window and saw the already settled snow and thought about the predictions for the weather to only grow worse.

  He suddenly spotted Mrs. Merryweather rounding the corner. He looked at her in surprise as she wasn’t scheduled to be in today. “Mrs. Merryweather?” he called to her along the hallway.

  “Mr. Barnaby,” she smiled, which was unusual in itself.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked officiously.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Sir, but I had a few things to attend to that I didn’t finish yesterday, but it’s all taken care of now. Mr. Bradley’s information is all filed away, just a momentary misplacement was all,” she beamed.

  “Never mind that for the minute, what about James Corner?” he whispered in a low voice to avoid being overheard.

  “What about him?”

  “I can’t seem to find him anywhere; he is in-house this year, and yet he’s nowhere to be seen.”

  “That’s not correct Mr. Barnaby, Sir; I saw him this morning as I arrived, pulling out with his parents,” she said, still smiling broadly with an expression that was starting to creep him out.

  “But he is scheduled to be with us over the holidays,” he replied puzzled. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Well I don’t know what to tell you, Sir. I distinctly saw him leaving in a brown Mercedes SUV; that is the car of his parents I believe? And I did recognise his father driving. I remember Mr. Corner Snr from his photographs in the newspapers that Mr. Merryweather reads,” she said, with a touch of a bad taste in her mouth. “Mr. Corner Snr has quite the profile; a footballer, I believe he used to be - quite wealthy too by all accounts.”

  Barnaby stared long and hard at the school secretary. He didn’t want to show his surprise at missing another piece of valuable information about his school. Ravenhill belonged to him and nothing within her ancient stone walls should have been outside of his knowledge.

  “Are you alright, Sir?” she asked with concern.

  “Fine,” he snapped. “If pupi
l circumstances are altered then I should have been informed, Mrs. Merryweather. I think that you and I are going to have to have a talk after the holidays!” he said, looking to once again gain the moral authority.

  “As you wish, Sir,” she merely smiled back infuriatingly, as she walked away. “And Sir?” she called over her shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

  ----------

  Sarah took advantage of the brief lightening of the falling snow. She wasn’t on duty this afternoon and wrapped herself up warm against the weather.

  There were only 13 students staying in-house over the holidays and for some reason the staff numbers seemed suddenly swelled.

  She had been looking forward to both Jemima and Stuart staying, but now she was dreading having to face them again.

  She headed out across the school grounds towards the fields and the coastal path beyond. A strange thing happened as she walked: the further away from Ravenhill she got, the more her anger weakened until it fell away completely.

  She had been furious with Jemima’s attitude and actions, but the further she hiked, the more she couldn’t understand her own emotional outburst.

  She had no claim over Stuart and she wasn’t even sure that she wanted one. Jemima was a sweet girl and she genuinely only wished the best for her friend.

  The pathway was already covered with the day’s snowfall and the woodland seemed almost magical under the dusty coating.

  The hike was a pleasant three miles out towards the coastal cliffs. She often took the walk alone as the sea air and strong breezes were conducive to clearing her mind.

  She ducked under the low branches that blocked her path and kept an ear out for the telltale signs of animal life; strangely the woods were quiet.

  She wondered if the weather was keeping them all safely under cover where perhaps she should be.

  The woodland opened up into open fields that stretched out to reach the cliff top.

  She stuck to the flattened path through the grass that was still just about visible through the snow.

  The wind came hard, up over the cliffs, and was biting. She walked out to the edge before turning left and walking parallel to the ocean.

  The waves crashed hard against the rocks down below and up here her problems always seemed somehow smaller before the awesome sight of nature.

  She walked along until she reached the lighthouse. The gleaming white structure was fully automated and for some reason usually unlocked. She had been up the tower many times and the view was something that had to be seen to be believed.

  The snow started to fall heavier again and she debated turning back, but this had become a kind of ritual for her now and only fulfilling it halfway seemed wrong.

  She headed for the small door that was around the rear of the lighthouse.

  There was a small low fence around the building but nothing in the way of security.

  She passed through the narrow gate and headed up the path.

  The door was red and some kind of plastic blend that was protective against the harsh salty winds.

  She reached out and pushed it open and stepped inside, glad to out of the cold.

  There was a twisting metal staircase that wound its way up to the top of the tower where the huge light rotated, warning ships against the jagged rocks.

  The lighthouse was a tall, essentially empty, structure that echoed with the sound of the powerful generators.

  Her footsteps clanged on the metal steps as she climbed up to the top. Her calves burned as she reached the slowly spinning light. The top of the tower was encased in glass with a small walkway around the light and a door that opened out onto a narrow balcony.

  She pushed open the door and steeped out into the wind that raged the higher up you went. The stiff breeze made her clutch the railing in self-preservation as she peered over the edge to the ocean below. There was always something deliciously enticing about gravity; she always felt a deep-seated desire to step over the edge and plummet.

  “Are you ok?”

  The voice came so far out of the blue and was so unexpected that she almost fell overboard. Strong hands suddenly grabbed her from behind as she swayed dangerously.

  “Shit, are you alright?” the man’s voice asked, startled.

  She turned and saw Stuart’s face, drawn and pale with only half a smile.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Apparently, almost making you fall over the railings to your death,” he replied with a nervous laugh.

  She fixed him with a stare as they moved back inside the lighthouse.

  “Well if I’m being honest, I was hiding from Jemima,” he said sadly. “The whole thing is a complete mess and I have no idea what even happened. I figured that I’d take a walk and I saw you come in here.”

  “Look, it’s none of my business whatever you and Jemima do,” she said coldly.

  “Isn’t it?” he asked, looking her square in the eyes. “Would you like it to be?”

  She started to tell him no. She wanted to tell him that her life was her own private affair and that there was no room for anyone else. She wanted to tell him all of that and more, but then she just kissed him.

  ----------

  Sergeant Donald Ross looked over at PC Paterson again. The young constable was grinning his way through some sophomoric comic book. William was always trying to explain the finer points of the “graphic novel” as he called it, but it was still just childish comics to Donald.

  It had been a busy week, what with the school alarm scare and the supposedly missing lunch lady who turned out to be just visiting a relative.

  He had spoken to Rosa Marsh, who had delivered an oddly monotone explanation concerning her whereabouts.

  His wife, Marie, had told him that Rosa had returned to their art class happier than when she’d left.

  Apparently, they were all planning some big group project later in the week, weather permitting.

  Rosa was organizing all of the women to get together with no husbands allowed.

  There had also been a police alert for a missing boy called Danny Haim from the Maplecrest School.

  Apparently the kid had gone missing after a rugby game against Ravenhill of all coincidences. He didn’t envy the kid’s parents with the weather about to worsen and the older villagers were telling tales of a bad storm moving in.

  He looked out of the station window at the falling snow and felt his old bones trembling at the onrushing inevitable bout of arthritis that would soon arrive.

  He was grateful for the police 4x4 that was provided for them which he had kept meticulously maintained despite Paterson’s shakes of the head during the mild autumn weather.

  The young PC had little experience of the harshness that this area could experience, but he knew only too well that their vehicle would become a lifeline.

  He checked the phone line again for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t unheard of for the lines to go down under the snow and they had lost them under far better conditions than this in the past.

  He was an old school copper who knew the people on his beat. He knew which of them were vulnerable and who was alone. Most of the villagers were elderly and the winter was a bitter and unforgiving season and he would need to keep a close eye on his flock.

  Paterson yawned loudly and Donald wondered about the state of the force when William was deemed worthy of wearing the uniform.

  He seemed like a nice enough lad, but Donald just didn’t think that the boy had what it took to become an officer of the law.

  The kid seemed to think that he’d be kicking in doors with a machine gun as most of his knowledge seemed to derive from the television. In reality the job was more social worker and friendly ear than enforcer, especially out in the sticks.

  “Tea, Sarge?” Paterson asked, lifting his head from the comic book.

  “Aye lad, why not,” Donald sighed. At least the kid was good for something.

  Dora Tibbs checked her watch again. She was sitting
in Mr. Barnaby’s office waiting patiently for his return. She had no idea where he was but hoped that he would return soon.

  She was clutching a folder of papers that had taken her the afternoon to collate. The roads outside would no doubt be treacherous by now, but she had no choice but to stay and wait for the Headmaster.

  She had been through the inventory files with care and precision, ticking off the items as she counted the stock. She had found more than enough discrepancies to raise the alarm and redeem herself in Mr. Barnaby’s eyes.

  She had no idea just what most of the medicinal names meant or indeed what the drugs did, but she could guess just the same. Whatever Hannah Marks was up to, it included a missing amount of inventory.

  She heard approaching footsteps and steeled herself for her redemption. She quickly remembered to hide her smile as the door opened. The face that peered around the corner, however, belonged to Mavis Merryweather.

  “What are you doing in here?” the secretary asked suspiciously.

  “I’m waiting for Mr. Barnaby,” she replied haughtily.

  “Well you’re going to have a long wait, dear. He’s on his way to Bexley Cross,” Merryweather smiled infuriatingly. “Aren’t you cutting your departure a bit fine? I mean that little car of yours won’t be faring too well on the roads in this state.”

  Dora knew that she was right, but she hated to admit it, especially out loud. “I’ll be fine; I’ve driven in far worse conditions than these,” she replied coldly. “What is Mr. Barnaby doing going into the village at this hour?”

  “Private business I would imagine,” Merryweather replied, still smiling pleasantly. “Perhaps you could catch him if you hurry?”

  Dora hated to take the woman’s advice, but there was little else to do. If she didn’t leave soon then there was a very good chance that she could be stuck here for the holidays.

  She gathered herself up as though it was her decision leave.

  “I believe that I will catch Mr. Barnaby in the village,” she said, as though it was her idea.

  She flounced past the smiling secretary, resisting the urge to shatter the woman’s maddening politeness. Her car was parked outside with a fully charged battery thanks to Maurice who charged all of the teachers’ cars and the school’s vehicles on a regular basis, as they sat unused for months on end.