Murder Has No Class

by Rebecca Kent

  “Well, how fortunate was the day when I came back to visit my tutor and found you instead.”

  “I often wondered why you had wasted so many years in service when you were so well educated and proficient. I just had a feeling that you had suffered some kind of tragedy, and that you deserved a chance to begin a new life.”

  “And for that I shall adore you forever.” Felicity rose, and now her smile was brighter. “I shall never be able to repay you for giving me this opportunity, Meredith. I can honestly say that I have never been happier.”

  “That’s all the reward I need.” Meredith got to her feet. “Besides, you have been a good friend. You’ve helped me deal with these wayward spirits, even though you don’t really believe in them.”

  “Well, I should warn you, if this man continues to haunt you and you decide to help him, you may well have to do it alone this time.”

  Meredith suppressed a shiver. “I hope he doesn’t return. I really don’t want to see him again.”

  Felicity walked over to where the clock lay in pieces on the floor. Picking them up, she murmured, “Judging by the way you attacked him, I should think he would know better than to try again.”

  “I hope so.” Meredith took the pieces of her broken clock from her and laid them on the dresser.

  “Will you be all right?”

  Felicity looked worried and Meredith smiled. “Yes, I think so. You can go back to bed.” She walked with her friend to the door. “Thank you for telling me about your past. I understand now why you feel the way you do. Nevertheless, I think it’s a shame. You have condemned so many good people who are completely without fault.”

  “Dear Meredith. Always the optimist.” Felicity opened the door and added in a whisper, “Be careful, my friend. They are all painted with the same brush.” With that, she closed the door, leaving Meredith staring thoughtfully into space.

  Chapter 4

  “I don’t think you’re going to get enough girls to stage a protest.” Grace shoveled coal through the open oven door, then slammed it shut. “There’s only you, me, and three others. What kind of protest is that?”

  “We’ll get more.” Olivia puffed out her breath as she carried a heavy cauldron of hot water to the sink. “We just have to talk to more girls, that’s all.”

  “Some of them are afraid of getting into trouble.”

  “Yeah, well those are the ones we don’t need.” Olivia poured the water into the sink, enveloping herself in a cloud of steam. Carrying the empty pot back to the stove she added, “What we need to do is talk to them when they’ve gone to their rooms at night. When none of the teachers are around to hear us.”

  Grace wiped her hands on her apron, leaving a smudge of coal dust down the front. “You know we’re not allowed near the rooms at night.”

  “We’re not supposed to be protesting either, but that doesn’t stop us.”

  “What if we get caught? That will put an end to the protest, won’t it.”

  “We won’t get caught.” Olivia wagged a finger at her. “Tonight. That’s when we’ll do it. We’ll go to the rooms tonight and ask the girls to join the protest.”

  Grace caught her breath. “Tonight?”

  “We’ve only got four days left. It has to be tonight.”

  “Four days for what?”

  Both girls swung around as someone spoke from the doorway.

  The chubby woman who entered the kitchen stared at both girls with suspicion etched on her round face. “What are you two up to now?”

  “N-nothing, Mrs. Wilkins,” Grace stammered, shooting a guilty look at Olivia.

  Olivia merely shrugged. “Four days until our day off. We’re going down to the village to watch them dance around the maypole.”

  Mrs. Wilkins frowned. “Did Miss Fingle say you could both have the day off together?”

  Olivia sidled up to the cook and nudged her shoulder. “Not exactly. We thought you could put a word in for us. After all, it’s May Day. They’ve got a fete in the vicarage gardens and everything. It wouldn’t be fair if one of us could go and not the other, now would it.”

  The cook glanced at Grace, who immediately dropped her gaze. “Well, I’m not promising nothing, mind you, but I’ll talk to Miss Fingle.”

  Olivia flung her arms around Mrs. Wilkins’s shoulders. “I knew you would! I told, Grace, didn’t I. I said you were a lovely, kind lady who would want us to have a nice day off to see the dancers.”

  Mrs. Wilkins shook her off. “Go on with you,” she said gruffly, but she smiled when she said it. “Now get on with the washing up. Those dishes have been sitting around for far too long.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wilkins.” Olivia grinned at Grace and turned back to the sink.

  The cook crossed the floor to the pantry and disappeared inside.

  Letting out her breath, Grace opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a tea towel. She joined Olivia at the sink and began drying a plate from the pile Olivia had stacked on the draining board. “What if Mona won’t let us go?” she whispered.

  Olivia frowned at her. “We’ll go anyway. It’s Saturday, and Mona usually goes to visit her sister in Witcheston. We’ll be home again before she gets back. She’ll never know we’ve been gone.”

  “Mrs. Wilkins will know.”

  “Know what?”

  Grace jumped as the cook spoke from behind her.

  “You’ll know what’s the best time to go to the fete,” Olivia said, placing another wet dish on the pile.

  “I hope you two are not planning to join up for another of those ridiculous protests,” Mrs. Wilkins said, sounding cross. “I should think you’ve had more than enough trouble with them as it is.”

  Olivia opened her eyes wide. “What us? No fear. We’re not going anywhere near the WSPU, are we, Grace?”

  Grace shook her head.

  Seemingly satisfied, the cook moved back to the table and began chopping rhubarb sticks into small pieces.

  Unnerved by the exchange, Grace picked up another wet plate and almost dropped it as it began to slide through her fingers. So far they had managed to avoid the awkward questions, but she had a nasty feeling that this whole protest thing was going to cause far more trouble than it was worth.

  “How utterly dreadful!” Seated in the teacher’s lounge in her favorite spot near the fireplace, Essie stared at Meredith, her eyes wide with horror. “What a terrible ghost! I’m so glad you sent him packing.”

  “I just hope he stays away.” Meredith shuddered. “I really don’t think I could endure much more of his antagonism. Whoever killed that man surely had good cause.”

  “Which would put you in an awkward spot,” Felicity observed from behind the weekly newspaper. “After all, you helped the other ghosts in order to see justice served, am I right?”

  “Quite right. Usually, if a ghost has some unresolved issues, it cannot cross over to the other side. I just tried to resolve the issues for them.” Meredith reached for her knitting. The steady clack of needles always seemed to soothe her, and her nerves needed steadying.

  She’d had trouble concentrating on her morning classes. Her students, sensing her digression, had become restless and inattentive, making it a difficult morning. She needed to pull herself together before the afternoon sessions.

  “Well, then,” Felicity said, opening the newspaper to the center pages, “if your ghost had been disposed of with just cause, then you would have a problem. His issues would likely be unsavory ones.”

  Meredith hooked her strand of wool between her fingers and began knitting a row of purl stitches. “Possibly. In any case, I have no intention whatsoever of helping someone with such an ill temper.”

  Essie clapped her hands. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

  Deciding it was time to change the subject, Meredith glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Has anyone seen Sylvia this morning? She is usually in here by now.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, don’t wish her upon us.” Felicity rattled the
newspaper. “She is such a ninny. It’s impossible to have an intelligent conversation when she’s here.”

  As if to answer her, the door swung open. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” Sylvia Montrose entered the room. “I was waylaid by a student with a rather pressing problem.”

  Essie smiled at the newcomer, while Felicity merely grunted and hid her face behind the newspaper.

  “It’s quite all right, Sylvia.” Meredith moved over on the settee to give the instructress room to sit. “We didn’t have any important items to discuss, so you missed nothing.”

  “Well, we might have one,” Felicity said, lowering the newspaper. “Apparently there is a national dart match being held at the Dog and Duck on Saturday.”

  “Oh, yes.” Meredith suffered a guilty start. “I meant to mention it to you all. Mr. Hamilton told me about it yesterday. I’m afraid it slipped my mind.”

  Felicity gave her a knowing look. “Hamilton was here?”

  “Yes.” Meredith shifted uneasily on her seat, praying that Felicity wouldn’t utter one of her meaningful remarks. Her friend delighted in teasing Meredith about her relationship with the Bellehaven’s owner, in spite of her assertions that her association with the man was purely professional.

  Fortunately, this time Felicity refrained from commenting on the topic. “Well,” she said, holding up the newspaper, “according to this, the village will be inundated with young louts from London, all looking for fun, frolic, and mischief, no doubt.”

  Sylvia arranged herself on the couch. She wore a green silk waist that complemented the red tints in her blond hair, and her face looked as smooth and flawless as the pages of a brand- new sketch pad. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “That could cause a problem for our girls. Most of them go into the village on Saturdays.”

  “It’s May Day, as well,” Essie put in. “I’m sure our students will want to see the maypole dancing and visit the fete.”

  Felicity frowned at Meredith. “What shall we do about this?”

  “I hadn’t really thought.” Meredith forced her mind off Stuart Hamilton and focused on the problem at hand. “I suppose, under the circumstances, we should establish a curfew.”

  Felicity frowned. “I think it would be prudent to place the entire village off limits for the day.”

  Essie uttered a cry of dismay. “The students won’t like that, Felicity. They were looking forward to celebrating May Day with the villagers.”

  “I do think that is a little drastic, Felicity.” Meredith turned to Sylvia, more out of courtesy than because she valued her opinion. “What do you think, Sylvia?”

  Sylvia pinched her lips. It was obvious from her expression that she agreed with Felicity’s suggestion, but was reluctant to acknowledge it. “What did Mr. Hamilton suggest?”

  “He left it to me to decide.”

  Felicity sniffed. “That’s a first.” She got up and thrust the newspaper at Meredith. “Well, there. Take a look at the account for yourself. It gives a clear picture of what to expect come Saturday.”

  Reluctantly, Meredith put down her knitting and took the newspaper from her. Opening it, she scanned the lines of the article. Even given the reporter’s probable exaggeration for sensation’s sake, the account did seem rather alarming.

  At least a hundred or so men were expected at the pub, all of them presumably indulging in beer and spirits, free to roam the village once their turn at the dartboard had been accomplished.

  A vision of her vulnerable students surrounded by a crowd of leering drunks made her shiver. “Very well, we will put the village off limits for the duration of the dart match.”

  “Which will be the entire day and evening,” Felicity confirmed.

  Meredith sighed. “Yes, I suppose. I’ll make the announcement at assembly tomorrow morning.”

  Sylvia nodded, as if it were her idea. “I’m glad to hear it. Is there anything else on the agenda?”

  Meredith shook her head. “I suppose we should make our way to the dining room. The bell will ring for the midday meal any moment now.”

  “Then if you’ll excuse me?” Sylvia got up and smoothed the folds of her navy skirt. “I have something I need to do before sitting down to eat.”

  “By all means.”

  Felicity watched the young teacher leave, her brow furrowed with irritation. She waited for the door to close, then stuck her finger up under her chin. “I have something I need to do,” she said, copying Sylvia’s lisp as she attempted to imitate her high-pitched voice. “Bosh, woman. Why can’t she just say that she has to pay a visit to the lavatory?”

  Essie exploded with laughter. “Felicity! How do you know that?”

  “She was fidgeting on the settee with one eye on the clock. Simple deduction, my dear Watson.”

  Shaking her head, Meredith was about to close the newspaper when a photograph caught her eye. The face seemed familiar, and she took a closer look. Recognizing the features, she uttered a sharp cry and let go of the newspaper. It fluttered to the floor, lying open at her feet. She looked up to see both women staring at her.

  “Whatever is it?” Essie cried, leaning forward to get a look at the pages.

  Felicity just sat there, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “The photograph,” Meredith said, pointing down at the newspaper. “That man there. I recognize him. It’s my angry ghost!”

  Essie gasped and drew back, but Felicity dived forward and snatched up the newspaper.

  “His name is Lord James Stalham,” she announced, after reading through the lines of newsprint.

  Essie gasped again. “You have an aristocrat visiting you, Meredith. How splendid!”

  “Not so splendid.” Felicity looked up. “The reason his picture is in the paper is because the country estate, owned by his father, is up for sale. Only a skeleton staff remain in the house until it is sold.”

  “Oh, dear.” Essie clasped her hands to her chest. “How sad. His father must have been devastated by his son’s death and put the country home up for sale because he couldn’t bear to live with the memories.”

  “Not exactly.” Felicity closed the pages of the newspaper. “Stalham’s father was found shot to death in the library of the home last winter. Lord Stalham, your angry ghost, Meredith, was hanged a week ago for the murder.”

  Shock took Meredith’s breath away. Before she could recover, the clanging of a bell echoed softly in the corridor outside.

  Felicity folded the newspaper and stood. “You must remember Lord Stalham’s murder, Meredith. It was in the paper. Remember, we all wondered at the time if his ghost would visit you.”

  “I remember,” Meredith said faintly. She got to her feet, feeling a trifle unsteady. “I don’t remember anything about a trial, though.”

  “That’s because it was held in London.” Felicity handed her the newspaper. “If there had been any mention of it at all in the Witcheston Post, it would most likely have been a small paragraph tucked away somewhere. Until now, of course. There appears to be a full account of the trial in here.”

  Meredith took the newspaper and tucked it under her arm. She would read it later, she decided, when she had time to absorb it. “Well, we had better get along to the dining room. Sylvia will be wondering what has become of us.”

  “What will you do if that dreadful ghost comes back?” Essie’s eyes glistened with tears. “What a ghastly man—to kill his own father. How utterly beastly.”

  “I will turn him away,” Meredith said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Eventually he will get tired of bothering me and will go and find someone else to pester.”

  Essie seemed less than comforted, but she followed Felicity out into the hall without another word. Meredith followed more slowly, greatly disturbed by what she had learned. She prayed that the ghost would not return, for she had not the slightest idea how to behave toward him.

  The idea of a murderer in her bedroom, even a dead one, terrified her. She had read somewhere that ghosts cannot physicall
y hurt anyone, yet that did little to reassure her.

  She had felt the force of the ghost’s fury the night before, and the intensity of it still haunted her.

  She wished she knew more about the spirit world, and exactly how much power a ghost could possess. It might have helped prepare her for any more unearthly visits. For she had no doubt at all that this particular ghost fully intended to appear again, and had no intention of leaving her alone until she had done its bidding.

  Chapter 5

  Grace shivered as she crept along the corridor behind Olivia. Most of the coal fires had been allowed to die down, and a cold draft whisked around her ankles.

  They were in the upstairs corridor, forbidden to them after hours. If they were seen, Grace could well imagine Mona Fingle’s temper. The housekeeper’s real name was Monica, but Olivia had named her Mona because she was always moaning and complaining about the work they did.

  Twice already, she’d come close to throwing them out. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Wilkins, both Grace and Olivia would be out of a job by now. Grace pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She didn’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t work at Bellehaven House. She had no parents. They had both died of consumption.

  She had two aunts and a grandmother, all living up north, but she had no desire to go and live with any of them. She knew what it would be—she’d be doing all the housework with no money of her own, having to prove over and over how grateful she was to them for taking her in. No, thank you.

  She could always work in London. There were plenty of jobs for housemaids up there. But she’d heard so many stories of horrible things happening to young girls in the city. She could end up in a household where they treated her like dirt. Not like here at Bellehaven, where everyone was kind to her. Everyone except Mona Fingle, that was.

  Thinking of Mona made her feel nervous again. She scuttled forward, needing to be closer to Olivia, but just at that moment Olivia stopped, and she bumped into her. There was an awful thud as Olivia’s head banged against the door.