Death at St. Asprey’s School

by Bruce, Leo

  Carolus had to wait some minutes for Jumbo Parker but as he had predicted the tea soon came and Parker poured his own tea into a breakfast cup. The other cups were generous, but this was a giant mug and in a moment Carolus guessed that it was one of those privileges achieved by Jumbo Parker for his two decades at the school. Parker handed him one of the other cups then helped himself liberally to bread and jam.

  “I guessed you were the new Man,” he said chuckling as though it were a joke. “In spite of your dashing motorcar. Then I saw you at lunch. I noticed that oaf Chavanne was pestering you with questions. You shouldn’t allow it.”

  “No?”

  “You’ll soon realize that,” said the jovial old boy with a touch of patronage. “If you give the little fiends an inch they take an ell. Especially this Satan’s brood we’ve got here.”

  “Worse than others?”

  “Not really,” admitted Parker. “Only in the middle of term one is apt to think so. Do help yourself to more tea. The other Men will be here in a minute. I expect they’re just shooting an end each before coming in.”

  “An end?”

  “I understand that’s the correct term in archery.”

  Young Mayring, in immaculate flannels, appeared and was introduced to Carolus. He would have been a good-looking young man if his eyes had not been set too close together.

  “Finished with your delinquents?” asked Parker, smiling again.

  “Yes. The hell-hounds were infuriating this afternoon. That moron Crestley…”

  “Oh yes. Crestley. I have the cretin for French. Certifiable, isn’t he?”

  “He was trying to tell that imbecile Metcalf how to play an off-break…”

  “You going to take Sime in his tea?” asked Parker suddenly and more seriously.

  “I will, yes,” replied Mayring as though he were undertaking a sacred duty.

  He got together bread and butter and some jam on a plate and took them, with a cup of tea from the room.

  “Have you met Sime?” asked Parker.

  “Yes. I’ve been chatting with him.”

  Carolus saw that Parker was watching him, as if to gather something from his manner, but Carolus added no comment. Parker turned his attention to Mayring when he returned. He was evidently expecting a bulletin.

  “Still raving about Stanley,” Mayring said. “It seems some of the little reptiles who came to his window today told him what Stanley is supposed to have said to that halfwit Thompson. Some other lunatic heard Matron telling Mrs. Sconer what Sime said when Stanley repeated Sconer’s remark about Duckmore.”

  Jumbo Parker semed able to follow this, even to enjoy it.

  “It’s a good thing Matron doesn’t know what the little stinkers in the Lower Fifth told me when they heard what Mollie Westerly thought about it.”

  Mayring made a sound indicating scorn and incredulity.

  “‘Matron doesn’t know’!” he said. “Famous last words.”

  Duckmore came in. Prematurely bald and grey, with prominent eyes and a neurotic twitch, he seemed amiable but preoccupied.

  “Where have you been, Ducks?” asked Parker. “Oh, you had the junior game this afternoon. How did the scum behave?”

  “I had to send that clot Farraway off the field,” said Duckmore unhappily.

  “Why? What did the monster do?” asked Mayring.

  “Showing off again.”

  “He’s a mongol really, you know. The other animals in that crowd are bad enough but Farraway is beyond hope.”

  Someone was at the door and the heads of all the Men immediately turned towards it. Carolus noticed this, then and thereafter. Everybody at St. Asprey’s seemed to be waiting for something. Every movement, every approach caused curiosity, expectancy, even alarm. But it was only Jim Stanley, a nondescript man with prominent ears, but some pretension to good looks.

  “I’ve just scored 35,” he said, before he noticed Carolus. “My very first arrow … oh, how d’you do? You’re taking Sime’s place?”

  “Temporarily,” said Carolus.

  “I wish it were for good,” Stanley said frankly and raised a little muted laughter.

  “I’ll see if he wants any more tea,” said Mayring and went out.

  “What’s Mayring being so obliging for?” asked Stanley. “Let him come and get his tea. Or why don’t some of the little horrors who hang round his window get it for him? I saw that clod-pate Chavanne there as I came in with some other numskulls. I sent the whole crowd indoors. Who’s taking Prep, tonight?”

  “It’s my turn,” said Mayring, who had returned.

  “Will you see that blockhead Munson does his Latin prose, then? The little thug hasn’t looked at it for three nights.”

  “I certainly will. I was going to send that idle mooncalf to the study myself today.”

  They were interrupted by a loud banging. Duckmore sat up straight and said—“What’s that?” in a startled voice.

  “Sime,” said Parker. “He wants something.”

  “Run along, Mayring,” Stanley jibed. “You’re his nurse, aren’t you?”

  Mayring flushed.

  “Someone else can go this time,” he said.

  The banging was renewed. Without a word, Duckmore left them. There was silence in the room as everyone waited. When he came back he was carrying a plate and empty cup.

  “He wants to speak to you, Stanley,” he said nervously. “He’s raging because you sent the boys away from his window.”

  Stanley rose.

  “I’ll soon settle that,” he said ferociously and went out, leaving the door open.

  “Oh God, another row,” said Mayring.

  He was right, and most of it, the shouted part, was audible from the common-room.

  “What do you mean by sending those boys away from my window? Of all the damned impudence!”

  Stanley sounded cool.

  “They had no business to be there. They were supposed to be getting ready for tea.”

  “What the hell’s it to do with you? You’re not on duty today. You think just because you suck up to those bitches you can do what you like in this place.”

  “You won’t last long, Sime. You may not realize it but your days are numbered.”

  “Oh are they? Then let me tell you something which you’d know sooner or later. I’m buying a partnership in this school. So we’ll see who will last. If you think that you or any of your crowd will be about here after I get control, you’re a bigger fool than I thought you.”

  It sounded as though the shot had gone home.

  “A partnership?” said Stanley.

  “You heard. If not the whole shooting-match. Then you’ll see if Mrs. Sconer can help you. And in future when I’m talking to any of the boys, you leave them alone.”

  Stanley looked shaken when he returned to the common-room.

  “Did you hear what he said?” he asked.

  “I shouldn’t take much notice of that,” said Parker equably. “I’ve heard these stories before. He hasn’t got the money and if he had the Sconers would never sell.”

  “He seemed very confident about it. I’m sure he’s got some hold here we know nothing about.”

  “Nonsense. It’s the usual bluff. But you’d better not tell Kneller about it. You know what he is—believes everything. If he thought he might lose that cottage he’d go raving mad. It’s the only place in which his wife can live and Sime can’t bear either of them.”

  Cigarettes were lit now and Jumbo Parker pulled at his pipe. There was a noise like a faulty wireless set at full blast outside which was explained by Parker.

  “The zoo’s loose,” he said. “The little savages were not long at tea today. Who’s on duty before prep?”

  There was no reply to this and Carolus guessed that it was Sime’s turn and therefore, perhaps, his.

  “Was it Sime’s?” he asked.

  “As a matter of fact it was,” said Parker. “But you can’t go among those dregs yet. You must get to kno
w the horrible little reprobates before chancing your life among them at this time of the day. They’re always at their most villainous when they’re let out after tea. It’s supposed to be their own recreation time.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Carolus, rather amused.

  The noise increased.

  “Someone’ll have to control the little devils,” said Mayring, “or they’ll pull the place to pieces in front of Matron’s eyes. Not that much isn’t in front of Matron’s eyes and if it happened behind her back she’d manage to see it.”

  “I’ll go,” said Stanley. “I want to see none of the little sinners get round that window. Partnership! If it is true I I shouldn’t dream of staying here, and if it isn’t true Sime will be out at the end of this term. I can tell you that.”

  He slammed the door behind him.

  “And he should know,” Mayring said bitterly. “He was in Matron’s room again today.”

  The wild noise outside the window receded and the atmosphere in the common-room grew more confidential, if not more cosy.

  “You must think this a strange sort of school,” said Jumbo Parker to Carolus. “It used not to be. There was a very pleasant atmosphere until a term or two ago. I’m afraid everyone’s rather on edge at present.”

  “Yes. I heard about some of the dark happenings. Have there been any more since Sime was laid up?”

  Carolus saw that his disingenuous question had produced marked effect. The faces of all three Men were turned to him with startled expressions though whether their surprise was assumed or not he could not tell.

  “Now you come to mention it, no,” said Parker.

  “My God! Do you really think…” began Mayring.

  “It’s only five days,” Duckmore almost pleaded. “It’s too early to say.”

  “If I thought…” Mayring struck the palm of his hand with his fist and turning to Carolus said—“You know my puppy was killed?”

  “I heard so, yes.”

  “I’d murder the swine who did it.”

  “I shouldn’t talk like that, if I were you,” Carolus told him.

  They were all silenced again by the sound of knocking, gentle this time and on the door of the neighbouring room. They waited without speaking to see if they could gather who it was. This was easy, for Sime had a penetrating voice.

  “Hullo, Mollie,” they heard him say, but before she had answered the door was closed again.

  “Good thing Stanley isn’t here,” said Mayring. “And by the way, Stella Ferris went across to the window to talk to him this afternoon. Yes, right in front of Bill. You should have seen his face.”

  Nobody answered but it seemed that both Parker and Duckmore were thinking it over. At last Parker rose slowly from the wicker armchair and Carolus was relieved that the gathering broke up.

  He wanted to do what he had done in every case he had investigated—visit the local pub. He had rarely failed to learn something of interest there. Sometimes the publican himself was informative, sometimes he employed a chatty barmaid, sometimes he heard odd facts or opinions from the customers. In any case, short of receiving confidences which he did not yet expect, he had heard all he expected from the Men and wanted a breather. So much intrigue and suspicion was oppressive.

  The Windmill Inn was nearly a mile away but as it was the only licensed premises in a radius of more than four miles it was sure to be ‘the local’ for those members of the staff who like to visit a pub. It was now twenty to six so Carolus decided to walk the distance. This would give him some exercise and bring him to the Windmill promptly at opening time.

  He waited till he was some way from the school before learning the way from a postman. This reminded him of Sime’s letter and hearing that there was a letter-box in the village he posted it. When he reached the Windmill Inn he found no one on the customer’s side of the counter but the landlord stood behind it.

  Mr. Pocket was a sprightly little man with an Arnold Bennett quiff of hair and a clipped bristly reddish moustache.

  “Hullo! Where have you sprung from?” he asked Carolus.

  “I walked across.”

  “Thought I didn’t hear a car pull up.” he seemed to realize what Carolus had said and asked—“Across from where?”

  “St. Asprey’s.”

  This seemed a big relief to him.

  “Oh, you’re the New Man come to take Sime’s place till he can get about again. Arrive this morning, did you?”

  A question-asker, thought Carolus and knew that he was on easy ground. Mr. Pocket might answer questions by asking others but he was bursting with information. Carolus ordered a Scotch and soda.

  “How do you like it up there?” asked Mr. Pocket.

  “Seems a bit disturbed.”

  “A bit? It must be a shambles after this last go-round. Not that you can be surprised. That Sime’s a nasty piece of work. But what are they all scared of? That’s what I want to know.”

  “Are they scared?”

  “Scared stiff. When you get grown men come in here trembling like an ash-bin…”

  Carolus saw the potential start of a new corruption of the language but let it go.

  “Really?”

  “Face white as chalk and hands jumping like jack-in-the-boxes, then ordering a double brandy, you know something’s wrong.”

  “You mean Duckmore?”

  “Yes, but the others are not much better. There’s old Parker enjoyed his pint here ever since I’ve been here, hardly ever comes now. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

  “Is young Mayring a customer of yours?”

  “Oh, yes, he comes over sometimes when he’s touched Sconer for a sub. On about his dog being killed most of the time. The one I don’t like is Stanley. I can’t say why but there it is. You talked to him?”

  “A little. He seems all right.”

  “He may seem all right but from what the rest of them say he’s not much. Too thick with the old woman and the matron. And what about Horlick?”

  “That’s the gardener, isn’t it?”

  “He’s a character. You wait till you meet him. And his wife.”

  “I haven’t seen either of them yet. Only Mrs. Skippett.”

  “She’s a good sort. Very good to my wife when she was ill. She lives across the way. Yes, you have got a bright lot over there. I shouldn’t be surprised if something was to happen one of these days.”

  “Really?”

  “Not a little bit, I shouldn’t be. What with Sime and that. No one seems to know where they are. I was only saying to the wife. I tell you who does come in, though; that’s this fellow they’ve got as cook. Bit of a mystery, that is. What’s he doing, cooking? He’s not the type, is he? I wouldn’t be surprised if there was something behind it. He never says much when he comes in and only drinks mild-and-bitter. I can’t make him out. Seems to think the world of his wife, though. I will say that. Terrible misfortune, losing your sight. Have you met her yet?”

  “No. I only arrived this morning.”

  “So you said. Well, I wish you luck. I shouldn’t like it, with all that Talk.”

  Carolus invited him to have a drink but he refused.

  “I’ve only just had my tea,” he explained. “I wonder some of the boys’ parents don’t get to hear what’s going on. I shouldn’t like one of my kids to be mixed up in that. Would you? It can’t be healthy, really, when you come to think of it. I thought it was larking at first. There was a lot of that last term when they had a girl there called Sally O’Maverick. She was all for a laugh. They say the old woman got rid of her. She had the looks, you see. Real little beauty, she was. Irish, too. I was sorry to see her go. The men were all mad about her. Even old Parker came out of his shell when she was here. But there you are. The old woman and the matron between them cooked her goose.”

  “There’s a very nice-looking assistant there now.”

  “Yes, but it’s not the same thing. She’s got money and thinks a lot of herself. She’s never been in here�
�I’ve only seen her the once, when I went to church. That Sally was over here two or three times a week and didn’t mind joining in a sing-song. Till all of a sudden she stopped coming and at the end of the term I heard she’d gone. There was talk about that, too. Some said she was in the family way. But I wouldn’t believe it. She wasn’t the sort. Didn’t mind a laugh and that but she knew what she was doing.”

  “No idea where she went?”

  “I did hear she was in Cheltenham, only that may be no more than a tale. But this we’ve had lately’s very different to her sort of larking. That rat in Matron’s bed I wouldn’t have put past Sally, but not the rest of it. Animals being killed and that. You couldn’t have wanted a kinder-hearted girl. As for pushing anyone down a flight of stone stairs…”

  “You think Sime was pushed, then?”

  Mr. Pocket stared at Carolus.

  “Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  “I don’t see why.”

  “He says he was pushed.”

  Carolus decided to let the point go. He was surprised to find out how much the publican knew.

  “Do you go up to the school?” he asked.

  “I can’t get out much,” said Mr. Pocket. “My wife’s away, staying with her sister. But I like to know what’s going on.”

  Like Matron, thought Carolus and had another drink.

  Chapter Six

  That night Carolus was himself witness to one of those nocturnal incidents which had disturbed the peace of St. Asprey’s.

  He had learned by now the lay-out of the whole place with its architectural anomalies. The main part of the big house was occupied on its ground floor with class-rooms, the big school-room, dining-room and wash-rooms; on its first floor were the main dormitories and Matron’s room, while the third floor, formerly the servants’ sleeping quarters, now provided small bedrooms in which some of the senior boys slept three to a room.

  On one side of this central block was the ‘private part’ of the establishment—drawing-room and headmaster’s study on the ground floor; bedrooms for the Sconers, Parker, Mollie Westerly and the spare room, occupied by Carolus on the first floor. There was no second floor.