The Trouble at Wakeley Court (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 8) (2 page)

‘She is a good girl,’ said Count Paul with a smile. ‘I have no doubt that she will do very well at school. But sire, shall you warn her of the threat to her life? Perhaps it would be better not to mention it, or she might become fearful.’

The Grand Duke reflected for a moment.

‘No, I think it will be better to tell her,’ he said. ‘Such threats are unavoidable in our position, I regret to say, and if she knows of the danger then she can look out for it and help herself if necessary. She is old enough to understand, and I would not have her live in ignorance on such an important matter.’

‘But she will be so out of the way in Norfolk,’ said Count Paul. ‘Surely there is no danger so far from home.’

‘One never knows,’ replied the Grand Duke. ‘At any rate, I am glad I had not yet mentioned the plan to anybody, for it will be better to keep it as secret as possible. The fewer people who know, the better.’

‘That is true enough,’ agreed the Count. ‘But sire, you must not forget that Irina is not the only one in danger. What ought we to do about the threat to
your
life? We must arrange protection for you. I shall see to it myself personally.’

‘We will talk about it later,’ said the Grand Duke with a wave of the hand. ‘You have official duties to see to this morning, as do I. But first, I should like to speak to Irina. Kindly have her summoned.’

Count Paul bowed and accepted his dismissal. As he waited for his daughter to answer the summons, the Grand Duke stood by the window, deep in thought. In due course Princess Irina presented herself before her father and they exchanged the usual courtesies. They spoke in English, as they were accustomed to do—partly because it was the language Irina had spoken from a child and partly because they preferred not to allow the servants to overhear all their private business.

‘Is it about school?’ said Irina. ‘When am I to go?’

‘Soon,’ said her father. ‘Next week, if it can be arranged.’

Her rather solemn face lit up.

‘How marvellous!’ she said. ‘It seems an age since I was in England. I
have
missed it so.’

‘Yes,’ said the Grand Duke. ‘I thought you would be pleased. I ought to have sent you a year ago, but I am a selfish old man and did not like the idea of being parted from you.’

‘You’re not selfish at all,’ she said. ‘I shall miss you too, but I’ll write often so you won’t
really
be parted from me. And of course I’ll be back for the holidays.’

The Grand Duke regarded his daughter with a smile. How quickly she had grown up! It seemed only yesterday that he had been presented with the tiny, mewling thing and had stifled his disappointment on finding that she was not the son he had wanted. But she had quickly worked her way into his affections and ever since then she had been the light and the pride of his life. Naturally, a son would have been better for the future of Morania, but the Grand Duke was not one to dwell on what could not be helped. Under his tutelage, Princess Irina would come to understand the duties of state and would one day rule the country in his stead. Until then, however, she had many things to learn—of which one was an unfortunate fact about the position of royalty.

‘Come to the window, my child,’ he said. ‘I have something of importance to tell you and it is better not to be overheard, even if they don’t understand what we are saying.’

Irina glanced at the attendants and did as she was bid.

‘What is it?’ she said.

‘It is not an easy matter of which to speak to a young girl,’ he said, ‘but I believe it is important that you know, for it affects you directly. I have heard this morning that some bad men intend to make an attempt on my life—and, I am afraid, yours too.’

‘Oh!’ said Irina. ‘Who wants to kill us?’

‘The Krovodanians. It appears they are not as well-disposed towards us as they would have us believe,’ said the Grand Duke dryly.

‘Is it because of Iszbicka?’ said Irina. ‘They want it back, don’t they? That’s where the copper mines are. They’re jolly valuable, I’ve heard.’

‘That is part of the reason,’ replied her father. He was surprised and not a little impressed at her knowledge, for he had not believed her to take much interest in these things. ‘Another part of it has to do with internal politics in Krovodar. Our deaths would help make their government more popular.’

‘I understand,’ said Irina. ‘Yes, it would distract attention from their own problems pretty neatly, wouldn’t it?’ A thought struck her. ‘Who told you about it?’

‘Paul, just now,’ said the Grand Duke.

‘Oh, Paul. Then it must be true. Had it been anyone else I should have suspected it was just a ploy to make you afraid.’

‘What do you mean?’ he said, taken aback. ‘A ploy by whom?’

‘Why, your exiled cousins, of course. You told me yourself that they have half the ministers in Vorgorod in their pay. You know how they all lick their lips at the thought of marrying me and getting their hands on the throne once you’re gone.’

‘I did tell you that, it is true,’ said the Grand Duke, thinking to himself that perhaps he ought to be more careful about what he told his daughter in future, since she seemed to absorb such information with great efficiency. He had idly mentioned his suspicions about his ministers when the two of them were alone, but had not supposed that she was listening with great attention. ‘But I don’t see how it would benefit them to tell me they want me dead.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Irina. ‘It just occurred to me that that sort of silly intrigue would be just like them.’

‘At any rate, that is beside the point,’ said the Grand Duke. ‘I have told you all this because you are an intelligent girl and old enough to take some responsibility for protecting yourself. You will be going to school next week, and I am glad of it, for it will put you out of reach of those who wish you harm. Few people know about it, and you must keep it quiet yourself now that we know of this plot.’

‘I will,’ said Irina. ‘I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone.’

‘Good,’ said her father. ‘I confess it will be a relief to me to get you safely out of the way, and I think that if we take one or two extra precautions, then we shall do very well. I am glad that your mother and I made the decision to shield you from the public gaze until you were old enough to assume royal duties, for that means you are not recognizable to most people, which is very helpful to us in the present instance.’

‘That’s true enough,’ said Irina. ‘Nobody knows who I am, so with any luck I ought to be perfectly safe.’

‘Let us hope so,’ said the Grand Duke.

‘I can’t wait to go to school,’ said Irina happily. ‘It’s going to be such fun.’

‘So I am afraid, Mrs. Marchmont, that we will no longer be able to keep her,’ said Miss Bell. ‘Barbara is a decent girl at heart, but there is a streak of disobedience and waywardness in her that we have been unable to overcome. Perhaps at another school she will do better.’

Angela Marchmont sat in Miss Bell’s study, in one of the comfortable chairs reserved for parents and visitors, and gazed out of the handsome arched window and across the lawns down to the lake, where a number of girls were taking advantage of an unusually warm spell of weather to sit on the grass reading quietly or talking. One or two of them were tossing a ball about idly. The scene was very wholesome.

Miss Bell was still speaking.

‘As you know, Barbara was given several warnings last year about her behaviour, and I had hoped that the long summer break would have given her time to mature a little, and reflect on her shortcomings. However, I regret to say that the passage of time appears to have made no difference. Her guardians, the Ellises, are abroad at present, of course, which is why I called you. I understand they will not be back until early in the new year.’

‘No,’ said Angela, rousing herself. ‘They won’t—’ Here she bit back an ‘unfortunately,’ since she did not wish to sound uncaring.

She looked at Miss Bell. The headmistress of Wakeley Court school was an imposing woman, with an impressive bosom and an arrangement of hair which seemed to have been created by the sculptor’s art rather than a brush and comb. Her manner was firm, but not unsympathetic. Angela recognized the type, having met with similar during her own school years: unimaginative and conventional, but a natural leader who saw everything, stood no nonsense and was admired for it. No doubt Miss Bell was loved and respected by all her girls, but that was of little comfort in the present situation. Mrs. Marchmont was very fond of her god-daughter, but was thrown into a panic at the idea of having to find another school which would accept Barbara at such short notice, after her expulsion from this one in disgrace. Angela had several imminent engagements which it would be difficult to put off, including a half-promised trip to Paris with some friends, and the thought of having to bring along an unruly fourteen-year-old while the search for a new school went on did not appeal. One could hardly enjoy oneself freely in such circumstances, since one would be continually aware of the need to set a good example. Not that one
deliberately
set out to misbehave, naturally, but one’s liberty of action would be severely curtailed. No: another school would have to be found, and quickly.

But how exactly
did
one go about selecting a school? Such decisions had always been left to Nina and Gerald in the past. Barbara had already moved once, having been unhappy at her previous place near London. This one, Wakeley Court, was supposed to be one of the best girls’ schools in the country, turning out well-educated, well-balanced, confident young ladies, and for a while it had seemed the perfect choice for Barbara, who was an intelligent child but easily bored. Here, she would be given interesting lessons, kept busy and, it was hoped, learn to suppress her natural inclination to get up to mischief. For the first term, indeed, it had looked as though the move had been a success. No reports had been received of any misbehaviour, and to judge from her occasional scrawled letters, Barbara had settled in nicely and was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, she had fallen back into her old ways, and had begun to get into trouble. She was not a wicked child, but she was afflicted with an insatiable curiosity and an unfortunate inability to think through the consequences of her actions. She was also unable to resist a dare—a fact of which her school-mates were well aware and took full advantage for their own entertainment. Again and again she promised faithfully to turn over a new leaf, but she found it so dreadfully hard to do what she ought, and sooner or later she inevitably got into some scrape or other.

‘What exactly did Barbara do?’ said Angela. ‘Your letter hinted at something rather terrible but gave no details. I confess it frightened me a little.’

‘Several things,’ said Miss Bell. ‘I have it all here in the black mark book.’

She picked up the book in question and opened it. Angela craned her neck, trying to read upside down. The page had a long list of entries, and Angela thought she could read the name Barbara in several of them.

‘Just to take an example at random,’ the headmistress continued, ‘shortly after term began she embarrassed one of the trustees by pretending to mistake him for a well-known film-actor and requesting his autograph in front of a group of visiting parents.’

‘Perhaps that was a genuine mistake,’ said Angela, although she was certain it was not, as it sounded just the sort of thing Barbara would do.

‘That is possible,’ conceded Miss Bell, ‘although the gentleman in question is not exactly—how shall I put it?—possessed of the type of appearance which one would normally associate with film-actors. In addition, there was an unusually large number of girls present at the time, which leads me to suspect that the thing was arranged in advance. A week after that, Barbara was caught on the roof—which is strictly out of bounds—dropping eggs into the Quad. She claimed to be reproducing Galileo’s experiments with falling objects, but of course that is nonsense. Even if it were true, a more suitable way of doing it could have been found. I fear Mr. Penkridge’s coat was quite ruined—although to give her credit, Barbara was genuinely contrite and offered to pay for a new one.’

‘I see,’ said Angela.

‘I shall not give you the whole list of black marks as we have not the time, and it must be said that most of them are too minor to mention, but they all add up to a pattern of most unladylike and rebellious behaviour—not at all what we expect of girls at Wakeley Court. Some of them are too serious to overlook, however, and are the reason for which I have been forced to reconsider Barbara’s continuing as a pupil here.’ Miss Bell paused impressively. ‘I regret to have to tell you, Mrs. Marchmont, that last week we discovered that Barbara had been—I believe the term is “
running a book.
”’

‘Running a book?’ said Angela. ‘Do you mean taking bets? On the horses, and suchlike?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Miss Bell. ‘It appears the girls have invented a game in which they attempt to induce the teachers to say a particular word by the end of the lesson, by leading the conversation in an artful manner. They began with Miss Devlin, who has an unfortunate speech impediment which prevents her from saying the letter R correctly. It seems that some of the girls find it funny to trick her into saying words which contain that very letter. Take a look at this.’

She picked up a notebook from her desk and handed it to Angela, who raised her eyebrows and took it. On the front cover the words, ‘Barbara Wells—private,’ were printed in large capital letters. Inside, each page was divided neatly into lines and columns, all filled with what looked like code—dates, numbers and scribbled letters in different coloured inks, with the occasional recognizable name or word.

‘As you can see,’ went on Miss Bell, indicating with a pencil, ‘in the first week they tried to make Miss Devlin say the word “rarity,” and it appears they were successful in their attempt.’

Angela saw the neat tick, and the note, ‘Paid, I. C.’ next to it.

‘What is I. C?’ she said.

‘I believe it refers to Isabel Chambers, a class-mate of Barbara’s,’ said Miss Bell.