George Mann - Associates of Sherlock Holmes

This time I tried a different tack. Having asked her to shut the door and sit down, I asked, “Munton, what are your usual duties?”

“Cleaning, laundry and whatever jobs Mrs Clews requires, Miss Hunter.”

“Including, on occasion, the distribution of the post to the girls, I believe?”

Munton squirmed in her chair.

“Did you insinuate a letter that did not arrive by the usual means into Monday’s post?”

“I…” the girl’s eyes darted round my office, looking for escape.

“Did you, Munton?”

Her hands fluttered up from her lap, and she sobbed once. “It wasn’t my idea, miss!”

“Then whose was it?”

“It came from the same man, I think, though Ma didn’t say. She just gave me the letter to bring into work, told me to get it to the Catholic girl, the nervy one.”

“What ‘same man’, Munton?”

“I don’t know his name, miss. He first called on Ma last month, and they spoke in the kitchen. I didn’t mean to overhear…”

“What did this man say?” Mr Connor had arrived in the vicinity last month.

“Something about a prank at the school, and how he needed help with it.”

“And why would your mother acquiesce to such a request? Did she know this man?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.” The girl’s face reddened. “But Ma needs money, what with Pa gone and another baby on the way.”

“And this man offered to pay if you carried out this ‘prank’?”

“Ma never said but… yes, he must’ve. We’ve had meat on the table twice a week since.”

“What precisely did you do, besides deliver the letter?”

“I got the sheet, and Jeb – my middle brother – he got the rope. I strung it up the night before the storms, whilst I was in there cleaning. Later on, he sneaked in below and tugged on the rope.”

“Twice?”

“Aye, ma’am. Twice.” From her face she knew how much trouble she was in. Why do people never consider the consequences of their actions?

“Did you also disrupt a study session in the library?”

“What study session, miss?”

“Never mind. The man who came to your house, did he speak to you?”

“No, just to Ma.”

“But you heard him speak? Did he have an accent, perhaps an Irish one?”

“No, miss, he was local, by his speech.”

“And his appearance: what colour was his hair?”

“His hair? Dark, though thin on top. Ma had me take his hat when he arrived. Please, what’ll happen to me?”

“I think you know what must happen to you now, Munton. I cannot have untrustworthy staff at my school.”

“Yes, Miss Hunter.” Though there were tears in her voice, I saw acceptance too.

“Kindly pack your things. I will not require you to work out your notice.”

Her shoulders sagged and she whispered, “As you will, Miss Hunter.”

“I would advise against telling any of the other staff why you must leave the school’s service.” Not that I minded if she did: knowing the mechanism behind the disruptive incidents might help restore calm. “Come back and see me before you leave.”

When she was gone I sat back, then leaned forward and reached for my pen. I had two letters to write.

The first would be references for Munton, along with a bankers’ draft for a week’s wages. Foolish though the girl had been, she had been obeying her still-more-foolish mother. Up until this incident, she had been a competent housemaid and, although she could not stay here, I would not sabotage her future.

The second letter was harder. No one enjoys admitting they are in the wrong.

“You came, then?” I tried not to sound too relieved, but the maiden aunts who so enjoy my meetings with Mr Connor were not even pretending to address themselves to their Darjeeling today. After last week’s show they watched us raptly, straining to hear the latest development in this low opera of emotions.

“I did. Please, Miss Hunter, sit down.”

I did so, feeling a sigh escape as I did.

“I will come straight out and say this, Mr Connor. I am heartily sorry for the way I treated you last week.”

“I accept your apology. You were applying that fine mind of yours to a problem without being in possession of the full facts.”

“Quite so, to my chagrin. Perhaps coincidences are more common than I care to admit. Certainly, they are more common than conspiracies.” I left it unsaid that I had wanted to think the worst of him rather than face the changes he might bring into my life.

Mr Connor nodded; graciously, I thought. I could imagine myself spending more time with this man. “And how is my cousin’s girl doing?”

“She is nervous and scared, but that is, sadly, normal for her. I am not sure she will ever find happiness and ease, but for my part I will do all I can to help her.”

“And for mine, I will ensure that her wretched brute of a father does not cause any more trouble.”

“He strikes me as a man who will go to great lengths to get what he wants.” And what he had wanted was his only child; thanks to his wife’s faith, and her consequent refusal to agree to a divorce, there would be no other legitimate issue.

“Only if unchecked.” Mr Connor smiled. “I have a purpose here now: to watch over what remains of my family.”

“I am delighted to hear that.”

“It is not a purpose that will take all of my time, Miss Hunter. I might hope, when spring comes, to explore the byways of the local countryside, with a suitable guide.”

“That sounds like a pleasant diversion.”

“More pleasant than chasing ghosts.” I had given Mr Connor the gist of the affair in my letter.

“Now, you know there was no ghost, Mr Connor.”

“Indeed not. But that is not the same as saying there are no ghosts, is it? ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies…’ as the Bard puts it.”

“Perhaps.” Having been both right and wrong in recent weeks, I could concede that much.

Mary fell ill the next week. A bout of brain-fever was not unexpected after her recent traumas. She took to her bed, now out of sight of the fateful window, her rest aided by strong medication prescribed by our matron.

I had yet to replace Munton, so when autumn rain gave way, in the space of an hour, to winter’s still and bitter cold, I took a spare blanket up to Mary myself. I found her dozing, rosary entwined in her fingers. As I unfolded the blanket over her she opened her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Mary,” I murmured, “just rest.”

“I dreamt Father came for me.”

“I can assure you that will not happen.”

Her gaze was febrile and bright. “Are you sure? After Peter died, he said such terrible things.”

“All untrue, I’m sure. Peter was your brother, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” She looked past me, as though at something unseen. “He fell.”

Whilst I did not want to cause the girl further pain, curiosity still pricked me. “An accident, yes?”

“Yes.” Her gaze focused on me. “He fell from the attic window.”

No wonder she had connected the flapping sheet outside with her dead brother! “Oh Mary. It must have been awful.” I shivered; the cold had taken hold up here.

“It was.” Her face twisted into an odd, feverish smile. “But it’s all right. No one saw.”

As I opened my mouth to ask what she meant a sharp bang resounded through the dormitory. I jumped to my feet, heart pounding. The noise had come from the far end of the room. I looked to the source of the sound, then, suspicions confirmed, hurried towards it.

The window was wide open. Before fear could get the better of me I leant out and grabbed the latch. My glimpse of the world outside was pure normality: a bright winter’s afternoon, girls on the sports fields below, rooks in the elm trees.