J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

Completing the complicated shuffling of a pack of cards, so that each of them lay in advantageous order if they had been dealt, Miss Frithington-Babcock looked with mild reproof at the Music Teacher.

“Really. Miss Pedlar,” said the deputy headmistress. “You shouldn’t tease the dear child. She’s quite distressed.”

Having delivered the gentle condemnation, Miss Frithington-Babcock absent-mindedly cut the cards. She then nullified the cut, with the ease and finesse that a professional magician might have envied if he could have detected how she did it and turned her gaze to the headmistress.

“Amelia dear, I don’t suppose I could offer to sell the recipe for my angel cake to the highest bidder?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, Hortense,” Miss Benkinsop replied, for the deputy head and she had always been on first-name terms with each other. “That would be rather like Russia having the only atomic- or hydrogen-bombs.”

“Then there is this new gaming club in London,” Miss Frithington-Babcock remarked. “Lady Houghton-Rand-Houghton was telling me that they play a delightfully friendly game of bridge there. Perhaps—”

“I wish you and I could pay them a visit,” Miss Benkinsop admitted. “I haven’t had a decent rubber since ‘M’ brought James Bond down to see us last spring. Poor James, he still doesn’t know how you played that trick on him.” Smiling a little, she brought her thoughts hack to the affairs of the moment. “That would only be a partial solution to the problem.”

“Of course!” Miss Frithington-Babcock replied. “How silly and thoughtless of me.”

Obtaining a trifling sum to cover the lost Petty Cash Fund would have been mere child’s play. Having young Amelia’s expert partnership—although she was hardly quite the bridge player her dear mother had been—would be of great assistance. There might not even have been the need for the type of harmless subterfuge with which the deputy head had confused that nice Commander Bond and his superior. However, playing bridge would not recover the Benkinsop’s family jewels.

“I’ve got the names of four rich old boilers here,” Miss Panchez said, consulting a somewhat grimy address book. “Any one of them would fall for the old ‘Tainted Money’ con.”

“The ‘Thrifty Hands’ class could easily copy enough money to settle things,” Miss McCoy suggested. “I know you don’t like them doing it commercially, Miss B., but I think the situation calls for it.”

“Why don’t I pay a visit to London?” Mademoiselle de Vautour suggested, working her delicate, expressive fingers to ensure they retained their supple speed. “I know that, in these days of credit cards, collecting mementoes is so uncertain, but if I get enough of them—”

“Thank you, ladies,” Miss Benkinsop put in, fighting to keep her true feeling from showing at the loyal response. “But I’m afraid that I can’t permit any of your noble gestures. To raise such a vast sum of money would entail your taking unjustifiable risks.”

“I’m sure that I speak for all the ladies, Amelia,” Miss Frithington-Babcock put in, “when I say that we regard that as of minor importance.”

Miss Benkinsop stood rigid, blinking to hold back the tears of gratitude which were welling in her eyes. She listened, with a lump in her throat, to the rest of the staff rumble their complete agreement with the deputy headmistress’s sentiments.

“No,” Miss Benkinsop declared, with just a tremble in her voice to hint at the depths of her emotions. “I couldn’t allow it, ladies, although I will never forget your kindness and support. Every one of you would receive a long term of preventive detention if you were caught.”

“It’d be worth it to help you, lo— Miss Benkinsop,” Miss Dinks stated.

“Hear, hear!” agreed Miss McCoy. “Most of us would be doing long stretches now if it wasn’t for you, Miss B.”

“Again. I thank you ladies,” the headmistress said quietly. “But I value you all as my friends and extremely important to the welfare, education and upbringing of the girls. Far too much to be a party to anything which might cause even a temporary suspension of your presences here.”

“If I may say so, ladies,” Amanda put in, after raising her hand and being given permission to speak. “While any of your excellent suggestions would bring about the return of the Petty Cash Fund, it would not recover Miss Benkinsop’s family jewels.”

“Oh!” Miss Panchez growled. “If we only knew where they were!”

At that moment, the telephone on the central table buzzed. Miss Pedlar picked up the receiver.

“Benkinsop’s Academy for—” the Music Teacher began, then clapped her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s from Cyprus, for you, Miss Benkinsop.”

Accepting the receiver, Miss Benkinsop pressed a button on the side of the instrument, Amanda had fitted a simple device which allowed all the room’s occupants to hear a conversation if it should be necessary. The teachers and pupils fell silent as Rosalie Fieldbanks voice, throbbing, nervous and pleading, came to their ears.

“Miss Benkinsop! I hardly know how to tell you this. Honest. I didn’t know— He never told me—I wouldn’t have stood for it—!”

“Calm yourself, dear,” Miss Benkinsop advised gently. “I know what happened and don’t blame you in any way for it.”

“Thank heavens for that!” Rosalie almost sobbed. “But Alf—he’s trying to take over the school.”

“I don’t think he’ll quite manage to do that,” Miss Benkinsop answered, in her most reassuring manner.

“I’m going right back there to get everything he had taken—!” Rosalie declared, gaining courage from her former headmistress’s stirring example of how to face fortitude and danger.

“No, no, dear!” Miss Benkinsop hastened to reply. “You never really gained proficiency in the Household Hints class, and you weren’t—without wishing to hurt your feelings, a truly useful member of the Debating Society.”

“I don’t care—”

“But I do care. Much as I hate to speak ill of a person behind his back, Mr. Fiorelli struck me as having a most unforgiving and bullying nature.”

“I don’t care what happens to me, as long as—”

“Bringing down your ‘husband’s’ recriminations on your own head won’t help any of us, dear,” Miss Benkinsop pointed out. “By the way, I trust that you are in no danger making this call?”

“No. I’m at the Ledra Palace,” Rosalie confirmed, marvelling at the aplomb of the headmistress and pleased to think that, despite the urgency of the situation she placed her ex-pupil’s welfare ahead of other considerations. “And I’m not going back to that—”

“If you can curb your natural revulsion, dear,” Miss Benkinsop interrupted, having switched off the speaker so that Rosalie’s description of Fiorelli would not sully Amanda’s and Penelope’s ears. She switched on again. “I wish you would return. An ally in the—shall we say—enemy’s camp will be invaluable. By the way, can you suggest a good time for a few of us to pay your charming villa an informal visit?”

“You mean when Alf’s not there?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s short notice, but him and Anacropolis are taking me to a party on a millionaire’s yacht tonight.”

“Excellent!” Miss Benkinsop enthused.

“But all the ‘Heavy Mob’ will be there and he’s been getting all the alarms fixed up.”

“I trust that a Benkinsopian knows how to avoid disturbing the domestic staff,” Miss Benkinsop pointed out. “Now, dear. Miss de Vere has always said you were a leading light of her Drama Class. So I wish you to show your talents. Go back to the villa and act as if nothing had happened.”