She went to bed thinking more about another person than about herself. This goes to prove that even minor poetry may have its practical uses.
On the following night, a strange and sinister thing happened.
Harriet had gone, by appointment, to dine with her Somerville friend, and to meet a distinguished writer on the mid-Victorian period, from whom she expected to gain some useful information about Lefanu. She was sitting in the friend’s room, where about half a dozen people were gathering to do honour to the distinguished writer, when the telephone rang.
‘Oh, Miss Vane,’ said her hostess. ‘Somebody wants you from Shrewsbury.’
Harriet excused herself to the distinguished guest, and went out into the small lobby in which the telephone was placed. A voice which she could not quite recognise answered her ‘Hullo!’
‘Is that Miss Vane?’
‘Yes – who’s that speaking?’
‘This is Shrewsbury College. Could you please come round quickly. There’s been another disturbance.’
‘Good heavens! What’s happened? Who is speaking, please?’
‘I’m speaking for the Warden. Could you please—?’
‘Is that Miss Parsons?’
‘No, miss. This is Dr. Baring’s maid.’
‘But what has happened?’
‘I don’t know, miss. The Warden said I was to ask you to come at once.’
‘Very well. I’ll be there in about ten or fifteen minutes. I haven’t got the car. I’ll be there about eleven.’
‘Very good, miss. Thank you.’
The connection was severed. Harriet hurriedly got hold of her friend, explained that she had been called away suddenly, said her good-byes and hurried out.
She had crossed the Garden Quad and was just passing between the Old Hall and the Maitland Buildings, when she was visited with an absurd recollection. She remembered Peter’s saying to her one day:
‘The heroines of thrillers deserve all they get. When a mysterious voice rings them up and says it is Scotland Yard, they never think of ringing back to verify the call. Hence the prevalence of kidnapping.’
She knew where Somerville kept its public call-box; presumably she could get a call from there. She went in; tried it; found that it was through to the Exchange; dialled the Shrewsbury number, and on getting it asked to be put through to the Warden’s Lodgings.
A voice answered her; not the same person’s that had rung her up before.
‘Is that Dr. Baring’s maid?’
‘Yes, madam. Who is speaking, please?’
(‘Madam’ – the other voice had said ‘miss.’ Harriet knew now why she had felt vaguely uneasy about the call. She had subconsciously remembered that the Warden’s maid said ‘Madam.’)
‘This is Miss Harriet Vane, speaking from Somerville. Was it you who rang me up just now?’
‘No, madam.’
‘Somebody rang me up, speaking for the Warden. Was it Cook, or anybody else in the house?’
‘I don’t think anybody has telephoned from here, madam.’
(Some mistake. Perhaps the Warden had sent her message from somewhere in College and she had misunderstood the speaker or the speaker her.)
‘Could I speak to the Warden?’
‘The Warden isn’t in College, madam. She went out to the theatre with Miss Martin. I’m expecting them back any minute.’
‘Oh, thank you. Never mind. There must have been some mistake. Would you please put me back to the Lodge?’
When she heard Padgett’s voice again she asked for Miss Edwards, and while the connection was being made, she thought fast.
It was beginning to look very much like a bogus call. But why, in Heaven’s name? What would have happened if she had gone back to Shrewsbury straight away? Since she had not the car with her, she would have gone in by the private gate, past the thick bushes by the Fellows’ Garden – the Fellows’ Garden, where people walked by night—
‘Miss Edwards isn’t in her room, Miss Vane.’
‘Oh! The scouts are all in bed, I suppose.’
‘Yes, miss. Shall I ask Mrs. Padgett to see if she can find her?’
‘No – see if you can get Miss Lydgate.’
Another pause. Was Miss Lydgate also out of her room? Was every reliable don in College out, or out of her room? Yes – Miss Lydgate was out, too; and then it occurred to Harriet that, of course, they were dutifully patrolling the College before turning in to bed. However, there was Padgett. She explained matters as well as she could to him.
‘Very good, miss,’ said Padgett, comfortingly. ‘Yes, miss – I can leave Mrs. Padgett on the Lodge. I’ll get down to the private gate and have a look round. Don’t you worry, miss. If there’s anybody a-laying in wait for you, miss, I’m sorry for ’em, that’s all. No, miss, there ain’t been no disturbance to-night as I knows on; but if I catches anybody a-laying in wait, miss, then the disturbance will proceed according to schedule, miss, trust me.’
‘Yes, Padgett; but don’t make a row about it. Slip down quietly and see if there’s anybody hanging round – but don’t let them see you. If anybody attacks me when I come in, you can come to the rescue; but if not, keep out of sight.’
‘Very good, miss.’
Harriet hung up again and stepped out of the call-box. A centre light burned dimly in the entrance-hall. She looked at the clock. Seven minutes to eleven. She would be late. However, the assailant, if there was one, would wait for her. She knew where the trap would be – must be. Nobody would start a riot just outside the Infirmary or the Warden’s Lodgings, where people might overhear and come out. Nor would anyone hide under or behind the walls on that side of the path. The only reasonable lurking-place was the bushes in the Fellows’ Garden, near the gate, on the right side of the path as you went up.
One would be prepared, and that was an advantage; and Padgett would be somewhere at hand; but there would be a nasty moment when one had to turn one’s back and lock the private gate from the inside. Harriet thought of the breadknife in the dummy, and shuddered.
If she bungled it and got killed – melodramtic, but possible, when people weren’t quite sane – Peter would have something to say about it. Perhaps it would be only decent to apologise beforehand, in case. She found somebody’s notebook astray on a window-seat, borrowed a sheet of it, scribbled half a dozen words with the pencil from her bag, folded the note addressed it and put it away with the pencil. If anything happened, it would be found.
The Somerville porter let her out into the Woodstock Road. She took the quickest way: by St. Giles’ Church, Blackhall Road, Museum Road, South Parks Road, Mansfield Road, walking briskly, almost running. When she turned into Jowett Walk, she slowed down. She wanted her breath and her wits.
She turned the corner into St. Cross Road, reached the gate and took out the key. Her heart was thumping.
And then, the whole melodrama dissipated itself into polite comedy. A car drew up behind her; the Dean deposited the Warden and drove on round to the tradesmen’s entrance to garage her Austin, and Dr. Baring said pleasantly:
‘Ah! it’s you, Miss Vane? Now I shan’t have to look for my key. Did you have an interesting evening? The Dean and I have been indulging in a little dissipation. We suddenly made up our minds after dinner . . .’
She walked on up the path with Harriet, chatting with great amiability about the play she had seen. Harriet left her at her own gate, refusing an invitation to come in and have coffee and sandwiches. Had she, or had she not, heard something stir behind the bushes? At any rate, the opportunity was by now lost. She had offered herself as the cheese, but, owing to the slight delay in setting the trap, the Warden had innocently sprung it.
Harriet stepped into the Fellows’ Garden, switched on her torch and looked round. The garden was empty. She suddenly felt a complete fool. Yet, when all was said and done, there must have been some reason for that telephone call.
She made her way towards the St. Cross Lodge. In the New Quad she
met Padgett.
‘Ah!’ said Padgett, cautiously. ‘She was there right enough, miss.’ His right hand moved at his side, and Harriet fancied it held something suspiciously like a cosh. ‘Sittin’ on the bench be’ind them laurels near the gate. I crep’ along careful, like it was a night reconnaissance, miss, and ’id be’ind them centre shrubs. She didn’t tumble to me, miss, But when you an’ Dr. Baring come through the gate a-talking, she was up and orf like a shot.’
‘Who was it, Padgett?’
‘Well, miss, not to put too fine a point upon it, miss, it was Miss ’Illyard. She come out at the top end of the Garden, miss, and away to her own rooms. I follored ’er and see ’er go up. Going very quick she was. I stepped out o’ the gate, and I see the light go up in her window.’
‘Oh!’ said Harriet. ‘Look here, Padgett, I don’t want anything said about this. I know Miss Hillyard does sometimes take a stroll in the Fellows’ Garden at night. Perhaps the person who sent the telephone call saw her there and went away again.’
‘Yes, miss. It’s a funny thing about that there telephone call. It didn’t come through the Lodge, miss.’
‘Perhaps one of the other instruments was through to the Exchange.’
‘No, they wasn’t miss. I ’ad a look to see. Afore I goes to bed at 11 o’clock, I puts the Warden, the Dean, and the Infirmary and the public box through, miss, for the night. But they wasn’t through at 10.40, miss, that I’ll swear.’
‘Then the call must have come from outside.’
‘Yes, miss. Miss ’Illyard come in at 10.50, miss, jest afore you rang up.’
‘Did she? Are you sure?’
‘I remember quite well, miss, because of Annie passing a remark about her. There’s no love lost between her and Annie,’ added Padgett, with a chuckle. ‘Faults o’ both sides, that’s what I say, miss, and a ’asty temper—’
‘What was Annie doing in the Lodge at that hour?’
‘Jest come in from her half-day out, miss. She set in the Lodge a bit with Mrs. Padgett.’
‘Did she? You didn’t say anything about this business to her, did you, Padgett? She doesn’t like Miss Hillyard, and if you ask me, I think she’s a mischief-maker.’
‘I didn’t say one word, miss, not even to Mrs. Padgett, and nobody could ’ave ’eard me on the ’phone, because after I couldn’t find Miss Lydgate and Miss Edwards and you begins to tell me, I shuts the door between me an’ the settin’-room. Then I jest puts me ’ead in afterwards and says to Mrs. Padgett, “Look after the gate, would you?” I says. “I jest got to step over and give Mullins a message.” So this here remains wot I might call confidential between you an’ me, miss.’
‘Well, see that it stays confidential, Padgett. I may have been imagining something quite absurd. The ’phone call was certainly a hoax, but there’s no proof that anybody meant mischief. Did anybody else come in between 10.40 and 11?’
‘Mrs. Padgett will know, miss. I’ll send you up a list of the names. Or if you like to step into Lodge now—’
‘Better not. No – give me the list in the morning.’
Harriet went away and found Miss Edwards, of whose discretion and common sense she had a high opinion, and told her the story of the ’phone call.
‘You see,’ said Harriet, ‘if there had been any disturbance, the call might have been intended to prove an alibi, though I don’t quite see how. Otherwise, why try to get me back at eleven? I mean, if the disturbance was due to start then, and I was brought there as a witness, the person might have wangled something so as to appear to be elsewhere at the time. But why was it necessary to have me as a witness?’
‘Yes – and why say the disturbance had already happened, when it hadn’t? And why wouldn’t you do as a witness when you had the Warden with you?’
‘Of course,’ said Harriet, ‘the idea might have been to make a disturbance and bring me on to the scene in time to be suspected of having done it myself.’
‘That would be silly; everybody knows you can’t be the Poltergeist.’
‘Well, then, we come back to my first idea. I was to be attacked. But why couldn’t I be attacked at midnight or any other time? Why bring me back at eleven?’
‘It couldn’t have been something timed to go off at eleven, while the alibi was being established?’
‘Nobody could know to a moment the exact time I should take coming from Somerville to Shrewsbury. Unless you are thinking of a bomb or something that would go off when the gate was opened. But that would work equally well at any time.’
‘But if the alibi was fixed for eleven—’
‘Then why didn’t the bomb go off? As a matter of fact, I simply can’t believe in a bomb at all.’
‘Nor can I – not really,’ said Miss Edwards. ‘We’re just being theoretical. I suppose Padgett saw nothing suspicious?’
‘Only Miss Hillyard,’ replied Harriet, lightly, ‘sitting in the Fellows’ Garden.’
‘Oh!’
‘She does go there sometimes at night; I’ve seen her. Perhaps she frightened away – whatever it was.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Miss Edwards. ‘By the way, your noble friend seems to have overcome her prejudices in a remarkable manner. I don’t mean the one who saluted you in the quad – the one who came to dinner.’
‘Are you trying to make a mystery out of yesterday afternoon?’ asked Harriet, smiling. ‘I think it was only a matter of introductions to some man in Italy who owns a library.’
‘So she informed us,’ said Miss Edwards. Harriet realised that, when her own back was turned, a good deal of chaff must have been flying about the History Tutor’s ears. ‘Well,’ Miss Edwards went on, ‘I promised him a paper on blood-groups, but he hasn’t started to badger me for it yet. He’s an interesting man, isn’t he?’
‘To the biologist?’
Miss Edwards laughed. ‘Well, yes – as a specimen of the pedigree animal. Shockingly overbred, but full of nervous intelligence. But I didn’t mean that.’
‘To the woman, then?’
Miss Edwards turned a candid eye on Harriet.
‘To many women, I should imagine.’
Harriet met the eye with a level gaze.
‘I have no information on that point.’
‘Ah!’ said Miss Edwards. ‘In your novels, you deal more in material facts than in psychology, don’t you?’
Harriet readily admitted that this was so.
‘Well, never mind,’ said Miss Edwards; and said good night rather brusquely.
Harriet asked herself what all this was about. Oddly enough, it had never yet occurred to her to wonder what other women made of Peter, or he of them. This must argue either very great confidence or very great indifference on her own part; for, when one came to think of it, eligibility was his middle name.
On reaching her room, she took the scribbled note from her bag and destroyed it without re-reading it. Even the thought of it made her blush. Heroics that don’t come off are the very essence of burlesque.
Thursday was chiefly remarkable for a violent, prolonged and wholly inexplicable row between Miss Hillyard and Miss Chilperic, in the Fellows’ Garden after Hall. How it started or what it was about, nobody could afterwards remember. Somebody had disarranged a pile of books and papers on one of the Library tables, with the result that a History Schools candidate had arrived for a coaching with a tale of a set of notes mislaid or missing, Miss Hillyard, whose temper had been exceedingly short all day, was moved to take the matter personally and, after glowering all through dinner, burst out – as soon as the Warden had gone – into a storm of indignation against the world in general.
‘Why my pupils should always be the ones to suffer from other people’s carelessness, I don’t know,’ said Miss Hillyard.
Miss Burrows said she didn’t see that they suffered more than anybody else. Miss Hillyard angrily adduced instances extending over the past three terms of History students whose work had been interfered with by what looked like deliberate
persecution.
‘Considering,’ she went on, ‘that the History School is the largest in the College and certainly not the least important—’
Miss Chilperic pointed out, quite correctly, that in that particular year there happened to be more candidates for the English School than any other.
‘Of course you would say that,’ said Miss Hillyard. ‘There may be a couple more this year – I dare say there may – though why we should need an extra English tutor to cope with them, when I have to grapple single-handed—’
It was at that point that the origin of the quarrel became lost in a fog of personalities, in the course of which Miss Chilperic was accused of insolence, arrogance, inattention to her work, general incompetence and a desire to attract notice to herself. The extreme wildness of these charges left poor Miss Chilperic quite bewildered. Indeed, nobody seemed to be able to make anything of it, except, perhaps, Miss Edwards, who sat with a grim smile knitting herself a silk jumper. At length the attack extended itself from Miss Chilperic to Miss Chilperic’s fiancé, whose scholarship was submitted to scathing criticism.
Miss Chilperic rose up, trembling.
‘I think, Miss Hillyard,’ she said, ‘you must be beside yourself. I do not mind what you say about me, but I cannot sit here while you insult Jacob Peppercorn.’ She stumbled a little over the syllables of this unfortunate name, and Miss Hillyard laughed unkindly. ‘Mr. Peppercorn is a very fine scholar,’ pursued Miss Chilperic, with rising anger as of an exasperated lamb, ‘and I insist that—’
‘I’m glad to hear you say so,’ said Miss Hillyard, ‘If I were you, I should make do with him.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ cried Miss Chilperic.
‘Perhaps Miss Vane could tell you,’ retorted Miss Hillyard, and walked away without another word.
‘Good gracious!’ cried Miss Chilperic, turning to Harriet. ‘Whatever is she talking about?’