A Lesson in Secrets

  "Do you think the police will be at the college much longer, Miss Dobbs? They seem to have been there a long time, and done a lot of questioning."

  Maisie cleared her throat, knowing she had been put on the spot. "A sudden heart attack always leaves questions, especially when it's someone who is well known, so a lingering inquiry isn't unusual. And I understand the policemen concerned have other business in the city."

  The students looked at each other, while another, Frederick Sanger, voiced his opinion. "They're probably trying to find out who upset old Liddy so much that his heart just gave out."

  "Well, they don't have to go far for that, do they, Freddie?" said Daniel. "We all know who was upset, and who did the upsetting."

  Maisie sipped her cider, not wanting to appear too interested. She set down her glass. "Oh dear, being a lecturer means I am never privy to the real goings on that you students see--come on, put a poor teacher out of her misery and tell me who you're talking about." She turned to Daniel. "What's all this about people upsetting each other? The College of St. Francis is supposed to be about peace."

  "And it is!" Another student, Rebecca Inglesson, looked at Daniel, then Frederick. "We're all having a wonderful time being peaceful together."

  Maisie laughed, now wondering whether the comment that had piqued her interest was made in jest, or whether there was substance to it. "I take it that no one is really upset, then?"

  Daniel reached for his beer and took another sip. "Oh no, there was a huge upset on the day Liddy died, wasn't there, Fred?" He looked back at Maisie. "We were walking along the corridor, you know, towards Liddy's office, when we saw the puppy dog coming bounding along from the opposite direction."

  "Puppy dog?" asked Maisie.

  "Now you've done it, Danny," said Rebecca, who had not touched her drink since Maisie had questioned the wisdom of one or two of their number being in the pub.

  Daniel turned to Maisie. "You know who I mean, Miss Dobbs." He pulled a clump of his swept-back hair over his forehead and took a pair of spectacles from the nose of another student and put them on, executing what Maisie thought a very good impression. "Puppy dog bounding to see the adored master."

  Maisie nodded. "Oh, yes, of course--don't let any other member of staff see you do that or you will be hauled over the coals."

  "Oh, Dr. Thomas is much better than I when it comes to mimicking the puppy dog--not a lot of love lost there!"

  She raised an eyebrow again, then made another attempt at pressing Daniel to continue his story. "So, what happened when you met in the corridor?"

  He shook his head. "Oh, we didn't meet, but we saw him listening at the door. He seemed very agitated, you know, flushed and angry--I really don't think he even saw us, he was so upset. He might have been alarmed because of the shouting--it's not what you want to hear at the college, is it? Not very peaceful, eh? Even I could hear it, and I was a few steps away--and that door is pretty heavy, but there was someone inside shouting about Ursula someone-or-other, and 'fraud' this and 'fake' that and--here's the bit that I thought was a bit thick, 'killer by any other name--and just for the money!' Our puppy dog must have heard everything before the shouting stopped. Then he entered Dr. Liddicote's room without knocking. Of course, we just went on our way, but from what I know about the time of Liddy's heart attack, that was what must have done it. Funny, we didn't see anyone come out, you know, before our pup went in with teeth bared." Daniel pretended to growl, to much mirth among the students, then turned to Maisie. "I say, Miss Dobbs, I do hope I haven't gone too far there--I'm terribly sorry if I offended you."

  Maisie smiled, though she found the expression difficult to maintain. "Not at all--I pushed you to tell." At that point, the landlord called out to her, and she stood up to leave the group; the young men also stood as a matter of courtesy. "Now, you must all have a very good time at your dance--and, Rebecca, try to stick to something lighter than ale. I expect I'll see you all at the service tomorrow."

  The students nodded in agreement, and made ready to leave the inn. Maisie settled back into her place in the seat by the window. She checked the clock behind the bar, picked up her plate, and approached the bar.

  "Something wrong, Miss?"

  "Oh, no, it looks lovely. Look, I have to nip out for a moment--could you put a plate over this and keep it warm for me? I'll be back in about ten minutes. I have to make an urgent telephone call."

  "Right you are, Miss. We'll put some fresh gravy on it as well--and I'll make sure you get the same seat by the window."

  Maisie thanked the landlord and hurried out of the inn and along the street to the telephone kiosk. She hoped MacFarlane was in situ--she had heard along the grapevine that the detective had several lady friends and was often not to be found at his home. She dialed the number for Scotland Yard and was put through to MacFarlane's department.

  "He's not here, Miss Dobbs, but I know where to find him."

  "Don't tell me, The Cuillins of Skye."

  "Well, I shouldn't really say, but--"

  "It's his favorite watering hole; I know that much about him. They have a telephone there--do you have the number, or do I have to waste time finding it out?"

  "That's all right, Miss--here it is."

  Maisie jotted down the number, thanked the policeman, and placed a call to the pub where MacFarlane spent many an hour after the working day--which was always long for the detective chief superintendent. After a wait of several moments while the landlord went off to find MacFarlane, she soon heard his voice booming in the background, instructing his drinking partners to put their hands in their hole-ridden pockets and get another round in.

  "MacFarlane! And it had better be good."

  "Good evening, Robbie."

  "What have you got for me, lass?"

  "Greville Liddicote's murderer."

  MacFarlane and Stratton arrived by motor car before dawn the following morning. Maisie had made a special request for a private breakfast for three in the dining room before the other lodgers came down. The landlady had begun to complain, but was of a cheerier disposition when Maisie mentioned the fee she would pay for the trouble of providing for her colleagues.

  "At least you don't try to sneak men home with you of a night, that's all I can say."

  MacFarlane asked Maisie to recount her findings that had led to their conversation the night before. "The lads had finished off a couple of rounds before I took my seat again after that telephone call from you!" added MacFarlane, before Maisie repeated the account for Stratton. The three remained in the room for some time, with MacFarlane and Stratton going back to their notes taken during the investigation, and once again consulting the pathologist's report on Greville Liddicote's postmortem.

  "Do you have any doubt, Maisie?" asked Stratton.

  "I sometimes think there's always room for doubt. I had almost made up my mind in another direction."

  "You shouldn't have been making up your mind either way, Maisie--you have another job to do."

  "And I'm doing it--I just happened to come across more than any of us bargained for."

  Stratton shook his head. "We thought we'd interviewed everyone, yet we missed your student Daniel and a couple of others. For goodness sake, why didn't that Miss Hawthorne tell us that some of the students had gone off to London for a day or two?"

  "In her defense, they sneaked off--they should have informed the office of their intentions; it's a college rule, and they are not children but responsible adults. They're supposed to register when they are in and out and when they are away from Cambridge, in case of emergencies."

  "They're being brought here for further questioning--I don't want to alert anyone over at the college before I'm ready." MacFarlane sighed. "What time does the memorial service start?"

  "After Sunday services, so around noon, with a procession leaving the college for the church--Dr. Roth thought it would be an appropriate honor to go to the service en masse, hand in hand, in memory of Liddicote's dearest wish
that the peoples of the world are never put asunder again."

  "Well, there's going to be some asundering this afternoon."

  "When will you make the arrest?" asked Maisie.

  "I hate these religious meetings, really I do." MacFarlane wiped his plate with the remaining wedge of fried bread. "We'll wait until everyone has left the church afterward, and then make our move."

  Maisie nodded.

  "But you won't be there, Maisie," he added.

  "What do you mean, I--"

  MacFarlane looked at Stratton. "Would you see if that dear lady wouldn't mind making up a plate for our good man behind the wheel out there--I'll bet he's so hungry he could shake hands with his backbone." Stratton looked from his superior to Maisie, and left the room. As soon as he heard the door close, MacFarlane continued. "Orders from Huntley. Directly the service is over you will return to London. He wants to see you."

  "But--"

  "But, no. You're playing a different game, Maisie. This is not your arrest, though we couldn't have done it without you. You're working for the funnies now, and once you've worked for them, they'll be keeping tabs on you. They want you out of the way while we do our job, then you come back to the college tomorrow afternoon clean as a whistle, though as far as I can see, you've done as much as you can here."

  "I think so--though there is a term to finish."

  MacFarlane threw his table napkin down, pushed back his chair, and stood up. "You've done a good job, lass. I know how you must feel, but this is police work. Now, eat up that breakfast, or you'll waste away."

  Matthias Roth led the procession of staff and students to the church, with one of the students carrying the college flag high enough for all around to see. In rich color and intricate embroidery, Saint Francis of Assisi was depicted with the face of a cherub and a bright halo above his head. His long, brown robe appeared on the flag as if made of silk, and he was surrounded by woodland animals, with a white dove at rest on his outstretched hand. Underneath the image of the saint for whom the college was named, the words Make me an instrument of peace had been woven into the fabric.

  Roth was flanked by Alan Burnham and Dunstan Headley, and behind them walked Robson Headley along with other benefactors, followed by college staff. Francesca Thomas was as elegant as ever in a black dress with a matching jacket and black heeled shoes, while Delphine Lang, in a black dress of fine gauzy fabric over silk, seemed almost ethereal with her fair hair drawn back in a chignon. Maisie joined the other staff members and students, and as they filed into the church, at the back she saw the Thurlow family seated in a pew, with Ursula alongside in her wheelchair. She smiled at Maisie and nodded, while Alice sat stone-faced.

  Dunstan Headley eulogized Greville Liddicote, and spoke of his deep abiding love of humanity: the love that inspired him to write a simple children's book that touched the hearts of soldiers on both sides of war's divide. Then Matthias Roth stepped forward to read the Prayer of St. Francis. Maisie looked around the congregation as words from the prayer filtered through.

  . . . grant that I may not so much seek

  to be consoled as to console;

  to be understood as to understand;

  to be loved as to love.

  For it is in giving that we receive;

  it is in pardoning that we are pardoned . . .

  She was aware of some movement towards the back of the church and turned to see that MacFarlane had arrived alone. He did not seek out a place to be seated, but stood with his head bowed and his hands clasping the hat he had removed upon entering the church.

  The vicar led the congregation in the Lord's Prayer, and, following another hymn and a blessing for the deceased and those who mourned him, the service came to an end. Maisie filed out slowly among the column of the people who had admired, hated, loved, respected, and doubted Greville Liddicote, and though she did not stop to speak to MacFarlane, she acknowledged him with a brief nod, which was met in kind. Once outside, she stopped to greet the Thurlows, then walked across to the yew tree that stood sentinel over the lych-gate. She lingered there under the deep evergreen canopy, and watched those who had paid their respects leave the church and go on their way. Soon there were only a few stragglers, at which point two policemen in uniform and one plainclothesman approached the church. MacFarlane emerged with his hand holding Matthias Roth's arm in a firm grasp, and as soon as they were beyond the church door, the policemen approached and Roth was handcuffed. It was obvious he was weeping as he was escorted to a police vehicle and helped aboard. MacFarlane gave instructions to a policeman before turning to beckon another motor car, which drew up alongside the lych-gate. Maisie stepped back so that he did not see her; once he had departed, she stepped into the churchyard. The sun moved behind a cloud, and at once she was chilled by the events of the day.

  "Miss Dobbs!"

  Daniel was on the other side of the lych-gate, astride his bicycle.

  "Miss Dobbs--did you see that? I think the police have just arrested Dr. Roth."

  Maisie made her way along the flagstones, securing the gate once she had stepped through onto the pavement.

  "Yes, it seems so."

  "What do you think it's about--perhaps he murdered old Liddy."

  Maisie gave a half-smile. "I really couldn't say, Daniel."

  "But what if he did, why do you think he'd do such a thing?"

  Maisie could see the concern in the young man's countenance; he was filled with questions.

  "Remember your myths. Go back to the legends, and perhaps those great philosophers we've been studying. See what they have to say about the despair that assails a man when he discovers his hero has feet of clay. And see if there is comfort for the man who learns that the words of one he has worshipped--words that inspired men to make a stand that would lead to their deaths--were not his, but stolen from another. Greville Liddicote was Dr. Roth's hero. But he was just a man, not a god beyond doubt, and I believe Dr. Roth wanted him to be something more."

  "I--I think I understand, Miss Dobbs." The student looked down at the bicycle clips on his trouser legs. "Might I ask if what I said to you yesterday had anything to do with Dr. Roth's arrest? The policemen came to see me early this morning to ask questions."

  Maisie shook her head. "No, it wasn't anything you said." It was another lie, and Maisie wondered again at her ability to speak untruths without a telltale catch to her voice, or color rising to her cheeks. "I would imagine the policemen simply realized there were some outstanding interviews and they wanted to get them completed before the service. That your observations proved to be useful is, really, nothing you should concern yourself with. You could not have lied, after all."

  "I think I might have, if I thought my words would send Dr. Roth to the gallows."

  Maisie sighed. "I'd better be off, Daniel. I have to be on my way."

  "See you tomorrow afternoon, Miss Dobbs--oh, and I left my assignment for you in the office."

  Maisie walked back to the college, which was Sunday quiet; many of the congregants had returned to their lodgings for a late lunch, and those remaining were in their rooms. A funeral could dampen the enthusiasm of even the most exuberant student. Miss Hawthorne was in the office, trying to catch up, and they both commented on the lovely send-off given to Greville Liddicote by the staff and students of the college he'd loved. Maisie collected student homework from her pigeonhole, then walked out to her motor car, which she had left parked on the road a short distance from the entrance to the college. She placed her burden of books and papers on the passenger seat next to her, then left the MG and made her way back to the college and out to the grounds until she reached the path of St. Francis. She began the meditative walk, her thoughts on Matthias Roth and the twist of fate that led him to take the life of a man he admired so much that he had changed the course of his own life.

  On the day Dunstan Headley had marched through the French doors into Greville Liddicote's office, Roth was still struggling to persuade Liddicote to agre
e to the debate. He could not understand Liddicote's stance; they had both worked hard to underscore the integrity of the college so that the institution would be accepted as equal by the established colleges of the university. The debate represented the pinnacle of success Roth had worked towards, and would bring students together from so many countries--something he had set out to do since the war, when the book written by Liddicote had infused him with a desire to change the world of death he saw about him. He had gone to Liddicote's office at a fateful moment and overheard the heated argument between Headley and Liddicote. Roth understood, upon listening to the none-too-quiet voice of Dunstan Headley, that Liddicote had taken the work of another--and done so for reasons of vanity and greed. Roth was beside himself with disappointment and grief--as Maisie had said to Daniel, his hero had revealed himself to have feet of clay. As soon as he heard Dunstan Headley depart by the open French doors, he entered the room and took leave of his temper.

  Maisie suspected that as Dunstan Headley left his office, Liddicote had taken the photograph of Ursula Thurlow in his hand. With his thoughts on the woman who had given him so much, whom he had betrayed--and most likely, whom he had loved--Liddicote was overpowered by Roth; he was, after all, hard of hearing and likely unaware his assailant had entered. Roth had simply taken Liddicote's head in his hands and twisted his neck, killing him in an instant. Then he had left the room and began weaving a web of lies when he returned again, after the body had been discovered, to ask the college secretary known as Rosemary Linden whether Dr. Liddicote could see him. Maisie wondered if, at that point, Roth had not quite believed he had taken Liddicote's life, and simply wanted to see if it had all been a waking nightmare. She shook her head as it occurred to her that, if they were in France, the case of Matthias Roth would be tried as a crime passionnel--a crime of passion.

  She realized that she had stopped walking. It was dusk, but as she turned to leave, she looked down at the words carved on a stone placed adjacent to the path. Kneeling, she ran her fingers across each letter, until she could read aloud the lines: