The Time of the Hunter's Moon

  “What nonsense!” I said, flushing scarlet.

  “The trouble with that sort of talk is that it often has an element of truth in it. I certainly think the libidinous Sir J. has had his eyes on you, and there is no doubt that at one time Mrs. Martindale was his very good friend. So far so good. On this flimsy foundation Mrs. B. weaves her fantasies. Nonsense, yes, but founded on a certain fact, and that is where the danger lies.”

  “You’re warning me,” I said.

  She put her head on one side and regarded me with mock seriousness. “You know best what you want to do,” she said. “All I can say is that he has a reputation of sorts. There were rumors about his wife’s death. Now there are rumors about the disappearance, as they call it, of his lady friend. He is rumor-prone, and in our profession rumor can kill careers. I would advise…but I expect that you know as well as I do that advice is something to be given freely and taken only if it suits the recipient’s inclinations. I’d keep away from him, and after the summer holidays it may have died down.”

  I looked fondly at Eileen. She was a good friend and a sensible woman. I wanted to tell her that I needed no warning. I had decided never to be alone with Jason Verringer again.

  ***

  Miss Hetherington summoned me to her study. She was so disturbed that she was unable to hide it completely and was slightly less than her usual unruffled self.

  “A disgraceful display!” she said, “I’ve sent for you, Cordelia, because Teresa is your special protégée.”

  “Teresa! What has she done?”

  “She has attacked another girl.”

  “Attacked!”

  “Indeed yes. Physically…attacked!”

  “What girl? Why?”

  “The girl in question is Charlotte Mackay. The reason neither of them will say. I expect it is some trivial disagreement, but that a pupil of mine should actually resort to violence…”

  “I can’t believe that of Teresa. She is really rather gentle.”

  “She has been more assertive of late. She threw a shoe at Charlotte Mackay which hit her above the temple. There is quite a deep cut. The girls were frightened when they saw blood and called Miss Parker who happened to be passing.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Charlotte is lying down. Fortunately it missed her eye. Heaven knows what damage might have been done. As it is, thank God, it is only a cut. Theresa is locked in the punishment room. I shall decide her punishment later. But what shocks me is that there could be such behavior here. I only hope the parents don’t hear of it.”

  “Shall I go and see Teresa?”

  “She is very sullen and refuses to say anything. She sits there with her lips tightly shut and says Charlotte deserves it.”

  “Charlotte is, of course, a very aggravating girl. Her character is not the most pleasant and I know that in the past she has teased Teresa a good deal.”

  “The girl never attacked her before.”

  “No…”

  “She’s got a lot more spirit than she had, and I thought that was a good thing. Now…I’m not so sure. Yes, go and see her, and try to find out the reason for this extraordinary and unacceptable conduct.”

  I unlocked the door of the punishment room. It was a small cell-like place which had been used for storage by the Lay Brothers. The rather repelling name suited it. There were three desks there and a table and chair. Girls were sent there to learn or write lines, and it was used when an offense was considered more than a venial one.

  Teresa was sitting at one of the desks.

  “Teresa!” I cried.

  She stood up uncertainly and looked at me almost defiantly.

  “Tell me about it,” I said. “I’m sure there is an explanation.”

  “I hate Charlotte Mackay,” she said.

  “You don’t really. She’s just a silly arrogant girl most of the time.”

  “I hate her,” she said. “She’s wicked.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  She was silent.

  “Miss Hetherington wants an explanation, you know.”

  Still she was silent.

  “There must be a reason. Was it perhaps some little thing, and you remembered all your anger with her in the past…Was it the last straw?”

  She said: “It wasn’t little.”

  “What was it then?”

  Again that silence.

  “Perhaps if you could explain, Miss Hetherington would understand. She is just, you know. If you have a good reason she will realize that for the moment you lost control. We all know how trying Charlotte can be.”

  But she would not tell me. I tried again and again but although I was sure of her affection for me I could get nothing out of her.

  “She’s wicked,” was all she would say. “She’s wicked and a liar and I hate her. I’m glad I did it.”

  “Don’t tell Miss Hetherington that. You must be penitent and say you’re sorry and you must never do such a thing again. I daresay you’ll have some lines to write after this. You’ll probably have to spend all day tomorrow here doing your penance.”

  “I don’t care. I’m glad I hurt her.”

  I sighed. That was not the right attitude, and I was very disconcerted that Teresa refused to tell even me what had happened.

  I had to go back to Daisy and admit defeat.

  ***

  Uneasy days passed. Charlotte made the most of her injury. Once I went to her bedroom and found Fiona and Eugenie there with Elsa. They were sitting on the beds laughing.

  It was hard to reprove them when I remembered that only a short time ago I might have figured in such a scene at Schaffenbrucken.

  I continued to avoid Jason Verringer but I did go out alone sometimes. When I rode into the town I took a long route round so that I did not go too near the Hall. This led me past Rooks’ Rest. I saw signs of activity there and guessed the Coverdales were moving in.

  I hesitated about going into the post office but should have to do so one day, and the time came when I boldly went in. Mrs. Baddicombe was overjoyed to see me. She showed no rancor over my coldness during our previous encounter. She kept me waiting until she had served two customers and then gave me that lively curious look and leaned over the counter with an air of intimacy.

  “Nice to see you, Miss Grant. I hear there’s to be grand doings up at the school with that pageant.”

  “Oh, yes,” I replied. “It’s the anniversary of the building of the Abbey so a rather special occasion.”

  “Fancy that! All them years ago. I was saying to Mrs. Taylor when she was in this morning that I wondered how the little mite was getting on. Happy enough, I’ll bet. That Jane Gittings dotes on her and so does Ada Whalley.”

  “Who is Ada Whalley?”

  “Jane’s sister. The Whalleys lived here in Colby for years. Old Billy Whalley was manager of the cider place. Did well for himself. Brought up on the moors he were and the girls was with their grandmother there when they was little. When he retired he went to the cottage on the moors. His mother was dead then. Jane had married Gittings and Ada went with him to keep house for him. Down at Bristonleigh, it was, right on the edge of the moor. They was always talking about the moor, those Whalleys were. Percy Billings was sweet on Ada at one time, but nothing came of it because she had to look after the old man and then Percy all of a sudden marries Jenny Markey.”

  “Quite a little saga.”

  “Well, so it be, me dear. Ada would have made a good mother. I’ll reckon she’ll look after that little Miranda, her and Jane Gittings between them. Jane didn’t have no children neither. Funny how some ’as ’em and some don’t…and it’s more likely them that don’t want them as gets them. Look at Sophie Prestwick. Easy to see what she’s been up to. There’ll have to be a quick wedding there, mark my words. So Sophie larks about and gets caught…and them that wants ’em can’t get ’em. Take Sir Jason for instance…”

  She was looking at me slyly.

  I told h
er what stamps I wanted, and almost reluctantly she took out her folder and gave them to me.

  “Well, be seeing things won’t we, now the lady in the case has passed on, you might say.”

  “Passed on?”

  “We don’t know where to, do we? All we know is that she ain’t with us now. I’ll tell you one thing, Miss Grant, nothing stands still, does it? Life moves on. I often say to myself: well, I wonder what next.”

  “You seem to be well informed on everything that goes on,” I said ironically.

  “It’s in the nature of the post office, you might say. As I always say to Baddicombe: There’s not much to this job…you work hard and you don’t get much…but I says to him, I says: There’s people…and that’s what makes it worthwhile.”

  She raised her eyes and with the air of a benefactress to mankind, put her folder in a drawer.

  I went out feeling relieved that she had shown no displeasure and wondered whether at our last meeting she had even grasped my disapproval.

  In the afternoon I went for a walk through the ruins, keeping a wary eye out for Jason Verringer in case he had decided to take a walk there. He might easily do so for I guessed he was trying to catch me, and would do so sooner or later.

  I came to the ponds and looked at their waters rushing to the falls as they reached their lower depths. They made a soothing sound and I walked along beside them to the river and then started to wander along its bank.

  I realized that I must turn back or be late so I retraced my steps and as I came in sight of the fish ponds I saw Teresa.

  I called to her and she came running toward me.

  “Are you taking a walk too?” I asked.

  “Yes. I saw you coming this way.”

  “We have to start back now. I mustn’t be late for class, nor must you. Did you manage your lines?”

  “Oh yes. I had to learn ‘Once more unto the breach’ right down to ‘God for Harry! England and St. George!’”

  “Quite a long piece.”

  “I knew most of it already.”

  “Oh, Teresa, I’m sorry that happened. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

  She nodded firmly.

  I sighed. “I thought you might have felt you could confide in me.”

  She remained silent and a look of mulish obstinacy crossed her face.

  We walked in silence.

  “Have you a part in the Pageant?” I asked.

  “No. Well, only at the end…doing exercises and singing the school song. Miss Grant…there is something I want to ask you.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought: Now she is going to tell me what Charlotte had done to offend her so deeply.

  “Well, Teresa?”

  “It’s hard to say because I think you like him…I think you like him quite a lot.”

  “Who? What do you mean?”

  “It’s about Mrs. Martindale.”

  I felt my voice shake a little as I said: “What about her?”

  “I—I think she’s dead. I—I think she was murdered.”

  “Teresa! How can you say such a thing. You really mustn’t.”

  “I haven’t told anyone else.”

  “I should hope not.”

  She stopped and putting her hand in her pocket held it out to me. As the fingers unclosed I saw an earring. It was so bizarre and colorful that I immediately recognized it.

  “It was hers,” she said. “I saw her wearing it.”

  “Well?”

  “I found it here…by the ponds…It must have come off…in a struggle.”

  “My dear Teresa, you are imagining too much. You’re like Mrs. Baddicombe.”

  “It’s her earring. I know because Eugenie had it to return to her not long ago. She showed it to us then. I found this…down there by the water…She must have dropped it.”

  “Well, she dropped it. She lost it. People do lose earrings and the fact that she lost this one before shows that there was something faulty about it.”

  “I think this dropped off when she was thrown into the river.”

  “Teresa! What has come over you. First you attack Charlotte Mackay and now you are making these wild accusations about…about whom, Teresa?”

  “About him. I’m afraid you like him, Miss Grant. I know that women are supposed to. But don’t…I—I…can’t bear it that he should…talk to you…and bring you into all this. It spoils everything…all the fun we have with Aunt Patty and Violet. Miss Grant, please don’t take any notice of him. He’s a wicked man. Eugenie says—”

  “Have you said anything to anyone about this, Teresa?”

  She shook her head violently.

  “Promise me you won’t.”

  She nodded firmly.

  “It’s nonsense,” I went on. “There is a lot of evil gossip. Mrs. Martindale left because she was tired of the country.”

  “Why didn’t she say she was going?”

  “Why should she? It was no concern of anyone but herself. No doubt she told anyone who would be concerned.”

  “Oh, Miss Grant, don’t be in it. Let them do what they like, but let us stay away from it. Let’s think about the summer and the bees and the flowers and Aunt Patty’s hats and Violet’s apple pies.”

  “Teresa, calm down,” I said. “You are imagining all this. I shouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Martindale came back.”

  “She can’t. He wouldn’t have her. He’s finished with her now. That’s what he’s like. He casts off people when he’s finished with them…and kills them. There was his first wife.”

  “This is all so much gossip.”

  “It’s true.”

  “No.”

  “It is true,” said Teresa, “and I’m afraid. I don’t want you—”

  I put my arm round her. “I am not concerned in this,” I said soothingly. “This man is nothing to do with us. He just happens to own the Abbey lands, that’s all. Everything is as it was before. You’re coming home with me for the summer holidays and we’ll have a wonderful time.”

  “Oh, yes…yes.”

  “Make sure you don’t do anything that might make Miss Hetherington angry. She might decide to punish you by keeping you at school.”

  Teresa had turned white.

  I said quickly: “Oh, she wouldn’t do that. But don’t run the risk. And Teresa, not a word of this to anyone. It’s not true…but it would be wrong to talk of it. You haven’t, have you?”

  “Oh no, no.”

  “And that earring…”

  She held out her palm. It lay there, the ruby a vivid red glistening in the sunshine.

  I wondered what should be done with it and what effect it would have if people knew it had been found by the fish ponds.

  I did not have to wonder long for with a quick movement Teresa lifted her arm and flung the earring into the water.

  Shocked, I turned to her. “Teresa,” I cried. “Why did you do that?”

  “It’s all over,” she said. “Don’t let’s say any more about it. I won’t…if you don’t.”

  I felt very disturbed and at the same time relieved that I did not have to take some action about the earring.

  Quietly we walked back to school. I thought Teresa seemed calmer and happier than she had since the affair with Charlotte.

  Midsummer Moon

  I was haunted by doubts. I found sleep impossible. How had the earring come to be down there by the fish ponds? Only if the owner had been there.

  She might have walked to the fish ponds. It was some way from Rooks’ Rest and I had never seen her out walking; she was not the sort of person to take long tramps in the countryside.

  Just suppose she was dead. Suppose she was murdered. What of Maisie? Where was she? Were the scandalmongers suggesting that she too had been murdered? Perhaps the idea of one body being thrown into the ponds was plausible. But two? I remembered then that Jason Verringer had told me how an ancestor of his had once disposed of a rival by throwing his body into the fish ponds after killi
ng him. “The river is swift running and only a few miles from the sea.” He had said something like that.

  And then the child? What of the child? She was in the care of Mrs. Gittings on Dartmoor, but she could not stay there indefinitely without arrangements being made.

  It was a lot of nonsense. It had its roots in the post office and had grown to this through other mischief-makers. But Jason Verringer was ruthless. He had shown me that clearly enough. Other people were only important to him when they could give him what he wanted. He could contemplate rape. Why not then murder? He had obviously been attracted to Marcia Martindale at one time since he had offered her a home at Rooks’ Rest. And then there was the child. He had certainly been a little casual about her. But at least he had offered them a home.

  I wondered about the child and the more I thought of it the more strongly I decided I must find out all I could and that if I could see Mrs. Gittings—who seemed to me a very reasonable and practical person—I might learn a good deal. If I did discover that this was all nonsense I would make sure that everyone in the neighborhood knew and I would put a stop to this pernicious gossip.

  The more I thought of it, the more possible it seemed. I had heard the name of the place where Mrs. Gittings’s sister lived. Perhaps something like this had been at the back of my mind for I had memorized the names. Mrs. Gittings’s sister was Ada Whalley and she lived at a place called Bristonleigh on Dartmoor. That was not very far from here, probably a matter of about fifteen miles.

  Why not? The more I thought of it, the better the idea seemed.

  I said to Daisy: “On Sunday I should like to go and see a friend of mine who lives on Dartmoor, but I am not quite sure of the locality.”

  “Sunday is a day, I suppose, when you could easily get away. I am sure you could arrange for one of the others to take over any duties you might have.”

  “Yes, I am sure I could. I wonder if you have a map. I should like to see where it is exactly.”