‘Why was that, do you know?
‘Friends said it was marvellous,’ she replied. ‘And they got a bargain, they said.’
‘Well, Stella,’ I said. ‘You know what to do when you overhear ill of yourself, don’t you?’ She rallied a little.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I shall put it out of my mind.’
‘Or hoard it in secret until your mother is old and infirm and then cast it up endlessly,’ I whispered. ‘Ask her who’s a pest now, when you’re wheeling her round in her bath chair. Bellow it down her ear-trumpet in revenge.’
This recovered her completely and she gave a rich chuckle and tossed her hair.
‘You have a better wit than any other mistress around here,’ she said. ‘Why can’t you stay?’
I leaned towards her.
‘I’m not a mistress,’ I said. ‘Remember Donald Gilver who chased you out into the snow at that Christmas party at Cawdor, trying to kiss you?’
‘How do you know about that?’ said Stella.
‘I’m his mother,’ I said. I saw her eyes narrow and then widen as she recognised me. ‘I spanked him with a hairbrush for frightening you and spoiling your pretty shoes.’
‘So what were you doing here?’ Stella said.
‘I’m a private detective,’ I told her and had the satisfaction of seeing her sharp little face register utter amazement. ‘And I’m just about at the bottom of what’s happening here. At least I might be if I could have ten minutes’ solitude to think it through.’
‘Can I tell the others?’ she said. And a little of my short career as an English mistress was in me when I echoed Hugh and answered:
‘You may.’
Where, though, was solitude to be found in St Columba’s on this day of all days? I did not want to run into any of the mistresses now. After luncheon no doubt all of the dorms and classrooms would be swarming with little girls showing their beds and desks to mummies and daddies, and from the rows of seats arranged in the flat part of the grounds north of the school there was clearly some outdoor entertainment planned too. I slipped into the building by a garden door and seeing the little flower room where the mistresses’ bags were stored reminded me that one room of all would be sure to be empty today. And I knew the way, thankfully. It took me only a moment to find Fleur’s door, try the handle, send up a silent prayer and slip inside.
As the door closed softly, though, I got and gave the most tremendous shock, for Fleur’s little room, cold and bare, was not empty. Betty Alder, Sabbatina Aldo, was lying full-length on the narrow bed, sobbing her heart out into the pillow, and she leapt to her feet with a shriek (matching my own) when she saw me.
‘Sabbatina?’ I said, recovering first. ‘What’s the matter, and what are you doing in here?’
She had clearly been crying for quite some time: her eyes were swollen half-shut and her nose was swollen too and reddened from blowing. Her beautiful olive skin was blotchy and her raven curls were plastered damply to her forehead and neck.
‘I can’t bear to be with the others today,’ she said. ‘My mother and father didn’t come. I saw my father yesterday and I… told him things. I think I drove him away.’
‘But you didn’t want to see your father,’ I reminded her. A fresh course of tears slid down her cheeks and she scrubbed at them.
‘I wanted to see my mother,’ she said. ‘Father didn’t tell me she wasn’t coming. I waited and waited in the front hall until everyone else was gone and there was just me standing there.’
‘But Sabbatina, my dear,’ I said, sitting down beside her and rubbing her back (it seemed to be my day for comforting the daughters of uncaring mothers, today). ‘Of course she didn’t come. She’s gone, dear. Oh, poor you! Were you pinning your hopes on her coming back?’ The girl sniffed and blinked.
‘Gone?’ she said. ‘Gone where? Coming back from where?’ I think I might have blinked at that.
‘But you knew she was gone,’ I said. ‘We spoke of it.’
‘I didn’t- Gone where, Miss Gilver? My mother? Gone where?’
I stopped rubbing her back and began instead rubbing the bridge of my own nose.
‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘We had at least one conversation about this. And you said to me that you were going to see your father – not your mother – last Saturday.’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘I never see my mother on a Saturday. She goes to Dunskey House on that day. You know. Washing.’
‘But who is it you’re missing then?’ I said. ‘Who is it that’s gone and left you? I feel as if I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole.’
‘Miss Lipscott,’ the child said, and her voice broke. ‘Miss Lipscott, of course. She’s gone. And I can’t bear it.’ She threw herself back down onto the bed, buried her head in the pillow and howled. I felt quite safe rolling my eyes since she could not see me, but I managed to make my voice kind and calm.
‘My dear girl,’ I said, ‘it’s quite normal to have these overwhelming feelings about one’s mistresses, you know. But you shouldn’t give in to them. Now, sit up and dry your eyes.’
She did sit up then.
‘It’s not a pash, Miss Gilver,’ she said. ‘It’s not a crush. Miss Lipscott took care of me. I thought she was like a sister.’
‘Well, that’s very nice,’ I said, ‘but you really should-’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Sabbatina. ‘Miss Lipscott was my patron. She paid for me to be here. She even said that maybe after I was finished with school I could live with her.’
I stared at her, feeling things shift but still not knowing where they were off to.
‘I was at the village school when I met her,’ she said. ‘She used to walk and I used to walk – on my own, because of all the teasing – and then we walked together and she brought me books and then she started coming down to the house and giving me lessons and she was like one of the family. And then I came here and she said maybe we could all live together. Only, she stopped saying that after a while. And now I don’t know what to think. I don’t know if she ever cared for me at all. But she said I could go up and spend the summer with her. And now she’s gone, Miss Gilver, and I can’t stay at St Columba’s and go to university and I shall be a washerwoman like my mother and-’ She stopped dead. ‘My mother’s gone?’
Inside, I groaned to have let it slip out like that.
‘What am I going to do?’ Sabbatina said. ‘How could she go off and leave me?’ And since I quite honestly did not know which one of the two women she meant, I said nothing. Anyway, I was thinking hard. She had just said something that had struck me. ‘What am I going to do, Miss Gilver?’ the girl whispered again. ‘I did something silly and I’m sorry.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘I took her bags. I hid them under my bed, but it’s sheets change day tomorrow and I don’t know what to do.’
‘You sto- You took Miss Lipscott’s bags from the flower room?’ I said.
‘I heard you on the telephone when I came to give Miss Shanks a note,’ said Sabbatina. ‘You said where they were and I – I just wanted something of hers to keep. And there was a letter in her bag and I opened it – even though it wasn’t for me – and now everything’s spoiled. And my mother’s gone too?’
‘Quick,’ I said, ‘while they’re still at luncheon. Let’s go and get the bags and bring them here. I want to read this letter, to see if there’s anything to tell us where she might be.’
‘There isn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s just a horrible, sordid letter that spoiled everything.’ She sniffed. ‘Are you sure she didn’t go home?’ I nodded. ‘Do you think she’s all right? I still care, even after everything.’ I gave a firm nod with nothing behind it except wishful thinking, and then together we slipped out of the room to flit up the stairs and along the passages to Sabbatina’s little dorm.