have many really right-on women. I don’t mean to be rude, but I was …’
Whatever she was was cut off by Paddy interjecting sharply, ‘Caroline, enough! Miss Brown and Miss Gordon didn’t come here to listen to your version of revolutionary Marxism.’
Caroline grinned and said, ‘Okay, Miss Callaghan, I’ll shut up.’
The conversational gap was quickly filled by the other girls at the table with chatter about the day’s events and the coming concert.
As they finished their pudding, Pamela Overton came over to their table. ‘Miss Callaghan,’ she said, ‘I wonder if I might ask for your help? Miss Macdonald and the music staff are extremely busy making sure that everything is organised for the girls’ performances in the first half of the concert. I wonder if, since you seem to know Miss Smith-Couper, you could help her take her cello and bits and pieces over to Music 2 so that she can warm up during the first half?’
Paddy swallowed her dismay and forced a smile. Of course, Miss Overton.’
‘Fine. We’ll see you in my flat for coffee, then. Perhaps Miss Gordon and Miss Brown would care to join us?’ With that, she was gone.
Caroline sighed, ‘She’s the only person I know who can make a question sound like a royal command.’
‘That’s enough, Caroline,’ said Paddy sharply. The three women excused themselves from the table and walked through the deserted corridors to Miss Overton’s flat, Paddy muttering crossly all the way. Fortunately, Lorna was in her room changing, so coffee was served in a fairly relaxed atmosphere. Miss Overton reported on the success of the day and revealed that, by the end of the evening, she hoped they would have raised over £6,000. Lindsay was impressed, and said so. Before anything more could be said, Lorna appeared and announced she was ready to go over to the music room. Paddy immediately rose and grimly followed her out of the room, as Pamela Overton apologetically revealed that she too would have to leave, to welcome her special guests. Lindsay and Cordelia trailed in her wake and made their welcome escape up to the gallery where they settled in among the sixth form and those of the music students who were not directly involved in the concert.
Cordelia said, That woman makes me feel like a fifteen-year-old scruff-box, I’m so glad she wasn’t head when I was here; if she had been, I’d have developed a permanent inferiority complex.’
Lindsay laughed and settled down to enjoy the concert. In the hall below she saw Margaret Macdonald scuttling through the side door to the music rooms. Members of the chamber orchestra were taking their places and tuning up their instruments. Caroline and several other seniors were showing people to their seats and selling programmes which, Paddy had told Lindsay, had been donated by a local firm of printers. Caroline also slipped through the curtains, returning five minutes later with a huge pile of programmes. Cordelia leaned over and said to Lindsay, ‘I’m going to the loo, keep my seat,’ and off she went. Lindsay absently studied the audience below, and noticed a girl with a shining head of flaming red hair go up to Caroline, who pointed to the door beside the stage. The redhead nodded and vanished backstage. About eight minutes later, she re-emerged with Paddy. They left the hall together. ‘One damn thing after another,’ thought Lindsay ‘I wonder what’s keeping Cordelia?’
The lights went down and the chamber orchestra launched into a creditable rendering of Rossini’s string serenade No.3. Half-way through it, Cordelia slipped wordlessly into her seat, Lindsay surfaced from the music and smiled a greeting.
Then the senior choir came on stage and performed a selection of English song throughout the ages, with some beautifully judged solo work conducted by Margaret Macdonald. The first half closed with a joyous performance of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and the audience applauded loudly before heading for the refreshments. Lindsay and Cordelia remained in their seats.
Cordelia leaned over the edge of the balcony. Suddenly she sat upright and said, ‘Hey, Lindsay, there’s something going on down there.’ Lindsay followed her pointing finger and saw Margaret Macdonald rushing up the hall, looking agitated. The velvet curtains were still swinging with the speed of her passage. She headed straight for Pamela Overton and whispered in her ear. The headmistress immediately rose to her feet and the two women hurried off backstage.
‘Well, well! I wonder what that’s all about? Something more serious than sneaking a cigarette in the loos, by the look of it.’ As Cordelia spoke, the bell rang signalling the end of the interval, and the audience began to return to the hall. Meanwhile, Miss Macdonald came scuttling back through the hall, gathering Chris Jackson and another mistress on her way.
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ mused Cordelia. At that moment, Pamela Overton emerged on to the stage. So strong was her presence that, as she stepped towards the microphone, a hush fell on the hall. Then she spoke.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am deeply sorry to have to tell you that Lorna Smith-Couper will be unable to perform this evening as there has been an accident. I must ask you all to be patient with us and to remain in your seats for the time being. I regret to inform you that we must wait for the police.’ She left the stage abruptly and at once the shocked silence gave way to a rumble of conversation.
Lindsay looked at Cordelia, who had gone pale. When she met Lindsay’s eye, she pulled herself together and said, ‘Looks like someone couldn’t stand any more of the unlovely Lorna.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, Lindsay, you’re the journalist. What sort of “accident” means you have to stay put till the police get here? Don’t you ever read any Agatha Christie?’
Lindsay could not think of anything to say. Around them, the girls chattered excitedly. Then Paddy came down the gallery to the two women. Her skin looked grey and old, and she was breathing rapidly and shallowly. She put her head close to theirs and spoke softly.
‘You’d better get backstage and see Pamela Overton, Lindsay. We’ve got a real scoop for you. Murder in the music room. Someone has garrotted Lorna with what looks very like a cello string. Pamela reckons we should keep an eye on our journalist. You’ve been summoned.’
Lindsay was already on her feet as Cordelia exclaimed, ‘What?’
‘You heard,’ said Paddy, collapsing into Lindsay’s seat, head in hands. ‘No reason to worry now, Cordelia. Dead women don’t sue.’
Lindsay hurried on down the hall, aware that eyes were following her. She pushed through the swathes of velvet that curtained the door into the music department. Uncertain, she listened carefully and heard a number of voices coming from the corridor where she had seen Lorna quarrelling with the unknown man earlier. She turned into the corridor and was faced with a door saying ‘Music Storeroom'. The passage turned left, then right, so she followed it round and found Pamela Overton and another mistress standing by a door marked ‘Music 2'. Beyond them was a flight of stairs.
Even in this crisis, Pamela Overton was as collected as before. ‘Ah, Miss Gordon,’ she said quietly. ‘I am afraid I have to ask another favour of you. I was not entirely truthful when I said there had been an accident. It looks as if Lorna has been attacked and killed. I don’t quite know how the press operates in these matters, but it seemed to me that, as you are already with us, it might be simpler for us to channel all press dealings through you. In that way we might minimise the upheaval. Does that seem possible?’
Lindsay nodded, momentarily dumbstruck by the woman’s poise. But her professional instinct took over almost immediately and she glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll have to get a move on if I’m going to do anything tonight,’ she muttered. ‘Can I see … where it happened?’
Miss Overton thought for a moment then nodded. She walked to the door and, with a handkerchief round her fingers, delicately opened it, saying, ‘I fear I may be too late in precautions like this, since others have already opened the door. By the way, it was locked from the inside.