Cat Sitter Among The Pigeons

Cat Among the Pigeons

II

Sunday morning dawned bright and serene - Miss Shapland had departed soon after Miss Bulstrode on Saturday. Miss Johnson, Miss Rich, and Miss Blake left on Sunday-morning.

Miss Vansittart, Miss Chadwick, Miss Rowan, and Mademoiselle Blanche were left in charge.

“I hope all the girls won't talk too much,” said Miss Chadwick dubiously. “About poor Miss Springer I mean.”

“Let us hope,” said Eleanor Vansittart, “that the whole affair will soon be forgotten.” She added: “If any parents talk to me about it, I shall discourage them. It will be best, I think, to take quite a firm line.”

The girls went to church at ten o'clock accompanied by Miss Vansittart and Miss Chadwick. Four girls who were Roman Catholics were escorted by Angele Blanche to a rival religious establishment. Then, about half past eleven, the cars began to roll into the drive. Miss Vansittart, graceful, poised, and dignified stood in the hall. She greeted mothers smilingly, produced their offspring and adroitly turned aside any unwanted references to the recent tragedy.

“Terrible,” she said, “yes, quite terrible, but, you do understand, we don't talk about it here. All these young minds - such a pity for them to dwell on it.”

Chaddy was also on the spot greeting old friends among the parents, discussing plans for the holidays and speaking affectionately of the various daughters.

“I do think Aunt Isabel might have come and taken me out,” said Julia, who with Jennifer was standing with her nose pressed against the window of one of the classrooms, watching the comings and goings on the drive outside.

“Mummy's going to take me out next weekend,” said Jennifer. “Daddy's got some important people coming down this weekend so she couldn't come today.”

“There goes Shaista,” said Julia, “all togged up for London. Oo-ee! Just look at the heels on her shoes. I bet old Johnson doesn't like those shoes.”

A liveried chauffeur was opening the door of a large Cadillac. Shaista climbed in and was driven away.

“You can come out with me next weekend, if you like,” said Jennifer. “I told Mummy I'd got a friend I wanted to bring.”

“I'd love to,” said Julia. “Look at Vansittart doing her stuff.”

“Terribly gracious, isn't she?” said Jennifer.

“I don't know why,” said Julia, “but somehow it makes me want to laugh. It's a sort of copy of Miss Bulstrode, isn't it? Quite a good copy, but it's rather like Joyce Grenfell or someone doing an imitation.”

“There's Pam's mother,” said Jennifer. “She's brought the little boys. How they can all get into that tiny Morris Minor I don't know.”

“They're going to have a picnic,” said Julia. “Look at all the baskets.”

“What are you going to do this afternoon?” asked Jennifer. “I don't think I need write to Mummy this week, do you, if I'm going to see her next week?”

“You are slack about writing letters, Jennifer.”

“I never can think of anything to say,” said Jennifer.

“I can,” said Julia, “I can think of lots to say.” She added mournfully, “But there isn't really anyone much to write to at present.”

“What about your mother?”

“I told you she's gone to Anatolia in a bus. You can't write letters to people who go to Anatolia in buses. At least you can't write to them all the time.”

“Where do you write to when you do write?”

“Oh, consulates here and there. She left me a list. Stamboul is the first and then Ankara and then some funny name.” She added, “I wonder why Bully wanted to get in touch with Mummy so badly! She seemed quite upset when I said where she'd gone.”

“It can't be about you,” said Jennifer. “You haven't done anything awful, have you?”

“Not that I know of,” said Julia. “Perhaps she wanted to tell her about Springer.”

“Why should she?” said Jennifer. “I should think she'd be jolly glad that there's at least one mother who doesn't know about Springer.”

“You mean mothers might think that their daughters were going to get murdered too?”

“I don't think my mother's quite as bad as that,” said Jennifer. “But she did get in quite a flap about it.”

“If you ask me,” said Julia, in a meditative manner, “I think there's a lot that they haven't told us about Springer.”

“What sort of things?”

“Well, funny things seem to be happening. Like your new tennis racquet.”

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Jennifer, “I wrote and thanked Aunt Gina and this morning I got a letter from her saying she was very glad I'd got a new racquet but that she never sent it to me.”

“I told you that racquet business was peculiar,” said Julia triumphantly, “and you had a burglary, too, at your home, didn't you?”

“Yes, but they didn't take anything.”

“That makes it even more interesting,” said Julia. “I think,” she added thoughtfully, “that we shall probably have a second murder soon.”

“Oh, really, Julia, why should we have a second murder?”

“Well, there's usually a second murder in books,” said Julia. “What I think is, Jennifer, that you'll have to be frightfully careful that it isn't you who gets murdered.”

“Me?” said Jennifer, surprised. “Why should anyone murder me?”

“Because somehow you're mixed up in it all,” said Julia. She added thoughtfully, “We must try and get a bit more out of your mother next week, Jennifer. Perhaps somebody gave her some secret papers out in Ramat.”

“What sort of secret papers?”

“Oh, how should I know,” said Julia. “Plans or formulas for a new atomic bomb. That sort of thing.”

Jennifer looked unconvinced.