Wicked Whispers at St Bride's

Debbie Young

Description

For anyone who loved St Trinian’s – old or new – or loves a cozy mystery on a grand estate filled with rather ‘interesting’ characters.

Gemma Lamb is ready for an uneventful term at St Bride’s, she’s had enough of dastardly deeds and sinister strangers.

However, she’s barely back at school before:

• Unlucky in love Oriana is sneaking around at odd hours

• Handsome Joe is keeping secrets

• Militant Mavis feels a scandal is brewing

It’s all a bit much, so when a stranger appears, Gemma thinks she’s had enough. But this stranger isn’t so sinister, instead he looks rather too familiar. If Gemma can’t get him away from the school the whispers and scandal his presence could unleash may just close St Bride’s doors for good.

Gemma's joined forces with her colleagues to save the school in the past, but this time she's going to have to do it on her own . . .

Sujets

• Vie de famille
• Parentalité et Éducation des Enfants
• Mashups
• Women Sleuths
• Private Investigators
• Amateur Sleuth
• Traditional
• Feminist
• Humorous
• Women
• Coming of Age
• Friendship
• Workplace
• Cozy
• Romantic Comedy
• General officer
• Detective
• Woman
• Feminism
• The Women
• Mystery
• General
• Crime
• Romance
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 14 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804830529
• Langue: English

Extrait

WICKED WHISPERS AT ST BRIDE’S


DEBBIE YOUNG
For my grandma, who taught me Scrabble and so much more
Played well, games should make generous winners and gracious losers of us all.
MISS HARNETT, HEADMISTRESS OF ST BRIDE’S SCHOOL FOR GIRLS


It is a wise father that knows his own child.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, ACT II, SCENE II
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39


More from Debbie Young

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Debbie Young

Poison & Pens

About Boldwood Books
1
THE DIE IS CAST

Steam fogged Mavis’s glasses as she poured a cup of coffee for each of us at Old Faithful, the geyser-like coffee machine in the school staffroom.
‘I reckon the bursar put Hairnet up to this board games malarkey,’ she said. The geography teacher for St Bride’s School for Girls paused to clean her glasses on her baggy grey cardigan. ‘He’ll try anything to justify turning down the thermostat. He’ll assume the girls’ body heat will keep them warm as they huddle together over card tables all afternoon.’
Hairnet, or Miss Harnett, to use her proper name, had proposed 'this board games malarkey' for this term's essential life skills programme, which she had announced to us just an hour earlier at our staff meeting. Mavis began a surprisingly good imitation of Hairnet making her speech.
‘“The aim is for the girls to learn as many board and card games as possible”,’ she said serenely, with the confidence of one who makes the rules. ‘“More importantly, they should learn the art of gracious winning and losing. Besides, what better preparation for a wet weekend in a country house, or being confined with illness or even being shipwrecked on a desert island?”’
‘Provided you’re lucky enough to have a compendium of games wash up beside you on the beach,’ put in Oriana, the maths teacher, as Mavis carried our cups and saucers to the table in the middle of the room where I was writing in my planner.
I took a grateful sip. The warmth of the coffee was very welcome after half an hour in the draughty hall for the first assembly of the term. At least the staff were allowed chairs, unlike the poor girls, who’d sat cross-legged in rows on the highly polished but chilly floor. Had it been excitement at seeing their friends after the Christmas holidays that caused some to lay an arm companionably around their neighbour’s waist or shoulders, or had they just been seeking a further source of warmth besides the pashminas they were allowed to wear over their uniforms during cold snaps? Their brightly coloured wraps had reminded me of my mum and dad’s Christmas tin of Quality Street.
Oriana sighed. ‘My first choice would be Monopoly – it’s so good for practising number bonds and percentages.’
‘Huh! It will only teach the girls the divisiveness of being rich and greedy at the expense of others,’ huffed Mavis.
Oriana wasn’t fazed by Mavis’s outburst.
‘You’re as bad as Hairnet,’ she said. ‘She hates Monopoly because it doesn’t give players the opportunity to assist others. She told me once she’d like there to be at least one square to provide the opportunity to donate to charity or support the poor.’
I considered for a moment. ‘But it would be good for teaching basic business principles.’
Felicity Button, who was jotting down our names and choices in a small notebook, looked up. She was in charge of the programme for essential life skills. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘we’ve got business principles on the curriculum for next term.’
‘So please put me down for cribbage instead, Felicity,’ Oriana continued. ‘I like playing cards, and cribbage is a painless way of practising mental arithmetic, and a bit more intellectually stimulating than Happy Families, which Hairnet’s nabbed for herself.’
‘Pictionary for me, please,’ said Hazel Taylor, head of art, rubbing her hands together in enthusiasm.
‘I’ll take Operation!’ cried Dr Fleming, head of science, and everybody laughed.
Nicolette Renoir, head of French, frowned for a moment, then brightened. ‘Ah, we called it Docteur Maboule in France. In French, that means Doctor Crazy Person!’
Even Mavis laughed at that.
‘Good thing the girls have already learned first aid in a previous life skills project,’ said Judith Gosling, head of history, ‘or else we’d be in trouble. I’ll take chess, if nobody else wants it. I like a challenge.’
Then she looked at me, her head on one side. ‘Miss Lamb, knowing how much you like solving mysteries, do I take it you’ll go for Cluedo?’
I grinned at her reference to my role the previous term in exposing an unscrupulous fraudster whose antics had nearly shut St Bride’s down.
‘Oh please, no more sleuthing, Gemma!’ cried Mavis. ‘I was hoping for a less eventful term this time around.’
‘Me too, Mavis,’ I said with feeling. ‘Anyway, as we left the staff meeting Joe called first dibs on Cluedo.’
Nicolette’s face lit up again. ‘Ah, Cluedo! We have the Cluedo too in France, but our pieces have different names. Par exemple , Madamoiselle Rose avec le poignard dans la salle á manger! ’
I smiled. ‘That’s the one. I’ll take Scrabble, please, if no one else wants it? I used to play Scrabble with my parents all the time when I was a child.’
We’d resumed this comforting habit over the Christmas holidays.
Felicity looked up from her notebook again. ‘Did you hear Hairnet’s asked Max to join in? She’s offered him the choice of poker or roulette.’ Max’s full moniker was Max Security – the security guard for the school.
‘ Les jeux sont faits! Rien ne va plus! ’ said Nicolette lightly.
I smiled, recognising the jargon of the roulette table in phrases I’d learned in French lessons when I was a schoolgirl. Mavis was looking at Nicolette blankly, so she translated.
‘You say in English: the bets are made. The die is cast. Hairnet has made her decision. It does not matter whether Max wants or does not want to play the games. Like the girls, he must do as he is told.’
‘He ought to feel flattered to be allowed to teach the girls for a change,’ I suggested. ‘It’s a compliment that Hairnet trusts him so much. So, Nicolette, are you going to have to fight Max for roulette?’
A gentle smile softened the strong lines of her features.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I do not like the gambling. I will play Uno with the girls. The name is the same in English, I think. It is the game of cards I used to play with my grandmère . She taught me to play and we had happy times together. I think of her each time I play. I miss her still. I think she would approve of Hairnet’s plan.’
‘The old games are the best,’ said Mavis, returning to Old Faithful for a refill. ‘I’ll do Consequences. I confess I’m glad you didn’t beat me to it, Gemma. I’d have thought it was the obvious choice for an English teacher.’
I groaned. ‘That would be too much like teaching an English lesson. I want to have fun on our Saturday afternoon games sessions.’
‘Consequences?’ Nicolette creased her brow. ‘What are these consequences?’
Mavis and I exchanged knowing looks, and she nodded at me to explain.
‘Consequences is the name of a traditional party game. Great for sleepovers too. Each player has a strip of paper and a pencil, and they write down the component parts of a story in turn, running down the page. They each start with a boy’s name, then a girl’s name, and where they met. Then they put what he said, what she said, what the consequence was and what the world said. After they’ve written each answer, they fold the top of the paper to hide their entry and pass it to their neighbour, who writes the next item, and so on. Then, when they’re all done, they pass the papers on again, open them up and read the resulting stories aloud. It’s great fun. Sometimes the results are hysterical.’
Mavis meanwhile had moved onto the practicalities.
‘Scrap paper,’ she said abruptly. ‘If I’m to teach Consequences I’ll need plenty of scrap paper. There’ll be none in the library’s recycling box so early in the term, and I’ll be damned if I’m tearing up fresh paper for such a frivolous exercise. Either of you got a secret stash in your classrooms that I can nab?’
Before we could reply, the staffroom door creaked open and we all turned to see who the new arrival was. Joe Spryke, head of PE, sauntered in with the day’s morning post.
After flashing me a smile that warmed me more than any pashmina could, he began to sort the post into the wooden rack of staff pigeonholes that hung on the wall by the door.
As he dropped each letter with a familiar thunk into the appropriate slot, he called over his shoulder, ‘So what did you make of Hairnet’s challenge to the girls in assembly just now, ladies?’
Mavis tutted. ‘That guff about New Year resolutions?’
Unruffled by Mavis’s harsh tone, Nicolette corrected her. ‘It was not about the usual resolutions but about “creative intentions”…’
Hairnet’s carefully considered speech had provided a fresh approach to the start of the new year. She counselled the girls to list not what they should give up, but instead to plan new positive activities.
‘New Year resolutions assume your starting point is as a flawed human being,’ she had explained. ‘I know and you know that you are all quite delightful. But there is always room for a little improvement with some positive thinking. Instead of pledging to forego sweets, for example, you might make room in your day to eat an apple.’
Although St Bride’s sometimes felt like a fan