The Malvern Mystery

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Book Excerpt

Prelude

'Hurry now, Ruth; we have to get there by dawn.' The frantic rustle of her skirt emphasised the urgency of Sarah's words.

Gasping as they pitted their strength against the slope, they moved upwards through the wind-cropped grass with the hill always rising before them and the chill of the night brushing against their skin.

'There's the sun coming through now.' Sarah pointed eastward across the broad Worcestershire plain. An infinitesimal gleam of light showed on the far horizon. 'Come on Ruth; it's not far. Think of Harry.'

Ruth nodded and lengthened her stride so that every step snapped the material of her skirt against her legs.

'Is that somebody over there?' Ruth stopped and took hold of Sarah's arm. 'I'm not doing anything if there is anybody else here. I'm sure I saw some men.'

'There's nobody there; it's only your imagination; come on,' Sarah pushed Ruth upwards. They stumbled over a steep ridge and down into one of the deep ditches that corrugated the side of the hill.

'I'm not sure I want to do this,' Ruth said.

'Harry will be pleased,' Sarah encouraged. 'Come on and don't hesitate.'

'Here we are.' They stopped before a slight depression in the ground. A sad mountain ash leaned over them, its branches winter- bare. 'Take a deep breath now. The sun has still not properly risen.' A breeze ruffled the dark surface of a pool of water, pushing tiny whispering waves against a bank of rough grass.

'Are you sure this is the right place?' Ruth looked around, narrowing her eyes against the bite of the pre-dawn wind. 'It's very dark.'

'This is Alfreck Well,' Sarah assured her. 'I've been here before,' she hesitated for a moment. 'I had to come here too, Ruth, and it worked. Three times it worked.'

The two women exchanged glances. Ruth gave a nervous smile. 'What do I do now?'

'Strip naked,' Sarah said. 'Quickly now, before the sun rises.'

'What if those men come?' Ruth tried to peer into the dark.

'There are no men foolish enough to come up here,' Sarah said and sighed. 'I'll keep watch just in case. Come on now!' She poked Ruth in the arm. 'Hurry!'

'It's cold!' Ruth said but slipped off her short cloak and then, fingers trembling, unfastened her skirt and top. She placed her clothes in a neat pile and stood, arms-folded and shivering in her shift.

'Stark! You must be completely stark!' Sarah said.

Ruth gave one last pleading glance at Sarah before divesting herself of the last of her clothes, to stand smoothly naked and white beside the black pool of water.

'In you get,' Sarah eyed her briefly and smiled. 'Harry's a lucky man.' She picked up the bundle of clothes and tucked them under her arm. 'You have to be completely immersed as the sun rises or it won't work.'

'It's cold,' Ruth said again. She put a single foot into the water, made a small exclamation of shock, and stepped in further. Sarah watched as the water rose above Ruth's knees, and then lapped at her thighs.

'Get right in!' Sarah said. 'Go on! You won't die! Think of Harry when you give him the good news.'

Ruth whimpered with the shock as the water reached her waist, but set her mouth and stepped on until she was breast deep. 'I thought it would be thick mud underfoot,' she said, 'but it's not.'

'Here it comes,' Sarah ignored Ruth's words.

The sun slid above the eastern plain, a sliver of silver-gold that slowly set the sky aglow. Red and orange streaks radiated from the central orb to fade into the darkness beyond, but even as Sarah watched, the light strengthened to illuminate the land. She saw small islands of trees amid the dark, then villages emerged as beams of sunlight glinted on windows and the tan and gold of thatched roofs. Worcestershire smiled upward to greet another day.

'Now!' Sarah shouted, 'take a deep breath and get right under the water! Now!'

With one last appealing look, Ruth ducked under the surface. For a second Sarah saw her blonde hair floating on top, and then she vanished completely in the still dark water. Sarah stretched across and pushed her head down, struggling to hold her under the surface as she fought frantically to escape.

'No you don't, my girl,' Sarah said. 'You have to be completely under.'

The sun eased higher, sending soft beams of light over the countryside, picking out trees and copses, casting long shadows toward the west, reflecting from windows and glinting from the serpentine Severn as it wound its lazy passage across the awakening landscape. Sarah watched its progress, glanced down to where Ruth crouched submerged in the dark pool and counted the seconds.

'Stay still' she ordered as she felt Ruth's frantic movements within the water. 'You can't come up yet.'

At last the slow beams of the sun crept across the rough grass and touched the pool. The transformation was immediate; the water gleamed silver, with the tiny wavelets glimmering in the light as if alive.

'Up you get,' Sarah said and lifted her hand from Ruth's head.

'Let me out!' The words exploded from Ruth's mouth along with a spurt of water, 'there's something in here with me. For God's sake let me out!'

'There's nothing…' Sarah began until Ruth clutched at her with frantic hands.

'Please Sarah! Get me out of here! Please!'

Sarah grabbed Ruth's arms and hauled her from the water without any regard for her dignity or the flesh she scraped from the rough grass. Both women stared into the disturbing depths.

'There's something down there, I tell you,' Ruth was nearly sobbing, careless of her nakedness. 'Something soft and terrible.' She screamed again, 'Oh God help us; it's coming up!'

They backed away, holding each other, as something burst feet-first out of the water and floated on top.

'It's a man!' Sarah shouted, high pitched. She took hold of Ruth in a close embrace, 'a naked man!'

'And he's dead,' Ruth screamed.

Forgetting about her clothes, Ruth began to run with Sarah frantic at her back. Behind them, floating on the surface of the well, the naked man bobbed unheeded, with his wrists and ankles tied with green cord.

Chapter One

Raindrops raced each other down the outside of the window as the coach clattered around the tight curve on the Great Malvern road. The outside passengers held on and yelled in excitement or fright while those fortunate enough to be inside merely tumbled together in a press of bodies.

'Does this driver know what he's doing?' A large, florid- faced man asked for the fourth time since they had left Worcester. 'I said: does this driver know what he is doing?'

'I hope so.' The elderly woman who occupied the seat opposite him kept one hand on her hat while the other gripped the side of the seat. 'He'll have us over, else.'

Wedged between the florid man and the window, Lorna took a deep breath and wriggled in the leather seat to try and regain some space. She inhaled air laced with the aroma of damp wool and humanity and thanked her good fortune she was not outside in the rain.

'And what do you think, young lady?' The elderly woman asked. 'I say we should complain about his reckless driving as soon as we arrive in Great Malvern.'

'If we arrive safely,' Lorna said, 'we will have nothing about which to complain. If we don't arrive safely, then we will have other things to worry about rather than complaining about a man who may have already broken his neck.' She stared out the window, rather enjoying watching the countryside speed past, with the steam rising from the horses and the driver cracking his whip. There was something quite exhilarating in suddenly rising up the brow of a hill, every village through which they passed provided a quota of excited children who lined the street and waved excitedly at them. It was an interesting method of learning the characteristics of this cool, damp country.

The sudden blare of the guard's horn warned the passengers and everybody else that they were approaching their destination. Lorna rubbed away a clear space in the condensation on the window to give herself a better view of the outside world.

'Thank the Lord,' the florid man thundered. 'We're arriving.'

The horses came to a halt and stood to shiver and steam in the rain, oblivious of the guard blowing his horn once more and roaring out 'Bellevue Inn, Great Malvern! Ten minutes!' He opened the door and peered into the coach. 'Ten minutes to change the horses and have a quick refreshment ladies and gentleman. Great Malvern is your destination, Madam.' The last statement was to Lorna, who was already easing her cramped limbs as she gingerly placed her foot on the small iron step between the body of the coach and the ground below.

Burly and cheerful, as most of his kind were, the guard loaned Lorna his arm and guided her down. 'There we are Miss, all safe and sound.' He looked around, indifferent to the rain that hammered onto his cape and formed large puddles on the ground. 'If you get yourself into the inn I'll get your luggage from the boot. One portmanteau wasn't it?'

'It was, guard,' Lorna pulled her cloak tighter. After the stuffy confines of the mail coach, it was good to get into the fresh air, although the rain that immediately dripped down the back of her neck was not so pleasant. 'I'm not staying at the inn, though.'

'Are you not, Miss?' The guard affected surprised interest. 'Staying with friends are you?'

'No,' Lorna accepted her portmanteau with a smile of thanks. 'I am the new teacher at St Ann's College.'

'Well, good for you, Ma'am,' the guard said. 'You'll need a hand with that bag then. Shall I call a porter from the inn for you?'

'I'll manage,' Lorna retained her smile. 'However, I would be obliged if you could point me in the right direction for the school.'

'If you're sure, Ma'am,' the guard looked doubtful that a woman could carry a case on her own. He indicated a hill behind the inn. 'There is a path up there, Ma'am, known as the Red Lion Bank. The college is about halfway up. It's in a walled garden with the name above the gate.'

'Thank you.' Lorna looked around. The Belle Vue Inn stood in Belle Vue terrace which was parallel to the run of the long ridge of the Malvern Hills. Some of the houses in the terrace looked old, with gables that faced the street, others were Georgian, with shops on the lower levels pushing out to the pedestrians that walked by. The juxtaposition of old and Georgian gave the terrace a unique charm that Lorna quite admired, while the hotels and health spas revealed one reason for the popularity of this town.

At right angles to the terrace, the six lodging houses of Paradise Row marked the top of Church Street that stretched to the walled garden around the Vicarage. Ignoring the rain, Lorna nodded at the Royal Library near the top of Church Street. With its bow front and bustling appearance, this building was the social centre of the town while the spiritual heart, the massive Priory, dominated the surrounding walled churchyard with its holm oaks and ancient yew trees. That was life and death standing side by side, Lorna thought and neither of them of any concern to her.

In front of the Priory, the Abbey Gateway was ornate and prominent, with yellow candlelight glowing behind many of the windows. Lorna took everything in with one long sweep, turned away and looked toward the Red Lion Bank.

'Ready Jem?' The driver took his place on the front of the mail coach; the guard joined him precisely as the whip cracked. The coach pulled quickly away, its wheels buzzing on the wet ground and half a dozen small boys whooping and chasing in its wake.

Lorna shook off her sudden sensation of loneliness. This was a new life in a new country she had always thought of as home; straightening her back, she lifted her portmanteau and stepped on.

The rain was heavier as Lorna passed the Red Lion public house. She ascended what turned out to be a steep, narrow path that curved upward between different levels of buildings and then underneath the overhanging branches of stark winter trees. Rainwater pooled at the side of the road and formed a small gushing channel in the centre.

After ten minutes, Lorna stopped at the sign.

St Ann's College for Young Ladies

It was plain and unpretentious, a simple brass plaque screwed into the centre of a black wrought-iron gate set in a high stone wall. Lorna tried the gate, frowning when she found it firmly closed. She rattled it, hoping for a reply and then walked around the wall, searching for an alternative entrance. The wall entirely encircled two acres of garden ground, hiding all view of the building within. Lorna was back at the brass plate and the entrance gate within twenty minutes, wet, bedraggled and frustrated.

'Halloa!' Lorna raised her voice in a shout. 'Is there anybody there?' There was no answer except the patter of rain on the trees and the call of a lonely blackbird. She tried again: 'Halloa! Is there anybody there?'

This time she heard the ruffle of feet on a gravel path and a stocky man in late middle-age appeared on the opposite side of the gate. 'Who the devil are you?' He looked her up and down and pulled at his grey side-whiskers. 'You're too young to be a parent and too old to be a pupil. What do you want, hollering and shouting fit to wake the dead like that?'

'I am Lorna Buchanan,' Lorna tried to ignore the rain that had reduced her hat to a soggy mess and which dripped from her nose and chin. 'I am to report to Mrs Appleton this morning. She is expecting me.'

'Oh,' the man made no effort to unlock the gate. 'She is, is she?' He eyed Lorna through the black iron bars. 'And what would Miss Appleton want with somebody like you?'

'I am to be a teacher here,' Lorna explained. 'So let me in, if you please.'

The man grunted, fiddled in the pocket of his baggy velveteen jacket and produced a small bunch of keys. After a moment's jingling, he unlocked the gate and pulled it open. 'You'd best come in then.' The second Lorna entered, the man closed the door with a clang, turned the key and rattled it thoroughly to check it was locked. 'Miss Appleton doesn't like the gate open. It keeps the girls in and Mad Jack out.'

'Mad Jack?' Lorna queried.

The man did not reply.

'The school is up there; I take it?' Lorna indicated the gravel path that wound gracefully through dripping rhododendron bushes.

'I'll show you.' The man limped forward, round-shouldered. 'So you're to be the new teacher are you?'

'That's the idea,' Lorna said.

The man grunted. 'I give you a month,' he said. 'New teachers never last much longer than that.'

'Oh?' Lorna looked around. The path wound upward, past the rhododendrons and across a stretch of sloping lawn to a large Georgian style house complete with colonnades and a pitched slate roof. Two storeys of tall, multi-paned windows glared down at her with an Italianate tower dominating the north-west wing and rising another two storeys. 'It looks a remarkably satisfying building.'

The man grunted again as they reached the stone steps that led to the closed front door. 'If you wait here, Miss Buchanan, I will see if Miss Appleton will receive you.' He glared at Lorna. 'Don't wander off.'

The lone blackbird continued to sing as Lorna waited in the rain. She heard the sound of chanting as a class of girls learned their lesson and the sharply raised voice of a teacher followed by a moment's silence and then more chanting. Lorna nodded; that sounded exactly like school as she believed it to be.

'Miss Buchanan?' The man had returned. 'Miss Appleton will see you now. This way please.' He held the door open for her with slightly more respect than he had shown a few moments before.

The door opened into an echoing hallway with half a dozen doors opening off, a staircase that rose to the landing above and a wall lined with portraits. Lorna glanced around, thinking that the interior exactly echoed the exterior. The building held a faint aroma of chalk while a young maid knelt on the third step up, furiously polishing the bannister.

'Up the stairs,' the man gave brief instructions, 'follow the corridor to the right and up the stairs again. Miss Appleton is in the topmost room.'

'Thank you,' Lorna wondered if the man would offer to take her bag, but instead, he stomped outside and closed the door. The maid continued to polish, taking no notice of Lorna.

Taking a deep breath, Lorna mounted the stairs. She could hear that rhythmic chanting again, coming from two separate classrooms. Rather than stop to listen, she continued until she arrived at a plain oak door adorned with a brass plate that announced baldly:

Miss Appleton

'Well, here we go,' Lorna said and knocked.

'Come in.' The sharp-voiced reply came immediately.

Lorna stepped inside, to see an immaculately dressed woman sitting behind a pristine desk. Uniform ranks of leather-bound books covered two walls of the room. Lorna scanned the titles: volumes on manners, decorum, and behaviour filled one bookcase, with another contained books on mythology, folklore and classical and local history. The wind blew rain through the open Venetian windows, while a long cane hung ominously behind Miss Appleton's chair. A grandmother clock ticked serenely in the corner furthest from the desk.

Miss Appleton looked up from behind her desk, her eyes granite-grey in a hard-edged face. 'You're very tall.'

'I know,' Lorna was used to people commenting on her height.

'You must be nearly six feet.'

'I am five foot nine,' Lorna said.

'The girls may not like that,' Miss Appleton perched on her ornate seat like an eagle in its nest. Her smile was surprisingly friendly. 'That might help you keep order. Have you taught before?'

'No, Miss Appleton.'

Miss Appleton nodded and lifted the letter that Lorna had sent. 'You admit that in your little note. Are you sure you wish to embark on this adventure?'

'I'm sure,' Lorna said.

Miss Appleton re-read Lorna's letter. 'You say that you are able to teach History, English Literature and Geography.'

'That is correct, Miss Appleton.'

'You will be aware of the line of the royal succession I take it?' Miss Appleton asked.

'I am, Miss Appleton, from Egbert to our present Queen Victoria, although the Saxon kingdom Egbert founded was temporary and genuine English unification had to wait until the rule of Athelstan.'

'You will know the Romantic poets and the author of the Lady of the Lake?' The steel was evident in Miss Appleton's eyes.

'Sir Walter Scott is one of my favourite authors,' Lorna said. 'And Wordsworth and Coleridge are old friends.'

'I am glad to hear it,' Miss Appleton said dryly. 'I hear you have travelled quite extensively. That will help your geography.' She fixed Lorna with that stare again. 'Was your father not regularly employed?'

'My father is in the Army, Miss Appleton. We moved from posting to posting, spending most of our time in India. My mother died in the late Mutiny and father thought it best that I returned home.'

'What rank does he have, Miss Buchanan?' The stare did not waver.

'He is a Major, Miss Appleton.' Lorna stiffened her back.

'Oh,' Miss Appleton gave a little frown. 'Some of my girls have fathers who hold a higher rank. I hope your background does not hamper your teaching.'

'I am sure I will manage, Miss Appleton.'

'I teach manners and deportment to all three classes, and I have and a class of specifically Chosen Girls.' Miss Appleton stood up. 'Your room is beside that of Miss Henshaw. Your first class is at nine tomorrow morning: British history. I will have a timetable sent up to you.'

'Thank you, Miss Appleton.' That had been easier than she had expected.

'That will be all, Miss Buchanan.' Miss Appleton dismissed her curtly.