Free The Trouble at Wakeley Court (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 8) by Clara Benson

of.’
    ‘Do you suspect one of the teachers? Or perhaps a servant?’ said Angela.
    He nodded.
    ‘Yes, I think it must be one of the staff,’ he replied. ‘Miss Bell, who of course knows who I am, has given me as much information as she could about the people who work here, but so far we haven’t come up with anything useful. There is one gardener who started here recently about whom we know very little, but Miss Bell assures me that he came with impeccable references.’
    ‘Does Miss Bell take the threat seriously?’
    ‘As seriously as a woman of her type can,’ he said, considering. ‘I suspect she thinks the whole thing is rather exaggerated. Still, she has promised to keep it quiet.’
    ‘Does the Princess know who you are?’ said Angela.
    ‘Yes,’ said Hesketh. ‘She knows of the threat to her, and that I am here to protect her.’
    ‘You can’t protect her all the time, though, if you’re living in the village,’ said Angela.
    ‘No,’ he said, ‘and that’s the worst of it. I am not strictly permitted to be in the building after seven o’clock. I should, of course, ignore the rules if necessary, but how am I to know when it is necessary? If there were to be an attempt on Princess Irina in the middle of the night, for example, then I should be quite useless in a house half a mile away. It is most unsatisfactory.’
    Something in his tone suggested to Angela that there had been a little disagreement with Miss Bell on this matter.
    ‘Well, I am staying at the school for the next three nights, so I shall do what I can,’ she said.
    ‘Yes, and I am glad of it,’ said Hesketh, ‘because the whole thing makes me very uncomfortable.’ He coughed and glanced about. ‘Jameson said he advised you to bring a gun,’ he said quietly.
    ‘He did,’ replied Angela. ‘And I have. Not that I expect I’ll need it. As a matter of fact, I rather hope I don’t. It doesn’t do to be waving guns around in a school full of easily excitable girls.’
    ‘That’s true enough,’ he said. ‘Still, I suggest you keep it with you as much as you can.’
    ‘I shall,’ Angela assured him.

SEVEN
    Dinner was early at Wakeley Court, and Angela sat at the top table with the teachers and renewed her acquaintance with the peculiarities of school food. Afterwards, the girls were free until bed-time, provided they had done their prep, and as the great dining-room emptied Barbara rushed across to Angela and grabbed her arm.
    ‘Come and meet my pals,’ she said.
    They walked around the building and passed William, who was under the bonnet of the Bentley and had attracted followers in the form of two of the smaller girls, identical twins, who were holding spanners and rags for him and asking him questions. They seemed fascinated by what he had to say.
    ‘They’re waiting for us in the Quad,’ said Barbara.
    Sure enough, in the Quad they found a small group of girls sitting on one of the stone benches.
    ‘Where are the others?’ said Barbara.
    ‘Doing their Geography prep,’ said Violet Smedley. ‘They didn’t finish it before dinner because they went to play tennis.’
    ‘Rotten of them,’ said Barbara. ‘Oh, well. This is my godmother, Angela Marchmont,’ she went on, waving a hand carelessly. ‘I told you all about her. Angela—Violet Smedley, Florrie Evans, Irina Ivanovitch.’
    ‘It’s Ivanoveti,’ said Florrie before Irina could speak.
    ‘Sorry,’ said Barbara.
    Angela regarded Irina with covert interest. The Princess was tall and dark and looked rather older than her years. Her manner was self-contained—sullen, even, although she was polite enough and replied to Angela’s pleasantries in careful English. She had a slightly wary look about her—no bad thing, Angela supposed, and only to be expected if she knew her life was in danger.
    Barbara suggested they take a walk around the building. They could not go far, she said, as it was getting dark and soon they would have to go inside. Barbara