Murder Most Studious Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  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

  Author Bio

  Copyright © 2021 by L.M. Thornburg

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  FIRST EDITION

  www.lmthornburg.com

  Chapter 1

  Sheets of rain are falling when the cab driver drops me off. By the time I run up to the door, I’m drenched. The cab driver does me the courtesy of carrying my trunk and bags to the door, then jumps in his cab and races away. I ring the bell beside the door and stand there dripping, waiting for someone to answer.

  It’s almost midnight on a Thursday, which means that any staff here are in their rooms, probably asleep. I let the head mistress know what time I would arrive, but perhaps she has forgotten, I conclude. I should have just stayed overnight in London and taken the train down the next morning. But I was desperate to just get here and get settled. I look around, wondering if there is another door I should try, but then I see a figure moving towards me in the rain.

  The man coming towards me is wearing a rain slicker that comes down to his shins, a rain hat and rain boots. He looks odd, but I’m quite jealous. I’m sure he’s much dryer than I am. He’s a big, bearded man, hurrying, despite a limp. I have to admit, my first thought is that I should run away from him.

  “Are you Ms. Stewart?” he asks gruffly. “I’ve been sent to let you into your rooms and carry your bags.”

  “Yes, I am. Thank you so much. I was wondering if I should try another door,” I say and then realize that sounded a little rude, as though it was his fault I had to wait, when in fact he walked through the pouring rain to help me so I should be grateful.

  He doesn’t reply except for a grunt, fumbling with an extensive set of keys, finally finding the correct one and unlocking the door. He picks up my trunk and heads inside. I quickly grab my bags and follow him in.

  I pause just for a moment to look around at the giant old house I’ll be living in for at least the next year. Most of the lights are off, so I can’t make out a lot. There is a small sitting area with an enormous fireplace directly in front of me and long hallways off to each side. I’m aware of lots of dark wood, ornate, but shabby rugs, and oil paintings.

  The gruff man heads back to a staircase towards the back of the house, and I follow him. The stairs creak as we climb them. There’s a long hallway at the top and we go right. The man stops at a door with a nameplate that reads Alice Stewart. This time he takes out an individual key and hands it to me.

  I take it and fiddle with the key for a minute before I’m able to get it in the lock. I open the door, holding it open so we can bring everything in, then I take out my purse and riffle through until I find a pound to give the man.

  “Thank you so much,” I say, holding it out to him.

  “Just doing my job, miss. You can put that away. Headmistress said to tell you she will speak with you at eight am sharp tomorrow morning.”

  And with that, he tips his dripping hat at me and leaves. I stifle a yawn as I look around at my apartment. It’s cozy, but a little outdated. There’s a tiny kitchen with the basics immediately inside the door. I have a plaid sofa and a floral-patterned chair grouped around a small coffee table. A narrow hallway leads to my bedroom and a bathroom.

  I leave my trunk where it is and bring the bags into the bedroom. I’m completely exhausted after the flight from the U.S. to London and then the long train ride to Carlisle, and finally a cab ride to Ashbourne Ladies' College. I change into pajamas, brush my teeth, wash my face, then climb in bed, barely noticing the lumpy mattress.

  * * * * *

  I wake up a little after five, feeling groggy and cranky, wondering how long I’ll be jet-lagged. I lie in bed for a while, compiling a mental list of everything I need to do today. The chief item on my to-do list is unpacking, although it shouldn’t take too long because I didn’t bring that much with me. I have a few more boxes my parents are shipping that should arrive in a few weeks.

  I also have the early meeting with the headmistress, which I’m assuming is just to welcome me to the school. I was hired as the new English teacher for the girls' college. This is not the same thing as college in America. It’s more like high school. I’ll be teaching the older girls, or Sixth Form, as it’s called in Great Britain.

  I get up and shower and begin unpacking. Thankfully, I thought ahead enough to pack coffee with my pot, so I put that on to brew. The smell of the coffee perks me up and finished unpacking the essentials by the time I need to leave for my meeting with the headmistress.

  The school sent me a large packet of information about the school once I was officially hired. This ranged from the school’s history to rules about what I can wear to papers to sign. Included in the packet were a couple of maps, which I spent much too long studying in the months before I arrived. So I have no trouble finding Ms. Bowerton’s office.

  I knock on the door promptly at eight and hear a faint, “Come in.”

  Ms. Bowerton’s office is full of oil paintings, rugs, and an immense mahogany desk. There’s a large window taking up much of the back wall that looks out onto the school grounds. The headmistress’s desk is well-organized. No loose papers strewn about.

  She stands up, tall, thin, and imposing, and nods towards a seat. Her brown hair is styled into a chin-length bob. She has sharp eyebrows that frame hazel eyes. We’ve emailed and spoken on the phone, so it is nice putting her face to her voice.

  “Good morning, Ms. Stewart. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long on Frank last night and are settling in,” she says, sitting back down.

  “Frank, is the man that let me in?” I ask.

  “Yes. I suppose he didn’t introduce himself. That sounds like him. Frank Gibson is our grounds keeper and general fixer of everything. He tends towards cantankerous and private. Very helpful, though.”

  “Yes, he was kind to help me with my bags. Which are all unpacked.”

  “Good, good. It’s always best to settle in quickly. You have a few more days before we require anything of you. I recommend getting to know the grounds and buildings, and making sure you have everything ready for the first week of lessons.”

  “Yes, that sounds like a good plan. I’m especially looking forward to running on the trails around here. From what I’ve seen, the grounds are beautiful,” I say.

  “Yes, this part of the country is lovely. We encourage all of our girls to get outside and exercise. It sounds like you will be an acceptable role model for them on this front. I don’t run, but I enjoy a brisk walk. Now, do you have any questions for me?”

  “Actually, could you tell me about meals?”

  “We have a dining room that serves three meals a day. Staff are welcome to partake. Depending on your teaching schedule and whether you have chaperon duty, you can eat in your apartment if you so choose.”

  “Great. I don’t think I have any more questions,” I say, standing up to leave.

  “I’m here to help, so if you need anything please stop by. I’m sure you will have a fulfilling year. And by the way, we require everyone to attend an assembly each Monday after breakfa
st. As a new staff member, I will introduce you at our first assembly of the year, so if you would like to address the students with a few lines about yourself, that would be lovely.”

  I’m cringing, but I say, “Oh sure! No problem.”

  I tell the headmistress goodbye and then make my way to the dining hall. It’s half-past eight. I hope I haven’t missed breakfast. If I have, I’ll have to find a way into Hallewell, the nearest village, and see if they have a grocery store because I don’t have any food in my room, only coffee.

  The dining hall is enormous. Lofty ceilings and rows of tables. I see a buffet off to the side, with a few things left on it. I grab a croissant and a banana. I take my food over to a table and nibble on my croissant. There are only a few people sitting around at the tables. There are two women chatting together a few tables away and a distinguished-looking man reading the paper farther down. I imagine the tables filled with chattering girls when school starts back up next week.

  After I finish eating, my head clears a bit. I realize it's been a long time since I last ate. Even if I plan to eat most meals in the dining hall, I should probably pick some essentials up in the village. At the very least, it would be nice to have some snacks on hand. I think that might help with the jet lag. But for now, I’m going to go for a run. I know from previous experience that fresh air and exercise will help.

  The day is overcast, but not chilly. It’s one of those days in which fall is flitting through the air but hasn’t landed for good yet. I only have a vague idea of where I want to run. I would like to see most of the grounds, but I’m not sure how long of a run I’m up for.

  The grounds comprise almost 300 acres, but most of the school buildings are close together in a central location. Forest surrounds the school, and there are numerous trails that weave through the trees. After changing into my running clothes, I choose the trail closest to my building and start out at an easy pace.

  I’m physically exhausted from traveling, but my mind is bright and ready to start this adventure. Ashbourne Ladies College is quite exclusive and sought after by families wanting their daughters to have the best education in preparation to go to university. I hope that the girls I teach here will be more engaged and excited about literature than at schools I’ve taught at in the past.

  It was lucky that I heard about the position when I did from a friend who worked here a few years ago. I had just gone through a pretty devastating breakup with my long-term boyfriend and was having a hard time moving on. My friend, Sasha, thought a new job in a different location might help. I wasn’t sure at first, but then after months of moping around, I decided I had nothing to lose.

  Julian and I had been dating for four years when he sat me down and told me he wasn’t ever planning on getting married or having kids. From my perspective, this came out of nowhere. I just assumed he would be proposing any second, we would have a lovely wedding, and then a few years later have a couple of kids. I was devastated, not only because I thought we loved each other, but also because it feels like ultimately I was just wasting my time with Julian.

  So after months of crying all the time and feeling sorry for myself, Sasha told me about a position opening up at a girls’ boarding school. In England. I would have to leave my family and friends and move across the ocean. And I knew nothing about how boarding schools work.

  At first, I wouldn’t even contemplate it. I was too sad and devastated from my breakup to go through all of this change. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. I did some research on boarding schools and looked into how complicated it would be to get a work visa. It seemed doable. Usually, I thrive on new experiences and planning things, so once I made up my mind, I threw myself right into this new adventure. And I’ve haven’t thought about Julian since. Well, not too much.

  I finish up my run after a couple of miles, feeling more awake than I have since I left the states. I saw entrances to a few trails that I’m itching to exploring in the future, including one that might head into the village. But for now, a shower and more coffee.

  Chapter 2

  The next day, I’m feeling more settled, and I plan to take a peek at my classroom. Some of the students will arrive soon, so I want to be prepared in case they drop by. I scan my shelf of notebooks until I find the one that contains my list of items I want to take to my classroom. I go through the list, making sure I’ve packed everything in my tote bag before making my way to the humanities building.

  I’m a tiny bit dependent on my notebook collection. I mostly use them to make different lists to keep myself organized, but I also use them for note-taking and story ideas. Sometime I worry that if I don’t write something down and cross it off once I’ve done it, has it even happened? So notebooks are important to me.

  I find the correct room and stand in the doorway, taking it in. It’s a fairly standard classroom with desks and chairs and a large storage cupboard. My desk is at the back, along with a smaller cupboard. The addition of some lamps and bookshelves makes the room more cozy. And there are four large windows along the back wall that let in a lot of light.

  I unpack my bag, putting supplies I’ll need into my drawer. I place a photo of my family along with a framed quote by Gertrude Stein on my desk. I ponder the blank walls in the room. In the teacher’s handbook it said several times that absolutely no posters are allowed, which I am fine with. I don’t really love motivational posters that much, but this leaves the walls pretty bare. I’ll need to come up with something acceptable to put up.

  I’m lost in thought about how to solve this problem when there’s a knock on the open door. I look over and there is a tall woman, her black hair covered in long braids, wearing a brightly patterned sweater and jeans. She gives me a little wave and a friendly smile when I see her.

  “So sorry to interrupt. I saw you in here, just wanted to introduce myself,” she says, coming into the classroom. “I’m Freya Parker. I’m in the classroom next door.”

  “I’m Alice Stewart. It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, standing up and walking towards her. “I was just trying to decide what to do about these bare walls.”

  “Oh yes. No posters,” she says, shaking her finger at me, and then laughing. “Ms. Bowerton outlawed them a few years back. The math prof at the time took his love of motivational posters too far. You can put any type of art up, though. Since you teach literature, maybe something with book covers.”

  “That is a great idea,” I say. “Thank you for the suggestion. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure something out with book covers. What do you teach?”

  “I teach history, but not boring, stuffy history. I like to share all the scandalous bits,” she says, smiling at me. “When did you arrive?”

  “The night before last,” I say, after a moment of thinking. “Sorry, I’m still a little jet-lagged. I had to remember what day it is.”

  “I assume you’re American, but which state are you from?”

  “I’m from Connecticut, but I moved here from Massachusetts where I’d been teaching. How long have you been teaching here?” I ask.

  “I’ll answer your question, but first I’ve a great idea. How about we head to the dining hall for a cup of tea and we can chat properly,” Freya suggests. “I’ll tell you all about my not-so-exciting life while we sip our tea. And maybe scrounge up a biscuit or two.”

  I’m the tiniest bit disappointed to stop readying my classroom, but not enough to keep me from getting to know a colleague. I haven’t met any of the other teachers yet, so getting to know Freya is a good thing. There is a scattering of other adults sitting at the tables, chatting and drinking tea when we enter the dining hall. We help ourselves at the beverage counter, and I feel a slight pang that there’s no coffee.

  “Okay, just so you don’t have to ask me a million questions, I will give you a brief history,” she says as soon as we sit down. “I have been teaching here for four years. I mostly love it, but there are a few other staff members are occasionally pains
in the arse. Don’t worry, I’ll point them out. I live in the staff apartments, but long for a swanky London townhouse. Oh, and I’m a Gemini and single.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Wow, that was a lot of information. I’ll try to remember all of it. I’m so glad you introduced yourself and that you’re willing to give me the lowdown on the other teachers. I know from previous experience that getting along with other staff members can make or break your time at a school.”

  “Mostly everyone here is great. There are just a few people that like to complicate things for others. Also, just a public service announcement. The headmistress acts kindly at first, but whatever you do, don’t cross her. She can be brutal if she needs to.”

  “I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” I say, stirring the milk in my tea.

  “Oh dear. I think I’m making it sound dreary here, but it’s really not. The staff house is tons of fun and most everyone is quite lovely. Everyone in the ladies’ wing is great.”

  “The ladies’ wing?” I ask, confused.

  “The staff house has a ladies’ wing and men’s wing. For propriety,” she faux whispers.

  “I see,” I say, laughing. “Propriety is important.”

  “I’ve had another great idea. Let’s go to the pub tonight. I can bring Samantha and Cat, two other ladies living in the staff house, and we can all get acquainted.”

  “Oh, um, I’m still pretty jet-lagged. I would hate to fall asleep on you guys.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Our sparkling conversation will perk you right up. We’ll have a grand time. You must come,” Freya insists.

  “Well, it would be nice to get to know a few more people before classes start,” I say.

  “That settles it. I will stop by your door at seven. Right now, though, I’d better get back to work or I will regret everything on Monday morning. Ta for now,” Freya says, picking up her cup and saucer. She takes them to the dirty dish bin, then gives me one more wave before leaving the dining hall.