THE SCHOOLROOM WAS WARM, AND Lane was feeling a satisfaction that she thought must be what mothers feel when their children are home safe, fed, and tucked up listening to a story. Darling had told her about Samuel’s mother, but everyone had agreed that there was nothing to be gained by telling him about it before Christmas, something Lane found herself agreeing with, though she was conscious of an underlying sadness about what was still to come for him. And now, here it was the last day before the Christmas holiday. Eleanor had supplied a lovely tin of chocolate and lemon cookies, and Lane had invited the students to move their desks into a circle so that they could eat cookies and share stories.
“Now then, who wants to start?” she asked.
“You do, Miss Winslow,” said Rafe. “What happened after we left?”
Lane smiled. “I was going to suggest the same thing! I’m dying to know all about your adventures in your brilliant escape through the woods!”
“The snow came all the way up to my chest,” said Amy, the smallest of the children, exaggerating slightly. “But I wasn’t scared!”
“Goodness! You weren’t?” asked Lane. “I’m very sure I would have been.”
“Were you scared?” asked Samuel in a very soft voice.
It was so unusual for Samuel to speak up that she knew he must really want to know, and that it was critical she be as truthful as possible.
“I was very afraid. You know, it’s an interesting thing about fear. It seems like it is a very unpleasant feeling, and nobody wants to feel fear. But it is a perfectly natural thing when someone is in a dangerous situation, and it has a very important job to do. When you are in danger, you know it is important to run away, and fear can sharpen your senses so that you can get away faster. But if you can’t get away, those sharper senses can also make you do things to try to keep yourself safe that you might never usually think of.”
“Like throwing ink at the guy’s face!” said Rolf excitedly. “Mr. Bales told us about that!”
“Yes, exactly like that. I think because I was alert and so aware of the danger, I thought about the ink. I don’t usually throw ink at people!”
The children laughed.
“Here’s the important thing, since it seems to be my turn after all. You were absolutely wonderful. You did everything just right, and you got to the store safely and in a big hurry, because it felt like the police were here in no time. I could not be more proud of you. And when we have all finished our stories, I think I have very good news indeed for you.”
A chorus of “What?” and “Tell us now!” erupted.
“All right. I’ll tell you now. After the Christmas break, Miss Keeling will be back!”
Another chorus, this time of questions and delighted exclamations. And just as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and all the children looked at Lane.
Finally Gabriella spoke for all of them. “But what will you do, Miss Winslow? We like having you as our teacher.”
“You are very kind to say so. I’m not a real teacher like Miss Keeling. She will prepare you properly to go on to the high school.”
“Can you come back and do experiments with us? Those were fun,” said Philip.
“Or read to us?” suggested Amy.
Lane smiled. “Are you forgetting that you are the ones who thought of the experiment with the temperature? And as to reading, you should read to each other. That’s how good you are! Anyway, I live right nearby, so we are bound to see each other. Now, let’s get on with our stories. We have to finish this tin of biscuits and collect all our cards before your parents come for you at noon.”
MISS KEELING, WHO would rather be anywhere else, and in any case was catching the afternoon train to the coast, stood at the desk of the police station. “May I speak to the inspector? I’m sorry, I can’t remember his name.”
O’Brien was on his feet. She was very pretty. “Inspector Darling, miss. I’m afraid he’s in a meeting. Is there something I can do?”
She shifted her handbag onto her other arm and put the tips of her gloved fingers on the counter. “I believe it is very urgent and I should speak with him. I am leaving in an hour. Please, can you interrupt him?”
Sighing, the desk sergeant took up the phone. Darling was in the interview room with the very man who had apparently been assigned to kidnap and possibly eliminate this young woman. And Darling was in a bad mood. He’d already had a nasty conversation with both the police in Vancouver and a provincial official who had telephoned to tell him to lay off the case, and did he know how important Harry Devlin was? They couldn’t, he’d been told, have some two-bit, small-town policeman messing things up. Consequently, he’d been in a blacker mood than usual as he’d proceeded to the interview room. O’Brien had been advised not to interrupt him, not if the prime minister himself should walk in and demand an audience.
He put down the phone and invited Miss Keeling to take a seat, and then called Terrell over. “Pop down and get the inspector, would you? This young lady says it is urgent.”
Terrell glanced over at the bench along the wall just beside the door and raised his eyebrows at O’Brien. “Sir?”
“You heard me. The inspector. Urgent.” O’Brien watched Terrell go down the stairs with almost no qualms. After all, what were underlings for? He returned to his seat, smiled at Miss Keeling, and opened a file that he should have begun work on first thing in the morning.
To Miss Keeling’s surprise, Darling appeared quite quickly. He opened the gate and showed her upstairs to his office. The only sign of impatience he showed was a tense tenting of his hands under his chin.
“How can I help?”
“I’m sorry to do this. I understood from the man at the desk that you are very busy. I’m on my way to Vancouver but I stopped by to see Miss Scott, and she said something that surprised me very much. So much that I don’t know what to make of it. She told me that she had killed the father of one of my students, Samuel Gaskell. Is he dead?”
Darling frowned and bit his lip. “Yes, of course, you were not to know. He is. Are you quite sure that is what she said?” Lane’s completely unlikely speculation moved to centre stage in his mind.
“Yes. I told her I had learned that he’d been sending her nasty notes, and she told me that he’d been in the house with the intention of hurting her before . . . I’m not sure before what, but then she said, ‘It doesn’t matter now. He’s dead. I killed him.’ And then she just sort of lay back and closed her eyes and wouldn’t say any more. I went in search of the nurse because I was worried something was wrong, but she told me Miss Scott was probably exhausted and needed rest. I came straight here.” Miss Keeling glanced at her watch. “I feel terrible for her if he’d been persecuting her like that. I had no idea. It’s apparently the reason she wanted to leave. She told me she lied about getting married because she was so afraid the education people wouldn’t let her leave for anything less. I could have told her I was allowed to leave my last job with no difficulty.”
“Thank you, Miss Keeling. You’ve been very helpful. You are anxious to catch your train. Is there a place we can reach you if something arises out of any of this?”
“I’m going to see my mother at that fishing lodge you told me about, the Aspen Gold. If it’s immediately urgent I could be reached there. I’ll probably treat myself to a couple of days. I’m sure if the Devlins took holidays there it is bound to be the height of luxury. I think it will take that to wash the stench and memory of that horrible basement out of my mind. But I am coming back after Christmas to take up my job at the Balfour school.” She stood up and pulled on her gloves.
“I’m sure the children will be delighted,” Darling said, rising and offering his hand. “My wife says you are a great favourite with them.”
“Of course, it is your wife that has been holding the fort. Please, thank her for me.” She made her way to the door and then turned. “I was about to ask what will become of Miss Scott, but of course I realize you can say nothing.”
Darling smiled slightly and nodded. “Will you seek out Harry Devlin while you are on the coast?”
She shook her head, more in puzzlement than negation. “I don’t know. I think of Ezekiel Irving as my father. He wasn’t much good at it, but he has been more of a father to me than Devlin ever was. Though it’s possible Devlin didn’t know about me. I’m not sure. If I’m honest, I’m not even sure about seeing my mother. I haven’t seen her since I was eight, and I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen and am quite happy as I am.”
Darling watched her go down the stairs and thought how very Lane-like she was. Self-contained, practical, clear, somehow, about who she was.
Now, Miss Scott. He still had Mackenzie, protesting wildly that he was innocent, in one of the cells. Maybe he was telling the truth about that, at least. “Terrell!” he bellowed when he hit the bottom of the stairs. After all, he had the magic touch with the woman.
IT WAS AN irony, Lane thought, that on Christmas Eve there should be scarcely a drop of snow to be seen except on the tops of the mountains across the lake. It had begun raining two days before, and now, though thankfully it had stopped, King’s Cove was enveloped in a misty damp atmosphere more akin to late October than late December. Everyone had arrived on foot and flashlights, umbrellas, and boots littered the area around the front door. Darling had occupied himself collecting people’s coats and stacking them on the bed. Now the guests were gathered variously in the sitting room, where the Franklin stove burned merrily and a small Christmas tree with coloured lights shimmered in the corner, or in the kitchen, where Lane had laid out plates of little salmon sandwiches. Eleanor was attending to the alignment of pieces of her Christmas cake on a crystal serving plate that she’d fished out of one of the boxes of Lady Armstrong’s things in the attic the day before. The noise of people talking, seemingly all at once, made a hubbub that was unfamiliar to this quiet house.
“I brought these.” Lane turned from the sandwiches and saw Alice Mather in the doorway to the kitchen with a round tin and a defiant expression, as if she expected to have her offering rejected.
“Oh, Alice, how lovely!” She’d been about to say, “Are these the famous sugar cookies?” but then worried that Alice would think she’d been the subject of gossip. Instead, she opened the tin and said, “Shortbread! Splendid! It’s just what we need. My biscuits are ghastly, even with Eleanor’s guidance. Find Frederick and he’ll supply you with a glass of sherry.”
“Adroitly done,” said Eleanor, winking. “Your shortbread is perfect, by the way. Shall we get these out to the sitting room?”
“THERE’S A FOR SALE sign on the bloody house again,” Reg Mather was saying to Kenny. “It’s really too bad. The owner disrupts everyone for ages with racket and commotion and then buggers off. Begging your pardon,” he added, raising his glass in the direction of Gladys Hughes, who was glaring at him, about to suggest he mind his language.
“He never changes,” she grumbled to Mabel. “Shocking language in front of the children!”
“We’re sitting ducks out here, really,” Gwen was saying to Angela, who was only partially attending, as she had one eye on the children who had gathered in a suspiciously conspiratorial huddle in the corner by the bookshelf. “Any criminal could come along and set up shop on the land around here. We’re miles from anywhere.”
Angela turned away from the children. “But I still don’t understand why it would be a good idea. It’s not convenient to anywhere if they are hiding stolen property or drugs.”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it? They could grow that drug, whatever it’s called, that they put in reefers, I think they’re called. Who would see? Then we’d have those little airplanes that land on the water coming and going all day, or motorboats cluttering up our beautiful cove.”
“It’s a good thing we have a resident police inspector, then. Boys, what are you up to?” Angela could not subscribe to the idea that their Eden could ever succumb to the dystopia envisioned by Gwen.
“Weren’t you nearly run down by a car?” Mabel, who had joined them, asked. “I don’t know how you can be so sanguine about it. Gwen’s right. We have to be on our toes.”
“Oh, yes. I suppose I was. Well, they’ve gone now. So strange to think an actual gangland criminal was right in our midst! And what they did to poor Miss Keeling! She showed real enterprise, I must say. I’m delighted she’ll be back, and so are the boys.”
Darling, who’d been talking with Kenny and David about the ins and outs of the local creeks and how to manage them, overheard Angela and sighed. How did everyone get all the details so quickly and accurately? It certainly wasn’t from Lane. They just seemed to winkle out information from the air. If he was going to live among these people, he would have to be even more constrained than was his wont. However, Angela had been right to be concerned about what was going on in that house, and about the blood by the coal chute. In fact, he realized, she’d been the means of Miss Keeling’s escape when she opened the coal-chute door. He nodded at Kenny and David and went across the room to tell her so.
“Good of you to come along,” Gladys said to the vicar, who was standing by the Christmas tree, accepting a top-up from Lane. “You’ll just have to plow all the way back here in the morning for the Christmas service.”
“I like to spend time with my parishioners, and frankly, my little flock at King’s Cove is much the most exciting, with your resident detective Miss Winslow, or ought I to say Mrs. Darling, and the inspector established here now, and murderers and would-be murderers turning up all the time. Better than a fictional English village!”
“Isn’t every little community full of secrets?”
The vicar smiled and held up his glass. He’d clearly had several, as it was only once a year. “Not like this one!”
At this moment the three boys came out of their huddle and approached Lane, who was persuading a grumpy Robin Harris to take another sandwich. Rafe, the youngest, had his hands behind his back. Philip pushed him forward. Rolf had his hand over his mouth to suppress his giggles.
“Miss Winslow, we have something for you!”
Lane turned and put the sandwiches down. “Goodness. Have you?”
Rafe produced what looked at first glance like a pile of paper and held it up, and then, like magicians, the boys unrolled a long chain of cut-out dolls, each one coloured differently.
“It’s a Christmas decoration for you to put on your mantelpiece!” declared Rolf. “We made it. Even Mommy didn’t know we were doing it!”
“It’s to thank you,” said Philip, suddenly shy. “You were a really good teacher.”
“The last one has a blue face!” cried Rafe happily. “You know why!”
Angela caught Dave’s eye from across the room, fondness and pride struggling for prominence on her face.
Lane was very nearly speechless. “Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful!” she finally managed. “Darling, look at this! It will fit perfectly on our mantel.”