Here Lies Gloria Mundy

The first upshot of the butter affair was bizarre if not instructive. To pacify Celia and help him to get himself reinstated in her good graces, Anthony went over to the school to reason with Coberley, only to find that his arguments had been used already by Marigold herself. He came back with the story.

‘Marigold wouldn’t have it that any boy was guilty,’ he said. ‘She had a curious story to tell. She had been standing at the sitting-room window when she heard a voice call out, “Oh, Mrs Coberley, a goat is eating your kitchen garden!” ’

The school, it appeared, had a number of pet animals looked after by the boys, so Marigold ran out and immediately took her nasty toss down the steps. Coberley’s inquisition of his pupils had not produced a culprit and he had issued his threat in the heat of the moment.

When Anthony met him he was already beginning to simmer down. He said that he had instituted enquiries among his staff and it appeared that no boy had been missing from lessons or from games at any time, and the headmaster’s house was strictly out of bounds. He was telling Anthony this when there was a knock on the door of his sanctum and a small, pale boy wearing spectacles came in. The dialogue had run as follows:

‘Well, Duckett?’

‘Please, sir, I’ve come to confess, sir.’

‘Who sent you?’

‘Please, sir, Robson and the other prefects, sir.’

‘To confess to what, Duckett?’

‘Please, sir, that I buttered the steps.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, sir, please, sir.’

‘I find this incredible. Did you butter the steps?’

‘Please, sir, no, sir, but Robson said it was right that one man should die for the people.’

‘Did he, indeed?’ Upon this (Anthony said), Coberley rang the bell and sent a servant to find Robson — ‘he should be with Mr Stace in B room’ — and bring him to the headmaster. Soon a handsome child of about thirteen appeared.

‘You sent for me, sir?’

‘Yes, Robson. Duckett, you may go. Now, Robson, what is all this I hear? (Robson, Mr Wotton, is my head boy.)’

‘How do you do, sir.’ He and Anthony shook hands.

‘Now, Robson, explain yourself. I know you too well to believe that you would wantonly offer me a lamb such as Duckett for the slaughter. You must have had a good reason.’

‘Oh, sir, yes, sir. We knew you would not beat a little boy like Duckett, sir, so we thought he was the best one to send, being delicate and wearing glasses.’

‘Duckett did not butter the steps, then?’

‘No, sir, of course not, sir. Nobody did.’

‘Then how came the steps to be buttered?’

‘I don’t know, sir. We’re sure none of our men did it. That’s what I meant, sir. I mean, sir, we wouldn’t, would we?’

‘How can I be sure of that?’ It was clear, said Anthony, that the head boy was a privileged person, ‘as it is right and proper that a head boy should be,’ he added.

‘Well, nobody would want to hurt Mrs Coberley, would they, sir? Besides, if chaps have got money, they wouldn’t spend it on butter; they would spend it on things like doughnuts, wouldn’t they, sir?’

‘Very well. I shall suspend judgment sine die. Do you know what that means?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. My father is a QC.’

‘You might do worse than follow in his footsteps.’

‘I am going to be a psychologist, sir,’

‘That might suit your undoubted gifts equally well. All right. Be off with you.’

‘They size you up, don’t they?’ said Anthony, when the lad had gone. ‘He needn’t worry about “going to be a psychologist”. He is one already.’

‘They all are,’ said Coberley.

‘It wasn’t a boy’s voice which Marigold heard,’ said Celia, when Anthony reported the visit.

‘So she appears to have told Coberley. Anyway, he is taking no action for the present. He is beginning to think it might have been the work of town hooligans. He caught two of them a few months ago trying to steal the couple of geese the boys keep as pets.’

The affair might have remained at that, but for a report from Aunt Eglantine. Celia visited her in hospital and came back with the story. The elderly lady had had no intention of going into the town on the morning of her accident. She had popped downstairs to pick up the tray of coffee and toast and at about ten o’clock she had gone to the old house ‘to look at the picture you said was a Rubens,’ she told Celia. She had tried the front door, discovered, of course, that she could not get in, so had gone round to the back and found the broken window. She demolished the rest of it so that the aperture was wide enough to accept her bulk, ‘and then that creature came along and helped me in. She is stronger than she looks,’ she said.

‘Did you expect to see her?’ Celia asked.

‘Yes and no.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘That silly couple who bogged their car down said she was there in the old house, but I thought she might have gone.’

‘She must have slept there. I wonder what she did for food and bedding?’ Celia had said. ‘There was nobody in the house when Anthony went over yesterday, though.’