some of them would have lasted another night.”
“That’s their own damn fool fault for tangling with our girls,” snorts Miss Murdstone. “Personally, I think they were responsible for most of our problems on the boat.”
“Ship,” says Penny.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Green?” Miss Murdstone has taken over as 2 i.c. from Miss Bondage and she bristles convincingly.
“You call them ships,” says Penny calmly.
“Oh, I see.” Miss M. sounds almost disappointed.
“The Admiralty have been very good about the affair, haven’t they?” says Miss Honeycomb.
“And so they should be,” says Miss Murdstone firmly. “Selling the ship to Southmouth Council for that sum of money. It must have given them ideas. I wouldn’t be surprised if they beached every boat in the navy. It saves putting them in moth balls and the return is fantastic. I hear that the fairground takings have doubled, and they must be on a percentage.”
“That only leaves the tragedy of Miss Bondage,” says Miss Natson.
Miss Honeycomb jabs herself with her needle. “You mean, she’s been found alive?”
“Really!” We all wince at such lack of feeling.
“I read about a body being washed up covered in lobsters,” says Miss Batson with grim relish.
“Sell lobsters and return bait,” murmurs Penny.
“There’s been no sign of her yet,” says Miss Murdstone.
“Perhaps the Russians recovered the body,” says Miss Batson.
“They’d need a couple of tugs, wouldn’t they?” says Penny callously.
Sometimes I think that is why she gets on so well with the girls. She is just like one of them.
“Funny you should mention Russia,” says Miss Murdstone, picking up the pile of buff envelopes and solicitors’ letters that comprise the mail at St Rodence. “There’s one here with a Russian stamp on it.”
“Oh, bags I!” screeches Miss Batson, snatching it. With her pig tails, long legs, knock knees and protruding teeth, she makes Joyce Grenfell seem like a Dior model.
“Pull yourself together, Batson!” Miss Murdstone snatches back the letter. “The envelope is addressed to Miss Grimshaw, so I will open it.”
Miss Grimshaw seems to be taking less and less part in school affairs and there are fears about her health. Her fainting fits are becoming more frequent and she seldom ventures from her room except to attend wine tastings.
“It looks like Miss Bondage’s writing,” says Miss Honeycomb, adjusting her pince nez. “Oh dear, oh dear. I knew something like this would happen.”
“It is from her!” says Miss Murdstone. “Listen:
‘Dear Head Mistress, I am writing to tender my resignation on the occasion of my engagement to Serge Rogerov, Hero Of The Soviet Union Extraordinary.’”
“Quite extraordinary,” says Penny. “Is she really going to get married?”
“That’s what she says.” Miss Murdstone runs her eye over the letter. “Yes. ‘Serge finishes his tour of duty on this voyage after twenty years and we will return to Omsk.’”
“Imagine,” says Miss Batson. “Twenty years and he meets Bonders on his last trip.”
“Fate can be cruel, can’t it?” observes Penny.
“Omsk is along way away, isn’t it?” says Miss Honeycomb, sounding more cheerful.
“What are they going to do?” I ask.
“Apparently they’re going to work on Serge’s father’s potato farm. Look. Here’s a photograph of the crop.”
“I think that’s the happy couple,” says Penny. “Though it’s a very understandable mistake. What a fantastic romance. If you read about it in a book you wouldn’t believe it, would you? ‘Washed into the arms of the man she loved’. It sounds like the synopsis of a detergent commercial.”
“She says the key to the medicine cupboard is under the Victor Ludo plaque.”
“Don’t you mean ‘Victor Ludorum’?” I ask.
“Not at St Rodence,” explaines Penny. “Ludo is the only game we can get the whole school to play.”
“And then only if we allow gambling,” says Miss Batson. “It causes so many problems.”
“Last year we had outside intervention from gangsters. There were attempts at extortion and threats of violence,” says Penny.
“How awful! What happened?”
“In the end the gangsters paid up. But it was pretty nasty while it lasted.”
“There’s going to be none of that, this year!” snaps Miss Murdstone. “This year we’re going to have a proper sports day.”
It is amazing how quickly people can change. Miss Murdstone used to be the only member of the common room prepared to stand up to Miss Bondage. Now she sounds just like her.
“You mean running and all that?” says Miss Batson.
“Yes ‘running and all that’, with an invitation going out to the parents. Have you got any objections?”
Miss Batson wriggles defensively. “No, of course not. I was just remembering the cross country, that’s all. Of the hundred and five girls that passed the medical, eighty three went through the gates and the first girl back came in five weeks later.”
“In a Black Maria,” adds Penny. “Thirty eight of them were never seen again.”
“We did get that postcard from Port Said,” says Miss Honeycomb. “Very pretty it looked with the palm trees and—”
“Fiddle faddle!” Miss Murdstone brings her fist down smartly on Jill Batson’s crumpet. “I’m not talking about a cross country. I’m talking about a properly organised sports day, Green, Dixon, that’s your province.”
Penny sucks in breath. “It’s not going to be easy to arouse enthusiasm whatever we organise. If you remember our last sports day, the only event that attracted any interest was throwing the javelin.”
Miss Honeycomb winces. “Poor Miss Marrow. Is she out of plaster yet?”
“I believe she’s doing as well as can be expected,” says Miss Murdstone. “No, I don’t think we’ll include the javelin in this year’s programme. And that goes for the other field events as well. Anything that can be thrown is out.”
“Long jump is all right, though,” says Miss Batson.
“Provided
