Fault in the Structure

‘This place is haunted, you know. Oh, yes, it’s a fact.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s a scandal, too. The ghost is that of a monk, and the monks were not necessarily or even usually, in early monastic times, ordained priests. I conclude, therefore, that he had no right to visit a convent.’

Laura, who disliked what she called ‘sniggery little men,’ said calmly, ‘The custom of ordaining monks to be priests was begun I believe, by the Augustinian canons who founded houses in England from towards the end of the eleventh century, but the Benedictines and even the Cluniacs, who followed the Benedictine rule but with considerably greater austerity, were slow to follow suit.’

‘I see that you have studied your subject,’ said her partner, slightly taken aback. ‘Anyway, to revert to the frivolous topic of the ghost, you will admit that he had no business in a convent of nuns.’

‘Oh, he had business all right,’ said Laura’s other neighbour whom she knew, from the place-names at table, to be the apparently notorious Doctor Giddie.

‘I believe he’s been seen quite recently,’ said Laura. ‘One of the students who is staying up claims to have seen him.’

‘Where?’

‘She didn’t say. Incidentally, as I said, I don’t think my husband has ever believed in ghosts. I wonder what made you think he did?’

‘All Scotsmen, if they’re Highlanders, believe in ghosts,’ said the don.

Someone opposite contested this and the argument turned on to kelpies, water-horses and the Loch Ness monster, a conversation in which Laura, who was well informed on all these matters, was able to distinguish herself.

‘Are you a Catholic?’ her partner enquired when, coffee having been served, the guests were standing around waiting to bid their hostess goodnight before departing to their homes.

‘No. Why? Oh, you mean because of monasteries. I’ve always been interested in monastic life and not so very long ago I helped Dame Beatrice to investigate a murder which took place in the grounds of a convent.’

‘Oh, I see. Does Dame Beatrice believe in ghosts? You see, I’m a member of a local society for psychical research and we’d very much like to investigate the story of the monk who haunts this College, but, so far, the High Mistress won’t give permission.’

‘Not even during the Long Vacation when the last of the students has gone down and the College is empty?’

‘No, because there is still a skeleton staff of maids in residence. She says they would be so much alarmed by an investigation that they would leave. And in these days, when it’s so difficult to get good, reliable domestic help, she cannot take the risk. I thought perhaps Dame Beatrice might persuade her. The ghost of the monk is well authenticated.’

‘She wouldn’t persuade anybody to risk losing servants,’ said Laura. They passed out of Hall and the don took his leave and went out through the Fellows’ garden. This was now bespangled with fairy lights hanging from the apple trees and placed around the coping of the well. All were of a sinister shade of blue.

Laura shivered. It seemed to her that the summer night struck suddenly chill. She thought of blue-papered, blue-brocaded rooms in haunted houses. An owl screeched. The trees rustled and talked.

‘All the trimmings!’ muttered Laura anxiously.

CHAPTER 5

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And they go silently away

Saying nothing for fear of betrayal

‘Well, what of the day?’ said Dame Beatrice when Laura, in dressing-gown and slippers, came to say goodnight. ‘I had the impression that at the sight of the Vice-Chancellor you fled.’

‘It wasn’t the Vice-Chancellor. It was the heat. I spotted a cedar tree on the other side of the wall and made a bee-line for its grateful shade – rather a nice example of transferred epithet, that. It was I who was grateful, and was I! What is more, I was waited upon by nymphs and regaled with some of the best ‘real’ lemonade I’ve ever tasted, cakes direct from the College kitchen and, although I was not fed with apricocks and dewberries, with purple grapes, green figs and mulberries, I did get a plate of the finest English strawberries together with as much fresh cream as even I could eat.’

‘After which you vanished from the scene, only to reappear at dinner.’

‘I had no intention of being rude or unsociable, but, except for you, whom one couldn’t get near because of the crush, I didn’t know a soul and I couldn’t imagine that a soul would wish to know me, so I went exploring around and about and had a swim.’

‘You are always so enterprising. How did you manage that?’

‘I found Parsonesses’ Pleasure, or whatever it’s called in these parts. It’s a bathing-place in a backwater of the river, clear of weed and perfectly lovely. You know – lush banks on either side, with meadowsweet, dog-daisies, tall grasses, purple loosestrife, water forget-me-not and monkey flower.’

‘Monkey flower?’

‘You’re certain to have seen it. Once a foreigner, now naturalised. Biggish, deep-yellow flowers with red spots and a long lower lip to the corona, Latin name Mimulus guttatus. Well, I enjoyed myself no end. I swam a goodish way upstream and found that there is a wire mesh across the water to bar boating strangers, I suppose, from witnessing Beauty bathing by a spring. I swam about a mile the other way, too, and encountered a similar barrier. There’s a boathouse by the dressing-sheds, so I suppose the girls have about two miles of river-water all to themselves for swimming and rowing. I didn’t appear again at the garden-party because I