‘I couldn’t say. My room is on the top floor of New Building, so, as I was looking down, I can’t say how tall he was. Anyway, as I was trying to tell you, he had no legs. He was in white, with his cowl drawn over his head, and then, from the waist downward, he simply didn’t exist. It was very frightening. Then he disappeared. That’s how I know I saw a ghost. He just disappeared.’
‘Both times?’
‘Yes.’
‘Later on perhaps you will be good enough to show me the spot at which he vanished. By the way, did you think he might have come from the river?’
‘The river? Well, I suppose he
‘And he had his back to you both times?’
‘No, he was sideways on, in profile, only I couldn’t see a face because of his hood, but whether he was subjective or objective, well, I’d be ever so relieved if you could tell me.’
‘Oh, I can tell you that you weren’t seeing things, as the vulgar express it. The Senior Tutor, Miss Peterson, is your witness. She also saw the ghost, although she prefers to call him a prowler.’
‘Oh, dear! That’s not very nice, either. I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather he were a ghost,’ said Miss Runmede, looking very much alarmed. Dame Beatrice reassured her.
‘Have no fear. Miss Peterson made a report and the grounds are patrolled every night. What a very pleasant quadrangle this is.’
‘Yes, the flowers in the borders
The Abbess’s Walk was indeed a charming spot. It was only about forty yards long and fifteen yards wide, but its intriguing little stone-flagged paths were bordered by lavender, antirrhinums, foxgloves and larkspur and there was a background of grey stone walls. As well as the cottage-garden flowers there were white, yellow and red roses whose scent out-vied the lavender in filling the enclosed air with fragrance; but what intrigued Dame Beatrice more than the old-world garden itself, delightful though she found it, was the fact that it communicated at one end, by means of a wicket-gate, with the main quadrangle and, at the other, with no barrier of any kind, with the cloister.
‘I wonder whether we might perambulate the cloister?’ she suggested.
‘Yes, of course. There’s nothing much to see except the roses and they’re all over the place. The cloister is hardly ever used, so I suppose the gardeners don’t pay it all that much attention. They’ve plenty of other things to do in the quads and in the High Mistress’s and the Fellows’ gardens. There’s been talk of training back the roses and of putting a lily-pond in the middle of the cloister garth and last term the digging was begun, but I don’t think they’ve touched it this summer.’
The cloister, as Laura had discovered, was dark and damp. The unglazed, fourteenth-century openings which, on all four sides, overlooked the untidy, grassy square of the cloister garth, were indeed smothered and almost covered up by the roses whose growth had become out of hand. There was only one way of leaving the cloister itself— to walk out on to its garth, but this opening must have been almost impassable because of the roses except that recently some secateurs had been at work on the more obstinate and choking of the stems so that a way through could be made.
Risking a scratched face and hands, Dame Beatrice pushed past the formidable trails and approached an excavation in the centre of the untidy square of grass. The student followed her.
‘Hullo,’ she said. “The workmen must have been here again and partly filled in the hole they dug. I wonder what made them do that?’
‘Yes, they have now made it much too shallow for the purpose of sinking a pool for water-lilies and other aquatic plants,’ commented Dame Beatrice, studying the excavation. She glanced at her watch. ‘Dear me! I must go and get ready for lunch. I wonder whether you would do one more thing for me if you can spare the time this afternoon?’
‘Of course, Dame Beatrice.’
‘Show me your room and the window from which you saw the ghost, and also perhaps you would indicate, as exactly as you can, where the prowler made his appearances. On which floor would Miss Peterson’s room be, I wonder?’
‘The dons and Fellows occupy the ground floor.’
‘So Miss Peterson may have had a better view of this nocturnal visitor than you had. May I ask why you were up so late when you saw what you took to be the ghost?’
‘The first time it was because I couldn’t sleep. I’d been crossed in love. The second time it was because I was sublimating by writing a poem about my miseries. That always seems to make one feel better about things, I find.’
‘Ah, yes, I quite understand,’ said Dame Beatrice.
CHAPTER 6
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Lunch was in the High Mistress’s lodging and, in addition to Dame Beatrice and Laura, the guests were the Chief Constable of the county and a cousin to the High Mistress, a redhaired man of forty named Fairlie.
