The sound of the main hall door opening provides a momentary distraction, a student dashing in from the rain before continuing past us without even a sideways glance. It’s almost as though he didn’t see us standing there. The main door slams shut in a gust of wind, blowing a wayward leaf down the corridor. H flips over backward once again, this time attempting to catch it.
Before I can chastise him, Catherine clears her throat, recalling my attention. “Back in time… yes, that might do it!”
“Back in time? Like a decade party?” I can’t see how a sock hop will be appropriate for a formal college gala.
Leaning out of her portrait frame, Catherine nods towards the seating alcove to our left. “Pull that chair over, dear, and let me tell you a little story. It all begins with a search for an assistant, a fateful trip to Paris and a shared vision which would bind two women and this college together for years to come.”
I can hardly believe the fantastical tale that Catherine recounts. The setting is the early 1900s. Two women, lost in the gardens of Versailles, somehow slip through time to glimpse Marie Antoinette waiting to hear the outcome of the sacking of Paris, an event which happened over one hundred years before.
“This is a fascinating story, to say the least, but what does it have to do with St Margaret?”
Forgiving my interruption, Catherine continues, “The two women in our story were both learned scholars here at St Margaret, one the college principal and the other the assistant principal, and they were devoted spiritualists. They were desperate to tell the story, but feared being ridiculed, so they wrote a book and published it under a pseudonym. Their tale shook the core of London, selling over 11,000 copies. Scholars still argue over the truth of what happened on that fateful day when the women disappeared in Versailles.”
Leaning back in the chair, I can feel the familiar spark of an idea blossoming in my brain. “I won’t do a Versailles theme, that would be too obvious. But yes, I think… I can see a pathway from here to something incredible. Oh, thank you!”
Catherine reaches out of the painting again, this time to pat me on the shoulder.
“You’re welcome, dear. If there is one thing I’ve learned, both during my lifetime and in these long years afterwards, it’s that we women must stick together. Some women here could afford to learn that lesson. Take Chef Smythe. That woman would sooner cut a woman down than hold out a hand to lift her up. What she did to poor Harry… oh, perhaps I shouldn’t say.”
Harry? I’m thunderstruck. I wasn’t aware they had any history beyond being colleagues. “What did she do to Harry?”
“I wouldn’t dare to bring it up. It’s horrid, really. Worst thing a woman can do to another. But I saw Harry come out of the dining hall last week looking absolutely gutted, and I wondered if the whole thing had started up again.”
Edging forward onto the edge of my seat, I plead with Catherine to share whatever she knows. “Tell me everything. If it might hurt Harry, I’d rather be the one looking into things than have the police find out. Sounds like the poor woman has been through enough.”
Catherine ponders my words, quickly arriving at the same conclusion. Although Harry isn’t aware that Catherine Morgan is anything other than a painting, Catherine has had ample opportunity to watch her over the years. “Harry is certainly one of the loveliest women to grace our hallways, always cheerful. Dr Radcliffe wouldn’t have half the success she has had without Harry standing behind her to sort out any messes. That’s what makes Chef Smythe’s actions that much worse. Harry’s husband used to be the head gardener here at the college. He retired early because his knees were giving him trouble.”
“Rob? Yes, I met him yesterday. I didn’t think he’d been around the college in a while. How long ago did this thing with Chef Smythe happen?” I ask.
Casting her eyes to the ceiling, Catherine searches her memories. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s so hard for we Eternals to keep track of time, particularly since I spend so much of it hanging here on the wall. One day seems much like the rest. Maybe eight or nine years ago? Chef Smythe was younger then. Although she was loath to admit it, I believe she was jealous of Harry, how much everyone respected and frankly adored her. She felt she should get more of that adoration given her superior skill set. She’d moan about it every time she walked between Dr Radcliffe’s office and the dining hall. She decided that if she couldn’t convince everyone, she could at least tempt away Harry’s husband. Show her in no uncertain terms that Harry was not her equal.”
“NO! That’s terrible! She tried to steal her husband?” I can’t believe it, although it explains the animosity in Chef Smythe’s gaze on the day she stormed out of Dr Radcliffe’s office.
Shrugging, Catherine carries on, “I don’t know how far it went - not too far, I’d imagine, given Harry and Rob are still married. Chef Smythe tempted him with special meals and his favourite desserts. She was always there with a plate of food, a kind word and a smile whenever he worked in the herb garden outside the kitchen. Most of the fellows ignore the gardening staff, Rob would have noticed the special attention she was paying.”
Shaking my head and waving my arms, I interrupt Catherine before she can say anything more. “Ugh, stop there. I don’t want to know what happened. I’d rather know nothing than imagine Chef Smythe and Rob in any intimate relationship. Anyway, if it happened years ago, what made you think of it now?”
Settling back into her seat, Catherine replies, “Harry was here one evening last week,
