Murder Has No Class Read Online Free PDF Page A

all, she was in charge of Bellehaven, not he. What did he know about managing a school of this nature? “I am not aware of the exact hour, Mr. Hamilton, but I can assure you it was well after the student was supposed to have retired to her room, and several hours after Mr. Platt’s duties for the day were completed.”
    “I see.” He tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and rocked back on his heels. “What exactly were they doing in the art room?”
    Meredith set her jaw. “I can only imagine.”
    “But you don’t know for certain.”
    “Their stories were conflicting.”
    “Ah, so you did question them.”
    “Indeed I did.”
    “Then I’m afraid we shall just have to take their word for it.” He smiled. “Come, Meredith, I doubt any real harm was done. I’ll have a word with Pratt—”
    “His name is Platt,” Meredith reminded him. Not that it would make any difference. For some reason Stuart Hamilton insisted on calling the assistant Pratt, and no amount of correcting and reminding seemed to penetrate.
    “—and warn him of the consequences should the incident be repeated.”
    “I have warned him many times already.” She made herself look directly into Hamilton’s face. “I really don’t understand why you are so lenient with him. The young man is willful and quite immoral and I consider him a danger to the welfare of my students.”
    “Don’t you think you are being somewhat harsh?”
    A gleam had appeared in Hamilton’s eyes that warned her she was treading on dangerous ground. She pinched her lips, then muttered, “All I have to say to that, Mr. Hamilton, is that you will have to deal with the consequences should your ward damage the reputation of any of my students.”
    “May I remind you, Mrs. Llewellyn, that it takes two to two-step.” He gave her a stiff bow, then turned sharply on his heel and strode away down the corridor.
    Miserably she stared after him. The ache under her ribs was out of proportion, and should have been overwhelmed by the indignation of having her authority usurped in such an arrogant matter. Yet right at that moment what mattered to her most was that Stuart Hamilton had reverted to using her last name again. How very immature of her.
    As she expected, Felicity and Essie received the news of her second vision of the red mist with completely opposite reactions. Felicity urged her to have Reggie check all the gas lamps in the building, while Essie begged her to turn her back on the ghost and refuse to help.
    It was with some trepidation that Meredith retired to her room that night. Certain that the new ghost would visit her, she lay awake for some time, until sleep finally overtook her.
    She awoke again with a start to find herself still in darkness in an icy cold room. The chill was familiar, and she fumbled for the matches lying on her bedside table. It was time to light the oil lamp, for her past experiences had taught her that any minute now, her next victim of circumstances was about to make an appearance.
    With the lamp flickering at her side, Meredith waited while the room got colder and the silence thickened. Soon she could see it—a pink glow in the corner—growing, darkening, until the center was a fiery red.
    Angry swirls coiled around in a flurry of whirlpools until gradually, a figure began to form in the middle of it all. Dark and black it rose, until Meredith could see it was a man.
    Her heart began pounding and she clutched the eider-down to her chin. This was no friendly ghost, as the others had been. This was a man convulsed with rage, with flashes of lightning shooting out in every direction and his fist raised in the air in violent protest.
    As always, she could hear no sound from the apparition, but she could feel the energy pulsing into the room, driven by the terrible fury of her unwelcome visitor.
    “Who are you?” she whispered. “What do you want of me?”
    The head turned in her direction, and now she could see his face.