A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [45]
“And you did very well, Miss Dobbs.” Thomas looked at her watch. “Ah, we should make our way down to the assembly hall. Roth is due to speak from on high.”
Maisie gathered her briefcase and books, and followed other members of staff down the oak staircase and along the corridor in the direction of the assembly hall. She did not acknowledge the sarcastic tone of Thomas’ last comment, though she noted the inflection in the woman’s voice when she referred to her colleague by his surname only, without the respect one might accord the man who was now principal.
There was already a buzz of conversation among the gathered students when they entered, and Maisie was surprised to see how many were there. The student body was larger than she had imagined. They were seated in rows according to the number of years spent at the school. The first-year students were in the front, followed by second and third years, with a few students at the back who were engaged in research studies following tertiary education elsewhere. Many of the students had already completed formal education in other countries, though there were also a good number of British students in the hall. The staff members were assigned seats along the side of the main audience. On the stage at the front of the assembly hall, seats had been allocated for the Board of Governors, along with the principal and deputy principal. The event was formal; thus those to be seated on the stage would not enter until the audience of students and staff was settled. At twelve noon a bell rang from beyond the hall—Maisie thought it might have been the first bell she had heard at the college—and the busy chatter subsided to a mumble, then to silence.
The double doors at the back of the hall opened, and Matthias Roth led a procession of ten governors and one other teacher—Maisie recognized him as Dr. Alan Burnham, a teacher of classics who, although born in London, had spent his childhood in Greece. To Maisie’s surprise, MacFarlane and Stratton walked along, side by side, at the end of the line, and she wondered why MacFarlane had chosen to be part of such a public display.
With the procession seated, Matthias Roth stepped towards the lectern and in his booming baritone addressed the school.
“You will have heard, by now, of the passing of our dear founder and principal, Dr. Greville Liddicote.” He stopped speaking to allow time for the collective gasp and whispers of dismay to run through the gathering, the sound reminding Maisie of waves drawn to the beach. “The College of St. Francis was the result of his imagination and hard work—he dared to believe that we could create a world of peace, of harmony, and he was not afraid to step forward to set us on a path that would lead to such a world. Every student in this room, every member of staff, every governor is here because of Greville Liddicote. Today we mourn his loss.” Roth paused, cleared his throat, and continued. “We will give thanks for his life in a service at St. Mary’s Church—details will be posted on the main notice board. Dr. Liddicote will not be laid to rest for some time—I will explain later—but that does not prevent us from giving thanks for his life, his wisdom, and his accomplishments, particularly in the realm of medieval literature and in stories that enchanted children—and adults—the world over. Whatever your religious persuasion, we know that you will come to St. Mary’s—Greville Liddicote was a Christian, though he never pressed his beliefs, nor ever discredited those of another. With that in mind, we must do what is right when we remember him. Before I ask the chairman of the Board of Governors to speak, I would like to take this opportunity to inform you that the events surrounding Greville Liddicote’s death are . . . questionable. So that we might come to know the reason for his passing, I have requested the assistance of two members of the police, whom you will see on the premises over the next week or so. I ask that