Cat Among the Pigeons - Agatha Christie [27]
“I wasn’t doing no harm and I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t say you did, boy. But I say a lot o’ young females penned up together here with not so much as a drawing master to take their minds off things—well, you’d better be careful. That’s all. Ah, here comes the Old Bitch now. Wanting something difficult, I’ll be bound.”
Miss Bulstrode was approaching with a rapid step. “Good morning, Briggs,” she said. “Good morning—er—”
“Adam, miss.”
“Ah yes, Adam. Well, you seem to have got that piece dug very satisfactorily. The wire netting’s coming down by the far tennis court, Briggs. You’d better attend to that.”
“All right, ma’am, all right. It’ll be seen to.”
“What are you putting in front here?”
“Well ma’am, I had thought—”
“Not asters,” said Miss Bulstrode, without giving him time to finish “Pom Pom dahlias,” and she departed briskly.
“Coming along—giving orders,” said Briggs. “Not that she isn’t a sharp one. She soon notices if you haven’t done work properly. And remember what I’ve said and be careful, boy. About Eye-ties and the others.”
“If she’s any fault to find with me, I’ll soon know what I can do,” said Adam sulkily. “Plenty o’ jobs going.”
“Ah. That’s like you young men all over nowadays. Won’t take a word from anybody. All I say is, mind your step.”
Adam continued to look sulky, but bent to his work once more.
Miss Bulstrode walked back along the path towards the school. She was frowning a little.
Miss Vansittart was coming in the opposite direction.
“What a hot afternoon,” said Miss Vansittart.
“Yes, it’s very sultry and oppressive.” Again Miss Bulstrode frowned. “Have you noticed that young man—the young gardener?”
“No, not particularly.”
“He seems to me—well—an odd type,” said Miss Bulstrode thoughtfully. “Not the usual kind around here.”
“Perhaps he’s just come down from Oxford and wants to make a little money.”
“He’s good-looking. The girls notice him.”
“The usual problem.”
Miss Bulstrode smiled. “To combine freedom for the girls and strict supervision—is that what you mean, Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“We manage,” said Miss Bulstrode.
“Yes, indeed. You’ve never had a scandal at Meadowbank, have you?”
“We’ve come near it once or twice,” said Miss Bulstrode. She laughed. “Never a dull moment in running a school.” She went on, “Do you ever find life dull here, Eleanor?”
“No indeed,” said Miss Vansittart. “I find the work here most stimulating and satisfying. You must feel very proud and happy, Honoria, at the great success you have achieved.”
“I think I made a good job of things,” said Miss Bulstrode thoughtfully. “Nothing, of course, is ever quite as one first imagined it….
“Tell me, Eleanor,” she said suddenly, “if you were running this place instead of me, what changes would you make? Don’t mind saying. I shall be interested to hear.”
“I don’t think I should want to make any changes,” said Eleanor Vansittart. “It seems to me the spirit of the place and the whole organization is well-nigh perfect.”
“You’d carry on on the same lines, you mean?”
“Yes, indeed. I don’t think they could be bettered.” Miss Bulstrode was silent for a moment. She was thinking to herself: I wonder if she said that in order to please me. One never knows with people. However close to them you may have been for years. Surely, she can’t really mean that. Anybody with any creative feeling at all must want to make changes. It’s true, though, that it mightn’t have seemed tactful to say so … And tact is very important. It’s important with parents, it’s important with the girls, it’s important with the staff. Eleanor certainly has tact.
Aloud, she said, “There must always be adjustments, though, mustn’t there? I mean with changing ideas and conditions of life generally.”
“Oh, that, yes,” said Miss Vansittart. “One has, as they say, to go with the times. But it’s your school, Honoria, you’ve made it what it is and your traditions are the essence of it. I think tradition is very important, don’t you?”
Miss Bulstrode did not answer. She was hovering on the brink of irrevocable words. The