Cat Among the Pigeons. Agatha Christie

      Dear Edith,

      Everything much the same as usual here. The summer term is always nice. The garden is looking beautiful and we’ve got a new gardener to help old Briggs—young and strong! Rather good looking, too, which is a pity. Girls are so silly.

      Miss Bulstrode hasn’t said anything more about retiring, so I hope she’s got over the idea. Miss Vansittart wouldn’t be at all the same thing. I really don’t believe I would stay on.

      Give my love to Dick and to the children, and remember me to Oliver and Kate when you see them.

      Elspeth

      Letter from Mademoiselle Angèle Blanche to René Dupont, Post Restante, Bordeaux.

      Dear René,

      All is well here, though I cannot say that I amuse myself. The girls are neither respectful nor well behaved. I think it better, however, not to complain to Miss Bulstrode. One has to be on one’s guard when dealing with that one!

      There is nothing interesting at present to tell you.

      Mouche

      Letter from Miss Vansittart to a friend:

      Dear Gloria,

      The summer term has started smoothly. A very satisfactory set of new girls. The foreigners are settling down well. Our little Princess (the Middle East one, not the Scandinavian) is inclined to lack application, but I suppose one has to expect that. She has very charming manners.

      The new Games Mistress, Miss Springer, is not a success. The girls dislike her and she is far too high-handed with them. After all, this is not an ordinary school. We don’t stand or fall by P.T.! She is also very inquisitive, and asks far too many personal questions. That sort of thing can be very trying, and is so ill bred. Mademoiselle Blanche, the new French Mistress, is quite amiable but not up to the standard of Mademoiselle Depuy.

      We had a near escape on the first day of term. Lady Veronica Carlton-Sandways turned up completely intoxicated!! But for Miss Chadwick spotting it and heading her off, we might have had a most unpleasant incident. The twins are such nice girls, too.

      Miss Bulstrode has not said anything definite yet about the future—but from her manner, I think her mind is definitely made up. Meadowbank is a really fine achievement, and I shall be proud to carry on its traditions.

      Give my love to Marjorie when you see her.

      Yours ever,

      Eleanor

      Letter to Colonel Pikeaway, sent through the usual channels:

      Talk about sending a man into danger! I’m the only able-bodied male in an establishment of, roughly, some hundred and ninety females.

      Her Highness arrived in style. Cadillac of squashed strawberry and pastel blue, with Wog Notable in native dress, fashion-plate-from-Paris wife, and junior edition of same (H.R.H.).

      Hardly recognized her the next day in her school uniform. There will be no difficulty in establishing friendly relations with her. She has already seen to that. Was asking me the names of various flowers in a sweet innocent way, when a female Gorgon with freckles, red hair, and a voice like a corncrake bore down upon her and removed her from my vicinity. She didn’t want to go. I’d always understood these Oriental girls were brought up modestly behind the veil. This one must have had a little worldly experience during her schooldays in Switzerland, I think.

      The Gorgon, alias Miss Springer, the Games Mistress, came back to give me a raspberry. Garden staff were not to talk to the pupils, etc. My turn to express innocent surprise. ‘Sorry, Miss. The young lady was asking what these here delphiniums was. Suppose they don’t have them in the parts she comes from.’ The Gorgon was easily pacified, in the end she almost simpered. Less success with Miss Bulstrode’s secretary. One of these coat and skirt country girls. French mistress is more cooperative. Demure and mousy to look at, but not such a mouse really. Also have made friends with three pleasant gigglers, Christian names, Pamela, Lois and Mary, surnames unknown, but of aristocratic lineage. A sharp old war-horse called Miss Chadwick keeps a wary eye on me, so I’m careful not to blot my copybook.

      My boss, old Briggs, is a crusty kind of character whose chief subject of conversation is what things used to be in the good old days, when he was, I suspect, the fourth of a staff of five. He grumbles about most things and people, but has a wholesome respect for Miss Bulstrode herself. So have I. She had a few words, very pleasant, with me, but I had a horrid feeling she was seeing right through me and knowing all about me.

      No sign, so far, of anything sinister—but I live in hope.