A Three Dog Problem

She hadn’t been thinking precisely about either, but the Queen felt guilty to suggest it had been the electrics. She nodded vaguely. ‘Mmmm.’

‘Too dreadful. How is that nice policeman getting on?’ Lady Caroline asked. ‘Strong, isn’t it? I gather he’s quite popular with the staff. Polite and discreet.’

‘Oh, good. That’s what I asked,’ the Queen said, glad to be talking about something that approximated progress. ‘He’s very diligent. He has a lot to keep him busy.’

‘How encouraging!’

Reluctantly, the Queen said, ‘Not quite. His latest line of enquiry came to nothing.’ She wasn’t going to explain that she herself had suggested it. She had had high hopes for the questioning of Spike Milligan, but apparently the footman had furiously denied everything.

‘Oh dear.’ Lady Caroline stared glumly into her empty glass. The Queen rang for her page and got it refilled. Lady Caroline remained thoughtful.

‘You know, this nastiness takes me right back to my schooldays.’

‘Does it?’ The Queen was surprised.

‘Oh yes. I’ve been thinking about it since you told me. We had the most awful scenes. They lasted about a year. I was at St Mary’s, and we were in the first form or second form – I can’t quite remember – but we were little squibs, eleven or twelve, and missing our ponies and our mummies and trying to be brave about it. And mostly, we were. I had quite a decent time, actually, but some girls were floored by it. And there was this one girl, Peggy Thornicroft, who just had the most dreadful, horrible time.’

‘Oh dear,’ the Queen said, hoping to bring this topic of conversation to a halt, because it was really quite depressing and there was already enough to test one’s good spirits at the moment, surely? But Lady Caroline was too involved in her story to notice the tone. The Queen sipped her gin and stuck it out.

‘It was too, too bad. We all suffered. Because of course, we all came under suspicion. And we felt so sorry for her.’

‘Why? What was going on?’ the Queen asked.

Lady Caroline thought back. ‘It started with an apple-pie bed, I seem to recall. Something very innocuous – you know, when you try and get in but the sheet’s folded back on itself and you can only get halfway down. Or perhaps she got in and the bed was wet and we helped her change it. But then her letters from home went missing. Peggy was quite distraught about it. Her mother was very good and wrote at least once a week, but the letters were stolen – the old and the new – and she was practically beside herself. We all had our lockers inspected, and I think eventually they were discovered stuffed down one of the loos.’

‘The poor girl. What was she like, by the way?’

‘Peggy?’ Lady Caroline made a moue with her lips. ‘Well, you know, not the most likeable. I don’t remember her very clearly. She left after a couple of years. She wasn’t particularly clever, or stupid. She had a perfectly nice face and brown hair in plaits, but didn’t we all? She was an early developer, I do remember that. The poor thing got her monthlies early, she smelled of . . . you know . . . body odour. She got spots. Nothing too dreadful, but I think she found it hard. She was very good at drama, but nobody really cared about drama at St Mary’s, so it didn’t help.’

‘And what happened? Did they find the letter-stealer?’

‘Oh, it got much worse. That’s what reminded me about Cynthia Harris. Peggy got anonymous letters, hidden in her bed and her locker and even her blazer pocket. I never knew exactly what they said, but we were led to believe they were pretty frightful. The police were brought in at one stage and we had to give examples of our handwriting. They questioned us and the staff. It was very serious and frightening. And then her bunny, or teddy or whatever she had on her bed, went missing and it was found a few days later, cut up and partially burned on the gardeners’ bonfire.’

‘No!’

‘I know. Very personal. Just like Mrs Harris. One of the groundsmen came under a lot of suspicion after that. We all thought it must be someone in her dorm. And then, worst of all, there was the guinea pig.’

The Queen felt her heart drop. ‘What about it?’

‘We were allowed little pets from home, you know – things you could keep in cages. They were all in a converted stable behind the sixth-form block that we could visit before and after school. Peggy was very attached to her guinea pig, as you can imagine, with everything that was going on. I remember it was a sweet, fluffy little thing. Not so little, actually. And then one day it was found at the bottom of its cage with its neck snapped.’

‘Oh!’

‘I know!’ Lady Caroline said, seeing the shock on the Queen’s face. ‘Simply awful.’

‘Dreadful,’ the Queen agreed. ‘Did they find out who did it?’

‘Yes, they did. The police were hopeless, mind you. We were far too scared of their uniforms and craggy faces, and nobody would really talk to them. But our headmistress brought in this sweet little man – I think he was a priest, but he didn’t act like one, if you know what I mean. I don’t remember his name. He was very calm and friendly and just sort of hung around and chatted. You never particularly noticed that he was talking about Peggy. I don’t recall telling him anything remotely useful. But after a couple of days, he worked it out.’