9. Staffroom Jealousy

It was next day, early morning before the morning bell summoned staff and pupils to their classes, The staff room was always first port of call for the teaching staff, and it was there that the wisdom of ages was often distributed by the deputy head, Mrs Elsie Needham.

“It has come to my notice,” she said heavily, “that we may be visited by a Detective Inspector today so that dear little Ian Daniels can see that the wheels of justice turn thoroughly.”

“It can’t have been easy, losing his father,” sighed the attractive young Miss Bustard.

“A father who was keen on you,” teased the elderly Mrs Harding.

“I don’t think he’d have half a chance!” laughed the younger teacher, “I mean, at his age! What sort of woman must he think I am if he’s given off signals like that!”

“I’ve heard that our revered headmaster has made quite a few pervy comments about the length of your legs, my dear,” grinned Mrs Harding, “it would have been judged naughty If I’d shown as much as you do when I was your age, my dear, but it just wasn’t done back then. I wore slacks, and I wasn’t over-fond of them. But then there were rules about legs.”

The conversation may well have continued along those lines, with Mrs Harding ruing the fact that forty years earlier the acceptance of female legs meant that she had to adopt a more conservative mode of dress, but there was a knock at the door and Mr Lincoln walked in, accompanied by DI Sheila McFyffe and DS Dave Wright.

“Ah, all of you are nice and early,” he said in a voice calculated to affirm his respect for his staff, “let me introduce two highly respected detectives, DI McFyffe an DS Wright. They are here to ask whether you can add to their knowledge regarding the miserable events of yesterday. I have been led to believe that even an apparently meaningless observation can trigger a new direction for them to investigate.”

“There’s Miss Bustard here,” suggested Mrs Harding, the earlier topic of conversation still uppermost in her mind.

“Miss Bustard?” queried Sheila.

“That’s me,” the pretty young teacher said, smiling, “Mrs Harding seems to think that the deceased had his eyes on my legs, and I must say I didn’t think so, After all, they’re nothing special, my legs, that is.”

“I can’t agree there, my dear,” the DI generously suggested, “but may I ask: did he ever approach you, my dear? Did he ever, say, use words like coffee after the bell rings and drinks after school into your ears?”

The young teacher smiled, “I would rather think the answer’s absolutely not,” she insisted, “I mean, my goods are certainly not for sale!”

“Then they shouldn’t be so obviously on display,” muttered Mrs Harding almost, but not quite, inaudibly.

The DI looked at the older teacher, who she judged can’t have been far from retirement age. “You have witnessed such a thing?” she asked.

Mrs Harding looked almost amused, and shook her head. “Not at all,” she said, “but if I was a young man with blood warming up I might have tried,” she added weakly

“May I interrupt,” put in the specialist music teacher, “but I believe I have witness a sort of yearning, but not of Miss Bustard here. No, and I’m appalled to be suggesting this, but the wretched man was quite happy to be staring at one or two of the older girls when he came to take his son home. I mean, eleven year old girls who have barely started developing! It’s typical of men, though.”

“Mrs Fudge, isn’t it?” asked Sheila, “that’s a rather cynical attitude regarding the males of the species,” she said, rather stiffly, “do you have any solid evidence that ties Mr Daniels with that kind of behaviour?”

The music specialist looked uncomfortable, “Not as such,” she admitted, “but it’s true, isn’t it? Put a pretty girl next to a man and he’ll look straight at her face and into her eyes, and smile, won’t he?” she said.

Sheila shook her head sadly. “That probably says as much about you as it does about the men in your life,” she said. “Has anyone anything concrete to suggest? We are investigating an unfortunate death that happened on these premises and need any help that members of the staff here might offer us…”

“Anyone else?” asked the Headmaster, “speak now or forever hold your peace…Okay, we’ll call that all, then, if the officers are content to eave it at that. And, Mrs Fudge, a word if I may…”

The two police officer along with Headmaster and Mrs Fudge made their way out of the staffroom just as the bell to begin morning school rang. Mr Lincoln looked at hi watch and nodded. “Spot on,” he rumbled and turned towards Mrs Fudge.

“What on Earth was that all about?” he asked. “You do understand that you’ve put every man, myself included, under the spotlight during a murder investigation? It’s that sort of loose talk that can sometimes lead to a miscarriage of justice? Have you ever even noticed anyone on these premises making inappropriate comments to one of our girls?”

She scowled at him. “You all do it, you men,” she almost spat, “even my so-called better half! Put a lass anywhere near him and his eyes pop out on stalks, and his trousers… well, less said about them!!”

“Maybe if you spent a bit more time on your own appearance he might not have to!” snapped the Headmaster, “Now off to your music room while you still have a job here, and remember what I suggested about your own appearance!”

“Typical man,” she whispered, loud enough for them to all hear.

“Sorry about that, officers,” Mr Lincoln murmured, “she’s a hard nut, is that one.”

“It takes all sorts…” assured Dave, “my daughter’s one of your pupils and I must admit that I find myself wanting to clout anyone, even kids of her own age, who seem to be eyeing her up! But none of this has helped us with the investigation, but then I’m not surprised.”

“We’ll not hold you up any longer, Headmaster,” said Sheila with a smile, “and don’t worry: in my younger days I had quite an eye for the boys, and it doesn’t ever completely go away!”

© Peter Rogerson 12.01.25

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