Lane took a deep breath and turned to look at the children. She moved quickly to the front of the room and said in a loud whisper, “Class!” and then put her finger firmly to her lips. One of the younger girls began to say something and Rolfie put his hand out to stop her.

  Urgently Lane indicated through gestures that they were to move quickly and silently into the kitchen area. Every scrape of desk and chair made her flinch, but somehow she got them gathered there. Shutting the door to the classroom, she whispered, “Listen carefully. There’s someone outside who I think might be dangerous. Button up your coats now, quick as you can.”

  The few who had unbuttoned their coats quickly did them up and put their mittens back on. Rafe whispered, “Wait till Mommy hears about this!” with enthusiasm. Lane was relieved to see Gabriella and Philip, the two eldest, do their coats up quickly and begin to help the younger children. Again, she thought with relief, the students were feeding off the earnest calm those two children were exhibiting.

  “Philip and Gabriella. Get everyone out the back door and into the woods behind the school as fast as you can. Go around through the trees over that way and down toward the store, do you understand? Stay out of sight, but don’t lose sight of the road and get onto it when you are well past the car that is there. Philip,” she turned to whisper to him, “I want you to run ahead and get Mr. Bales to phone the police. Tell them there is a man with a gun at the school and they must come. Do you understand? But don’t go anywhere near the road till you’re past that car. Is that clear?” Darling might have come out already to interview Miss Keeling, but someone at the station would know that.

  A footfall on the steps made Lane turn convulsively to look toward the door to the classroom and then back at the children, who clustered by the door, suddenly unsure. “Now!”

  Philip, who’d been shushing the children who’d overheard and gasped at the mention of the man with the gun, nodded. Gabriella had already opened the back door and was ushering the others out into the snow and waving them into the trees behind the school. Philip pulled up the rear and, when the last child was out, made for the woods with them. Lane breathed out, relieved that the children had some chance of safety, just as she heard the man take the last two steps and pause in front of the door.

  She darted to the back of the classroom and stood behind the door, desperately looking around for something to strike the man with. She must delay him until the children were fully out of danger. There was still no movement on the steps. She imagined the man looking cautiously around to make sure no one was near. She prayed he wasn’t seeing the children. She wished now she’d had the presence of mind to tell Philip or Gabriella to keep the children still and quiet until the man had gone into the school. Where was that damn revolver from the kitchen when she needed it? With a whimper of exultation she saw the broom leaning in the corner. She seized it, sorry it wasn’t more substantial, like a cricket bat, and waited.

  The door handle rattled and then turned, and the door was pushed open slowly. She heard the man step over the threshold. She would have to wait until he was fully in and was out where she could see him to get a really good swing in. She could feel her heart pounding as she waited. The man stopped. He would be surveying the classroom. Finally, she could hear him walking forward. When he came into view, she kicked the door out of the way and aimed the broomstick at the back of his head.

  He must have heard the sound, because he was halfway turned toward her when the broomstick struck him across the ear and side of his face. His hat flew off and he yelped. Lane could hear the gun fall noisily and rattle across the floor. Almost unconsciously she tried to make out where it might have slid, while she swung her arms back to strike him again. She managed to hit him on the chest, and he grabbed the broom and pulled hard. She yanked back and then let the broom go so that he stumbled back and fell over a desk.

  The gun. She had to get the gun. How far would the children have gotten by now? If she could only be sure they were well out of the way, she could make a run for it herself through the open door, but she couldn’t risk it.

  The man, hampered by his voluminous coat, was making heavy weather of getting up. He was bleeding copiously from the ear and was letting out a stream of obscenities. Lane saw the gun, not quite under the bookshelf, but behind him. She’d have to get past him. She ran at him and pushed hard at the desk he was using to pull himself up so that he stumbled back again.

  He saw what she was up to and he lunged at the gun from where he had fallen and managed to get it into his hand. He scrambled up and came at Lane, pushing at her hard so that she fell against the teacher desk. She spun and fell forward, clutching at the top of the desk to stay on her feet. Her right ribs struck painfully against the edge of the desk, and the wound she’d sustained from a gunshot on her honeymoon screamed in protest. She gasped at the pain but managed to push herself upright and turn to face him.

  GABRIELLA WATCHED PHILIP sprint down the road, and then she turned to the other children. “I know it looks safe now, but you have to shush and go fast.” They had plowed through snow that for some of the children was nearly thigh high, with Gabriella leading and the others following behind, until they were standing well below the parked car, covered in snow.

  “Will we be able to take our Christmas cards home?” Amy whispered anxiously. Samuel was holding her hand.

  He nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry. We’ll get them. Miss Winslow will make sure they’re safe.”

  Philip arrived at the intersection and waited for a car to go by, and then with a last push he ran across the road and burst through the door of the shop, causing the bell at the top of the door to ring frenetically.

  “Mr. Bales, Mr. Bales! You gotta phone the police right away!”

  “Whoa, there, young man,” Bales said, coming out from where he was organizing something in the freezer. “Where’s the fire?”

  “It’s not a fire, sir. It’s a guy with a gun. Miss Winslow is up there. She made us escape. She said you had to phone them.”

  Bales didn’t wait. “Lucy, get the Nelson Police on the phone, this instant!”

  When O’Brien’s voice came on the other end, Bales didn’t let him finish his greeting.

  “I need Inspector Darling. It’s an emergency.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, sir, you won’t get him. He’s up the lake in King’s Cove interviewing someone. What’s the emergency? I’ve got another officer I can send.”

  “No, no, no. That’s fine. If he’s at King’s Cove, it’s closer. There’s a man with a gun holding up the schoolteacher at the schoolhouse. Where is he, exactly?”

  O’Brien looked at the paper on the desk. “The post office. I’ll put the call through right away. Don’t you try to do anything, sir. He can be there in two shakes.”

  Bales hadn’t had time to think concretely yet about what he could do, but O’Brien’s injunction not to do anything set him on a rebellious train of thought. He had a hunting rifle. He could get to the school before the police.

  He went into the cupboard where he kept a small safe, a hunting rifle, and ammunition, and unlocked it. The rifle was leaning against the wall. He took it out and broke it. Not loaded. He was reaching onto the shelf when he heard the door open and close. Philip had gone outside and was shouting something. He took the box of bullets out and put it on the counter with the gun. Lucy was out standing by the counter.

  “Do you want me to load it?” she asked. Bales was by the door watching the children crossing toward the store.

  He turned and looked at her, appalled. “No, absolutely not.” He opened the door wide and was calling out to them to come in quickly.

  “Why not? I go hunting with my dad. I know how,” Lucy was saying, aggrieved.

  Bales seized the rifle and the box of bullets. “You make sure these kiddies are all right. Give them something hot, tea or cocoa, and give them each a chocolate bar, and don’t let them out of your sight. And don’t let anyone in here unless you know them, is that clear? And lock the door behind me.”

  “AND SHE NEVER gave you any indication of why she was holding you?” Darling asked.

  Miss Keeling shook her head wearily. “I haven’t the first idea. I can’t understand any of it. I’ve always thought that one day my father or my uncle might come after me because I ran away from a marriage they’d arranged for me. I was told that if I tried to run away, I would be beaten and brought back. They came to Vancouver once, right after I ran away, and were asking for me at all the rooming houses on Cardero Street, where I was living. Mrs. Franklin said she sent them away and told me that it was against the law to force me to marry someone I didn’t want to. I hadn’t even known that. I still felt if they’d caught me, I would never be allowed to leave. Then when nothing happened for a few years I felt a bit more relaxed, and then when my father turned up in Saanich all the fear came back. He stopped me outside the school and tried to tell me that he’d changed. I told him to leave me alone and go away. I didn’t trust him. I haven’t got the first notion who that woman is or what earthly reason she had for taking me, but she was very certain that I knew something about my father, which brings me back full circle. How would my father know someone like her? I mean, I’ve been gone for ten years and I guess anything could have happened to him, but it just doesn’t seem right.” She leaned back and put her hand on her brow as if she might somehow clear the confusion and exhaustion away.

  “Can you describe the woman, Miss Keeling?” Ames asked.

  “Like I said, well dressed. She wore a sort of widow’s veil across most of her face, so I never got a good look.”

  “Miss Keeling, have you heard of Harry Devlin?”

  She opened her eyes and then shook her head. “No. Should I have?”

  “He’s a very wealthy businessman from Vancouver who is running for parliament. It’s possible that the woman that kidnapped you was Harry Devlin’s wife. Your father knew, and I suspect he was trying to warn you about her. He tried to telephone you that Saturday, the sixth, but was told the line was down.” He was going to have to tell her that Harry Devlin was very probably her father and he didn’t relish it.

  “She pulled the cord out of the wall. But why would she want me? Did she think I was having an affair with her husband? I’ve never even heard of him.” Miss Keeling shook her head, her confusion intensified by this revelation.

  At that moment the phone rang. Eleanor, who was tidying up the already perfectly tidy sitting room, waited. It was for them: long, short, long. They could hear her say “Hello? King’s Cove Post Office. Eleanor Armstrong speaking.” Then silence. As if by unspoken consent, the interview stopped, and they listened to Eleanor’s voice. “Oh, goodness. Yes, right away.” They heard the receiver fall onto the phone and then Eleanor hurried in, wringing her hands.

  “Inspector, that was the police station. They’ve had a call from the Balfour general store that, and I want to get this right: ‘There’s a man with a gun at the school, and the children are all safe. The teacher is there trying to hold him off.’ Oh dear, that must be Lane!”

  As one, Darling and Ames leaped up, and were out the door without their coats.

  “Just turn right up the little road near the store; you’ll see the sign!” Eleanor called after them. “Oh, Kenny,” she said to her husband. He’d rushed to the door at the commotion of the two policemen running full tilt to the car. “Lane is up at the school with someone with a gun!”

  Kenny’s eyes widened and he went into the house, almost tripping over the near-hysterical Alexandra, and reached into the corner behind the door.

  As Ames was backing the car around, Kenny was outside holding out his rifle. He saw Darling say something to Ames, and Ames stopped the car.

  “I don’t know if you’re armed, Inspector, but you might need this. It’s only a .22, but it might scare someone,” Kenny said, and Darling opened the door and half stepped out to take it.

  Eleanor and Kenny stood outside watching the car tear off up the hill, scattering clumps of icy snow off the chains. Miss Keeling was behind them, standing in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly in front of her.

  Eleanor had a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said at last. “What if . . .”

  “Don’t be silly,” Kenny said. “It’s our Lane. She’ll have thought of something.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “CONSTABLE TERRELL? IT’S DR. EDISON. I . . . I think you’d better come to the hospital. It’s about Miss Scott.”

  Terrell frowned. He couldn’t imagine Dr. Edison being uncertain about anything, but she sounded uncertain now. “Of course, right away. Is something the matter? Has she taken a turn for the worse?” If she died it would become a murder investigation.

  “No, no. Nothing like that, but I just think you’d better come and hear what she has to say.”

  Terrell, who had been fully preoccupied by what must be happening up the lake with an armed man at the schoolhouse, and the inspector’s wife apparently there with him, was almost reluctant to leave the station in case he was needed, or news came in.

  He took up his coat and hat and said to O’Brien, “That was the hospital. Apparently there’s some development with Miss Scott. I’m going to have to go up there right now. Dr. Edison was very insistent.”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about things. I’ll hold the fort.” O’Brien sighed. In truth, he was perfectly content to stay right where he was. He’d brewed a cup of tea, and he had a very nice raisin scone his wife had made to go with it.

  Realizing that the car was out, Terrell set out on foot, grateful that it wasn’t actually snowing, and that his rubber overshoes seemed to work reasonably well on the icy sidewalk. By the time he’d made the top of the hill and was at the hospital entrance, he was overwarm in his overcoat and was hoping crossly that whatever Miss Scott had to say was worth the hike. He thought rebelliously that she had kept them dancing with her constant collapsing just before she got to where she could tell them anything useful. His heart sank when he saw that the reception desk was manned by the same woman who had doubted his credentials on his first visit.

  “I’m here to see—”

  “Go on up,” she said coolly, scarcely glancing at him, her expression suggesting that whatever madness they got up to in the wards was none of her lookout.

  “Dr. Edison,” Terrell said. He had his hat in his hand and was desperate to fan himself with it.

  “Ah, Constable Terrell. Please come through. I’ve put a chair next to the bed. Miss Scott seems quite collected at the moment, so I hope she’ll get through her whole story without another relapse.”

  Indeed, Miss Scott was sitting up in bed with a dressing gown wrapped neatly around her and her hair done and looking altogether more composed than the last time he’d seen her. She put down the glass of water she’d been sipping and waited. Terrell took off his overcoat and pulled the chair out to sit down.

  “Miss Scott. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you. They say I won’t have to stay much longer if I keep making progress. That is, if I keep . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “That is good news. I’m glad you’re improving. I understand you wished to see me?” He wasn’t sure whether she wished to see him, or Dr. Edison wished him to see her.

  “It’s just that I’m beginning to remember a little . . . about that night.”

  “Excellent. Do you mind if I write some things down?” Terrell brought out his notebook and pencil and held them up.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows that had been plumped up behind her. Terrell waited. Was she giving up already? But then she sat up and began.

  “I was out, you see. I had come into town to arrange the train. I was leaving to go home to Manitoba. My mother isn’t coping well.”

  Terrell wondered about the story that she was going off to be married, but he did not want to interrupt her. She seemed to be collecting herself again. She turned and looked at him.

  “I had to get away. I had to. It was too much. I scarcely survived the wait till Wendy arrived, and then to have to stay longer to make sure she was settled in . . . I should have left after a couple of days. I could see she wouldn’t need me. She is a natural. If only I’d left, none of this . . .” She twisted her hands together and looked away.

  “What was it you needed to get away from so urgently?” Terrell asked gently.

  She turned back to look at him, tears forming in her eyes. “Him. I had to get away from him.”

  “Is this the man who was sending you poison-pen notes?” Terrell ventured.

  Rose Scott’s eye widened. “Yes. How did you know about that? How could you know? I never told anyone, not even Wendy.”

  “We found the notes. There was one at the schoolhouse in the desk and several in your stove at the cottage. You must have meant to burn them. The teacher there discovered that they were from one of the parents, Mr. Gaskell. How long have you been getting them?” Terrell hoped that laying out what they knew would help Miss Scott struggle less with what she felt she could tell him and what she might still want to keep hidden.

  “I was so ashamed and angry. It was a torment. He made my life a nightmare. I’d been so happy. I was nearly sick with the fear I felt every moment. I was desperate to get away, but you can’t just walk out on the children. The last one was the last straw. He said next time he would finish what he started. He would, too. I knew it. He . . . he tried . . . before, you see. He was in my house. He tried . . . he tried . . . I had a knife.” She put her handkerchief to her eyes and took a long breath.

  Terrell made a note. So, Gaskell had taken it further, was threatening to “finish what he’d started.” It was no wonder Miss Scott had been so desperate to leave. Had Gaskell been in the house that night? Was he the one who went on the rampage in it? He struggled to imagine what sort of time frame would have him tossing the house, hitting Miss Scott, and then getting himself killed miles away. He was about to ask.