“You’re a quick learner, Roberts, I’ll give you that.”
“And as there’s no more time to be wasted, we ought to leave for St. Hilda’s immediately so you can go over those files.”
“But our best bet must surely be Miss Benson.”
“I agree with you, Sir Charles. And I’ve planned for us to pay her a visit this afternoon, just as soon as you’ve finished at St. Hilda’s. By the way, when Miss Benson was principal, she was known as ‘The Dragon’ not only by the children but also by the staff, so there’s no reason to expect she’ll be any more cooperative than Walter Slade.”
When Charlie arrived at the orphanage he was greeted at the front door by the principal. Mrs. Culver wore a smart green dress that looked as if it might have been freshly pressed. She had obviously decided to treat her potential benefactor as if he were Nelson Rockefeller because all that was lacking was a red carpet as Charlie was ushered through to her study.
Two young lawyers who had been going assiduously through files all night and learning all there was to know about dormitory times, exacts, kitchen duties, credits and misdemeanors stood as Charlie and Trevor Roberts entered the room.
“Any further progress with those two names?” asked Rober
ts.
“Oh, yes, down to two. Isn’t this exciting?” said Mrs. Culver, as she bustled round the room moving anything that seemed to be out of place. “I was wondering—”
“We have no proof as yet,” said a bleary-eyed young man, “but one of them seems to fit the bill perfectly. We can come up with no information on the girl before the age of two. What’s more important, she was registered with St. Hilda’s at precisely the same time as Captain Trentham was awaiting execution.”
“And the cook also remembers from the days when she was a scullery maid,” said Mrs. Culver, jumping in, “that the girl came in the middle of the night, accompanied by a well-dressed, severe looking lady who had a lah-de-dah accent who then—”
“Enter Mrs. Trentham,” said Charlie. “Only the girl’s name is obviously not Trentham.”
The young assistant checked the notes that lay spread across the table in front of him. “No, sir,” he said. “This particular girl was registered under the name of Miss Cathy Ross.”
Charlie felt his legs give way as Roberts and Mrs. Culver rushed forward to help him into the only comfortable chair in the room. Mrs. Culver loosened his tie and undid his collar.
“Are you feeling all right, Sir Charles?” she asked. “I must say you don’t look too—”
“Right in front of my eyes all the time,” said Charlie. “Blind as a bat is how Daphne would rightly describe me.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Roberts.
“I’m not sure I do myself as yet.” Charlie turned back to face the anxious messenger responsible for delivering the news.
“Did she leave St. Hilda’s to take up a place at Melbourne University?” he asked.
This time the assistant double-checked his notes. “Yes, sir. She signed on for the class of ’42, leaving in ’46.”
“Where she studied history of art and English.”
The assistant’s eyes again scanned the papers in front of him. “That’s correct, sir,” he said, unable to hide his surprise.
“And did she play tennis, by any chance?”
“The occasional match for the university second six.”
“But could she paint?” asked Charlie.
The assistant continued to leaf through the files.
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Culver, “and very good she was too, Sir Charles. We still have an example of her work hanging in the dining room, a woodland scene influenced by Sisley, I suspect. Indeed, I would go as far as to say—”
“May I be allowed to see the picture, Mrs. Culver?”
“Of course, Sir Charles.” The principal removed a key from the top right hand drawer of her desk and said, “Please follow me.”
Charlie rose unsteadily to his feet and accompanied Mrs. Culver as she marched out of her study and down a long corridor towards the dining room, the door of which she proceeded to unlock. Trevor Roberts, striding behind Charlie, continued to look puzzled, but refrained from asking any questions.